#i could have never been homeless (I am still greatful that this year i have a place to stay)

[iamunabletothinkofablogname]

tw vent (mostly in tags)

Ah yes, the violent thoughts of revenge are back

#I straight up missed most of first period cause i was stuck daydreaming about killing him #My life was over before it began #he's the fucking reason i had to live in poverty instead of having a good happy childhood or some shit #theres so many things people take for granted #even middle class #i could have never been homeless (I am still greatful that this year i have a place to stay) #even then the place im at #they said we had to stay there for less than 6 months #6 fucking months #im feeling stressed the fuck out #but i really want to be optomistic #i want to be happy #but its getting hard as shit #especially knowing all the things i've missed out on #i dont want to overshare everything #especially online #but #im going to find him #and i swear on my life im going to kill him #and if i cant to that #i will ruin his life #i will publish his name #i will tell everyone everything about him #i will mention every fucking thing #he's hired a fucking investigor once on me and my fam #so it shouldnt be hard to do the same to him #so far i know his fb #and linkdin profile #and that was just me googling his name #i also know what university he goes in

[captaincapsicle83]

At First Sight ○○ Bucky Barnes x reader

Pairings: Natasha x reader (platonic), Wanda x reader (platonic), Clinton x reader (platonic), Bucky x reader

Plot: Your roommates set you up on a date with their coworker, and you two hit it off right away. (Most of this story is silly little platonic fun, but I like it anyway).

(The little gif of him drinking water is funnier after you read the story)

“He has a cat.”

“Well, whoop-di-do,” You huff monotonously. Wanda scrunches up her nose at you, before sighing and shaking her head.

“I think you should go,” She says. You risk rolling your eyes, even though she could very well kill you, then and there.

“‘I think you should go’” You say, making your voice go higher, in a mocking tone. “If he’s so great, you go. I have a ton of work to do.”

Just last year, you landed a teaching position. It had been in May, and you were given hardly any time at all to prep. School started again in a week, and even though you’d been preparing loosely all summer, this week you were locked in.

So why the hell did Wanda need you to go on a stupid date?

“If you don’t go, there’s a good chance you’ll die alone,” She crosses her arms, eyebrows raised.

“You’re here, and so is Natasha,” You point out, finally putting your laptop to the side, and uncrossing your legs, stretching them out.

“What about when we go get married and have lives, and have jobs, and you just…die of boredom,” What was this a Sims game? Was she gonna lock you in a room with a radio next? Put the walls up around a pool?

“Clint’ll be here. Poor little shit’s never getting married. No one wants the little scrapper,” You pull your coffee mug to your lips. You must’ve left it idle longer than intended, because instead of warm, silky, and smooth, it was starkly cold, and felt thin beyond your lips.

“You want him?” Her eyes were annoyed, but her face was bemused.

“He’s low maintenance,” You shrug.

“Who?” Someone says, coming through the front door with an armload of groceries, and a red-haired friend behind them. While Clint had about ten plastic bags of things, Natasha sipped an iced coffee from a straw, looking awfully unbothered.

“Why does she still look homeless Wanda?” Nat questioned. “You said you were gonna drag her kicking and screaming.”

“We were getting there.”

Four people in one New York apartment, in upper Manhatten. It was expensive as high hell, but you all made it work.

So why am I gonna put my job on hold for something stupid as this-

You’re sitting on Wanda’s bed, Natasha’s fingers in your hair, Wanda in her closet, and Clint tasked with the job of “make-up artist”.

“I have my hobbies.”

You’re just about at the end of your rope with them, Wanda picking something out and Clint huffing and puffing that it doesn’t go with the look he’s going for, Natasha yelling at both of them like children. Finally, the timer that means, “We better be ready now or we’re gonna be late” sounds off. Wanda’s best idea today, the worst being, obviously…

Natasha and Wanda have tickets for an art gallery opening, so they’re both driving you, Clint tagging along for “moral support.” Groans were elicited.

Natasha was giving you a run down the whole way there.

“He’s a little quiet at first,” She says.

“Good thing you’re not,” Clint whispers to you.

“I don’t know if he’ll get there first, or not, but he’s got dark hair and will probably be wearing dark clothes, he does around the office all the time.”

“Emo bo-” Clint cuts himself off from his whisper, snapping to Natasha. “He works with us.”

“Yes.”

Silence…

“Well, who is it?” Clint asks, rather boisterously.

“…No.”

“No?” Clint, clearly offended, turns to you. “What’s his name?”

Your mouth opens, before shutting again, realizing no one had told you. You lean forward in the backseat.

“Who is it, Nat?”

“You’ll see.”

“No-” “Nuh-uh!” You and Clint both protest.

“I’ve been to your guys’ office I wanna know,” you say.

“Better pray it’s Steve,” Clint says.

“Oh, Natasha it better be Steve.”

Natasha turns around in the passenger seat, to face you and Clint in the back.

“Steve is engaged,” She starts.

“Yeah, so?” Clint says, and the car is quiet for a moment. When you make eye contact with Clint’s green eyes, the silence is cut by both of your laughter.

Unfortunately, this put a dent in the interrogation, and now you were outside of the diner. Your friends had told you good luck and left you here. You did notice Natasha whisper something to Clint as you got out, and his eyes nearly popped out of his head. She covered his mouth and basically strangled him down when he tried to tell you.

Since they were gone…no one could force you to go in…

You couldn’t do that. Morally, you would feel horrible to just leave whoever this is sitting alone, waiting for you.

And the girls might evict you.

You walked through the doors of the diner. The diner was a cute little place, albeit a strange theme. It was based on Norse Mythology, called “Odin’s Sons.”

You were greeted by a blonde man, who was the hostess. You told him you were here to meet a date and he broke out into a smile. He said a man had arrived just a little while ago, here to wait for a date.

He led you to a table, where you were greeted by-

before

“I think you’ll like it,” Sam was saying. He was helping his friend, coworker, and roommate, get ready for a date Sam had set up for him.

“Who is she again?” Bucky asked, his voice strained.

“You don’t know her, but she’s Nat and Clint’s friend. She’s in some of the pictures on Clint’s stupid little desk of picture frames,” Bucky rolled his eyes at the mention of the pictures. Clint took many unauthorized pictures of Bucky himself (among others) and they ended up in frames. Clint claimed that, being an art major, and having taken many photography classes, he had the ultimate right.

As Sam described what you looked like, Bucky felt like he did sorta know who he was talking about. You came into the office sometimes, to bring whiny Clint and grateful Natasha food and coffee.

And you were probably the same girl Clint tortured and made fun of him for having a “crush” on.

Bucky arrived at the restaurant about half an hour before he was due. He wanted to be early and to have time to shake away all the nerves.

Well, maybe all was a bit much to ask. There were definitely a lot of nerves to cover.

He was greeted by Thor, the host who gave him a seat. A teenage boy with light brown hair and a bubbly personality brought him a glass of water and some bread. And another glass of water. And another. And a refill of bread.

“Thanks, Peter,” Bucky said again. No matter how many times the boy had to come back, he didn’t seem to stop smiling or being glad to get Bucky yet another glass of water.

As Thor came around the corner again, just as Peter was leaving, he was accompanied by the very girl Bucky had guessed it would be.

You were laughing, he could see, something Thor had said. Time felt like it was slowed as you met his eyes with yours. They seemed to sparkle with your joy, and his heart fluttered at the sight.

He hadn’t seen you so elegant before, but to him, you looked just as beautiful with or without. The makeup that defined your features seemed to have been applied with a steady hand. The dress you wore seemed to almost go with the makeup, and he wondered if it was planned or if you were just…perfect.

He had barely any time at all to gather his thoughts and put his ducks in a row before you sat across from him, smiling warmly. He smiled back, unable to say or do anything but sip his water.

“Hi,” You said. Your heart was pounding, and your heads were sweaty with nervousness. He set down his water glass that he had been holding since you came around the corner with Thor. He was barely finished saying hi back when the young waiter came to take your order.

He ordered first, and you quickly scanned the menu and picked something. The boy smiled warmly as he collected the menus from you, with the promise your food would be out soon.

“So,” The dark-haired man cleared his throat. You were entranced by the blue of his eyes as he said, “You…your name’s Y/n, right?”

“Hmm? Oh!” You realized you were basically questioning your own name, only a second too late. “Yeah, yeah, uh…Nat…asha, didn’t really tell me…your name.”

You decided on the long version of Nat’s name, taking a pause beforehand. You were grateful when the waiter, Peter, popped up out of nowhere with a drink you ordered, and more water for your date.

“It’s Bucky…Well, I mean, it’s James, but everyone calls me Bucky,” “Bucky” gave you a lopsided smile, which you returned.

Peter wasn’t lying when he said your food would be out right away. It seemed like you had barely taken the time to talk before your plates were in front of you.

“So you have…?”

“Three roommates,” you said, laughing a little.

“Oh god, and one of them’s Clint?” His face was twisted in genuine concern, which made you laugh a little harder. Bucky was hot and Bucky was funny and you could hardly take it.

“What about you?”

“It’s just me and Sam right now…and we have a cat,” He adds the last part after taking a sip of his drink.

“You don’t look like a cat person,” You shake your head, taking a bite of your food.

“If I wear clothes that haven’t immediately come out of the dryer, I look like a cat,” He says, and then seems to pull a white cat hair off of his black shirt.

“You need lighter clothes.”

“Not really my style.”

“You’re eternally a goth kid?”

He lets out a loud laugh at that, making you smile even harder.

~~~

“She was hot, and she was funny,” Bucky was saying to Sam. Sam was lying stretched out on the couch, Alpine laying pristinely on his chest, all her legs tucked under her fluffy body.

“That’s nice Bucky,” Sam says, only half paying attention. He coos at the cat, scratching her chin, “Isn’t that nice baby?”

“Okay, you’re not listening.”

“What makes you think that?”

~~~

You were laying on your couch, your feet in Clint’s lap as he prodded you with questions. Natasha shushed him, smacking him upside the head, as she handed you a drink. And by drink, that refers to an entire bottle of wine.

You were fiddling with the cork as you droned on about the date. About what Bucky looked like, and about what you talked about. More about what he looked like…

You let yourself trail off as Natasha and Clint shared a knowing look, and Wanda was smiling to herself as she played on her phone.

“What?” you ask, eyes full of innocence.

“Noth-” Wanda starts, but Clint cuts her off.

“You’re whipped,” he laughs.

You smile to yourself, shaking your head.

Maybe you were.

#bucky barnes #marvel #bucky barnes x reader #sam wilson #avengers x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #clint barton #marvel mcu #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff

[astoundingbeyondbelief]

Kaiju Week in Review (December 3-9, 2023)

I made a frame from this shot Wikizilla's Image of the Week. No regrets. Monarch: Legacy of Monsters, I love ya. When I was a teenager, explicit queerness was anathema to most big-name franchises. Those dominoes have been slowly falling, often in lower-profile tie-ins first, and to me this is a huge one: 69 years without a queer live-action Godzilla character are over. And Cate's the main protagonist of the show! I'm not under the delusion that media representation will cure all society's ills, but it sure doesn't hurt. Now, the non-Tumblr parts of the fandom are being completely normal about this, right? Right? Whatever, that's why you'll never get rid of me here. Cate had a couple more sweet moments with May in this episode, and Mariko Tamaki wrote episode 7, so don't expect her to stop kissing girls. Hopefully she's learned a valuable lesson about cheating though.

"The Way Out" is also another gift to those of us who have always wanted to see more of the ramifications of a world where Godzilla exists, from underground towns for the super-rich to ruined cities where federal troops shoot looters and harass people experiencing homelessness. And the show continues to find ways to use kaiju to talk about COVID, from Cate and Kentaro's exchange about San Francisco truthers ("It's easier than waking up every day and thinking, at any moment, the same could happen to you") to the blink-of-an-eye speed at which the threat went from on the news to her front door in the flashbacks.

As I foretold, we got a Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire trailer, an amusing contrast to the weighty Toho flick and Apple show already fore of mind. It's Adam Wingard unbound, that's for sure. The human cast seems pared back, a longstanding Monsterverse problem, and the kaiju fights were far and away the best part of Godzilla vs. Kong, so hopefully this approach will play to his strengths. But that movie also had excellent VFX, and some of the shots in here are rough. There's time to fix them, at least... which probably can't be said of Godzilla's design. I like that he's pink (did some Warner Bros. executive take the wrong message away from Barbie?) and sporting a thagomizer on his tail, but his proportions are uncanny. And I see Kong found the Infinity Gauntlet; good for him.

I am, of course, not done talking about Godzilla Minus One. It added over 200 screens and made $8.3 million in its second weekend in the U.S., a minuscule drop considering that its $11.4 million opening "weekend" spanned five days. Almost a third of all tickets sold this weekend were for Godzilla or Hayao Miyazaki's The Boy and the Heron, remarkable in a market so allergic to foreign imports. That brings its total to $25.3 million (more by the time you read this). With an avalanche of Christmas blockbusters on the way, its grip on premium-format screens is about to slip. Still, I see it hanging around theaters for a while. I have never seen the fandom so united in praise for a film before, and it's making plenty of new fans.

Some of those fans are in high places. Variety leaked that it's on the 20-film shortlist for Best Visual Effects at the Oscars (to be narrowed to five nominees), something I, again, never expected to read about a Toho Godzilla film. Alas, it's locked out of this year's Best International Film category due to the quirky nomination period.

Much has been made of how great the film looks on a $15 million budget. I have two caveats, one in each direction. No one is quite sure where the $15 million figure came from; Yamazaki said at a recent con appearance that he only wished he had that much to play with. (He has yet to divulge the actual budget, just that it was above ¥1 billion.) Now, unions in the Japanese film industry are much weaker than in Hollywood, so a given production budget goes a lot further in Japan. All the same, I doubt that alone explains Minus One looking better than most superhero movies made for twenty times the cost. I'll offer a couple more reasons: Yamazaki has extensive visual effects experience (he's been the VFX supervisor of all but one of the live-action films he's directed), and the film's big effects scenes aren't as busy or lengthy as many of the Hollywood counterparts. I don't know if Disney will ask Yamazaki to direct the next Star Wars movie (that would require there to be a next Star Wars movie), but the studios here should be taking notes.

the sphinx, a blog with a ton of American Godzilla rarities to share, has outdone itself—behold a continuity and dialogue script for the U.S. version of King Kong vs. Godzilla! Included in the download is a detailed comparison with the film. No huge differences, apart from the script giving the secretary added to the U.S. version a name, but a fascinating piece of history all the same.

The Minus One incarnation of Godzilla (MaiGoji?) has joined Godzilla Battle Line, accompanied by [SPOILER]. To be honest, my enthusiasm for this game has been flagging, and I'm not caught up on the strategies developing around these two, so I'll just refer you to Sir Melee's channel as usual. This Godzilla's also doing a collaboration with the Japanese mobile game Fleet of Blue Flame.

Tiffany Grant, Asuka's original voice actress, will narrate the audiobooks for the Neon Genesis Evangelion: ANIMA light novels which explore an Instrumentality-free path for the show. Seven Seas Entertainment published them in English from 2019 to 2021, which, to be honest, was also news to me.

This one's for my fellow library workers: the obscenely popular Who HQ nonfiction series for children is publishing a book about Godzilla next June. I don't know if this will have quite the same impact on today's young Godzilla fans as the Ian Thorne tome had on Gen Xers and Millennials, what with the Internet and all, but it's certain to be more factual. Expect illustrations instead of licensed photos, and not just because of Toho.

I can finally talk more about the Godzilla x Kong: Titan Chasers mobile game without fearing a DMCA. Not that there's much to talk about; it's freemium through and through and I'm not sure I know a single person who's excited for it. Interesting to see some critters from the comics break into another medium, at least. Here's the trailer.

#kaiju week in review #godzilla minus one #monarch legacy of monsters #godzilla x kong the new empire #kaiju #godzilla

[mikefrawley]

Maybe Self-Forgiveness is Possible Part I

Greetings my friends, and yes, this is another of those baby steps on the long road to wellness posts.  As many of you know, I've already lived through two twenty years plus careers, and often refer to the first one as my former life.  Needless to say, as a young computer programmer long ago, I was living a good bit higher on the corporate food chain than I am now.  Two new houses, the second in South Florida with a pool.  Regrettably though, while I looked mostly good on the outside, my insides were a war zone.  While no one could physically see them, my inner child issues which I never really understood have haunted me for most of my years on planet earth, and ultimately played a great part in discovering the true yet highly self-destructive love of my life, Cocaine, and yes, I have to admit I immediately fell in love.  Soon enough though, along with all of the obvious nightmares my love I could not honestly say I loved anyone or anything else, family, friends, a very special girlfriend, who broke up with me not once but twice over my "other" love.  Amazingly, as I've told only a few very close friends, I joked (but I wasn't joking) that I've been thrown out of most of the best halfway houses in Broward County, and once I got myself thrown out of the homeless shelter.  Forgive me please, but how the fuck do you even do that? If this sounds like a joke, it certainly could be if only it wasn't so true.  Anyway, I'll race through the next few years which included homelessness, being unemployed and unemployable, and I was even an indigent for a while.  My first stay with my current company started on the day after Christmas and lasted just a few months.  Can you guess how?  Yep, I got myself thrown out again.  Miraculously, Joan (the same woman who hired me the first time) hired me again.  Though I’ve brought myself to the edge with many close calls, miraculously I’m still here somehow.  Long ago this crazy life I’ve somehow survived thus far proved to me that there must be something many of us call grace has kept me alive, and maybe there is even a reason for that.  I’ve also been blessed by having several people who’ve loved me, and in some cases I must admit I’m not quite sure why, but I AM grateful!  To be continued.

#prose #personal #self-love #self-forgiveness #Maybe Self-Forgiveness is Possible Part I

[duchessanon]

For the love of Henri: Tome 7 - Legend of the Ginger Pubes

Looks like it's one tome per two years. The never awaited next chapter is here.

What you missed on FTLOH…Henri’s beloved first wife’s (Philanthropina)  death was faked by the evil Kate and Meghan. Meghan married Henri but after accidentally burning a piece of Jesu’s cross, she became hated by the nation. Meghan decided to get the public back on side by procreating…however Henri was reluctant to give up his nethers.

After two long weeks of marriage, Henri had still not exposed his nethers to Meghan. Every time that Meghan tried to seduce him, he claimed he had to teach paupers how to grow their own vegetables, or was going to sleep on the streets to connect to the homeless (something that was his idea before Bulliam stole it and took all the credit). 

Meghan had tried everything to entice his nethers. From dressing up as a sexy nurse, which resulted in her volunteering at the Hospital for the Sick and Decrepit after Henri mistook her intentions. To running them a romantic bath and having to scoop out all the water so Henri could water his plants. But alas, the nethers remained hidden.

One day, Meghan was lunching with Fergie, discussing the problems with her sex life. Fergie was the only member of the royal family who was as open as an American like her.

‘Have you tried getting your toes out?’ Fergie said, eating a grass sandwich.

‘Yes of course I have, he started doing “this little piggy” with them, honestly gave me the ick’

‘What about engaging in some dirty talk, maybe the whole tampon thing runs in the family?’

‘Actually Fergie, I’ll have you know Dear Papa Charles NEVER said he wanted to BE a tampon, just that it would be his luck that he’d become one!’

‘Tomatoes, tomatos. Anyway there might be something else you could do if you’re really serious about this baby business’. Fergie wiggled her eyebrows.

‘Spit it out woman!’ Meghan yelled, like the loud American she was. 

‘I know a woman who knows a woman who could get you a baby, it’ll be genetically yours and everything’ Fergie winked dramatically. 

‘But his nethers won’t arise for me, how am I supposed to get a genetically correct child?’

Fergie started waving around her hands and throwing petals in the air, whispering as pink smoke began circling around her. ‘As a royal wife, you are now privy to one of the family’s biggest secrets. Royals can create babies simply using their pubes! BUT, the baby MUST be carried by a Chosen One.’

Meghan gasped, ‘tell me more! Have there been previous Chosen Ones?!!!!’

‘Tiggy Leggy Iggy Wiggy Bourke, Julie Andrews, Rose (Allegedly) Chalomet’ 

‘Urm isn’t it Cholmondeley?’ 

‘Hush child!’ Fergie put a finger to Meg's mouth. ‘Speak not of what you know’.

‘Great I’ll have Julie’

‘FOOL, the Chosen One is chosen for you and can not be swopped between wives!!! Besides, only my beloved Eugbea has been blessed with the pipes of her Pube Mother, Julie’ Fergie span in a circle for dramatic effect.

‘Ok, no need to be so busybody! So Diana used Tiggy? You used Julie and Snake used Rose?! What a headfuck! Who did Liz use’

‘Are you DUMB!? Blood princesses don’t need a surrogate! That is only for married in women’. 

‘So what must I do?!’

Fergie’s eyes bulged with excitement. ‘Retrieve five pubes from Henri, and then consult the Mistress of the Pubes, she will tell you what to do next’

Meghan stroked her chin thoughtfully, ‘five pubes you say? Shouldnt be so hard…’

*

Later that day, Meg and Henri were watching a Richard Attenborough show side by side on the couch without touching.

‘Henri my love’ Meg cooed.

‘Yes dear’ Henri replied while reading Libby’s latest French novella, which they were planning to sell to raise money for three legged horses. 

‘I was just wondering about the consistency of your nether pubes’ she said.

Henri choked in embarrassment. How could she bring up such a lurid topic? ‘M-m-m-y nether pubes?’

‘Yes well, my friend Gwynyth Paltrow says it’s important for men to condition their pubes as it increases productivity - can I have a little sample of yours? I’ll send them to Goop HQ and they’ll make you a personalised conditioner!’

‘I don’t think so Meghan dear, I’m happy with my productivity levels. I’ve just beaten Aunty Anne for the first time on my engagement count!’ Henri was proud yet humble about this achievement, and was certainly NOT bragging.

Meghan scowled. She really thought mentioning productivity would get him. Henri was devoted to his work, after all.

Later that night, in bed but not touching, Henri was reading some Greek philosophy. On the cover was a Greek statue showing off his clean, bare nethers. She was struck with an idea.

‘You know my love, that is one on Phily’s old books isnt it?’

‘Why yes it is’, he said with a tear in his eye.

‘She had an awful lot of philosophy books with those statues on the cover, and I found a few of her hand carved sculptures in the garden. They all had very bare nethers’ she smirked.

‘Well that is the style, one can’t sculpt in pubic hair!’ Henri said defensively.

‘Phily could’, Meghan said. ‘Phily could do anything and she was a huge supporter of natural bodies, I wonder if she just didnt like pubes on men’

Henri’s mind raced back in time. Phily was a advocate for natural bodies and was patron of the We Love Our Bodies And Body hair Society. But it was also true that she loved Greek sculptures and pubeless men.

Henri leapt out of bed and ran to the bathroom. Five minutes later, he appeared looking sheepish. Meg went in, finding just what she was looking for. A used razor with ginger pubes stuck in it. She laughed manically ‘FINALLY MY TIME HAS COME!’

*

The next day Meghan hopped on a flight to NYC using Elton’s plane. She approached the door of the Den of the Mistress of the Pubes, which was actually the Penthouse Suite at the Plaza Hotel. 

After knocking on the door, someone called ‘who goes there?!’

It was a special code and Fergie had given Meghan the password - ‘BITCH FLAKES!’.

The door opened and Meghan smelt a familiar tropical scent - JLO Miami Glow perfume (2005). Outside the window she could see a beautiful sparking woman on top of the Empire State Building performing a pole dance. When Meghan blinked, the woman was in front of her.

‘JENNIFER LOPEZ?!!’ she exclaimed. ‘YOU’RE the Mistress of the Pubes?!’

‘You got it’ Mistress winked. ‘I’m real, the way I walk the way I talk…’

‘I can’t believe it, you can dance, act, sing (kinda) and make babies from pubes’

Mistress broke into song and Meghan stood awkwardly while she finished, ‘don’t be fooled by the rocks that I got, I’m still Jenny from the block’.

‘Okaaay, so can you help me get pregnant?’ Meg said, knowing she could sing better.

‘You know I can’t get enough, I love that shit, you know I cant get enough, you love that shit’ Mistress wailed. 

‘Shut up birch! I dont wanna hear your fuckin album!’ Meghan screamed, her tongue lashing out and poking Mistress in the eye. 

‘Fine! What’s the problem?’

‘Henri wont give up his nethers and I need to get preggers so the British public forgive me for burning the cross of Jesu’ 

‘Wait, who are you and who’s Henri?’

‘Henri, Prince of the People!’

‘Ohhhh, Princess Phily’s man? God I miss her’, JLo wept as most people did when they talked about Phily. She was known and missed by every single human, animal and atom on the planet (apart from Meg, k8 and Willy). 

‘Well yes, I have his pubes and I need a baby’. She handed over the five ginger pubes in a golden napkin stolen from Liz.

JLo took them and tucked them between her tatas. ‘Come back this time tomorrow’.

*

That time the next day, Meg returned. She was off her face with excitement about who her surrogate could be. Surely for Henri, it wouldnt be some low level aristo like Rose (allegedly). Maybe it would be Dakota Johnson or Simone Biles!

When she got to the penthouse, Mistress JLo was there standing in front of a red curtain. Meg gasped when she saw who standing bouncing on his knees next to her.

‘Uncle Eddie?!’ Meg screamed.

‘It is I, Edward the curtain drawer-backer! No reveal can be made without me’

‘So this is how you make your extra cash’, Meg said.

‘Ok people, let’s not delay, the procedure was successful and I can confirm there is a royal baby on the way’, JLo said. ‘We will now reveal your surrogate’.

Eddie clapped and cheered.

JLo started singing as Eddie gripped onto the curtain rope. ‘Let’s get louuud, LET’S GET LOOOUUUUUD!!!!’

The curtain was pulled back revealing the surrogate. Meghan screamed like Kevin in Home Alone.

A stunning voluptuous lady was revealed, wearing a ruby bikini and a smile, ‘SHUT UP BIRCH, WHO PISSED IN YOUR FLAKES?’

It was Jimmu. 

TO BE CONTINUED...

#phff

[nihilnovisubsole]

it's that time of year again: AK's 2023 Wrapped™. no, not the music thing. the december year-in-review thing. my spotify charts were deeply unfunny this time around because of all the game soundtracks i've been listening to. i don't know when these end-of-year posts became tradition for me, which is to say i could find out and i'm too lazy to check. the important thing, like lemon pigs or eating black-eyed peas, is that it feels like we've always done it. in the depths of winter, the warmth comes from the routine.

i won't beat around the bush about it: it's been a difficult year. it's been hard enough that it doesn't seem appropriate to joke about it or wave it off in favor of big, blog-worthy wins. times are dark right now. it behooves all of us to think deeply and check on each other. i hope i've been a decent friend to the people who needed it. so instead of scraping together a halfhearted victory lap, i'm going to go against my better judgment and be vulnerable.

it wasn't all bad. i got promoted to staff narrative designer this year, which is a fancy way of saying "you don't have to do time cards anymore." it's strange: in an industry infamous for volatility, my job has become one of the few things i can rely on to be positive. i believe my coworkers like me, which is good, because i like them. i feel not just included, but welcomed at work social events. i've developed a reputation for being a garbage goat on my writing team. "got an odd job? give it to AK. we can count on her to eat it." i had the chance to collaborate with someone i've looked up to for years, and i was delighted to find out how amenable they are to work with. there's work stress and there's work stress. everyone has challenging days, but it's not the crab bucket that voltage was, so it never seems that bad. i keep it in perspective. sure, these tasks keep me on my feet, but is it three cents a word, seven thousand words a week? i'll live.

i just wish it had all been good. it speaks to how my health has been that getting covid in february was one of the most mundane things to happen to me. i did everything right. i had all my boosters. i had paxlovid. i recovered well. still, it knocked me out of orbit in the psychological sense. i stopped getting enough exercise, though i'm building myself up again. i became neurotic about my stats. am i Getting A Good Grade In Blood Pressure? what about Pulse Rate? two months later, i came down with a strange, unrelated condition that was nowhere near as serious as covid, but made my life ten times more difficult. i'm happy to report i feel worlds better these days. even so, it was a bizarre time. bodies sure are curious.

later, my sink flooded my closet, and for a few days, i had to reckon with the idea that mold might destroy my entire wardrobe. all those irreplaceable pieces of character design that i've built my identity around since i was eighteen years old. who would i be without them? a wise person would say it was a lesson: stop defining who you are by your looks and find worth in your inner self. the mold is gone and my clothes are fine, but sometimes i have days where my lungs seem like they're sort of operating at ninety percent. i'm trying not to fuss about it. my checkups are normal, and i feel fine whenever i get out of the house for a while. maybe it'll go away when i move. because, hey, i can contemplate saving for a house now. how about that? remember when my mother and i were homeless? what a surreal landscape of highs and lows.

maybe grief is strange like that. in july, just when my health started to settle down, my grandmother died. it was a long time coming. she was 94 and extremely frail. i handled it well at first. it took the ensuing few months for the full weight of human mortality to sink in. before, i'd mainly been to funerals of warm, but distant old men, great patriarchs who loved but didn't relate to little girls. her, i knew. she was there when i was born. i won't go into detail, but it was not a peaceful passing, and it left problems in its wake. you don't live through that without taking a long, hard look at your life. everyone gets the invincibility knocked out of them sometime.

my mother is too disciplined to let it get the better of her. on the worst days of her life, the stove still got cleaned and the bills got paid. when people give her condolences, she encourages them to look on the bright side: she got almost seventy years with her. how many children can say that? but i can tell she's sad, and i'm not under any illusion i can help. i have to sit with it. there's nothing else for me to do.

under different circumstances, i'd have thrown myself into my work. i'd come up with some writing project to avoid thinking about it. i guess the dominant theme when it comes to my personal writing has been inertia: accomplishing nothing and being unsure of myself. if it's a growing pain, it's a rough one. i question my storytelling instincts so much, it's hard to get a story off the ground, let alone take it anywhere. i've hit a point where i find the conventions of the romance genre limiting. i still want to write about people in love, though, and i can't reconcile the two. why do some love stories get to be love stories and others are "just romance?" you could ask why it's "just" romance, and that's a good, but different conversation, i think. what are the great love stories saying about the human condition that i'm not? what is my work saying, period? not a whole lot, i'm afraid. i used to be pugnacious about writing from my id brain, about doing it for the fun of it. i worry that's not going to cut it anymore. i have to push myself harder. i also have to stop fretting about being perceived as pretentious for asking these questions.

it would be easier if i had more answers. i'm not sure which project to work on next, because they're all half-formed outlines with plots i don't know how to fill. i'm not sure whether it'd be weird for someone with my job to keep writing or posting fanfic, no matter how informally. i'm not sure what role physical intimacy should play in my writing, if any, because along with everything else, this was the year shame caught up to me. i'm not sure what happened there. i hope the "are sex scenes necessary" debate didn't get me, because i'd argue for their artistic merit any day. but when i do it, i worry that it's indiscreet somehow, like i'm revealing myself in ways that make strangers uncomfortable. some days i feel like going through my backlog of published work and tearing out all the sex-adjacent content like a power-mad inquisitor. i won't, because i'd regret it, but i spend a lot of time being embarrassed. it's embarrassing. i can't escape the feeling that people don't want to know that about me.

despite it all, it's still bad form to end on a down note, so i'll leave you with this: after five years, i finally got into physical therapy for my arm. i told my doctor the whole sob story and she put in a referral to a hand/occupational clinic. will it help? i don't know. i've tried so many things that haven't. but they're optimistic that i'm in better shape than i think - i've heard a lot of "wow, we get patients who can't even open a jar!" - so it's worth a shot. if it means i can draw a little more, it's something. i still make time for the picrew every day. ever onward. thanks for hanging in there with me, guys. you keep things interesting.

#long post #fyi there's death stuff in there

[miss-may-i]

Miss May I: Season 4 Part 18

Attorney: Hi Mr. Lowry, it’s nice to meet you.

Vivian: Nice to meet you too. Thanks for getting me in on such short notice. 

Attorney: Of course, let’s sit down to discuss the matters. 

Attorney: So, I looked over the case briefly last night, and from what I understand, your mother lost custody of your sister six years ago, sending her to foster care. Then about a year ago you got custody of her, but now the mother wants custody returned back to her. 

Vivian: Yeah, that’s about it. 

Attorney: Under what matters was the child removed from her care? 

Vivian: Neglect and child endangerment. She is a drug addict and the house caught on fire while she was high and Julie was inside. 

Attorney: And that’s when the child was removed.

Vivian: Correct. I tried to get custody of her, but I was only 18 at the time and homeless after the fire. I actually wasn’t able to gain custody until after I graduated from college and started my career. 

Attorney: What do you do for a living? 

Vivian: I’m a high school English teacher. 

Attorney: That’s a great career. Do you know what your mother does? 

Vivian: As far as I know she’s unemployed, but I heard her new husband is a cop. 

Attorney: Okay so she is married. What about you? What is your marriage status? 

Vivian: I am currently going through a divorce. 

Attorney: I’m sorry to hear that. 

Attorney: So right here I have a statement from your mother’s attorney stating their side of the story. Jade admits that she did struggle being a single mother, but claims she has her life back on track. Says she has a house and a stable marriage and believes she can provide a more stable environment for the child.

Vivian: I’ve known that woman for a long time and I can tell you that is not true. 

Attorney: That is a possibility. She claims that while under your care Julian’s behavior has been out of control and she is now currently pregnant. 

Vivian: ...

Vivian: Okay that might be true, but that’s because of all the years she spent being abused in foster care. She’s been doing much better. She hasn’t broken any rules and is getting straight A’s in her home schooling. 

Attorney: Alright, so this is what I’m going to do. I am going to file an objection to the change in custody and from there we will have what is called mediation. It is where we will talk with Jade and her attorney and hopefully come to an agreement before going in front of a judge. 

  Vivian: What kind of agreement? 

Attorney: Hopefully some kind of visitation. 

Vivian: No, that can’t happen. Julie never wants to see her again. We saw her just a few weeks ago and you should have seen the hatred in her eyes. 

Attorney: Unfortunately, since she is the mother she still has rights, which at the bare minimum is visitation. If we end up going in front of a judge, she could end up getting more than that. Even full custody. I looked over the paperwork and the original judge in your case said she could be eligible to regain custody if she completed the required hours for drug rehabilitation and community service, which she has. 

Vivian: You mean by trying to protect her, I could end up losing her again?

Attorney: That is a possibility. 

Previous | Beginning | Next

Season 1 | Season 2 | Season 3  

#sims 3 #ts3 #simblr #ts3 simblr #story simblr #sims story #ts3 story #miss may i #miss may i season 4 #miss may i season 4 part 18 #vivian lowry

[alittlextrathatway]

Line: "And the saddest fear comes creeping in." Location: HGTV taping.

Alright time for a brand new AU universe.

You guys don't know it but I have an AU idea in my head for HGTV Brettsey for YEARS.

I am not throwing away my shot.

***

Sometimes Sylvie feels guilty about the lie she and Matt are perpetrating for the world, but then she remembers what it felt like to essentially be blacklisted from working and decides a lie is better than being homeless and starving.

Besides, this lie hurts no one but themselves. They're the ones who have to forego love lives in order to pretend to be an engaged home renovation power couple.

Their friends Severide and Stella introduced them years ago. Matt's business-partner-slash-ex had left him in the lurch. She sold him her half of the business, which was great, but she left him without an interior designer. Sylvie's ex and former best friend had taken all of her clients and run her out of town so she was an interior designer without any work.

She met Stella on her first night in Chicago while the latter was bartending at a firefighter bar named Molly's. Sylvie literally cried into her beer about her misfortunes and Stella was quick to help.

"You know, you're an interior designer with no clients and my husband's best friend is a contractor with clients but no interior designer. Maybe the two of you could help each other out?"

It was the suggestion that changed her life.

Kelly and Stella hosted a dinner to introduce her to Matt and they got along like a house on fire. Matt is funny, genuine, and thoughtful. The opposite of her ex. They also had similar visions for a few of his current clients. His design ideas for construction reflected her favorite interior spaces to decorate. Professionally speaking, they were a match made in heaven.

And their clients' feedback reflected that. As business grew so did their friendship. But since things went horribly wrong with Harrison and Hope, Sylvie promised herself never to mix business and pleasure. Matt felt similarly, considering his history with his own ex. Which meant, no matter how close they became or how her feelings evolved, they would always only be friends.

Even when the world and HGTV thought otherwise.

They hadn't meant to perpetrate a fraud but they got the offer for the tv show, signed the contracts, and then found out about a terrible misunderstanding.

HGTV thought they were married.

That was the real reason they wanted to offer them the show. They wanted half reality television and half home renovation. If they weren't married then the show would have been cancelled.

It was a shot in the dark that they would be picked up for a full season anyway. So, after a lengthy discussion, they went along with the story and decided not to fully correct their misunderstanding. As a compromise and an attempt to assuage their guilt, they told HGTV they were engaged instead of married.

By some miracle, they bought it.

And now, three years later, their show is still going strong and the American public thinks they're happily engaged and on their way to wedded bliss.

Only in Sylvie's wildest dreams.

Of course over the last three years, her pretend love for Matt Casey has become full blown, head over heels, unconditional love. Not that he knows that. She's pretty certain he's none the wiser.

"Cut!"

Sylvie's jarred from her thoughts by the sudden yell and shakes herself back to the present, taking in Matt's concerned face.

"Hey, guys," he requests, smiling politely. "Can you give us a second?"

The director nods and sighs tiredly. "Yeah, sure thing. Take five, everyone! When we come back we'll pick back up with the initial property walk through."

Once the crew has dispersed, Matt gently pulls her aside with a guiding hand on the small of her back. "Are you okay?"

She bites her bottom lip and idly spins her engagement ring, a habit she's developed when she's anxious. "That meeting we had with the network this morning..."

"I thought we said we weren't going to worry about that today?" He asks her, with a soft scolding stare.

"We say a lot of things, Matt, but that doesn't mean they're all true."

He snorts and chuckles at her, taking her left hand in his to stop her from twirling her ring. "We'll work something out."

"Work something out?" She says in a harsh whisper. "They want us to set a wedding date. A wedding date for our extremely fake engagement. A wedding date that will be used to market the renovation deadline of our future home that we're going to take on in the midst of all of our other clients and responsibilities."

"They'll compensate us appropriately so we can scale back our clients and focus only on our house. The workload will be fine," he assures her.

Okay, but that's not even the biggest part of her concerns! How is he so calm? How is he okay with marrying her, a woman he doesn't love? "Great, I'm glad to hear about the workload," she replies dryly. "Nevermind the huge wedding they want us to have, film, and then promote as a tv special. That's not a big deal at all."

He sighs and the sound comes off as hopeless and wistful all at once. His callused fingers grip her chin and lift her face until they’re eye to eye. Once he has her full attention, he brushes a loose tendril of hair out of her eyes and tucks it behind her ear. The gesture makes her stomach swoop in the most delightfully nauseating way.

Ugh, why does she have to be in love with her best friend and business partner? Why is nothing in her life ever straight forward?

"Look, I get it, no one wants you to marry a guy you're not in love with, least of all me. But we'll find a way to stall them. We've gotten pretty good at it over the last few years. We'll think of something. For now, though, let the network think they're gonna finally get that wedding special they've always wanted. It'll keep them off our backs for a little while at least."

She doesn't like his tone. He doesn't sound like himself. Not the flirtatiously playful version of himself he usually is when they're filming anyway. This is solemn Matt Casey. The one she sees most often when he’s stressed or anxious or in some sort of emotional turmoil.

He was fine until she let her fears get the better of her and got distracted during a heavy filming day. For his sake, she needs to get it together. She can sort out how to bury her feelings for Matt and get them out of this mess later.

"You're right," she says, taking a slow and soothing breath. "We'll figure out. We always do. I mean, whatever else our fans think we are, we've always been a great team." She smiles warmly at him, hoping the expression leaves her faith in the two of them on full display. From the day they met, he's been nothing but exceptionally good to her. Even if his feelings have never gone beyond platonic. "I don't see that changing anytime soon."

He squeezes her hand with an earnestly devoted look on his face that's too beautiful to be misread. "Not if I can help it. There's no one else I'd rather be partners with than you."

He means business partners. She knows he does, but is it terrible of her to internally swoon anyway? God, she's so screwed. How did she let this happen and how can she get out of it unscathed?

Matt Casey's going to break her heart and he'll never even know it.

#brettsey #sylvie brett #matt casey #matt casey x sylvie brett #furrynachosublime #prompt fic #my fic #angellwings writes

[sanfangirl-cynicalromantic]

The Lady Knight

HTTYD fandom, I am excited to announce my contribution to our fanfic archives! This is my first fic that I've ever posted, so comments and feedback are greatly appreciated!

Special thanks to @borrassofi, @bi-bi-want-dragon, @triumphantfury, and @macheriemila for all their support and inspiration and letting me tag them!

You can read my fic on AO3 here

Summary: Astrid Hofferson never cared about being a girl, much. But when she overhears her parents' discussion, she decides to become the son they don't have, and train as a knight. After all, how hard could it be? At Training she overcomes grueling exercises, carefully avoids suspicion, and grudgingly makes a friend - the Prince himself. But as she grows and matures, so do her feelings, both guilt and - something else.

She never wanted to be a boy, even though she had wished for it a few times. But a whimsical wish was quite different than devoting oneself to years of careful deception. She had been born into a long and proud lineage of Hoffersons, but this generation, there was no boy. No male to inherit the land and titles and follow in his father’s footsteps to become a legendary knight. To say that her father was disappointed was an understatement, but she took the fact she was female harder than the rest.

She supposed she could qualify as the tomboy of the family. All of the Hofferson girls were beautiful and strong. Their house was one of the most noble in the kingdom, and with only girls, more prone to kidnappings and ransoms; so her father had ensured that all of his daughters knew how to handle a sword when needed. But Astrid’s favorite weapon was her prize axe. She could ride straddle and sidesaddle, and her voice, while still feminine, was rougher than her sisters’.

She had never truly cared much about being a girl, except for the fact that boys got to wear more comfortable clothes and could go to war. She never understood a girl’s limitations until she listened to her father talking to Mother behind the door and realized that being a girl meant you could not inherit the estate, so when Father died, they would be homeless - and her father was nearly eight years older than Mother.

She was creeping down the corridor in her soft cotton nightgown to eavesdrop on her parents. Her fifteenth birthday was coming up soon, and she had caught Mother and Father speaking in hushed voices that would abruptly skid to a stop whenever she entered a room. She had made it a personal goal to find out her party plans or presents before she got them every year; her sisters and sometimes the servants were easy enough to pry the answers from, but it was her parents who she had never been able to best, and this year was her year.

The thick carpet muffled her careful steps and the aged wool scratched between her toes as she made her way to the flickering bar of light creeping out from under Father’s office door. Mother must be pacing inside. She slowly lowered her ear to the crack and closed her eyes to make out the voices better, for Father’s door was thick enough to obscure the words to any spy trying to gather important information. Astrid breathed evenly and ignored the rough pressure of the carpet against her cheek as she carefully tried to shift herself in a better angle. She prided herself on her stealth, knowing not to move too quickly or to try to run if she thought she was found out; those actions only created noise, but Valhalla help her if she was ever found in this embarrassing position!

“. . . what on Midgard are we going to do?” her mother’s voice filtered through - but with a shrill note of panic? Astrid frowned. Was Mother running out of ideas for her party? Surely she wasn’t so spoiled she wouldn’t understand if the celebrations weren't very extravagant? In fact, she was perfectly fine with it just being a quiet affair among the family. And she’d always thought the party ideas were Father’s.

“. . . no need to worry, my dear. I’m in great health; I’m not going anytime soon.” Father’s deep voice soothed Mother’s worry like a balm. What? Was Father not going to be there? He never missed any of his children’s celebrations! Except for that time a couple years back where he had to go help the King in the war, but while it wasn’t won it had calmed, and Berk was well on its way to winning - eventually. But that had nothing to do with his health. Were they even talking about her party?

“There’s no guarantee.” The click of Mother’s heeled shoes was replaced by a thunk and rustling of fabric as she presumably collapsed gracefully onto a chair. “And of course, in a few years we’ll have to find suitable husbands for our daughters while we still have the position to receive good offers-”

“Darling-”

“If only they could inherit! Or if Agor hadn’t-” her voice seemed to crumble at the mention of Astrid’s deceased brother’s name and even the light through the door crack seemed to dim in remembrance. He had passed away when she was very young, so she did not remember him, but he had been the closest to her age and the darling of her parents.

Her mother’s shadow grew bigger as Father joined her on the chair. Astrid could no longer hear what he was saying as he comforted his beloved wife. There was no need to; they clearly weren’t talking about her birthday party. She began to carefully raise herself to make her way back down the hall.

Laying in her soft bed, it was then that she cursed her gender; she hadn’t cared much about it before as she still learned to fight and read and figure like any boy. She enjoyed soft dresses and while her etiquette lessons were boring, she was good at them and had to admit she looked much more graceful from them. But now she wished she could have been a boy. She knew that she could take over her father’s lands easily. She was smart, decisive and strong. If she had been a boy she would have been perfect. But no one other than her servants and family took her orders and ideas seriously. If only she was Agor.

She was the second born of the Hofferson ladies. Her older sister, Astoria, was better accustomed to being a lady than she was; if one compared poise or smiles, they were the same, but her sister had a comfortable ease that Astrid did not possess, but maybe it was just because she was the eldest. She steeled herself and resolutely married into a good family to help the rest of her younger sisters. Astrid was more impressed at her sister’s bravery than she wanted to admit, as it forced her to recognize that she was selfish enough to have not done the same. So, she decided as the next oldest to become the son her father had always wished for, and become a knight. What could go wrong?

A few months after Astoria’s wedding she approached her parents with her brilliant idea. It did not go as well as she hoped. Her mother’s voice reached an ungodly pitch of indignation and disbelief, and her father looked terribly affronted, as if her suggestion had somehow invalidated all of their hard work, but Astrid was nothing if not tenacious and her father rued the day he enrolled her with the debate tutors. She argued that she was the least social of Lord Hofferson’s daughters, so she would raise the least suspicion. Plus, she was the closest in age to the deceased brother she was pretending to be, she continued as she elaborated upon her plan. She was already more skilled at fighting than most other noble boys her age - fifteen - and was confident enough to finally convince a gruff father to give her his honor and her mother to offer to cut her hair. She would be shipped off to training and become a squire that very week, as the annual training that was mandatory for all young aspiring knights was about to begin. The normal practice of squires assisting a knight until they turned eighteen had been done away after none of the said squires were able to pass the test to become a fully fledged knight, and now all squires would be trained together by the same instructor. Father had been very pleased with this announcement when it first came out, but now his enthusiasm for the program had been significantly dimmed.

Her story was that she (meaning Astrid) had a secret twin, Astor. Astor had always been sickly, and after the terrible death of their older brother Agor, Astor had been kept secret from society, as Mother would not be able to bear society’s pity if she lost her other son. She thought the entire idea rather brilliant, and Father sighed and began to mention this secret son of his who had miraculously recovered enough to go to training to anyone whenever business took him outside his castle. A new hair of Mother’s bleached wheat locks shimmered into silver with every passing day, but ultimately Astrid was sure Mother would see that Astrid was doing the best she could for her family. She was sacrificing her whole identity in an effort to create another one to better protect her family. No, it wasn’t marrying a well off lord, but Astrid could only do so much.

.oOo.

The first day of training was terrifying. She had never been so surrounded by warriors, and it thrilled her. All the noble’s sons were staying in the Great Hall, the ancient courtroom Kings used to sit in. Now, the old throne room was a banquet hall, the biggest guest rooms had been converted to classrooms; the smaller ones into separate rooms for noblemen who could afford to pay for their son’s privacy. Father had indulged her and rented one of those rooms so as to not compromise her identity. For if she was ever found out, her virtue and her sister’s by default would be put in terrible jeopardy.

She jumped at anything closer to her than three feet. She was pretty, she knew, what if her face wasn’t masculine enough? She didn’t talk, she was too afraid she wouldn’t sound right. Who on Midgard had said this would be a good idea? Father had left immediately after seeing her trunks deposited in her room, as he did not wish to make it seem he coddled her; fitting in would be hard enough as it was, but now she thought she would have given anything to have him take her back home. She barely slept, certain someone was going to burst through the door and expose her. She nearly cried, something she hadn’t done since she was ten. But if she didn’t cry as a girl, she wouldn’t cry as a boy.

Dawn came with an unbearable clanging. She groaned loudly and sat up as something metal hammered against her door.

“Rise an’ shine, lad!” called a cheerful Scottish voice through the door. Gobber, the retired knight with a peg leg and interchangeable hands. She had been introduced to him the night before, and he’d informed her he’d be in charge of the physical training. She recalled his accent being heavier and more slurred, due to the keg of beer attached to his left stump. How was he so clear headed so early in the morning after that? She emerged from her room a few minutes later, tunic rumpled, short hair mussed, glaring through tired eyes above dark circles. Gobber beamed good-naturedly.

“‘Attaboy,” he grinned. He clapped her on the back, hard, and Astrid stumbled forward a step.

Apparently, Gobber believed that waking up at dawn to learn how to manage heavy wooden practice swords before breakfast was the way to go. “If ye ever haf tuh fight fer yer life, ar’ they gon’ wait til ye finish yer beauty sleep?” He mocked the tired teenagers.

“My manly beauty would be too great for them to handle,” a short, stocky teenager boasted. He wobbled and barely managed to hold his position. The wooden sword shook. “Can’t we have had breakfast, at least?” he whined. Astrid, who had been staring stoically ahead, cast a glance at him. Square face, choppy black hair, whiny, privileged voice; Jorgenson, the Duke’s son.

After a week, Astrid was used to getting up before dawn. After a month, she was waiting outside for Gobber to come get her. He gave her an approving smile and that day he announced that everyone would have to meet him in the Armory on their own, and if anyone was late it would be noted. A chorus of groans followed this declaration, and Astrid resolved to be the first one there every morning.

The Armory was a large room off the side of the Great Hall, and led into the training Arena. The stone walls were rough with hooks and weapons, but the far wall was painted in tar and had a stand for chalk on it. At first Astrid hated how confined the room was, with dangerously sharp or dull weapons crowding everyone (although it did ensure no one cheated and leaned on the walls to catch their breath) and a dozen grumpy boys sweating and stinking up the place. As the days became colder, she was relieved they didn’t have to train outside, but was careful not to show it. If Gobber suspected they were grateful for the Armory, she was sure he’d drag them outside.

There weren’t too many noble boys her age but she managed to play arrogant and aloof well, so no one got close to her and found out her secret. She didn’t want to be friends with the boys, anyway. Did they not take their duty of bringing honor to their families? Her father received letters of glowing praise about his ‘son’ as she quickly rose to the top of the class, being the best at hand-to-hand combat, sword fighting, tracking, climbing, everything - well, except riding. That was the only class she was second best in, and it irritated her more than she wanted to confess.

Trying to be a teenage boy was harder than she thought. She had never thought of herself as dainty before, but almost all the boys were tight knit, clapping each other’s backs, roaring loudly with laughter, having food fights, and public baths. She shuddered at the thought. She bathed herself after everyone had gone, and the water was always freezing. She couldn’t wait until she could return home on her yearly visit and soak in a nice, hot, private bath for hours and wear silk robes under no constant fear of what would happen if they found she was a girl - well, young woman.

She had never been very attracted to boys in a romantic sense; she had always been too busy planning and working and practicing, but she feared she would never get married after living with a bunch of male adolescents. They were gross and hairy and sweaty and smelly and vomited after they drank too much. Occasionally one would make a disgusting comment about a lady servant and it was all she could do not to beat them senseless right then and there. The only boy she found herself mildly interested in was a quiet, skinny boy her age.

Everyone in training went by their surnames. She had become Hofferson, the prodigal son. Jorgenson had learned that he only went by ‘Hofferson’ the hard way: she had beat him when he tried to clap her on the back and called her ‘Hoff.’ For some reason, though, this other boy only went by ‘Hiccup.’

She hadn’t even noticed Hiccup in the beginning. At first she had been shocked - was there a noble family by the surname of Hiccup? Then she figured it must be a nickname, as Jorgenson had called him ‘Hiccup’ first. Perhaps he wanted someone with a name just as awful as his (with a name like Snotlout, she could hardly blame him).

Hiccup was scrawny and weak. He could barely hold a sword, much less swing an axe or a mace- which they were going to learn how to use in a few months. Astrid secretly crept out of her rooms every other night with her new axe, made heavier and more masculine looking, to practice. She was frustrated she didn’t see him at night either. She even went every night for a while to see if perhaps they were just missing each other, but no. He didn’t even try to get any extra practice. She didn’t know why the fact irritated her, why she wanted to see him try. It was just because he was exactly what she had been afraid of becoming, she told herself.

Despite his abysmal performance with weapons of any sort, Hiccup made up for it with other things. He was the best rider, and she hated that he just had a natural instinct with the beasts. He was . . . different from everyone else. They made fun of him because of his size, but she noticed that he was quick witted and diplomatic despite being shy. They had vied for the top spot in History and Strategic classes more than once. She knew it wasn’t wise, but she was drawn to him, and knew he was too afraid of her to dare pry or try to make conversation. She knew he was smart, and would have to be on her guard in front of him so he didn’t figure out her secret. Because if anyone was smart enough to find out, it was him. Still, she found herself sitting next to him during Strategy, or standing next to him before they rode their horses.

Winter was reaching its end, and the white, regal snow had turned to muddy slush that was somehow colder and infinitely wetter. Gobber, the wonderful, considerate instructor he was, had them training in the Arena now. Keeping one’s balance was even harder in the slippery sludge, and they were still practicing with wooden weapons, but they had moved on from swords. They were to learn how to handle every weapon, and by the end of the year, they’d be allowed to choose one or two weapons to continue in. Astrid already knew she’d choose her axe, but was enjoying learning to handle all the other weapons as well.

Hiccup was dismally trying to handle a mace. No one really liked the weapon except Thorston, who had declared his weapon’s name ‘Macey.’ Astrid was the nearest to him, executing the eight positions and enjoying the swish of wind the heavy wind made as it swung through the air. He fell, some of the slush splattering on her face. She sputtered, then rounded on him with a glower.

“Watch it!” she growled. Hiccup scrambled up, apologizing profusely. Astrid rolled her eyes.

“What are you even doing with that thing?” she asked sharply. “It’s just like a club, use the momentum and the same eight points of fighting we already know. Did your father teach you nothing?”

Hiccup scowled fiercely at her and picked up his too-heavy mace, gritting his teeth. She frowned. She must have said something wrong. Did he get sullen after she corrected him? Maybe he was just a spoiled noble boy, but no, that didn’t fit him. She resolved to keep an eye on him. She normally didn’t bother apologizing if she accidentally offended someone who wasn’t an instructor, but she felt like maybe this boy could use one.

After the session had finished, she hung up her practice weapon next to him. They were both the shortest of the class, and she had to stretch a little to reach the hook for her wooden mace. Her arms protested but she paid no mind to the ache. She was used to it after five months. Hiccup attempted to do the same, but his footing wasn’t stable and he stumbled, off balance, into the entire wall of practice weapons, the haphazard tumble of metal and wood ringing throughout the stone Armory as they jumped out of the way. Gobber whirled around and groaned in exasperation.

“Hiccup! What’re ye-”

“It was my fault, Sir,” Astrid interrupted quickly. Everyone’s eyes swung to her incredulously. “I lost my balance and knocked into him.” Hiccup blinked his eyes like an idiot. She shot him a look. Play along, it ordered. He blinked again before he caught on and then quickly nodded. Gobber raised one side of his dirty, blonde unibrow.

“Well, Hofferson, seeing as you are so keen to share Hiccup’s punishment, fifteen laps around the Arena. You’ll miss dinner but get a slice of bread before bed.” Astrid nodded stoutly, her stomach tightening in protest. Would word of this reach her parents? Hiccup shot her a glance; he thought she was crazy. That was fine. She thought she might be crazy too. She followed him out the Armory door back into the cold, keeping pace with him as he jogged painfully and slowly around. Her legs and arms were numb and her cheeks chapped red when they finally finished and headed toward the kitchens. Gobber eyed them and handed them a slice of bread each with a slab of butter. They accepted them gratefully and sat by a bench near a stove.

Hiccup frowned at her contemplatively. She didn’t meet his eye as she took a hefty bite of the bread, sighing in relief. He took a shaky breath.

“Thanks for that,” he said quietly. “It did absolutely nothing, taking the blame, but thanks anyway.” A cross between a grimace and a smile crossed her face.

“Don’t mention it,” she replied. She met his gaze and he gave her a small, grateful smile.

After that they kept each other company more often than not. They didn’t speak often; she wasn’t inclined to talk much, always wary of her voice, and he didn’t try to pull her into conversation, which she was thankful for. But there was something - comradery, maybe - that was developing as they worked side by side in silence. She wouldn’t say they were friends; it wouldn’t be wise to get close to him. To get close to anyone. You couldn’t make friends if you were keeping things from them, but they cold be friendly, she reasoned with herself.

What she hadn’t known was that he was also keeping things from her.

Training drew to a close. She grew more adept at faking her voice cracking. She learned to laugh in a way that would have made Mother faint. She still refused the alcohol other boys tried to sneak into their barracks, but had figured out plausible excuses. Then the yearly visit to their families came round, and their parents came to collect them. Astrid was curious to see who her ‘friend’s’ parents were. He seemed more nervous and fidgety than normal whenever she mentioned parents. She had guessed he probably didn’t get on too well with them. That was understandable. Her own relationship with her parents had been strained at best throughout the year, as they made it clear they were uneasy with her choice, and Astrid being the stubborn lass she was, never shared her hardships she had to conquer with them, or mentioned how much she dearly missed the rest of her sisters, or the nights she wondered if maybe being a wife was really so awful; surely it wasn’t so bad as her day had been. She’d share only her triumphs with them until they admired the choice she had made.

But despite all this, Astrid was excited to see her parents again. She had never been so close with them before, her interactions and love for them more dutiful than anything, but in her absence, she had received a letter every week and she couldn’t wait to reunite with them again and spend a month in silk gowns and practicing her poise. She would have never thought she would be so excited to be a girl.

The promise of going home soon made her more talkative than usual. Gobber seemed to be glad too, and gave them more time off of practicing weapons handling. After over ten months of handling them, he told them, there wasn’t as much need to practice. Astrid disagreed; she was of the opinion Gobber was tired of stupid boys and desperate for a drink, but she was grateful for the extra time all the same. The days were hot, and most of the boys went swimming, but she couldn’t join them, careful of her female body underneath her boyish clothes. She had stopped wearing long sleeves under her tunic and wrapped her forearms, admiring the toned muscles in her upper arms.

Hiccup still wore long sleeves and didn’t go swimming with the other boys either, so they had sort of mutually agreed to ride together during their free time. She found him in the stables, stroking his black stallion’s glossy coat. “He’s beautiful,” she greeted them, nodding at the horse.

Hiccup acknowledged her with a nod. He patted his horse again - Toothless - before leading him out of his stall. She crossed over to Stormfly, her horse, and led her gently out of her stall so she could begin brushing.

“Toothless?” she had asked incredulously when he had introduced her to his horse.

“Yep,” Hiccup replied, popping the ‘p.’

“Toothless,” she repeated, gesturing at the stallion who was contentedly eating the apple HIccup had just given him - with all his teeth.

“So he won’t bite me,” Hiccup said dryly. Astrid couldn’t tell if he was serious or not.

“I trained him myself,” Hiccup broke the silence as they began to saddle the animals. She peeked at him from the corner of her eye; she hadn't expected him to elaborate further.

“Where’d you find him?” she asked as she finished brushing out Stormfly’s coat. “I’ve never seen a stallion this fine.”

“He was wild,” Hiccup told her proudly. “We stumbled across each other one day. I was fascinated. He didn’t trust me at first, but I visited him everyday - and, more importantly, brought him snacks.” They snickered and Astrid could’ve sworn the horse rolled its eyes. “Eventually, we became friends, and . . . then I got on his back for the first time.”

“What was it like?” Astrid asked, entranced. She’d never heard Hiccup talk this long, and never so passionately. She realized she had stopped working to look at him, and hastily grabbed her saddle, fastening the straps securely, testing to make sure they were tight enough, but not uncomfortable for her beloved mare.

“He threw me off the first few times,” Hiccup admitted with a small laugh. “But after that . . . it’s like flying.”

“I know the feeling,” Astrid told him quietly. Their gaze caught, the boy’s bright eyes looking at her in understanding and - she felt a weird warm feeling settle in her chest. The hot summer air suddenly made itself known in her flushed cheeks. Had it been this warm a minute ago?

“That sounds amazing,” she said abruptly, wanting to change the subject. “I bet if he hadn’t been wild he would have been fit for royalty,” she joked, part serious. For some reason, Hiccup’s smile seemed to fade at that.

“Haha, yeah. Well, guess it was a good thing he was wild, right,” he scratched the back of his head with a strained smile. Astrid mentally berated herself. She had done something wrong, but she had no idea what.

“My girl’s pretty fast, too,” she challenged him, hoping to lighten the mood again. “Want to race?” She finished with Stormfly’s bridle and swung up easily into the saddle. That brought Hiccup’s smile back.

“Sure,” he agreed enthusiastically. He pulled himself into the saddle with enviable grace and winked at her, before breaking into a lighting-fast gallop. Astrid blamed the foreign fluttery feeling that arose on the thrill of a challenging race as she grinned and followed him.

.oOo.

The day to leave arrived, and she met her parents by the entrance with her luggage. For a second they said nothing, taking in the other’s appearance with wide eyes. Had her father’s hair always had so much gray? She had grown taller, and it was strange for her gaze to settle above her mother’s eyes. She set the luggage down and they embraced. 

She pushed down the sudden tears that threatened and tried her best to keep her personality as ‘Hofferson’ rather than reverting to ‘Astrid’. Time for that later. Her parents chatted amiably with Gobber, the Head trainer, who was ranting about Astrid’ spectacular prowess, and Astrid excused herself to say goodbye to Hiccup. She hadn’t seen him at all that day, which was strange, because she was sure she knew all the spaces he retreated to. Where was he? Did he think they were going to leave before saying goodbye? Why did the thought of that make her feel upset?

She found him surrounded by guards trying to take his baggage for him despite his protests. She frowned as she recognized the livery colors; black and red. And the royal Haddock crest.

“There you are, your Highness,” one of the guards said cheerfully as he secured the last trunk to the back of the carriage and held the door open for Hic - no, Prince Henry. Because of course Astrid was so focussed on maintaining her identity that she forgot the Crown Prince was her age and named Henry. Prince Henry, with the extraordinary green eyes. The Prince who had managed to tame a wild horse. The Prince who looked almost entirely like his slim mother, not the broad king. Her mouth dropped open as everything clicked into place with a rush of confusion, disbelief, and anger. The prince turned to catch sight of her and paled.

“Hofferson-”

Astrid spun on her heel and rushed to her parents, suddenly anxious to be home.

Two months was too long to think, Astrid decided. She would come to a conclusion after hours of pondering in her delightfully hot bath (she had had one every day since she arrived home) but would change her mind in the next one. And she was furious; now she couldn’t even enjoy her hot baths, and it was entirely his fault. 

She knew she was being unfair; how could she be mad at him for not mentioning he was the Crown Prince? It wasn’t like they were friends or anything, and he didn’t even know she wasn’t a boy. So why did a part of her feel betrayed? 

Her options were to deem he was untrustworthy and avoid him, or to confront him about his identity. But he was the Prince; she shouldn't ostracize her future king. But then, none of the other boys in training seemed to have much respect for him. Did they not know who he was either? Why would he not tell anyone? Why hadn’t she ever realized? She was confused and her head was messed up, so after a delightful week of relaxing and regaling tales to her younger sisters, her father had her continue to train to stay in shape and she resumed lady etiquette lessons, trying to learn as much as possible in two months; after all, who knew how long she would stay a squire? Being so busy helped keep her mind off other things, and she decided to forget about Hic - Prince Henry and concentrate on her family. She would deal with him when they saw each other again.

She would never admit it, but he occupied her thoughts far too often. It was because she had nothing better to focus on while at Training, and boring poise made her mind wander. She didn't really find him that interesting.

When she arrived back Gobber allowed one day to settle back in before they went straight into classes. Most people were rusty after a month of lazing about and she silently thanked her father for keeping her in shape. She spied Hic - PrinceHenry making his way over to her a few times, but she always turned around and headed in the opposite direction to avoid him. She wore a fierce scowl, and the boys who had gotten a little more friendly before she left wisely gave her space. 

She hadn’t reached a conclusion about what to do with Hiccup - with The Prince, but she couldn’t let him be the one to confront her. No. That would be cowardly, which was something she refused to be. So, one day after breakfast when they were on their way to another Training session, she walked up behind and punched him. Hard.

Hiccup yelped and jumped to face her, clutching his shoulder. “Wha-? What wa-”

“That’s for lying,” she said sternly as an explanation. He shook his head disbelievingly and glared right back at her, but their sort-of friendship was now closer to a real one. No, they were friends, she realized with a shock. Hiccup was her friend. She hadn't meant for it to happen, but she had a friend now. And her friend should be able to defend himself, she resolved.

She had been back in Training three weeks so far. She was top of the class like last year, but this year she had a different focus than doing well in class. She was looking for Hiccup. Everyone had gone to sleep, even the servants were gone and the kitchens dark and empty. She doubted Hiccup was situated in the barracks with the other boys, since Jorgenson - or Snotlout, as the boy had smarmily insisted - had his own room, surely the Prince would? She crept quietly down the dark corridor, listening through the doors. The door closest to her had no sounds or light coming from it. She knelt down to the door crack to examine further, but had to plug her nose to hold back the sneeze from all that dust. She doubted anyone slept in there.

She turned the corner of the corridor - the corridors were rather small, honestly. Father had at least five sets of rooms per corridor at home, but this was an old building. The next door she listened had a heavy snoring, an awful mix of snorting, choking, and grunting noises. She hoped that wasn’t Hiccup. A small boy like him wouldn’t make sounds like that, would he? Her fingers lightly traced the wood along the door. Ah. Someone had hung an elaborate carved ‘S’ on the door. It was Snotlout’s room. 

She noticed a flicker of light down the corridor, and made her way over to the last door at the end of the hall. A slight glow could be seen if she crouched down and peered under the door, like there was a candle in the next room. She studied the dark wood for a minute. Did the Prince have a set of rooms? She tried the handle. It jangled softly. She let out a huff and cast a look around the shadowy corridor in hopes of finding something to help her. Snotlout’s snores were loud, would he wake up if she knocked on Hiccup’s door? What if Hiccup didn’t hear? She knocked firmly on the door and held her breath to listen. Snotlout’s noise didn’t stutter, but she thought she could make out a shift of a body on sheets.

She knocked again. Then again. She pressed her door against the door and heard a sigh accompanied by a thump. She debated knocking as the flicker of light under the door grew brighter. A key clinked and the door opened a crack. She quickly took a step back.

Hiccup, his brown-red hair longish and a bit tangled, peered out through a crack, a candle’s light illuminating his head’s silhouette.

“Hey,” whispered Astrid. He gave a terrified squeak and jumped back behind the door, another thump sounding and a muffled “ouch.” She pressed her lips together to keep from snorting. He must have tripped.

“You alright?” She asked, not bothering to hide her amusement. She pushed open the door and stepped inside. Yep, the Prince had a set of two rooms. The one they were standing  in - well, one standing, the other scrambling to get up - was small, with a tapestry hanging on the wall across the doorway where Astrid guessed his bed and wardrobe lay. There were two comfortable chairs and a desk in this room. The desk was covered in parchment of different sizes and quality and various amounts of ink. She turned her attention away from them despite her curiosity. She had a point being here.

“Hofferson,” Hiccup laughed nervously. “What are- uh, what are you . . . doing here?”

“You weren’t sleeping anyway,” she began. Hiccup looked confused.

“How’d you know I wasn’t sleeping?” Astrid’s eyes widened.

“What? I - no, I didn’t know you weren’t sleeping until I came here and saw the light! But it’s good you’re not sleeping. This would be harder if you were tired.”

“What are we doing?” Hiccup asked. Get to the point, Astrid, she told herself. Quit messing around.

“Since you can’t sleep anyway, why don’t you train,” Astrid suggested. He stared at her, nonplussed.

“Yeah, okay, maybe this is just a crazy dream.” He turned towards the doorway, scratching his head. She scowled, and pinched his arm.

“Ow!” he recoiled. “Okay, not asleep. Unfortunately,” he muttered. Astrid raised her eyebrows at him and he rolled his eyes. “Look, I’m not good at Training, or anything fighting at all,” he explained patiently.

“Exactly,” Astrid responded with equal patience. “That’s why you would practice, so you’d get better.” Hiccup sighed dramatically.

“C’mon, how’d you think I got so good at fighting?” She prompted.

“I dunno, you were born perfect?” Astrid fought the urge to tuck her hair behind her ear.

“No,” she smirked. “I snuck out every other night to practice.” She saw his jaw drop out of the corner of her eye, impressed. “And that’s what you’re going to do, now.”

“Who says it’ll even work,” he argued, although she didn’t sound as discouraged as he had a moment ago.

“It’ll be worth it,” she promised. “We’ll start with the basics.”

She had noticed during their training that Hiccup struggled with the basic eight positions, causing him to hesitate and lose momentum and focus. 

“Did . . . did your father never teach you this?” she asked quietly after Hiccup flung down his sword upon the Armoury floor in despair for the second time.

“The King is a busy man,” he responded bitterly, “and it’s not like I’m built for fighting anyway.”

“I’m built the same way and I do fine,” Astrid argued, gesturing at her own slim figure. Liar. There were things growing on her in places that were becoming harder to conceal that boys didn’t have, but that was irrelevant. “Now pick up your sword, Your Highness.”

Hiccup scowled and picked up the sword. “No need to call me that,” he said, and struck at her instead of getting back into position two. Astrid’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but she blocked his strike easily. He really didn’t like his honorifics.

“Watch your footwork, Your Highness,” Astrid continued, curious as to how he’d react. He adjusted his stance.

“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “I should get to call you something too.”

“Call me what?”

“Something that annoys you . . . like, Hoffy.”

Astrid stopped still. “Hoffy?”

He snickered. “Hoffy it is.”

“Alright, Haddock, I shan’t call you your highness any longer.”

“But I still get to call you Hoffy?”

“No.” She went on the attack, and swiftly disarmed him. His mouth twisted into a displeased grimace.

“Tell you what,” she amended, “If you train with me every day, and every other night, you get to call me Hoffy once a day. And if you miss a day of training, that privilege is revoked, so use each time wisely.” Hiccup sighed dramatically.

“You drive a hard bargain, sir,” he said gravely, “But I accept your terms.” He held out his hand in an over-formal manner. She took it and they shook with straight faces before collapsing into laughter.

Astrid wasn’t the only one to rope her friend into her schemes. It turned out Hiccup enjoyed spending time at the smithy to the point where the blacksmith grudgingly accepted him as his sort-of apprentice. Astrid knew how to sharpen her ax or sword, but enjoyed hearing Hiccup explaining the finer art of smithing. He had his own little back room full of scrap metal and hasty diagrams. It was cramped and humid, and quickly became one of Astrid’ favorite places.

He had many ideas and contraptions he wanted to try out, most of which were unsuccessful, but she cheered her friend on despite the disasters and took to creating elaborate alibis to cover him so they wouldn’t get caught. Later, after narrowly escaping the ire of Gobber or Mildew the head servant or whatever poor soul had been affected, they laughed off their ridiculous cover stories, each one more impossible than the last.

They couldn’t always avoid getting into trouble though. Hiccup’s latest contraption, the Mangler, he called it, had been brought outside for testing. Hiccup wanted to see if it could take down the miniature catapult they had built. If the endeavor was successful, he explained, their army could use it to take out the enemy’s long range missiles. But the testing process was dangerous.

Astrid stood beside him, excitedly watching as he readied the launcher, checked the calibration, and enthused about everyone’s future reactions; he was sure this contraption would work, and they would be hailed geniuses. Personally, Astrid wasn’t so sure. They had never been this naughty before, but she relished it, and figured it would make her posing as a boy more believable; boys did do stupid, dangerous things after all.

“Ready?” he called out.

“Ready,” she confirmed. He bent over the Mangler and took careful aim. He took a breath once, twice. Then on the third exhale he pulled the trigger and the enormous weighted net-slash-bola went flying. She straightened up with a whoop as they watched it soar and plummet.

“Oh no,” cried Hiccup, panicked. She whipped her head toward him in alarm.

“What?”

“I, uh . . . The angle isn’t right; I overshot.”

“What? You’re kidding.”

“It’s heading toward the calves.”

She let out a healthy curse and grabbed him, running toward the calves and hollering. The calves scattered at the net came crashing down, wrapping around the fence posts and toppling them with its heavy iron weights. The cows and teenagers stood stock still for a moment, then the animals stampeded over the splintered fence. 

"Well . . . I mean, at least it works."

"We're going to be in so much trouble if someone finds this mess."

Gobber discovered them desperately trying to clear the scene of the Mangler’s evidence, and they were given menial duties and extra exercises for two weeks. It was worth it.

.oOo.

After Snoggletog, Astrid came to a realization. Hiccup was growing.

First he shot upwards, and the developing muscles he was gaining were hard to recognize, as he still looked the same. But then, as they were sparring hand-to-hand one night, she became aware of the fact that he was taller than she remembered, and when he knocked her over, the weight of his body on hers was . . . heavier. And that was all she noticed when she was in that position. She still managed to throw him off and pin him down, but her victories were steadily becoming harder to reach, and their fights were lasting longer.

Hiccup went from being the shortest of the squires in Training to being the tallest. Thankfully, Astrid wasn’t too far behind in terms of height. The roundness of his face dropped off to reveal a razor sharp jaw and pronounced cheekbones. He was still lean, but you could tell he had muscles and shoulders underneath the fabric of his tunics. His pants got tighter (though Astrid would never acknowledge noticing the fact), and with the development of his body the Prince was suddenly more enthusiastic about swimming or sparring with his shirt off. He now looked like a young man, and the only one who called him ‘boy’ was Gobber, and that was just in jest. He was attractive, too, and even the boys who had made fun of him last year were a lot more interested in being friendly with him.

Unfortunately, Astrid was much less happy about her own body’s growth. She was relieved to find she had inherited Father’s height. She was the third tallest among her peers; the only two taller than her were Hiccup and Ingerman. She was not as pleased to discover the growth of her womanly curves, which she had undoubtedly inherited from her mother. She couldn’t allow herself to wear short tunics or too-tight pants (like Hiccup), or her decidedly not masculine hips might be noticed. She had to wrap her chest securely and wore layers to conceal the shapes, but it meant she was often hot. And she couldn’t utilize the baths nearly as often as she’d like. Although she had never put much stock on being pretty, she had always appreciated her fine features. But she had to be careful with how she did her hair and what length she allowed it to grow to. Mother had facial paints to enhance contours and such; Astrid would have to learn how to use them when she returned for the summer.

When summer rolled around and Astrid returned to her family, she found herself writing letters more often to Hiccup than she did to her parents over the entire year. She was the only one who called him Hiccup now. The other boys had taken to calling him ‘Haddock’ when they addressed him - except Snotlout who thought he was entitled to call his second cousin ‘Henry.’

“Why would you like to be called Hiccup if it is the nickname they used to make fun of you?” she had asked him.

“You never called me Hiccup to mock me,” he told her sincerely. His smile turned roguish. “You honestly thought that was my name; you couldn’t recognize your future king.”

She rolled her eyes in chagrin while he laughed. “I was busy with other things!” she defended herself. “And I’m not the only one who can be blind; I bet you couldn’t even recognize a girl if she was under your nose.”

He walked over to her to enhance the height difference between them, looking down at her over his nose. Astrid tamped down the hysterical laugh building in her throat. If only he knew.

“I don’t see you with many girls,” he challenged.

“I don’t bother myself with the ones here; but back at my estate, I’m surrounded by them every day,” she boasted, trying to remember Snotlout’s demeanor when regaling his exploits. What she was saying was true, just not in the way she was portraying it.

“Yes, well, girls have never been interested in me for anything but my position,” he said scathingly. “And I don’t care for simpering maids.”

She had no idea why his answer made her smile.

Back at home, Mother instructed her in the art of makeup, and Astrid practiced diligently until she was satisfied with the almost male face looking back at her in the mirror. She continued her weapons practice in her free time, but Mother insisted on dragging her out to garden parties along with her two unmarried sisters to remind the world that Astrid Hofferson still existed. A wig had been crafted for her to wear over her short hair, and the seamstress had to redo all the sleeves on her dresses, muttering about unladylike muscles. But her parents were pleased to find that Astrid could still conduct herself perfectly among ladies, even if she was a little behind on the latest gossip and scandals. Her curves and pretty features finally came in handy again, and Astrid couldn’t deny the thrill of wearing nice dresses instead of durable tunics, but she quickly grew to miss the freedom of fighting and running off with her friend. She barely knew no one at these parties; they couldn’t risk any of Astrid’s peers recognizing her and blowing her cover, but she felt lonely and out of place.

It was a relief to finally be back in Training. This year, their curriculum would be different; they were old enough to help out in the war - no actual fighting, but helping keep the camp guarded and the odd job that no one had done. Their fighting techniques were good, what they needed now was experience, Gobber had told them when he received his instructions to bring them there. And what better place to gain such experience than the battlefield where everything they had trained for was happening first hand? 

They weren’t allowed to participate in the fighting. They were situated right behind the front lines, on recently conquered land. Injured men were carried on stretchers to the healer’s tent. One of the healers showed them how to bandage and clean a wound. Astrid was a lot better at wrapping than the others, what with her secret monthly bloods and chest bindings.

After they’d been on the battlefield for a week they watched a soldier die. His comrades carried him in, his left arm a stump and his abdomen caked in blood. They watched as his groans faded and the nurses tried to staunch his bleeding, one of his companions sobbing at his bedside. Astrid felt a sense of purpose as she observed the scene; this was what she was fighting for. This was what she was preparing to do for her family. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Hiccup quickly exiting the tent and followed him.

He was bent over, heaving. Once he was finished, she knelt beside him, careful to avoid the watery vomit. He didn’t acknowledge her, just closed his eyes and panted. She didn’t say anything, waiting for him to break the silence.

“He- he died,” Hiccup said at last, stunned. “He’s dead.”

“He is.” 

He turned pleading eyes to his friend. “But what if - what if there could have been another way? What if he didn’t have to die? Can’t there be another option?”

“People die every day,” she replied carefully. “Maybe, in another world, he would have died today anyway, despite not fighting in a war. Maybe he wouldn’t have. But that man who died today, died for a cause. He fought for something until his last breath; isn’t that the best way to die?”

Hiccup said nothing and raked his hands through his hair.

“You’re going to be King someday,” Astrid continued. She wasn’t sure now was the time for him to hear this, but she wanted to explain her conviction to him, wanted him to understand. “You’re going to be forced to make decisions that get people killed.” Hiccup squeezed his eyes shut. “What's important is that you won’t let those decisions be in vain.”

But despite some of the sobering instances, everything was exciting. Even the tedious waiting behind the lines, doing the dirty jobs the fighters would order them to do and sneaking off to watch the seasoned warriors drink around the campfires and sing songs that made Astrid’s cheeks burn. They had never been to a battlefield before. The cold was biting, the soldiers grim, the landscape gray, and yet, to naive, blood-thirsty teenagers, everything seemed worthy of an epic ballad.

The battle moved further North, yet the knights-in-training stayed, so Astrid and the prince snuck out to practice sparring on an actual battlefield. 

“We haven’t picked up a sword to use it in ages,” she coaxed. “Besides, we don’t want you getting rusty and back to fighting like last year.”

“Ha, ha,” Hiccup said dryly. “I won’t deteriorate that far. I almost beat you last time, remember?”

“Key word being ‘almost’,” Astrid taunted.

Hiccup checked his sword in his scabbard; it was perfectly polished and sharpened. “I’ll beat you one day, Hofferson, just you wait,” he promised.

Their sparring location had been conquered easily and the bodies had been cleaned up and buried or burned for a while, but the echoes of the swords clashing brought to life the recent ghosts of the battle that had just taken place. Before they had taken more than two steps, Astrid struck. Hiccup met her blade with his own with ease as they retreated and met again.

She lost herself in her battle cries and the ringing of the blades. She hit and rolled and twisted and jumped and flicked her blade, but Hiccup’s defense was nigh impenetrable. He struck at her legs and she danced out of the way, unable to get close enough to him to land a blow. Their dirks met again, the hilts so close together their hands were almost touching.

“Call it a draw,” Astrid suggested through a strained grin. Hiccup’s height and weight were an advantage when it was strength against strength.

“Not on your life,” he teased, out of breath, “I got you right where- oh!”

Astrid caught a flash of movement in the darkness off to the side. Without thinking, she leapt forward to knock Hiccup out of the way, taking him by surprise. She gritted her teeth against the sudden slice of fire along her right shoulder.

Henry swiftly rolled on top of her and rose to meet their attacker, gripping the hilt of his sword fiercely. He circled the figure, matching their footwork. They threw a dagger at him, and he moved out of the way at the last second. The blade embedded itself next to Astrid, who flinched but kept quiet. She didn’t need to remind their opponent there was a second person to watch besides the prince. The person drew a sword, and Hiccup attacked.

They were evenly matched, it seemed, and Astrid felt a glimmer of pride until the assailant pushed through Hiccup’s guard. Her friend was driven back, barely able to block each swing. She sat up carefully, breathing through the flare of pain along her shoulder, and grabbed the knife. Hiccup saw her out of the corner of his eye, and his retreats angled until the person’s back was to her. She leapt up and slammed the knife’s hilt upon their head and they crumpled.

She stood across the Prince, panting heavily as he stared down on their aggressor’s form with a savage expression. He blinked and shook his head as if clearing it. His face, usually so cheerful, was grave.

“Are you okay, Hofferson?” he asked, concerned. 

“I’m fine,” she waved him off and walked over to her outer tunic she had shed before the spar, donning it quickly to cover her back. “We should turn him in to Gobber.” Hiccup nodded and they both grabbed an arm, Astrid holding back her wince as her shoulder strained.

Gobber was sitting in his tent when they entered. He shot up in alarm as he took in the figure strung between them. “Holy - are ye okay, lads?” 

“We are. He might not be,” Astrid said as she and the prince dropped the body on the floor. “Caught him trying to sneak into the camp. Tried to kill us.” Gobber’s mouth formed an incredulous O.

“We think he’s from the other side,” Hiccup added.

“Thor’s soiled underpants on his spanked ass,” exhaled Gobber. “Ye could’ve - ye almost got yersel’s killed!!! What were ye thinking, ye daft bams!” He knelt to inspect the intruder’s face and inhaled. “Aye, yer lucky yer still alive.”

“Hiccup fought him,” Astrid said.

“Hofferson knocked him out,” Hiccup added. Gobber cuffed him on his head. He yelped, rubbing his tender scalp with a glare.

“What were ye two even doing outside?” Gobber asked in exasperation. They shuffled their feet and examined the specs on dirt on the tarp floor, dragged in by their boots. When neither of them said anything, Astrid spoke up.

“We were sparring,” she admitted quietly. She didn’t dare look up. Gobber sighed.

“I dinnae ken why ah’m still surprised anymore,” he said, shaking his head. “Ye did good, bringing him in.” Hiccup shifted, a small smile on his face. “But ye fools will be on chamber pot duty for a week!” The smiles fell at record speed. “Were any of ye hurt?” He questioned.

“No, we’re fine,” she interjected quickly. Hiccup shot her a confused glance, but she ignored it.

“Good. Yer dismissed; go! Sneaking off in the middle of the night . . .” Gobber muttered, waving them out of his tent.

Hiccup could clearly see his friend was in pain, but could also tell they didn’t want Gobber to know.

“Hey,” he tugged on Hofferson’s arm. “Let’s go to my tent and get that shoulder cleaned up."

“No need; I’m fine,” they assured him, but he could see the furrow between their brows indicating they were in pain.

“I’m not going to leave you alone until I know you’re okay,” Hiccup threatened. They paused, and rolled their eyes.

“You worrisome idiot,” they huffed. He grinned and pulled them along as they walked to his tent to clean his friend up (it was marginally bigger than everyone else’s). 

Astrid was hesitant to let him treat her. No, she knew she should have just said no; but it had warmed her heart to see him so concerned about her. She was taken with a sudden urge to tell him the truth. She had been feeling these urges for a while, usually after the Prince had told her something personal or after a particularly close escape from trouble, but never as cripplingly strong as now. 

She struggled with herself as Hiccup sat her down on the floor (his tent’s fabric was also thicker than hers) and procured water and some rags. He knelt by her with the supplies, ready for her to take off her shirt. She should tell him. She should do absolutely nothing of the sort. No, she was going to do this; he deserved to know if only to explain why she couldn’t let him treat her. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, the words abandoning her at the last second. 

The Prince simply sat there, waiting. He trusted his best friend Hofferson, but he had had his own suspicions that something wasn’t entirely right about him. With his armor off and hair grown longish from their trip, the Prince couldn’t help but think he was remarkably pretty, for a boy. And Hofferson consistently got sick around the same time of month, and he always bathed apart from the rest of them. Hofferson always wore looser clothes than the rest, but no one was immune to sweat, and he had noticed that the tunics never stuck to him quite the same way it did to other boys. Or even sometimes Hofferson’s voice would go high without sounding like it was about to crack. He had a hunch, but had never dared confront him with it; what if his friend were offended?

Astrid braced herself for the plunge. “Hiccup,” she couldn’t meet his eyes. “There's something I need to tell you - Or, well, confess, more like . . .” This was hard. Her nerves built up, screaming for her to abort. There was still time to take it all back. But that would still leave her with an uncomfortable dilemma. She didn’t like lying to her friend - her best friend. She wouldn’t hesitate to throw herself in front of him to protect him, and she didn’t doubt he felt the same. So why should she hold back an important secret? Would he be mad at her for lying and ruin their friendship? Would he order her to be executed? No, that was ridiculous, but she had no idea what to expect. She swallowed and spit it out. “Hiccup. I’m not - I’m not like you guys. Like you boys. I’m a-”

“-girl,” the Prince finished for her. Her mouth dropped open in shock and horror. They were quiet for a moment, the world holding its breath as if waiting to see what happened next. She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched the edge of her tunic. She wished he would just say something so she could stop wondering how in the world he had known that.

“It makes sense,” he said carefully, earnestly. Astrid gawked at him in disbelief. 

“You knew?” she accused, outraged. After all that worry, the struggles, the guilt, he had known?

“No, no,” he assured her. “I mean I - I had a hunch - I suspected. B-but it wasn’t obvious. I was too afraid to bring it up for fear you’d kill me for the offense!” he chuckled thinly. "But it - it explains a lot of things."

“Are - Aren’t you going to tell anyone?” she asked shakily. He shook his head vehemently.

“Why would I? You’ve kept all of my secrets; I can keep yours.” She observed him through narrowed eyes, but she had every reason to trust him. And he was, after all, the Prince. If, or maybe she should say when, she was found out, it would only help her case if the Crown Prince supported her, she reasoned. But maybe her parents shouldn’t know she’d told him. That detail could stay between them. She held her hand out, and they firmly shook hands.

“So,” he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly and gestured to her shoulder, suddenly shy in front of a girl. “Do you, um, do you want help or-or should I leave? Since. You know, um, yeah.” Astrid couldn’t contain the girlish giggle at his discomfort and reddening face.

“So eager to get my shirt off without even asking my name; where are your manners?” she teased him. Hiccup’s eyes widened in shocked realization and, if possible, flushed harder.

“N-No!” he stuttered desperately. “I - I would nev- I - not what - so what is your name?” he fumbled as he scrambled to catch his dignity like one fumbled at a falling vase. Astrid was greatly amused; he hadn’t stuttered around her for almost a whole year, and hearing him stutter again made her nostalgic and happy.

“Astrid,” she said quietly, suddenly overcome by shyness. Would he like it? Did he think it suited her? Why did trusting him with such a simple fact feel so . . . intimate?

“Astrid,” he repeated to himself, as if savoring it.

She found herself swallowing hard and trying to calm her heart as it stumbled, unaware of the prince’s guilty stare as she unconsciously wet her lips.

Read Chapter 2 here

#httyd #hiccstrid fanfiction #hiccstrid #medieval au #httyd fanfiction #my writing #my fics #friends to lovers #slight pining #Astrid Hofferson as a knight #hiccup horrendous haddock iii #hiccup and astrid #The Lady Knight

[thinkpink212]

♡ Taking Myself There ♡

The past few days had me wanting to gain overview over my life; specifically to look at where I am, where I desire to be, who I desire to become, all of it!

In short, for a moment I had lost track of what I wanted to do in life. I quit University 3.5 semesters in because I didn’t belive it could get me there the why I wanted & it was overall just the wrong time in my life. I lost friends, making me doubt everything even further. Covid hit, and life just sunk into more chaos. I left many people, including the person I was. With most of my family cut off, being homeless for months & staying places I wasn’t welcomed or felt entirely safe in — I’ve managed to turn my life around in such a short time. Physically, emotionally and mentally I am now ready again to fully commit to myself & the goals I’ve had since I could remember

I’ve managed to move into a place that feels like home.

I’ve managed to pass an exam I’ve been battling for 3 years.

I’ve made new friends, and met Incredible people

And most importantly, I’ve become the person I needed all those years ago. But she’s here now and now I feel ready to jump in with both feet.

My Goals have always fluctuated as I’ve never been a very ‘one goal’ orientated person. I’ve been a full time artist, worked in the receptionist world, retail & sales advisor. But all of those always felt like they lacked something or were more so a means to gain the financial stability that was needed for me to to what I truly wanted to do—

I’ve never been one that desired working, but when the work didn’t feel like work I was all on board! This goes for all things astrology, tarot readings, drawing & painting whatever I felt like creating. And most importantly, writing.

I have two main goals in this life

♡ Becoming A Publish Author

Ever since I could remember, I loved reading. I loved hearing stories and telling them! I’ve always been a very imaginative person, very creative, and I’m always told I’m great with words — and I believe it. I have tales I wish to share, tales I know will inspire more then I already have & tales to inspire myself to keep going. Nothing brings me mroe joy then when I am typing away, lost in my little worlds.

♡ Becoming Financially Secure

I do not need bilions but I know I’ll make more money then I’ll ever need. It’ll be enough money to never worry about unexpected expenses or those around me struggling. I’ll have more then enough to leave my future generations with financial security. I have known luxury, and I’ll know it again.

So now what? It’s simple really, I just need to do what I’ve always done — persist, and go after what I know is already mine. It’ll take determination, discipline, persistency, but also it’ll take for me to rest when rest needs to be had. Asking for help when help is needed.

Soon I’ll graduate and become a certified massage therapist — a job I already know is very fulfilling, and despite the physical and emotional taxation, it’s something I see myself doing while I write my stories & get closer to financial stability.

The idea of doing all of this brings me such internal peace and warmth.

The rest of the year will be a time of…

♡ Saving, living within my means and reminding myself that this is a sacrifice for a better tomorrow

♡ Making writing my all, just how it used to be. The stories are in my mind already, and many are created weekly, but focus and determination will get me there

♡ Knowing when to rest, because my sleep, sanity or overall health should not be compromised for something that can be resumed tomorrow.

♡ Continue to be my own peace, saying no more and focusing on this endeavor

I’ll be Enjoy the journey. It’ll take a while, and I know because I’ve inspired others to write. Friends, and my cousins have written and published their work (some are still not there but aren’t giving up) and seeing how long it took them, but their determination got them there, is inspirational. I planted a seed and now they all have trees and I’m so proud. Now it’s my turn to plant my seeds and watch them grow. I’m ready!

And I start today —

All updates will be made under #ThinkpinkJourney if you would like to follow along my journey to success

#thinkpink thoughts #perosnal #soft life #goals #author #financial stability #week 1 #manifesting #manifestation #goals setting #determination #black girl manifest #thinkpink manifest #aspiring author #massage therapist #lifestyle #about me #thinkpink journey #taking myself there

[theoddcatlady]

My Father Survived The Chair of Truth

I was the only one home when my father called me in for his death bed confession.

He wasn’t very old in the grand scheme of things, only fifty-eight, but after a violent mugging that took place about twenty years ago, his physical health hadn’t always been great. It really took a downhill turn last year. Heart failure. And it just wasn’t getting better.

My sister Amber and I were taking care of him as his health deteriorated. Last week though, Amber was running errands for our grandmother, so yeah. I was alone. When dad called for me I thought he might need a drink or help getting to the bathroom.

Instead, he told me to sit down. He told me I needed to know the truth, the truth about the mugging and about what really happened that night.

After all of this, he’d pass in his sleep a few hours later. I can’t ask for any more details. All I can do is relay this story to you… and find out how much truth there really is to it. Below is the confession, word for word.

~*~

You know, if your mother and I weren’t in the middle of our first separation, it may have never happened. I wouldn’t have been alone in bed that night. Alone in the house, since she took your older sister with her and you were still two months out from being born. That following morning I was found on the streets, all bloodied up, pockets turned out and missing my shoes. They concluded I had been mugged. I let them maintain that conclusion.

I hadn’t even left my house the night before. It was an early night, I was tired from work. I basically passed out on the couch while the TV was on. I don’t remember if anyone broke in, if I woke up before they abducted me.

The next thing I do remember? Waking up strapped to a chair, dressed in white scrubs with electrodes plastered on my now shaved head and sitting with a circle of people in the exact same condition.

I only recognized three of the other people there, and I only knew two of their names. One of my classmates from back when I was in high school was to my right, I barely recognized Magnolia since most of the blonde hair had been shaved right off. A few patches were still plastered to her scalp, whoever had taken the razor to our heads hadn’t been the most meticulous about it. Perhaps because they had a lot to get done before we woke up.

The other two I recognized was Augusta, an older woman who lived down the street from where I grew up, and the homeless man that I usually saw begging for cash in downtown was to my left. I didn’t know his name, I only recognized him because he’d been there every day.

There were eight of us in total. The woman right across from me had smeared lipstick and a cut on her forehead, maybe the razor had slipped during her head shave. Next to her was another woman with long fake fingernails and a natural scowl that was even there when she was unconscious, like she sucked on lemons in her spare time. The most conscious of us was a middle aged guy with a few more bruises than the rest of us, I imagine he put up a fight, he was a big dude. Finally there was this portly, smaller man who didn’t need his head shaved, since he was already bald as an egg.

Magnolia began breathing faster when she came to full consciousness, glancing around wildly and in full panic. “What the fu- where am I!? What’s going on!?” She yanked at the straps, which didn’t so much as budge. “Get these things off me?! Help! Someone help!”

The burly bruised guy shushed her loudly. “Quiet down. Don’t want to alert the wrong people we’re up,” He craned his neck around to look at the room around us, it was quite bare other than the circle of people strapped to heavy duty chairs- dark brick walls, a cement floor with a drain in the center. The only light was in the center of the ceiling, and that thing was set on to bright as it could go. Everyone looked a little washed out, a little pale, sickly.

The one thing I had missed was the speaker, attached to the wall right behind my head. It crackled to life before shrieking with feedback. This definitely got everyone awake, the portly fellow moaning and bitching the loudest while the woman with smeared lipstick being the only one perfectly quiet. Her eyes I remember the most, dark and careful. She was watching everyone in the room.

“Welcome, everyone.”

Once the feedback died down, the male voice coming from it was perfectly calm, smooth. It would’ve almost been soothing if the situation surrounding it wasn’t so bizarre.

“I am the Judge.”

I flexed against the bindings experimentally. There was no coming loose from them. I was stuck there, here for whatever this ‘Judge’ had planned.

“You sit in them now because you have all committed crimes. Crimes ranging from white lies to ones that may result in… capitol punishment.”

The scowling woman’s jaw dropped. “What do you mean, capitol punishment?”

“This is my court room. Where we are, no one will hear you scream. I advise you don’t cry out unless you can’t avoid it.” The Judge didn’t even take note of the interruption. “These are my Chairs of Truth. When we are finished, you will pay for what you’ve done. If you lie or talk your way around the truth, you will be punished. We will start with you, Connie.”

The scowling woman sputtered. “How dare you! I’m not a criminal! Do you know who I am?”

“Yes. Of course I do, Connie Andrews.” The Judge sounded almost… amused. “I know everything about you. Your first question is this: where do you go every Wednesday afternoon?”

“Are you for real?” Connie looked genuinely baffled.

“We are starting with an easy question. One that has minor effect on your life, legally or illegally. Where do you go every Wednesday afternoon?”

Connie looked relieved. “Um… I get my nails done,” Her fingers tapped on the arm of her chair. “What, is that a crime?”

“We’ll come back to that. Frankie? Can I call you Frankie, Frank Smith?”

The burly guy shifted in his chair. “You can,” He decided.

“Frank, during highschool, what was the extracurricular you and your wife participated in?”

“I was a football player, she was a cheerleader.” Frank cleared his throat. “And who are you?”

The Judge quietly chuckled. “I am not important. I am here only to fulfill judgment, officer,” He cleared his throat, “Onto the next. Augusta Armstrong? How many children do you have?”

My neighbor looked terrified, shaking in her chair like a scared Chihuahua. “I have five, they’re the light of my life. Please, please, let me go,” She whimpered.

“If you answer these questions, we can see about that. Charles Nolan?”

“When I get out of here, I’m going to sue you!” The man snapped, lurching in his chair. It didn’t so much as budge, it had been bolted to the floor.

“Charles, what is your occupation? No need for specifics, you like those, I’m aware.”

“Businessman, I work for-”

Charles suddenly breathed in sharply. I had to crane my neck around the homeless guy to see what had happened. I only caught the glimpse of what looked like a sewing needle exiting Charles’ arm and going back into the chair, a pinpoint of blood beading from his skin.

Fuck. I took a better look at the chair, which I’d only assumed was a heavy duty wooden chair. Now I saw there was holes all in it, some small enough for needles to come out and jab, others thin slats that looked large enough for daggers to come out and slice through us.

“When I say something, I advise you listen,” The judge explained patiently. “Harley Scott?”

The homeless man lifted his head up. I’d never heard his name before then. It was strange, finally putting a name to the face I’d seen so often. “Yes?” He said, barely louder than a whisper.

“Harley, what branch of the military were you in, and what was your rank?”

“A-army,” Harley swallowed, “Private.”

“Edward Adkins.”

I flinched when I heard my name.

“What is the date of your wedding anniversary?”

I actually had to think for a second. My mind was running blank.

“What is the date of your wedding anniversary? Don’t make me ask a third time.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I- it’s June 6,” I managed to get out.

I felt genuine relief when he went on to Magnolia, asking what she did for some extra spending cash, and she responded that she was a babysitter. The final question was asked to the woman with smeared lipstick and careful eyes, and it asked where she lived. I don’t remember the exact address, but I know it was in a rough part of town. Part of town I’d never go, anyway.

The Judge sighed, sounding pleased with our cooperation. “Very good, so far, only one punishment had to be doled out,” He said.

“Oh go fuck yourself!” Charles snapped. This did get the needle jabbing back into his arm, right where the wound had just began to scab over.

“These questions are not going to get any easier. In fact, they will be harder. So learn to cooperate and answer truthfully now. It will save you later.”

I expected him to start going around the circle again. Instead, the voice surprised me.

“What is your occupation, Delilah?”

“Unem-” Delilah cut herself off, sighing. “I bet that’s not what you mean. Fine. Sex worker. Prostitute. Hooker. Whatever you want to call it. That what you wanted to hear?”

“Very well. Charles, how did your friend Rosemary Marshall make so much money from your company’s stock?

Charles shifted. “Good luck?” He tried to lie, so poorly though that no one was convinced.

I didn’t expect to hear the crackle of electricity and Charles’ eyes to bug out of his sockets, his teeth clamping so tight as his body jolted with electric current running through his veins. When he finally did manage to scream, he flopped back against his chair, screeching and howling at the top of his lungs. The room beforehand reeked of antiseptic, now I could detect a faint hint of urine. The rest of us sat in mostly dumb silence, the only sounds being Charles gasping for breath and Augusta crying. I certainly didn’t know how to react.

“Charles? Answer the question correctly.”

“I…” Charles swallowed. “I gave her some information… that helped her out. She’s a single mom, she needed the money!”

“Which you took a cut from. About ten thousand dollars, a high price from the single mom you claim you sympathize with. Edward?”

Fuck.

“How did you pass your final exam in algebra, senior year?”

I actually sighed with relief. That wasn’t nearly so bad as I expected, since I was following up on Charles’ question. “My friend helped me cheat.”

“Your friend’s name?”

“Jordan. Jordan Mills. He was a genius, he knew I needed his help. He gave me the answers.”

The Judge paused for a moment before turning on Magnolia. “And you, Magnolia? How did you pass your SATs with such high scores? Remember, I can see the rest of your grades. They’re… barely mediocre.”

“What!? They’re-” Magnolia glanced over at Charles, who still looked like a mess. “… I cheated too,” She grumbled.

“Both of you, such poor students, in the same graduating year,” The Judge tutted his tongue, “Our future generation is looking so promising already. Frankie, what happened to the cocaine from the raid on the Wolfe home?”

“It’s in evidence,” the answer came out so fast I think ‘Frankie’ didn’t even consider it a lie, and for a second I thought it wasn’t a lie either.

Then the knife came out and sliced clean through the meat of his shoulder. To his credit, Frankie just breathed in sharply, gritted his teeth and took it.

“I presume you want to change your answer?” The judge asked as the knife slid back out, blood now staining Frankie’s white scrubs.

“Mm… mmhmm,” Frankie exhaled slowly, his body shaking as his face went white. “M-me and another officer took some. S-sold it to someone we knew was a dealer.”

“Therefore putting it back on the streets that you swore to take it off of?”

“It’s different!” Frankie swallowed, his eyes fluttering shut as his shoulder continued to bleed. “The original punks were dealing to highschoolers, kids! The dealer we sold to, he only sold it to thugs who have already ruined their lives.”

“… An interesting point of view, for sure,” The Judge said. “Now, Augusta? How did you get your eldest to sleep sometimes?”

“Oh, I’d rock him to sleep,” Augusta bobbed her head up and down, “He was always so fussy, and-”

She didn’t even get a chance to finish her lie. Her whole body seized up and she screeched as the electric crackle filled the room. It wasn’t as long a shock as it was for Charles, but Augusta looked far worse for wear, gasping and coughing as she tried to calm down.

“Augusta. Stop lying.”

Augusta wailed before her head flopped forward. “A… little whiskey in his bottle… never really hurt anyone, honest, how could I ever hurt my own children?” She said.

I was blown away. Magnolia cheated on SATs, a police officer dealing drugs, and now one of the nicest neighbors on my block gave her kids alcohol so they’d sleep. Christ.

It didn’t get better. That first round wasn’t always fair, after all, all I had to answer for was a false grade, and Harley admitted he took part of a military hazing in which the poor victim had to streak across the base naked. Meanwhile Connie confessed to cheating with a married man and convincing him to leave his wife for her, only to completely blow him off once the wife took the sap for all he was worth. He couldn’t spoil her if he was broke, after all.

I only lied once, I learned quickly enough after that. It was over something stupid, about driving drunk and getting into an accident, slammed into a tree. Jordan covered for me that time too, said he was the one driving since I was tanked. I’d never been electrocuted before that day and I never wanted to again. I didn’t judge Charles for wetting his pants after that, you lose all control when you get shocked like that and that’s all I’ll say about it.

It’s amazing how often some of them chose to lie, and which ones chose not to. Delilah never once lied, completely blank faced as she told us how she robbed one of her johns of everything in his wallet because he passed out drunk or how she didn’t tell her boyfriend that she tested positive for gonorrhea, although the Judge was kind enough to inform her that it was likely him that infected her and not vice versa. Harley only lied twice, once about that hazing and another time about how he abandoned his pregnant girlfriend without even a note.

Meanwhile, Charles had to be shocked and stabbed nearly ever other question, and Augusta lied literally every time. The elderly woman I’d thought was the kindest soul admitted to so many shitty things, some things I can’t even say. All I can say is I pity those poor children of hers, with such a nightmare mom that would beat them for shattering a glass or literally calling the police on her second youngest when he brought his black girlfriend home. She had claimed the girl was trying to rob them. Actual sociopath.

We’re all devils, you know. Devils with different sins blackening our hands, tearing up our souls. No one is innocent. And the Judge knew every one of those sins, no matter how some of us tried to hide them. I wish I knew how he knew that Frankie beat a suspect to get a confession, only for it to be revealed that suspect was innocent all along. I can’t even imagine how he found out that Magnolia slashed her ex boyfriend’s tires because she was mad at him for dumping her, especially since he dumped her since she was so goddamn controlling he couldn’t even see his friends.

For that final round, we all looked fucked up. Shocked, stabbed with everything from knitting needles to steak knives, being forced to reveal our darkest secrets around people that were acquaintances at best, and most were just strangers.

“It’s time for your final question. You will only have one chance to answer this properly. We will start with Augusta.”

Augusta definitely looked the worst off. Like I said, she lied every question, sometimes even more than once. I was surprised she was still alive.

“Augusta, how did your eldest two children die?”

Augusta shakily inhaled and my heart sunk to the bottom of my stomach.

“Doctors… don’t know… I don’t either… mystery illness took my babies from me when they were just six and four years old… let me go home,” Augusta whined.

The Judge sighed.

“Augusta, that’s not the truth. And I told you, this time you would only get one chance to answer correctly.”

The door on the far end of the room and the Judge finally walked out. We finally saw his face. He was tall, well built, probably at least a little handsome, but by that time my brain felt like watery pudding so all I could do was blankly stare at him. He pushed in front of him a television connected to a VHS player, tapes stacked on top of the screen.

The Judge plucked the first tape up, showing us all the name ‘AUGUSTA’ written in black sharpie on the front. He placed the tape in the VHS player and stepped back.

It was a recording of medical documents, a lot of them. The camera panned over several paragraphs nice and slow so we could get the general gist. And that general gist? Augusta’s children would get sick for no discernible reason, but would recover at the hospital. Once they got sent back home, they’d just get sick again. And one day, they both got just too sick and passed away.

“Munchhausen’s by proxy,” The Judge said, and I saw true pain in his eyes as he stood by the wall, where eight switches were neatly lined up. Each of them had a name beneath them, our names. “What are your final words, Augusta?”

“I…” Augusta shook her head. “No, I loved my children, I really did…”

She paused to take a breath and that’s when the Judge flipped the switch.

Augusta writhed and her eyes went so wide they looked like they were going to fall out of her head. She wailed one last time before her eyes rolled back and then the only movement from her came from the electric current.

The switch was turned off and the Judge looked back at us. Then he raised his hand and had his fingers ready at Delilah’s switch.

“Delilah?”

The woman, the truthful one, finally looked up. “Yes?” She asked.

The Judge stared at her. “Your boyfriend. Calvin McLaughlin. Was his murder premeditated?”

“… Yes.” Delilah bowed her head. “… he had friends in the force. He was getting out of jail for nearly killing me, because none of them believed me. So I just waited for him to get home. I waited for him to get drunk. And I wasn’t going to wait for that first punch, so I took a baseball bat and I smashed his head in.”

There was a deathly quiet pause before the judge lowered his hand from Delilah’s switch. The Judge turned his gaze on Frankie, who went pale.

“How did your wife die, Frankie?” He asked.

Frankie, to his credit, did come off as convincing. “Car accident. She went off the road, killed her instantly,” He said.

The Judge did his best to hide any emotion to us, but I did see that look of murderous intent as he grabbed another VHS that had Frankie’s name written on it. He put it in.

Another recording of another document. An autopsy report, about how a Mrs. Nancy Smith had many injuries that were in different phases of healing. How her ribs had been broken multiple times in the past, and this time one of those rib fragments broke free and punctured her heart. Followed by that were reports, doctor’s reports about Nancy’s many visits to the hospital, all for ‘accidents’.

“Was Nancy that clumsy, Frankie?” The Judge asked quietly. “I highly doubt it. Your last words?”

“You don’t understand!” Frankie blurted out. “No one seems to understand how hard our job is, what we see! It takes a toll! It’s not my fault that Nancy didn’t get it-”

I turned away from this electrical death, and when I heard the electrical chair powered down I looked up to see a froth bubbling from the dead cop’s lips, his dead eyes staring at the now flickering light on the ceiling.

“Connie Andrews?”

Connie slowly looked up at the Judge, her face twisted in rage.

“Where did you get the poison for all of the husbands you killed?”

“Fuck you,” She spat at him, saliva landing on his clean white shirt. The Judge simply wiped it off, picked up another tape that no doubt had her name on it, and put in the VHS player.

This time it wasn’t a document, it was a woman exiting a nail salon and heading into a small drug store that happened to be right next door. It was clear the video was taken from someone’s car. Connie exited the store about ten minutes later with a small bag. A newspaper was raised in front of the camera, revealing the date.

“This was two days before your third husband mysteriously passed in his sleep. Your last words?”

Connie went white as The Judge raised his hand for her switch. “No, wait! Don’t do it! I’ll give you whatever you want! I’ll confess! I’ll tell the truth!” She yelped.

Click. The acrid smell of Connie’s fake fingernails melting was so bad it made my head spin.

Magnolia shook her head wildly as The Judge went to her switch next. “I never hurt anyone! What the hell are you doing?!” She screamed, thrashing about so wildly I thought she might actually tear an arm free.

“What did you tell your boyfriend, Zachary Cullen, to do before he shot and killed himself?” The Judge’s stare.

“That… that wasn’t my fault!” Magnolia shook her head again and again, the strap holding her head in place actually coming loose. “How was that my fault?!”

The Judge held up a finger before pulling a voice recorder from his pocket. “This doesn’t need video,” He said simply before he hit play.

The conversation I heard… I can’t repeat it. It was too terrible. Magnolia telling her boyfriend again and again how worthless he was, how he was such a pathetic waste of space, and how she couldn’t wait for him to kill himself because that was the only good thing he’d ever do for himself.

The recording ended with a gunshot. The Judge cocked his head to the side.

“Your last words?”

“How was that my fault!?” Was all she wrote. Being right next to the person being shocked, it’s… it’s so disgusting. I could smell the burning hair and skin, hear every garbled sound that ripped its way out of her throat as she jolted and contorted in horrifying ways.

Charles moaned loudly as The Judge approached the switch. “Don’t. Don’t ask,” He said, even though he knew what would happen.

“Charles? Last month, early morning. Rushing to work because you were late. Did anything happen on that drive?”

Charles didn’t even speak, he just shook his head.

Another tape was taken off the VHS player, the Judge flashing the front to show off Charles’ name.

This was from a traffic cam. A couple was walking across the street, probably the same age your mother and I were at the time. The collision happened so fast, the car slammed into them and sent the man flying over the hood while the woman was crushed under the car. The car stopped for a moment, just a moment, and I recognized the bald head that poked its way out of the window. Just for a second.

And then he zoomed off, leaving the bodies broken and bleeding in the street.

“Mr. Oscar Long was dead on arrival, but Miss Hannah Garcia? She took longer to die, and she suffered for every minute of it. Do I even need to ask for your last words?”

“It was just an accident!” Charles wailed.

I don’t need to describe what happened next. I’m sure you know by now. Another human being electrocuted to death, executed by the expressionless Judge.

Harley sighed shakily as The Judge looked at him. “And?” was all the Judge said.

“… I know what I did was wrong.” Harley admitted, his head bowed before he raised it and looked at The Judge. “So I will not be confessing today, Judge. I know what I deserve.”

The Judge paused and I caught a glimpse of something. Sympathy. “Being apart of the massacre of a village of innocent people and then covering it up. The act of a cowardly soldier. So, I believe this is the bravest thing you’ve ever done.”

“Just end it already,” Harley said, his eyes closing as he prepared for the shock.

“I won’t make you suffer.”

For a moment, I thought the Judge might have an inkling of mercy in him. Instead, he crossed the room of corpses and grabbed Harley’s head. It was so efficient, the twist of his head, the snap of his neck. Harley was dead in less time than it takes to finish a sentence. Perhaps it was mercy in the Judge’s mind. It was certainly quicker than what the others went through, that was for sure.

The only people left that were still alive in that room were me, Delilah, and The Judge. I was the only one left who had a final question. He went to his switches. I knew what he was going to ask.

“Why did you kill Jordan Mills, Edward?”

I took a deep breath.

“Because I was in love with his girlfriend. And she wouldn’t give me a second look as long as Jordan was alive.”

“And the girlfriend?”

“We’re now married. Have a daughter. We have another kid on the way.”

Delilah stared at me, probably shook that someone else confessed their most dirty secret, their most wicked of sins. The Judge nodded.

“And with that, court is adjourned.” The Judge left the room, coming back a moment later with two needles. He jabbed one into Delilah’s neck, the woman’s eyes flickering as she fell unconscious.

“Why did you do this?” I asked as the Judge walked up to me, tilting my head to the side with the hands he’d just used to murder six people.

“So you never do it again,” The Judge hissed before the needle entered my neck.

The next thing I know I’m lying on the street, cops are all around me, asking if I was okay and what happened. I was back in the clothes I’d fallen asleep with, the only sign that anything that had happened was the bruises on my wrists and the memories.

Oh, I know, you never expected me to have taken a life too. I regret it. Jordan was… kind to me. It was a moment of rage, something not at all planned out. I was just lucky no one ever found the body until it was too decomposed to really tell anything. Everyone assumed he fell off the hiking trail and hit his head on the way down, causing his death.

I paid for it my own way, of course. Ever since that night in the Chair of Truth, I’ve practically been a saint. Paid my taxes, watched my words, donated time and money to help others, and even when your mother finally left me for good, I never held it against her.

Why? Well, it’s hard to do anything wrong when you know someone’s gone through your life with a fine tooth comb. The fact someone is still watching me, no matter what I do, and I feel if I ever slipped up again, I’d wake up in the Chair, and next time I’d not get away so easily.

And I hope, my son, that you learn from my mistakes… that no matter how well you hide your sins, you will be found out, whether in the afterlife or this one.

#my stories

[kuzco-lover]

Actual Critiques of my Favorite Game, Life is Strange 2.

Life is Strange 2 (2018) is factually an amazing well developed game. Personally, I adore the game on every level. That, however, does not mean there aren't flaws, because there's BIG problems with this game and I want to shed light on 2 issues for those wondering why many people dislike parts of the game. Here is my (unasked for) criticism of Life is Strange 2. There will be spoilers so please tread lightly.

Number 1: Growing up with Esteban, and Karen's grandparents.

I believe that it was pretty unnecessary to make Sean and Daniel, the first important POC characters in the franchise, mixed with white and barely show their heritage. While it wasn't a big problem that they were mixed with white because mixed kids deserve all the representation in world (me being one, I would know), the problem is that the dev's should have shown more of how Sean and Daniel grew up with their father, Esteban, and shown the cultural dynamic from then in flashbacks or something. Instead, Esteban is just killed off and we never get to see how they celebrated culture. This could have been a great moment for Hispanic fans who grew up in a household where they celebrated Hispanic family dynamics and culture, to relate to the characters on a bigger level. This also would've contributed to the engagement of the game, which was so bad for many reasons, some being on this list. (I am African American, so please let me know actual Mexican opinions on this subject)

Number 2: The Horrible, No Good, Very Bad, Love Interests

A big part of LiS games is the selection of a straight relationship, or a queer relationship. Every main character is bisexual for the players enjoyment of the game. LiS2 is the first game in the series where the mc is a male. This made the queer fans very happy because of the MLM representation. Here's the problem, the male love interest was absolutely horrid. Apparently, this is an unpopular opinion and it really shouldn't be. Finn McNamara is a shitty love interest for so many reasons. First, lets talk ages of the characters. Sean Diaz, born August of 2000. The game starts in 2016 and takes place in October, near/on Halloween. This means Sean is freshly 16 when the incident occurs. Finn and Cassidy are described as teens in an article in the game, but are very obviously adults and their age range is from 18-21. Considering they can get beers, ouid, tattoos, etc. It makes sense for them to be 18+. Sean meets Finn and Cassidy in the winter of 2017, making Sean still a 16 year old. Sean escapes and starts hanging with them in the winter up until the summer of 2017. Sean is 16 throughout the whole time. Finn and Cassidy should not be romantically interested in a minor. Some people think 16 and 18 isn't a bad age gap, but Finn and Cassidy are also on a whole different maturity level, they have been through homelessness and so much tragedy themselves that they are nowhere near the maturity level of Sean. Let's take age out of the equation in case Finn and Cass are in fact under 18, Finn is still a bad person. Trauma makes people do crazy things, but that is just an explanation and not an excuse. Finn screws Sean and Daniel over. Finn gets Sean and Daniel caught and separated because he wants money. Finn manipulates Daniel and exploits his power to steal from Finns boss, who literally has a body guard. Finn knew his boss is very dangerous, probably armed, and that Daniel is still learning his power and is not in full control of it yet. Because of this heist, that Sean can either agree to do, or refuse, Sean and Daniel get busted and separated. Finn and Sean have no romantic chemistry at all. In the game, they share one small kiss, and are flirtatious almost in a friend way, the relationship is very forced. Cassidy, on the other hand, has sex with underage Sean. Cassidy's age is not determined as well, but assumed 18-21 as well, and the sex was just completely unnecessary. The only sex scene in all of the games is in the one game where the MC is underage, which is honestly so weird. There shouldn't have been love interests in this game. A person I've talked to brought up a great point. There would be no time for a love interest if Sean is always on the run from the law. I'm sure police would track down that his family lives in the part of Mexico that Sean fled to. Anyways, I'm very passionate about this specific topic, let me know your opinions :).

Thanks or listening to my LiS 2 rant. No matter what, I will adore this game, and I am very hopeful for a LiS game where we have black love interests and a Black MC (without making anything stereotypical PLEASE). Let me know your critiques of the LiS games, or if I said anything wrong please correct me but be civil and nice. (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

#life is strange #lis #lis2 #sean diaz #daniel diaz #life is strange 2 #dontnod #square enix #criticism

[romanarose]

Seattle

All fics master list here

Part 2 here

Seattle Masterlist

Marc Spector X fem!reader (not super descriptive, but female pronouns are used.)

Fic Summary: A song fic to Seattle by Jason Walker. You call Marc late at night needing help from across the country. Over a series of lyrics and memories, it becomes clear that he can't help you when you won't help yourself.

WARNINGS!!!!: Domestic violence, child abuse, mentions of bodily harm, homelessness, talk of sex, the usual warnings when it comes to Marc Spector. No happy ending.

A/N: Reader is Jewish. Marc, as I hope you know, is JEWISH. I am a hopeful jewish convert. I tried my best to sprinkle little Jewish things throughout this fic, bc it's something I really love about Marc. If anything is wrong or offensive, LMK and I'll fix it. I am very very new to the process. I'll have translations in bold bc google doesn't translate Hebrew well. Also, I cried writing this. A lot. Not because I saw myself in the reader, but I saw myself in Marc. I was never in a DV situation, but my best friend was. And it was scary. As much as I tried to help, only she could make the choice to leave for good. It took years. By the end, she had lot a majority of contact with all her friends and family except me. It was the most terrifying time in my life. But now she's happily married to a great guy, and I was her bridesmaid last year. There's hope y'all.

*****************************************

Who else would be calling me at 3 am

Just to tell me you're still there

The sky's still falling

When Marc heard the buzz of his phone, he immediately jolted awake. A phone call at 3 am was never a great start.

Hm? What’s happen’n, Marc? Steven mumbled, waking up with less of a startle.

He saw your name on his phone and quickly answered “What’s going on?” 

“Jesus” He heard a short, tired chuckle. “Don’t sound so panicked.” 

Marc sat up “Are you okay? Talk to me.” He heard the sounds of the city around you. Why were you outside in Seattle at 3 Am in the fall? He pulled up his weather app where he already had Seattle saved. “It’s raining and it’s cold, why are you outside?”

There was a long pause. “Um. Me and Jack got in a fight, I needed to get some air…” You said this quietly, as if Marc wouldn’t hear you.

“Honey, you said you were leaving…” Marc tried not to chastise you. You had been married to Jack only a few years now, after a very short dating period. You hadn’t even been dating a year by the time you were married. That was intentional on Jacks part. He had always been controlling and as time went on, things kept getting progressively worse. He would go months without hearing from you. Jack was jealous. Marc had known you since childhood, growing up in the synagogue together. When you’re mom died, your dad became abusive. You and Marc were kindred souls. You never stayed in each other's orbit for very long, not after high school. But you always, always kept in touch. After all you’d been through…

 There was spring after he turned 18, when he left home. He wanted to drop out, but you convinced him to stay with you. You hid him in your room, that lasted all of one week. When your dad found him in your room at midnight, he kicked you out. After slapping you. You had to hold Marc back from fighting your dad. For that spring, it was youth shelters until graduation. It was a long, long road for both of you, but by the end, you were happy. Then Jack came along, and all hopes went out the window. 

Marc didn’t understand what you saw in him. Sometimes, with men like that, they are charming at first, but Marc never thought Jack even tried, and he looked average. Marc knew you had low self esteem, and Jack probably sniffed that out right away. Marc wasn’t exactly known for his self confidence, but he knew he was good looking. That was just a fact. And you? Well, you looked like heaven to him.

Tell me what you

Need to hear this time to make it count

And to get you out of

You steadied your voice, trying not to alarm him. “I know… I know… But he apologized and… things were going well for a while…” Marc could still hear your voice cracking, he could just envision your body language he knew so well. You were probably playing with your hair or rubbing your thumb along your other fingers. Nervous habit. “He’s my husband Marc…” you spoke softly, like you were trying to reason with yourself.

When you both became homeless, you and Marc would stay together when possible. Marc felt horrible for getting you kicked out, so he insisted on staying with you when he could, and knowing which Women’s shelter when he couldn’t. If there was only one bed, Marc insisted you take it. If there were no beds, you stayed together on the street. That happened a lot too. Chicago was a rough place. Marc’s dad sent him some money, Elias felt guiltier than shit. His home was always open to Marc, but he wasn’t going back there, he’d rather die. So instead, Elias sent money, and Marc paid your phone bill so he could stay in touch, no matter what. He paid for it all four years of college. Whatever the two of you had during those months, you shared.

“Can you please tell me what happened?”  Marc spoke softly, hoping it indicated concern, not impatience. He needed to know you were okay. He wanted you to be safe, but there was no rest from that when you were so far away and with a man like Jack. He tried to get you out multiple times, to no avail. This wasn’t the first late night call. “Husband or not, you don’t have to be miserable…” you were married in a baptist church, something he never could have seen you do. Even when you both were homeless, and you avoided the Chicago Jewish circles for fear your dad would find you, you still remained religious. You tried not to work on holy days, you said prayers, and always tried to have some sort of treat for Shabbat.

“I’m sorry I woke you” Your lip quivered, knowing he didn’t sleep well and you probably woke him from the precious few hours he got.

“Hey, hey, metuka, I was already up…” (sweetheart) A bold faced lie. He didn’t know what it was about you, but when he spoke to you, the Jew in him really came out. “You didn’t wake me, I promise.”

You didn’t believe him. You knew how he sounded when you woke him up. You’d done it enough times the last 2 decades “Can I… Can I maybe stay with you for a little? I’ll take the couch it’ll just be until I get on my feet, I have a little money saved so it wouldn’t be-”

“You can stay as long as you need, or want.” Marc’s heart jumped at the possibility, but he knew better than to get ahead of himself. Until you were in his arms, you weren’t really out of that god forsaken city that had done nothing but tear you down. “And hey, you’re already used to the cold and rain, so New York shouldn’t be that big of a change… just like home.” Those cold winters with you… how they stuck in his mind. Here’s gonna be your chance mate. Maybe…. If she comes. She said she was coming? Marc’s tone was playful, almost whimsical, but he got serious. “Did he hurt you again?” He knew the answer.

Seattle, I don't know why

You stand under the clouds expecting to stay dry

Can't you see the day you'll ever win

That battle

Is the day they'll take the rain out of

Seattle

You sigh. You can’t hide anything from him. But you try. “It wasn’t bad this time, Marc, really-”

“Honey.”

You rest your head against the cold building you were standing under, voice shaky “I just got out of the ER.”

You met Jack in Chicago, he insisted you both move to Seattle when you got married. Closer to his family, he said. Marc was in town at the time. He wondered if that had something to do with leaving. Jack had isolated you from all your friends but him. This was just the final move to cut you clean away from anyone who could help. Marc remembered the times in his life he was away from you for months or years, he always let you know he was alive. Sometimes, you couldn’t even grant him that. It wasn’t your fault, of course. Marc knew Jack hated him, and you were afraid of his reaction if he found texts or calls from him. Some days, he wanted so badly to reach out, but if you and him were in a wilderness period, he knew better. A text from him might get you hurt. There were times he could only assure himself that you were alive, because his dad would’ve called him if you weren’t. Elias and your dad still saw each other at the temple.

“Jesus! What the fuck did he do?” It had never been that bad before. The fact he ever laid a hand on you, let alone enough you needed first aid was bad enough, but you had never needed a doctor before. It was getting worse. He needed to stop this, to bring you home.

You and Marc spent a lot of time in Lake Michigan that summer on the streets, just trying to stay cool, sleeping by the beach during heat waves if there was nowhere to go. It was a long, hot summer. Horrible. On the hottest day on record, he remembers trying to keep you cool all day, but the shelters were full, businesses were shutting down because they couldn’t keep the air conditioning on. You had worked that day, and when he got you from your job, you seemed off. He remembers you passing out a few hours later, starting to seize in his arms. Heat stroke. A nurse stopped and helped, although there wasn’t much to do. You refused the hospital when you came too, you were saving up for college. He showed up at his parents house that night, begging his dad to help you. He did, of course. Elias is a good person. Marc was going to leave you there for a few days while you recovered, but you told him if he left, you were leaving. “Where you go, I will go, where you stay, I will stay.” You had quoted Ruth to him. How could he not love you after that? You and Marc stayed in the basement for 3 days. Elias sent you both off with money and food. You never saw his mom.

“He didn’t mean-”

“Tell me!” Marc, take a breath. “Please…”

The tears that you had been holding finally come, flashbacks from the night running through. “He slammed the door on my hand, I don’t think he meant to break it but… yeah.”

Marc disappeared that fall, when you began taking classes. For months you hardly heard anything from him, just the occasional text when you begged him to tell you he was alive. He showed up that winter, looking like he was dragged through hell, refusing to answer your questions. That winter… you’ll never forget. Marc asked his dad for one more favor, cosigning on a 6 month lease. Together, you and Marc lived in the tiniest goddamn efficiency apartment he had ever seen. You shared a bed, cuddling together in the bed just to save $5 on the heating bill. There was one night, you both had been so cold… You remained almost fully clothed the entire time, but you remember his hands holding you so tenderly… his hands in your curls, yours in his. Heat and the sound of gentle, tender kisses… You were each other’s first, but you never talked about it again.

Marc scrubbed his face with his free hand, trying not to break his phone in his grip. “How many?”

“How many what?”

“How many fingers did he break…” Marc spoke through gritted teeth. A long pause. “Tell me.” You have to meet her, she’s going to need help with her bags It was a very Steven thought.

“Three.”

He was going to kill Jack. He was going to break every single of his fingers and toes, one after the other. “I’m coming to get you.” Marc stood up, grabbing Steven’s laptop to search for flights. While Steven didn’t want you carrying bags with something broken, but Marc also knew you’d never leave if he wasn’t there.

He's still got that

Hold on you that makes you crazy

Your bags are packed

But you don't really plan on leaving

“Marc, no, I’ll come this week, I just gotta  take care of somethings” You don’t want him here, you know he’ll get in a fight with Jack. You don’t want Jack to hurt him, and you don’t want Jack to hurt you.

“That’s a lie and you know it!” Marc didn’t mean to raise his voice, even if it was over the phone. He knew how that made you wince. Even before Jack existed, your dad was a source of fear. “I’m sorry, sorry…”

For the next decade and a half, you and Marc’s paths would cross at various times. You graduated college and went on to do fairly well. No one would expect the year you spend homeless. Marc rarely visited, and he never saw his mom, but sometimes he’d come to town and see you and his dad. You and him would spend as much time with each other as you could, until he was on to his next adventure. That is, until you met Jack. Jack didn’t like Marc, didn’t trust him… Jack never forced you to stop talking to Marc, but slowly, slowly it was easier to just… stop sometimes. After the wedding, you would sometimes not talk to him for close to a year. But you always called on Rosh Hoshonnah. Always. The Jewish New year. You wanted a good start. And Marc was so, so good.

“Don’t. Come. out here. Or I’m not coming with you. I mean it.”

Marc knows damn well you weren’t likely to be coming with him either way.

Why do you wait?

All that city does is bring you down

And you could get out of

Marc, you gotta get her. She asked me not too He broke her fingers! Do you want me to just pick her up and carry her to the plane?

“Fine… just… come here as soon as you can. Gina will get you work at the diner until you find something in your field. We’ll take care of everything…” Marc knew you were slipping through his grasp, he wanted to reassure you that you didn’t need to worry about anything. “Just get the important documents, we’ll get you clothes and-”

The rain picked up again, you attempted to stay dry. “It’s okay, I got clothes… It’ll just take a few weeks maybe a month at most…” You’d have to find a new job, leave Jack and his family… You didn’t have any other friends that weren’t through him… Your dad wouldn’t want anything to do with you, he would never support a divorce.

Seattle, I don't know why

You stand under the clouds expecting to stay dry

Can't you see the day you'll ever win

That battle

Is the day they'll take the rain out of

Seattle

“Okay…” Marc knew he lost you. You weren’t coming. “Yeah maybe you can come out and we can… we can try this deli in town. Steven likes the soup.” He was entertaining himself to try to calm his mind. It’ll be okay, she’ll leave him, she’ll be okay…

You snicker “Damn, Steven lets you get food there? I thought he’d be strictly Whole Foods man” 

Hey! Marc smiles warmly. “He says since it’s kosher, he’ll allow it, as long as he doesn’t have to eat it.”

Fall, fall, falling

Oh, the sky keeps falling

And it gets so heavy on your heart

Fall, fall, falling

Oh, the tears keep falling

And you keep staying where you are

“Well that’s very nice of him…” You pause, thinking about how nice it would be to just live in New York with him, just you and him. It would be like your youth, the few years you and him spent drifting in and out of each other's lives. “Maybe we could go swim, like we used to?”

The thought of you in a swimsuit again… “Yeah.” He said. From the way he sounded, his thoughts were in your youth as well. “We could uh… we could go see Funny Girl and throw tomatoes at the actress you hate?” Marc don’t you dare Relax, she’s not coming. What do you mean? She never comes. She says she will, but she won’t.

You finally laugh. He could just imagine your face, all lit up and happy. “Yeah, that sounds great Marc, any chance to make Lea Michelle look stupid.” It’s how you deserved to be all the time.

Marc stood up to get a drink. He wasn’t sleeping tonight. “Yeah and… and Steven really wants to meet you.”

“I wanna meet him too. Hey! Purim is in a month, I think it’s only a few days before your birthday this year! Maybe we could go to a temple and celebrate?” Now he knew that you knew you weren’t coming. Marc hasn’t been to a synagogue since he left home. He knew you occasionally went, especially on the High Holidays. You would only ever bring this up if you never intended on coming. “Or maybe a different holiday, depending how long it takes me…”

Seattle, I don't know how

I'm supposed to help you if you won't leave town

Oh, can't you see the day you'll ever win

That battle

Is the day they'll take the rain out

The day they'll take the rain out of

Seattle

Marc felt the familiar tightness in his throat when he was losing you, the tears that rarely made an appearance, threatening to spill. “Yeah, yeah. That sounds amazing, Yafah sheli.” (my pretty) Marc had to take a deep breath to stop himself from crying. He closed his eyes tightly, hand shaking. “I’ll tell you what. I promise you, that if you come out here.” His voice broke, he covered it with a cough and tried again. “You come out here, I’ll go to temple with you for whatever holiday you want.” Marc crossed his arms on the counter, resting his head there. He needed you here, with the way things were escalating it would just get worse and worse until you were dead.

“Yeah. It’ll be like old times, huh?” You knew he knew. You’d leave, eventually. Maybe. But Jack deserves a second chance. He’s you’re husband, he loved you. Marc didn’t know him like you did, he didn’t understand… Marc should know what love does to you, it isn’t logical… It doesn’t make sense… But Marc doesn’t have to understand. 

Somehow, you couldn’t help but wonder where you’d be if the two of you had actually addressed what happened that night in December. Sometimes, as much as you push it away, you get flashbacks.

Blurry, hazy vision. His black shirt, your face in his neck, the look he gave you when he came inside you. You knew damn well how irresponsible it was, given your situation, but in the heat of the moment… Oh, so much heat. It wasn’t world changing or mind shattering, but it was love. Young love, puppy love, who knows. But you loved him and you knew back then he loved you two. Those 6 months were domestic bliss, you lived as a couple in every way but name and sexual, save for that night. Cooking, cleaning, work. Hell, you guys put together a small bookshelf without committing homicide. Why didn’t one of you just… said something? Marc wondered that too. He could practically smell the dollar store strawberry shampoo in your hair, and sometimes, if he concentrated, he felt the grip you had on his shoulder as he entered you. He had loved you so much in the moment, he didn’t know how to express it, so he simply never did.

Marc’s left fist was clenched hard in anger and frustration. Not with you. Never with you. But with the cards life constantly dealt you. His nails are digging into his palm. He wanted you here, he wanted you safe. You didn’t have to love him, just let him help… “Just um… Text me when you know the day, whatever it is I’ll make it work. Okay?”

He was so sweet. So pure. Everything the world threw at him and he still was the kindest person you knew. No matter what he thought of himself, no matter how much he hated himself, he was still so, so kind. “Yeah. of course. Thank you, Lamed Vovnik. I love you lots.” Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. You step out into the rain to ground yourself again. (one of the 36. It's a Jewish tradition, it basically means you are a very, very good person)

Marc, I’m sorry… “I love you too, honey.” He clenched harder, as if he held on hard enough, you’d stay in his grasp. When he opens his fist, he’s sure there’ll be blood. “Be safe. Okay? You always have a home with me and Steven. Always.”

“I know. Hey uh. I think it’s best if you didn’t call or text or anything for a while, okay? He’s already suspicious…”

“I understand.” Marc knew what that meant. It meant he wouldn’t hear from you for months, maybe not a year. This was it for now. “Shalom. Ani mitga’gea elayich...” (goodbye, I miss you) His voice broke, and there was no hiding it this time. Marc covers his mouth and closed his eyes as a few rogue tears wetter his face. He should’ve been there. He should’ve told you he loved you, he should have stayed in Chicago to be with you and never let that piece of shit come near you. He should’ve never let you feel so low that you thought he was all you deserved.

You pull at your hair, Seattle’s signature rain hiding the fact you were crying too. “Shalom, Marc Spector. Ani ohevet ot’h’a” (good bye)(I love you)

Oh, can't you see

You'll never take the rain out of

Seattle

Seattle

****************************

THANK YOU FOR READING.

If this fic gets 100 notes, I'll write a part 2 with a happier ending.

Tagging a few people I thought might enjoy

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @ahookedheroespureheart @howaboutcastiel

#marc spector fluff #marc spector hurt comfort #marc spector fanfic #marc spector moon knight #marc spector needs a hug #marc spector reader #jewish marc spector #moon knight fluff #moon knight hurt comfort #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight you #jewish reader #steven grant #hurt comfort #soft marc spector #marc spector #moon knight

[anticomedygarden]

Trick, or treat?!

hi, lovely anon!

i may have mentioned before that i like to write isolated scenes of characters losing it when i'm going through shit to let off steam, so here is a piece of one of those that no one will ever see in full, modified into a one shot

-

Throughout his Gran's speech, Henry's hands became more and more sweaty, eventually getting to the point where he had to concentrate to keep them from slipping out of each other's grasp. It wasn't just the nerves; London had been on the receiving end of a massive heat wave - global warming, of course - and temperatures had breached 35 degrees Celsius for the first time that summer. It was no doubt deliberate - calling people together at unusual and uncomfortable places and all that - but if Mary thought discomfort would make him more pliable, she was sorely mistaken.

And that's what Henry was afraid of.

Because when his grandmother beckoned him up to the podium to give his speech, the speech so heavy in imperialistic and colonial ideals it would have made Philip uncomfortable, Henry found he couldn't do it. He made his way to the podium alright, but looking out into the faces he was supposedly responsible for, many of which were decked out in so many colored stripes and 'History, huh?' shirts one would think it was still June, he physically could not force himself to open his mouth and give this speech.

Thank you, Your Majesty. It is with great honor that I stand here today in front of such a wonderful people with the soul of our nation's history behind me.

Five years ago, he would have spoken the words laid out for him mechanically, filled with disgust for himself, because he thought that was his only option. Five years ago, he was so far in the closet, he didn't know which way was out.

Five years ago, he thought Alex hated him.

Things change, and he didn't have to take the Crown any longer.

He opened his mouth.

-

The moment Henry stepped on stage, Alex knew something was wrong.

It was 4:30 in the morning in New York, and Alex was watching the BBC broadcast of the royal speeches at the Tower of London. He couldn't give two shits about what the queen had to say, but he wanted to see Henry, and Henry looked like hell.

Just two nights before, Alex had traced and kissed and licked muscles over and over again until they fell flat, relaxed and strung out. Now, those muscles were rock hard, visibly straining against his suit, and only getting tenser the longer the queen spoke.

TV Henry stepped up to the podium and glanced down at the paper in front of him, then looked back up to give a speech Alex would never forget.

"Good morning, London," he began. For a second, he glanced down at the podium, and for a second, Alex thought everything was fine, that Henry was just gonna read off the script. Then he shook his head. "The speech prepared for me today is lovely, really. Kudos to whoever wrote it." Off to the side, Mary's eyes took on a hard expression. She didn't look mad, exactly; she would never let the public see her emote, but seen clearly wasn't happy. "But that's not my problem with it. You see, this speech weaves a beautiful tapestry of my family's history. A history that, when looked at with any kind of humane lens, is riddled with horrors, not least of which is actual genocide."

Alex's mouth dropped open. "Holy shit," he muttered, clutching the chain around his neck through his ratty pajama shirt. "Oh my god, he's gonna get assassinated."

Poor bleary David looked up at Alex then, but the brown haired man couldn't tear his eyes off the TV, not even when his phone started ringing.

Henry continued. "It's not like you even have to look very far to find it, not when this country is still actively involved in world affairs it has no business being involved in, or when I by myself am worth €25 million, and we have over 270,000 homeless people in the UK." He laughed, sending a shock through Alex's body, causing him to jump.

"Holy fuck, that's my boyfriend," he said into the empty living room. Then, louder, "That's my boyfriend." He was so fucking proud. (Worried, exponentially so, but also so proud.)

When Henry looked back at the crowd, his eyes were a bit manic. With a heavy hand, he slapped the podium and thrust an arm back, gesturing behind him at the Tower. "Look at that! I am literally standing in front of years of brutal colonialism, funded by jewels that aren't even ours! And it's right there! All in there."

Mary was still standing there, except now she was looking at a spot beyond the camera's sight line. Alex hoped to god it wasn't security. It was probably security.

It was okay, though, because Henry's arms were back down at his sides, although he was breathing heavily. "I apologize."

Alex breathed out a sigh, unsure if it relieved or disappointed.

"That's not quite true. Much of what we stole is in museums."

"Oh my god." For the first time in their relationship, Henry was the one fucking up a public appearance, and Alex was absolutely terrified for him.

On their call the night before, he'd mentioned something about the queen being worse than normal and making life generally miserable at the palace, but never in a million years did Alex anticipate Henry doing this.

"For now, I've got nothing left to say, which is probably a good thing since many of you are eyeing me quite distastefully, including my own security." He turned and got halfway off the podium before turning back around, holding up a fist, and saying, "Stay proud, London!" Then he left, disappearing out of the TV screen.

Alex didn't stay to see what happened next, instead scrambling for his phone. His thumb hesitated when he got to his contacts. Should he call Zahra, who could get him on a plane in the next half hour? Or Henry, who needed him?

He called Henry, obviousky. "Holy shit, sweetheart-"

"Alex, oh my god," Henry interrupted. "I'm coming home."

"Really?" Alex said, pausing on the stairs. Henry was still supposed to have two weeks left in London. "I was gonna come to you."

"No, I'm coming home," he said firmly. "Shaan said I can be on a flight within the hour. I'm not staying any longer than I have to."

"Okay. Cool. Hey, just out of curiosity, and feel free not to answer, but does this mean you've decided about abdicating?"

Henry laughed humorlessly. "I don't think I have a choice anymore."

"You always have a choice, sweetheart." Though Alex had to admit, it did not feel like it right now.

"Yeah." Alex heard a ragged breath on the other end of the line. "Alright. I think it's a yes. Right now. But we'll have to talk about it."

"Okay." Alex took a deep breath. "Okay. I love you."

"I love you, too. I'll see you in a few hours."

"See you, too."

He hung up and sat down heavily on the stairs, elbows on his knees and staring dumbly at the floor.

Holy shit.

#firstprince #rwrb #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #my writing #my fic #my fanfic #rwrb fic #rwrb fanfic #firstprince fic #firstprince fanfic #henry x alex #alex x henry #henry goes a bit off the rails #asks

[bugznews]

Monday, March 25, 2024

Today I want to talk about a very serious topic. That topic is Trauma. We all have some form of it in our past. It might have been a girl that picked on you in school. Or like me, I was homeless more than once.

But for the longest time, I buried my past as deep as it would go. This didn't help me to move on from those memories. Instead, it kept stinking up my whole life.

For instance my romantic relationships. Guys could never handle it when I tried to explain it. Then they would dump me and walk away. After a while, I just gave up on dating altogether.

Plus, I realize that I like my freedom. I like to go to bed when I want to or spend the whole day playing video games if I feel like it. So until my attitude changes on that front I am completely happy being single.

Plus, my best friend is a cat named Nala. Most men wouldn't be able to deal with that. Another problem is that my mom and I are a package deal. We are the only family that we have left. So me not living in the same town as her isn't an option. Hamilton has been my home for many years. I don't plan on changing that for a long time.

As long as I can't get internet service here I am happy as can be. At the same time the fact that I went through the trauma of being homeless sucks but at the same time it made me the person that I am today.

For some reason, I was meant to have that experience. I wouldn't wish it on anyone not even my worst enemy. But I was supposed to learn from that experience. I think that if you can think of a bad experience in your life like that then you see what you can learn from it.

I know that you may not be at that point today. That is ok. Even if you can only do baby steps. I know that since I have been in therapy since I was a teenager I am still scratching the surface on some of my trauma. It is like peeling back the layers of an onion you just have to do one at a time.

Now you don't necessarily have to talk to a therapist. Instead, you could talk to anyone you trust to support you. There are people that I know when my therapist isn't available then they will talk with me as long as it takes. That is really what being a friend is all about.

Like, take my mom, for instance, sometimes she just has to vent about work. That is how stressful it gets for her. But the fact that I am the person she trusts is a great honor. Of course, I mainly forget what she says after we are done.

I am also one step closer to getting my podcast up and running. I have ordered a new tablet which will help me with the logistics. I still have not taken the class but I hope to soon. I might just have to get off my butt and teach myself how to do this. But thank you so much for hanging on this long.

I know that I have a lot to learn about being a blogger and podcaster. But I am trying my best with what I have. I know that I have given you a lot to think about today. But it is such an important topic to address when it comes to mental health. I wish that I had that cup of coffee this morning. But we got dumped on by the snow machine last night. It pretty well shut down the whole town. I couldn't even go get my glasses adjusted. Pretty much every other word I have to put them back on my nose. Maybe tomorrow will be better. Well, I guess that is all I have for today. Have a great day.

#mental health awareness

[justanotherpersonsuniverse]

All right here we go! 

Spoilers below for chapter 71 of PN

Oo nice, marinette POV is always fun in this

Ough little baby… not feeling mixed enough sounds difficult :(

Oh jeeze poor thing, wow yeah she kinda just lost it all in one go

Damn Fei almost succeeded in what hawkmoth has been trying to do for 1 year in like 12 hours

I’m going to be homeless, miraculous-less, I’m going to have to perform on the streets for money and wander through the streets lost and hungry until I eventually die in a trash can.! Always love marinette catastrophizing 

Ok but if panthera was there then you two could panic about both losing things together!! It would be great fun. 

Christ you really capture marinette’s constant state of high alert amazingly its honestly really funny

French. My god. French. Someone could speak French.

Marinette had found her.. her Shanghai savior. NO GIRL SHE STOLE FROM YOU BUT THIS IS FUNNY AS FUCK

IT GOT FUNNIER HELP CALLING HER A CASH COW????GIRL PLEASE I’M LOSING IT ON A SUNDAY MORNING

Ha idiot, yes Fei you have morals accept it. I know in the Shanghai special they basically had Marinette's epic aura of kindness remind Fei of her dad’s ideals, but i’m curious what’ll happen here

Fei forgor that to scam people you have to be certain type of person. Which she is not. 

Nah you got me tricked for a second when you mentioned Rose saying something at the start of Juleka’s POV i was like “girl what we get a rose POV??” but alas

Make Juleka visit Scotland and then I can comment on inconsistencies and shit the internet lies about, it would give me great joy

Bird employee?? Mr Cheng is so cool

The gorilla uses sign language?? Why did i not know this. That’s cool af

Hey Marinette is says gullible on the ceiling look up. Girly really trusts the first person she could communicate with directly after being mugged

Marinette and her slight of hand tricks return again!

Fei being baffled by kindness repaying in its own way is so much fun

Nah not the way Juleka and Adrien are bonding with Mr Cheng before Marinette does it-

Bastille is fun, i enjoy this bird

Guard cat Juleka is so real

Everything. She looked at herself in the bike mirror. Her damaged face, her ruined hands that were meant for outreached protection and kind generosity– gnarled into the claws of a thieving demon. Fei closed her eyes, remembering the emptiness of what should’ve been around her wrist, and remembering the emptiness of where her father should’ve still been standing. This paragraph goes so hard, i love it. 

Nah Fei pleeek talk to someone girly your so sad rn

Marinette is so little and darling

Juleka didn’t trust the darkness. Not to someone alone. Not to someone that wasn’t her. Emo ass motherfucker (but also valid AF)

No because why am i still so suspicious about Adrien finding out. Like girl please. 

NO BECAUSE THE SUSPICION IS GETTING HIGHER GIRLY IS GOING TO SNEAK OTU

Mr Cheng panicking- oh dear, someone please give the guy a hug

Hey. how does Fei expect Marinette to pay her when she already stole all her money. 

GIRL STOP TELLING EVERYONE HOW PRECIOUS THEY ARE TO YOU PLEEK

Wait no girl she needs the earrings. Girl please. Fei why. 

HUH WHAT PLAGG CAN JUST LEAVE??

This is so awesome and silly style and i love it

Alright, chapter 72 now, I’m rolling this into one review cause I’ve got the flow

NEVER MIND THE NEW CHAPTER IS 30K I WILL SPLIT THESE

chapter 71 was banging, loved it cap! now the monster that is chapter 72 shall be slain

LETS GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

#panthera noire au #sneak a cat