#Florida State Guard

[programmed-and-dangerous]

I’m not usually one to go out and aggregate the news for people’s dash but while the big flashy news of the strikes in Hollywood and the upcoming likely UPS strike hold most headlines, there’s reporting that looks like Ron DeSantis is building his own fucking military.

What was supposedly a disaster response team that was reactivated about a year ago has had its budget balloon from $10 million to $107.5 million and gone from about 400 recruits to around 1,500. This group has police powers, boats, helicopters, and cellphone hacking capabilities

The news of this turning into something more pseudo military has come out recently has veterans who volunteered have either resigned or were dismissed (depending on if you believe the vets or the guy in charge) are blowing the whistle on the operation.

[dontmeantobepoliticalbut]

The recently revived Florida State Guard would more than triple in size and add aviation and maritime equipment, with funding going from $10 million to more than $95 million, under Gov. Ron DeSantis' proposed budget.

DeSantis last year pushed to reactivate the volunteer state guard to assist the Florida National Guard during emergencies. The state guard was set up during World War II to replace Florida National Guard members who were deployed abroad. It went inactive in 1947 but remained in state law.

Chris Spencer, DeSantis' director of policy and budget, told members of the Senate Appropriations Committee on Tuesday that an expanded state guard is needed to help an overtaxed Florida National Guard.

"Our national guardsmen have a much longer, much more frequent schedule of activations because of our emergencies than other states that have more national guardsmen," Spencer said while giving a budget overview, "That's a big burden on the families of national guardsmen and it's a big burden on the national guardsmen themselves. It's a factor in the challenges that we're having in recruiting national guardsmen in Florida."

With approximately 12,000 Florida soldiers and airmen, Spencer added some members of the National Guard are deployed in non-emergencies, with about 400 working in state prisons. Meanwhile, the DeSantis administration is proposing to increase the size of the state guard from 400 to 1,500 members. Spencer said the goal is to have the state guard fully operational by the July 1 start of the upcoming fiscal year.

Sen. Bobby Powell, a West Palm Beach Democrat who questioned Spencer on the state guard's proposed funding, said after the meeting he would like more information on the plans.

"I'm just interested to know, is there something we don't know about, as regular people, that we're missing, that we need to add from 400 to 1,500 (with the) state guard," Powell said. "There is a lot of conversation centered on what is happening in Washington, D.C. Is Florida, are we a part of the nation?"

The budget for the current fiscal year included $10 million to reactivate the state guard and cover the costs of six positions.

As part of an overall $114.8 billion budget he proposed last week for the 2023-2024 fiscal year, DeSantis is asking lawmakers for $1.3 million to expand the salaried positions to 10; $50 million for aviation equipment; $3 million for maritime equipment; $22 million for storage facilities; and $19 million for training and protective equipment.

Last June, DeSantis said more than 1,200 people applied for the guard's 400 positions.

As part of recruitment efforts for the Florida National Guard, DeSantis has proposed $1,000 bonuses for new recruits and guardsmen who renew contracts.

Spencer said similar recruitment bonus incentives are not on the table for the state guard.

"If we don't hit our 400 and if we think it's going to be a challenge to hit our 1,500, we may come back and ask for support from the Legislature for an incentive plan next year," Spencer said. "But as of right now, we feel pretty strong there's going to be a lot of interest in joining, and hitting that number should not be a challenge."

[johnnusz]

Why should us the tax payers pay for dipShit R.DeSantis private arm when they aren't working in Florida?

[amalgamasreal]

Why a land invasion of the US would never work.

[shipwreckguy]

Stuyvesant

Dredger Stuyvesant engine room fire; 1 injured #uscg #jacksonville #florida #maritime

Photo: U.S. Coast Guard On the afternoon of November 2, the 107 meter long, 11,014 dwt dredger Stuyvesant (IMO: 7915838) caught fire at the entrance to St. John’s River off Jacksonville, Florida. The fire started in the dredger’s engine room with the vessel requesting assistance. Both local authorities along with the U.S. Coast Guard dispatched crews to assist in extinguishing the blaze. Reports…

[sassyandclassy94]

Yall know my writer friend who I often mention and reference, and credit my writing growth to? Red? Well he lives in Florida and I can’t help but be really concerned for him through this hurricane😭 I don’t know where exactly in Florida he lives but he always told me inland but Milton is so big that I hope he and his little family evacuated🥺 I know he said Florida is always well-equipped and prepared for these storms and the weather stations do a lot of fear-mongering but I do still hope he stays safe.

Wherever you are, Red I hope you’re heeding the evacuation and safety precautions. Be safe out there, Dude!

[rabbitcruiser]

An act of the U.S. Congress creates the United States Coast Guard as a branch of the United States Armed Forces on January 28, 1915.

[reasonsforhope]

Federal regulators on Tuesday [April 23, 2024] enacted a nationwide ban on new noncompete agreements, which keep millions of Americans — from minimum-wage earners to CEOs — from switching jobs within their industries.

The Federal Trade Commission on Tuesday afternoon voted 3-to-2 to approve the new rule, which will ban noncompetes for all workers when the regulations take effect in 120 days [So, the ban starts in early September, 2024!]. For senior executives, existing noncompetes can remain in force. For all other employees, existing noncompetes are not enforceable.

[That's right: if you're currently under a noncompete agreement, it's completely invalid as of September 2024! You're free!!]

The antitrust and consumer protection agency heard from thousands of people who said they had been harmed by noncompetes, illustrating how the agreements are "robbing people of their economic liberty," FTC Chair Lina Khan said. 

The FTC commissioners voted along party lines, with its two Republicans arguing the agency lacked the jurisdiction to enact the rule and that such moves should be made in Congress...

Why it matters

The new rule could impact tens of millions of workers, said Heidi Shierholz, a labor economist and president of the Economic Policy Institute, a left-leaning think tank. 

"For nonunion workers, the only leverage they have is their ability to quit their job," Shierholz told CBS MoneyWatch. "Noncompetes don't just stop you from taking a job — they stop you from starting your own business."

Since proposing the new rule, the FTC has received more than 26,000 public comments on the regulations. The final rule adopted "would generally prevent most employers from using noncompete clauses," the FTC said in a statement.

The agency's action comes more than two years after President Biden directed the agency to "curtail the unfair use" of noncompetes, under which employees effectively sign away future work opportunities in their industry as a condition of keeping their current job. The president's executive order urged the FTC to target such labor restrictions and others that improperly constrain employees from seeking work.

"The freedom to change jobs is core to economic liberty and to a competitive, thriving economy," Khan said in a statement making the case for axing noncompetes. "Noncompetes block workers from freely switching jobs, depriving them of higher wages and better working conditions, and depriving businesses of a talent pool that they need to build and expand."

Real-life consequences

In laying out its rationale for banishing noncompetes from the labor landscape, the FTC offered real-life examples of how the agreements can hurt workers.

In one case, a single father earned about $11 an hour as a security guard for a Florida firm, but resigned a few weeks after taking the job when his child care fell through. Months later, he took a job as a security guard at a bank, making nearly $15 an hour. But the bank terminated his employment after receiving a letter from the man's prior employer stating he had signed a two-year noncompete.

In another example, a factory manager at a textile company saw his paycheck dry up after the 2008 financial crisis. A rival textile company offered him a better job and a big raise, but his noncompete blocked him from taking it, according to the FTC. A subsequent legal battle took three years, wiping out his savings. 

-via CBS Moneywatch, April 24, 2024

--

Note:

A lot of people think that noncompete agreements are only a white-collar issue, but they absolutely affect blue-collar workers too, as you can see from the security guard anecdote.

In fact, one in six food and service workers are bound by noncompete agreements. That's right - one in six food workers can't leave Burger King to work for Wendy's [hypothetical example], in the name of "trade secrets." (x, x, x)

Noncompete agreements also restrict workers in industries from tech and video games to neighborhood yoga studios. "The White House estimates that tens of millions of workers are subject to noncompete agreements, even in states like California where they're banned." (x, x, x)

The FTC estimates that the ban will lead to "the creation of 8,500 new businesses annually, an average annual pay increase of $524 for workers, lower health care costs, and as many as 29,000 more patents each year for the next decade." (x)

Clearer explanation of noncompete agreements below the cut.

Noncompete agreements can restrict workers from leaving for a better job or starting their own business.

Noncompetes often effectively coerce workers into staying in jobs they want to leave, and even force them to leave a profession or relocate.

Noncompetes can prevent workers from accepting higher-paying jobs, and even curtail the pay of workers not subject to them directly.

Of the more than 26,000 comments received by the FTC, more than 25,000 supported banning noncompetes. 

[zinniajones]

Text of thread at https://kolektiva.social/@zinnia/110418489814171631:

Yes - this is what is happening in Florida due to SB 254, which was signed into law on Tuesday 5/17/2023, taking immediate effect. This immediately cut off 80%+ of adult trans people in Florida from having their HRT refilled, because SB 254 uniquely prohibits only nurse practitioners from prescribing only gender-affirming medications.

This has already been in effect for 7 days now.

Trans adults in Florida have already been cut off from their HRT refills for a week now, including those of us who have been stable on these medications for years or decades.

This is VERY different from the general situation of trans youth care bans in 19 states, many still working their way through the courts.

This has *already* happened, to *all* of us: all trans adults in the third most populous state in the US.

The number of trans adults on HRT massively exceeds the sliver of the population that are under 18 and are prescribed puberty blockers or hormone therapy.

These laws, advanced under the pretext of 'protecting children', are now directly impacting a far larger group of people who are not children and are not subject to those pretextual concerns.

Other arguments about withholding public Medicaid funding for transition treatment also do not apply here: SB 254 does not even allow receiving this care through private insurance or paying cash out of pocket. The care isn't simply not covered - the care itself cannot be provided regardless.

What is happening in Florida requires special attention above the situation of trans youth care bans nationally. This is having a vastly larger impact quantifiably.

It will have worse impacts qualitatively as well: adults are responsible for taking care of and protecting trans kids and making sure they do not hurt themselves.

Whereas as a trans adult, we have no one standing guard at the brink but our own self and the void to which we are accountable.

These are the facts as they stand right now. These are the facts as they have stood for a WEEK and NO ONE nationally is putting any attention on this because there are 19 trans youth care bans all across the country going on, along with everything else targeting trans people and the LGBT community broadly.

This is a specific harm that is happening now and has been happening for 168 hours.

It is not a hypothetical issue to raise awareness of, as if it were at the stage of some proposal that needs to be fought back. This has already happened and is happening right now. Active harm is happening until this law is rolled back.

For all of Florida's history since the inception of the applicable regulatory and licensing bodies, nurse practitioners have been allowed to prescribe hormone therapy, testosterone blockers and other relevant gender-affirming medications.

That has been the case since I moved here in 2011. There was no reason why this wouldn't be the case. It's also the case in every other state.

This new law is a carveout of prescriptions when used for one purpose, gender-affirming care, from nurse practitioners specifically, in a way that has never been done before. It affects all ages.

It has immediately obstructed access to HRT prescription refills for more than 80% of TRANS ADULTS in Florida.

It has also prohibited first appointments for HRT via telehealth with in-state or out-of-state MDs or DOs - first appointments must be in person. This will require expensive and time-consuming travel that is beyond most trans people's means: driving to Georgia from Florida can take 8 hours.

This was an intentional targeting of almost all trans adults in Florida, and the means by which we have received our generic, FDA-approved medications for years. And it included closing every possible door that would let us find another way to keep taking the medications we have taken for...

Well, for me it was 3,891 days when the clock stopped

[goosewithtwoos]

SLUMBER PARTY

Pairing: Bob x Reader

Summary: Phoenix left some aphrodisiac brownies at your house - you accidentally eat one

DISCLAIMER: yeah i got no fwicking clue how aphrodisiacs work so this is more of a crack post than anything don’t take it too seriously

“You brought brownies!” You squeal, running up to hug your best friend.

Phoenix was carrying a small box of brownies that were perfectly decorated with powdered sugar. Your mouth was watering just looking at them.

“Hands off!” She cries, holding them over her head. “It’s a gift for someone. I’m going to a bachelorette party later.”

You pout. “Not even one?”

“Not even one.”

The two of you head inside, catching up on things and discussing plans for your next official leave. You were trying to schedule a trip with everyone down to Sanibel island off the coast of Florida but Hangman was being difficult and said the time he’d spent in Pensacola had been enough to last a lifetime.

You helped Phoenix get ready for the party, doing her makeup for her. Having grown up with four older brothers, Phoenix had never had time to play with makeup. You didn’t mind - in fact, you loved doing makeup for other people.

After about 45 minutes, a phone rang. Phoenix picks hers up only to find that it was your phone that was ringing.

You grab it off the vanity and check the caller ID.

Bob.

You show your phone to Phoenix who grins wildly. She’s known about your crush on her WSO ever since she had introduced you.

“Hello?” You ask tentatively. It was rare that he’d call you. Typically, he’d call someone else and ask them to ask you something.

“Hey, uh, sorry this is weird for me to call. I was just wondering -“

Your heart was beating out of your chest. You looked at Phoenix, silently pleading with her for help.

‘Put him on speaker’ She mouths. You quickly do so, holding your breath lest he notices the change.

“I have your credit card. You left it at the Hard Deck last night and Penny gave it to me. I was wondering when would be a good time to drop it off?”

‘Right now!’ Phoenix mouths.

‘Right now?’ You mouth back, looking at the state of your room and yourself in the mirror. She nods frantically, turning around and quickly reorganizing your things back into the drawers.

“Umm…well I’m home right now if you wanted to bring it over.” You hoped you came across at least slightly suave instead of a panicking mess.

“Oh!” Bob sounded caught off guard. “Yeah, I can do that. Do you want me to leave it in your mailbox?”

Phoenix whips her head around. ‘No!’

“No? I mean, no! I’ve uh…been having a lot of mail theft recently. You can never been too careful.”

Bob hummed. “Mail theft is a huge deal. You should report it. I remember my sister had a problem with that for a while too.”

Bless. his. heart.

“Yeah…” Your voice died off, trying to figure out if this actually was real life or simply some dream. Bob was coming over. Your heart fluttered at the idea. “So! Um, when should I expect you?”

“Maybe like 30 minutes? I just left the PX and rush hour is kinda crazy at this time of day.”

Phoenix was grinning wickedly. She gave you two thumbs up and the look in her eyes told you that maybe this wasn’t a terrible idea.

You made a noise of agreeance in the back of your throat. “Sounds perfect.”

The next 30 minutes of your life we’re some of the most stress inducing you’d ever faced. You wanted everything to be perfect. Phoenix had high tailed it out of there, nearly forgetting her purse, and you sped cleaned the whole house like the president was coming to visit.

Sure, he was probably just going to come to the door, drop off your card, and leave but the small glimmer of hope you held made you clean. Maybe this time you’d actually have the balls to ask him to come inside.

A soft knock at your door announced his arrival. You scrambled from the couch, brushing down your shirt and fixing your hair before answering the door.

“Hey!” He choked out, taking in your figure. Your flight suit was pretty conservative along with you cammies. It was a rare occasion for him to see you in your civilian clothes. “This is for you.”

You took the card from him, careful to not accidentally brush his hand with yours.

“Thank you so much, I don’t know how I could have forgotten this.” You quickly shove the card into your back pocket for safe keeping.

He quickly shoved his hands in his front pocket and shrugged. “Happens to the best of us.”

You nodded, unsure of what to say and didn’t trust yourself to not randomly blurt out an ‘I love you’, so you settled for an awkward silence.

After you both had stared at each other for far too long, he gave you a quick nod and started to pivot away. “Well, guess I’ll see you back at in on Monday.”

Damn it, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. You were supposed to invite him in and talk and maybe watch a movie and hold hands a little. Not have him walk away after less than a minute on your doorstep.

“Do you wanna come in?” You blurt out, surprising not only him but also yourself. “I have to give you something as an appreciation. I probably have a beer or something.” Fucking dumbass.

He turned back towards you, removing his hands from his pockets.

“I won’t take a beer but I will take a water.”

You stepped out of the doorframe allowing room for him to enter. “I do in fact also have water.”

He entered and then followed as you walked to the kitchen. It was small but good enough to make borderline decent meals. You weren’t much of a chef anyways and ate at the chow hall more than you’d care to admit.

“Do you want ice and a glass or just a bottle?” You ask, turning to the cupboard.

“Just a glass, no ice.” He said, taking in your decor.

This wasn’t a permanent lodging, just for the time you’re stationed here, but you still liked to decorate a little bit. Felt more like something you could call home.

You poured a glass and handed it to him, brushing his fingers as you did.

Your heart picked up from the slight touch and you cursed yourself for being such a child. You were a Naval aviator, you should be able to touch someone without having your mind go completely blank. Yet alas. Your mind was gone the moment his fingers touched yours.

He took a sip, then motioned with his chin to a tupperware sitting on the counter. “You just make those?”

You tilted your head, confused on how the hell a tupperware ended up on your counter. You went to inspect it only to find they were the brownies Phoenix had brought over for the bachelorette party. She must have forgotten them in her hurry to leave.

“Uh, these actually aren’t even mine.” You admit, wondering if it would be worth calling her back for them or not. She’d probably already be there by now. Guess if she really wanted them she would have called and asked. “Phoenix made them. She stopped by earlier and I guess she left them.”

His shoulders slumped a little bit at the news.

“But it doesn’t seem like she’s gonna come back for them any time soon and it would be a real shame to waste them.” You quickly follow up. The look on his face was worth it. You didn’t really want a brownie but you knew he wouldn’t eat one if you didn’t.

You pulled two paper towels and grabbed a brownie for the both of you, handing one to him and smelling yours. God, it smelled so good. Were these really made by Phoenix? They smelled like they were made by chocolatiers from some fancy Paris bakery.

“To Bob, for returning my card.” You said as a mock toast. He raised his brownie in turn before you took a bite in tandem.

Holy shit - they tasted even better than they smelled.

You quickly finished yours before grabbing a glass of water for yourself.

Bob stayed for a while, chatting in your kitchen about everything and anything. The conversation was completely normal so it was surprising when you felt the intense need to get off.

Your heart rate picked up rapidly and you could feel yourself getting wetter by the second. Your replies slowly turned from interesting, full and comprehensive sentences, to a mix of ‘mhm’ and ‘oh yeah’. God, why couldn’t you get control of yourself?

“Do you wanna go sit down?” You gasp out, fingers gripping the cup for dear life.

“Yeah, good idea.” Bob was looking much more pale than usual but you chocked that up to your terrible lighting and white countertops.

The two of you sat in the living area, a far enough distance from each other on the couch to make it awkward. You pulled your knees to your chest, hoping that the squeezing of your thighs would be able to help alleviate some of the feeling.

What was happening? You typically had self control but this was excessive. God, you needed a cold shower.

“So - uh - how’s your sister?” You also, trying to think of the least sexy topic.

“Good.” His reply was short and quick. His chest was heaving slightly, looking like he had just run a mile. Was he feeling the same thing you were? His composure seemed to be dissolving just like yours. “Sorry, I’m just a little bit warm. Do you mind if I take this off?” He gestured to his sweater, lightly tugging at the bottom.

You screamed internally. “Of course.” Fuck, once he mentioned heat, your whole body exploded and you needed to take a polar plunge.

Even once his sweater was off, he kept readjusting.

“I’ll turn a fan on.” The moment you stood, you knew something was really wrong. Your legs were like jello. Your heart was racing as your body ached with desperation.

The fan did little to help you cool off and the feeling was simply just getting worse. You had been talking about something, taxes maybe? Something that should have been a complete turn off but Bob was looking at you like he wanted to ravish you.

Your voice trailed off when you realized he wasn’t even paying attention to what you were saying and you couldn’t even remember where your sentence had died off.

“I’m so sorry, I promise I’m trying to listen, I don’t…” He was audibly panting, adjusting his collar. “Fuck, can I kiss you?”

The heat between your thighs was like nothing you’d ever felt before. “Mhm.” You manage to nod, trying desperately to not go insane. You needed his hands on you, like, yesterday.

In an instant, he pulled you into a lip bruising kiss, bucking his hips the moment you straddled him. He was so hard already, you were surprised by how needy he was before anything had even happened.

You kissed like the world was going to end. Like you needed each other like some sort of drug.

His hands found your waist, massaging your sides. You couldn’t help but grind your hips down on his, relishing the sounds he made. When his fingers slipped under your shirt, cold hands touching your warm skin, you gasped into his mouth.

“I need you so bad.” He whined.

“Say it again.” The pounding in your chest increased rapidly at his admission.

“I - I need you. Oh my God.” He cried as you bit down on the soft spot beneath his ear. “You can’t keep doing that.”

You smirk, dragging your tongue along the sensitive spot. “This?”

His whole body shook as he pulled you down tighter against him. “Y-yeah, that.” You couldn’t tell if the movement of your hips was your doing or his strong hands, pushing and pulling you back and forth.

“Can I take your shirt off?” He begs.

“God, yes, please.” You reply. His hands quickly pulled your t-shirt up and over, throwing it somewhere across the room.

Seeing your chest turned him feral. In an instant, his eyes darkened and all inhibition was gone.

“Jesus Christ.” He mutters, cupping your chest through your bra and squeezing. “I could die in between these.”

“Fuck me first.” You pant. You felt like your whole body was on fire. You needed friction, for him to touch you, anything.

He leaned forward and licked from the center of your chest slowly up your neck. You’d never had anyone else do anything like that but it was hot all the same. A strong hand lightly gripped your throat, pressing down enough to feel something but not enough to cut off any blood flow.

“God, you’re gorgeous. Could keep you on my lap forever.” He growls.

Something about the possessiveness made your mind short circuit.

“Robert.” You moan, pressing yourself down again. Every nerve was on fire. You were on fire. You were going to burn and you were going to burn with him.

“I got you, honey.” His southern drawl slowly making its way into his speech. You’d always been interested in saving a horse and riding a cowboy, and now seemed like a good time to try it.

You smashed your mouths back together and began pawing at the bottom of his shirt. You wanted it off but you didn’t want to peel yourself away from him.

He made quick work of the buttons on your shorts, pulling down the zipper and pressing two fingers against you. It felt so good - too good - and you needed him now.

"Please, please, please." You were begging a man, and you couldn't care less.

“I got you baby, you don’t need to beg. I’ll give it to you. Fuck, gonna give it to you so good.” His fingers were inside you, working you open, thumb pressing against your clit.

You threw your head back, groaning in agony and pleasure as he presses against your g-spot.

“Gorgeous, so fucking gorgeous,” he mumbles more to himself than anyone else. You were riding his fingers like a pro, swiveling your hips and grinding down like you’d done it a hundred times before.

“I need…I need you in me.” You moan out.

“I am in you.” He teases, biting down on your shoulder.

This cocky little son of a - “Robert Jameson Floyd.” You whine again. You’d never been reduced to whining and begging before but suddenly, it was the only thing you could do.

He groans when you call him by his full name. His fingers pull out, tapping your folds a few times before being pulled from your shorts completely. He lifts them and - damn him - sticks them into his mouth, acting as if it was the most delicious thing he’d had all week. “You need to take these off.”

Brilliant idea.

You stand, quickly removing your shorts and panties in a fluid move. He unbuckles his jeans and pushes them down. His boxers came off almost immediately afterwards and your eyes went wide.

You’d known he was pretty. Hell, he was probably the prettiest man you’d ever seen, but you didn’t realize that every inch of him was going to be pretty. And big.

You swallow, eyes flicking up to meet his. He was panting, looking at you and you realized you didn’t feel self conscious at all. You felt good, safe, and sexy. You’d probably ask to marry him if he could fuck you as good as he was saying he could.

“How’d you want this?” He asks.

“You’re from Texas, right?” You ask and he nods. “I’ve always been interested in saving horses.”

He throws his head back, laughing. “If it weren’t you standing naked in front of me right now, I’d be getting up and leaving. That was the worst thing I’ve ever heard. Get over here.”

You suppress a laugh, sitting back down on his lap, feeling him hard as a rock underneath you. "Your shirts coming off." You say, pulling at it.

He removes his glasses, shaking his head lightly, tousling his hair even more than your hands had. With or without his glasses, he made it hard to breathe. When he removes his shirt, you were sure he'd knocked the wind out of you entirely.

Your mind couldn't think of anything to say so you opted for leaning down and capturing him into another kiss. His large hands wrap around your side, kneading the flesh beneath. You had began rocking your hips back and forth without even realizing it until his hand stopped you.

"I want to get inside you before I come from just this." He admits, resting his forehead against yours.

You nod, still unable to form coherent thoughts. "Yeah, yeah that's a good idea."

You lift your hips as he lines himself up. Much to your pleasure, he didn't force you down and allowed for you to go at your own pace. It had been a while and you were tight. He hisses through his teeth as you sink down.

"Fit inside me so good." You tell him. He throws his head back, letting out a low moan. You were glad he wasn't the type of man who tried to silence himself. He sounded so beautiful. "Could stay here forever."

"Fuck me first." He says, bucking his hips ever so slightly, echoing your words from earlier.

Who were you to decline such a polite request?

You lift yourself up, enjoying how his eyes immediately snap down to watch where you're connected. The grip on your hips tightens as you go back down.

It felt like your senses were heightened. Every inch of him was sending flames through you. Your heart felt like it was going to burst out of your chest and Bob looked no better.

He was watching intensely as you moved, mouth ajar. You press your hands against his chest and lean forward ever so slightly. The change of angles makes you see stars.

"Oh my God." You cry out. He felt impossibly deep and so, so good.

"Feels better than I ever thought possible." He groans. "Just like you were made for me."

"Thought about this before?" You tease, spelling your name with your hips. What size ring was he?

Bob's hand leaves your waist and trails down to your clit. "Often." With a light pinch, you're doubling over, crying out with a mix of broken moans and his name.

"You're gonna make me come fast if you keep doing that." You warn him. As much as you wanted to come, the thought of this being over made you want to hold off as long as possible.

He pinches again. "I'm no better, darlin. Come whenever, I'll be right behind you." The feeling of him inside you was making you crazy. You were losing your mind and felt entirely content with it. "Fuck, keep doing that."

Your orgasm was rapidly approaching. You'd never come this quickly before and it would be embarrassing if Bob weren't so stunningly handsome and crying out just as much as you were. Sweat was beading on his forehead, causing his baby hairs to stick down.

You run your hand across his head, moving both the hairs and his head back. He looks at you, all fucked out, and the sight alone is perfect shower head masturbation material for the next few months.

"You're so beautiful." He says, his eyes glazed over, like he couldn't believe that you were real. "Can't believe this is real."

You moan in agreeance. This was beyond your wildest dreams. You would have never imagined this as a possible scenario for how the day would go. Part of you began to worry this was all a dream and you'd wake up to find your credit card was in your wallet the whole time.

He shifted and your world exploded. He was deeper than you ever thought possible. God, it felt so good. So, so good. Too good.

"Robert, I'm gonna come." You cry out, gripping his shoulders like a vice. His lips wrap around your chest, sucking and biting down, the harsh breath feeling like Heaven and Hell all at the same time, before he roughly pulls back.

"You gotta get up before I come inside you." He warns, the grip on your hips loosening.

You force your hips back down, tightening your thighs around him. "I'm on the pill, I wanna feel you. Give it to me, please?" You asked it so innocently but your words were filthy.

"Yeah?" He breathes out. "Want me to come inside you? Fill you up?" You clench around him. "You like that, huh? Like the idea of me marking you as mine. Tell me you want it."

"I want it, I want it." You chant. "Please give it to me. Need to feel you inside me."

He takes your other breast into his mouth, bouncing you with more urgency. "Gonna fill you up so good." You hear him mumble around you.

He pinches your clit and you're a goner. Your orgasm rips through you and you're coming harder than you've come before around him. You can tell you're saying something but your mind is so blank, you're not quite sure what it is.

"Holy fuck." He moans, hips stilling as you feel him come inside you.

You're both panting, resting foreheads against each other. You can feel him spilling out but make no effort to move. This was something you'd want to savor for as long as you lived. A size 10 ring would probably fit him nicely.

He presses a kiss to your cheek. His hands pull your hair from your face back into a makeshift pony tail from where it had been sticking to your neck with sweat before letting it fall. "You're amazing."

You laugh lightly, never having been told that after getting absolutely railed before. "I think that belongs to you. I've never had someone make me come that quickly before."

"Same." He agrees. He finds his glasses, putting them on and blinking rapidly to readjust his vision. "A goddess, for sure."

You laugh and swat at his chest. "A cowboy, for sure." He groans, rolling his head back.

“Oh, who the fuck is calling me right now?” You breathed out as your phone began ringing, pulling you from your lovely little bubble. Your heart dropped when you saw who it was. It was Phoenix. You didn't get off him, simply grabbing your phone from the table and answering “Hello?”

“Hey girl, I’m so sorry I just realized I left the brownies at your place! Don’t eat them okay? They’re for a prank.” Her voice was rushed as she got out every word.

“What do you mean ‘they’re for a prank’?”

“They’re aphrodisiac.”

Ah.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 11: Hephaestus, God Of Fire]

A/N: Only 1 chapter left!!! ��💜

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 5.4k

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Here is our final interlude. Do you have the patience?

President Lyndon Baines Johnson has halted all U.S. attacks on North Vietnam: no bombs from the air, no infantry on the ground, no artillery shells launched by destroyers cruising in the South China Sea. The election will determine what happens next. If Nixon wins, military operations will resume until the South Vietnamese are in a sufficiently advantageous position to defend themselves from the communists. If Aemond is the victor, troop withdrawals will begin shortly after he is inaugurated on January 20th.

Regardless, it will not be until almost a full year from now, in October of 1969, that it becomes illegal for employers to reserve positions for men; the common practice of refusing to hire women with preschool-aged children will not be outlawed until 1971. Unmarried people will not be guaranteed access to contraception until 1972. Abortion will not be legalized across all fifty states until 1973. Women will not have a right to their own bank accounts or credit cards until 1974. It will not be illegal to exclude women from juries until 1975. The first female Supreme Court justice, Sandra Day O’Connor, will be appointed in 1981. There will be no female president of the United States, not for at least half a century after our story ends.

Each night on CBS Evening News, Walter Cronkite recaps the latest poll numbers. Nixon appears to have a slight advantage, due in large part to pulling ahead in Florida, Illinois, Ohio, and his home state of California. Aemond has comfortable leads in Texas, Pennsylvania, New York, and New Jersey. George Wallace will likely sweep the Deep South: Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, and Arkansas. From their hovels, the racists rejoice. From her grave, Lurleen Wallace rests uneasily, scratching at the lid of her coffin with the bones of her fingers, entombed in dark oblivion like all the rest of the world’s discarded wives.

~~~~~~~~~~

You go for the door, but Aemond is faster; he catches you just as your hand is twisting the handle and the hinges creak. He throws you against the wall so hard the paintings rattle: replicas of Monets and Warhols, Almond Blossoms, The Birth of Venus. You fight, clawing at him, ripping off the eyepatch that Alys must have at last convinced him was no defeat to wear. The hollow, gore-colored abyss of his left eye socket beckons you to fall in and be burned: Hestia’s eternal hearth, the volcanic forge of Hephaestus. He’s fire all the way down, hunger and fury, bones charred black and brittle. You think of the uninhabitable furnace of Jupiter’s moon Io, lethal radiation, poisoned air, lava bubbling up like blood through a bullet wound.

“You can’t hit me,” you gasp. “You need me for photos—”

His knuckles are in your belly, crosshairs made of scar tissue. The air collapses out of your lungs; your vision dims like twilight, like an eclipse. You’re on the floor and trying to crawl away from him. Aemond’s fingers hook into the fabric of your robe; it matches the silk nightgown you wear beneath, a pale anemic pink, something soft and young and desireless, something eternally at others’ mercy, something to be guarded or gutted. He’s dragging you towards him.

He’s going to hit me again, he might even kill me.

“Stop, stop,” you plead, still struggling to breathe. “What if I’m pregnant?!”

You almost certainly can’t be, but Aemond doesn’t know that. Yet his lone eye glints like metal, like coins, no weak mortal compassion. “I would have no way of being sure it was mine.” And then he tries to cover your mouth as you scream for help. You bite at his fingers; your bare feet kick the wall. Your hair, long and loose and wild, flows around you like a bride’s veil.

Too late, Aemond realizes that the door is still open a crack from when you grabbed the handle. There are footsteps and a voice that crescendos as it approaches: “What on earth is going on in here…?” Fosco appears in the threshold, yellow tweed jacket, tight olive green trousers. He stares thunderstruck down at where you and Aemond are entangled on the floor.

You beg: “Fosco, help me.”

“No, no, no,” Fosco says, jolting from his paralysis and holding a hand out towards Aemond. “No, you cannot do this, whatever has happened, you cannot touch her like—”

“She’s not your wife,” Aemond says. She’s not your property. Fosco hesitates; his large dark eyes shifting between the two of you from behind his glasses.

“Aemond, brother, listen to—”

“Get out.” Aemond’s voice is low, searing, malignant.

“Fosco, please don’t leave me,” you whimper. You try to pry Aemond’s fingers off your robe; they dig in deeper, bruising the flesh underneath. “Don’t leave me, don’t let him hurt me.”

Abruptly, Fosco turns and sprints out of the room.

“No!” you shout after him before Aemond grabs your face, his hand like a claw, fingernails leaving half-moon indents in your cheeks, crushing pressure on your jaw.

“You’re trying to sabotage this campaign.”

“I didn’t see the reporters, I swear to God.”

He knocks the back of your skull against the wall so hard that you see momentary flashes like stars, that all the words vanish from your throat, that words cease to exist at all. “You’re a traitor. Do you know the penalty for treason? The U.S. Army would have you executed by firing squad. Zeus would chain you to a rock so your liver could be carved out.”

“You betrayed me first,” you hiss through clenched teeth, your head pounding hot and maroon.

“I have been working for this since before you were born. You can’t take it away from me. I won’t let you.”

“I did everything right and you still couldn’t love me.” You swing at Aemond and he catches your wounded hand, squeezes it, digs his thumb into the spot where the doctors stitched you closed. The pain is excruciating, incapacitating. You wail as scarlet flowers bloom through the white of your bandaged palm.

Now the door flies open again and Aegon collides with Aemond, sends him sprawling, crouches over you. He’s screaming something at Aemond, gripping your shoulder to keep you under him, his too-long hair hanging in his face, black turtleneck sweater, one of Daeron’s frayed army jackets thrown over it, ripped jeans, bare feet. Aemond grabs his brother by the lapel of his army jacket and draws back his fist. His golden wedding ring flashes in the grey November sunlight that streams in through the windows. Aegon doesn’t flinch. He’s taken knuckles to the face before; you remember cleaning blood off his skin under a streetlight in Biloxi, you remember not wanting to wash him away.

“Don’t you see what it will look like?!” Fosco is saying, trying to coax Aemond to relent. “If he is photographed with a busted face after that story comes out? If she has bruises or a black eye? By harming them you are confirming what your enemies have printed, and the voters will believe it is the truth.”

“They already know it’s true!” Aemond snatches the Wall Street Journal off the table and hurls it at Fosco. Then he paces back and forth through the room, glaring at where you are still crumpled on the floor, sobbing, cradling your bleeding hand to your chest. “It’s right there, three goddamn photographs, and that’s all it will take to bring down a lifetime of work!”

Fosco studies the pictures again, shaking his head, one hand covering his mouth. At last he offers weakly: “It could be worse, Aemond.”

“How could it be worse?!”

Aegon scrambles to Fosco to rip the newspaper out of his hands, then returns to you. He hasn’t seen the front-page story yet. He skims it frantically. “This? This is what you’re losing your mind over? It’s dark, it’s blurry, they can’t even see what’s going on!”

“I have one fucking eye and I can see it!”

“So come up with another explanation, this doesn’t prove anything.”

“If she costs me the election—”

“If you lose, it won’t be because of her!” Aegon roars back. “It will be because the Democrats have held the White House for eight years and the world has gone to hell on our watch, it will be because of Kennedy, and Johnson, and Vietnam and the riots and the hippies and the drugs and the assassinations, it will be because Nixon is promising law and order in a time when nobody is safe, it will be because you just weren’t good enough. But she has given more to your cause than anyone. You hit her and you’ll lose your other eye.”

“They were in conversation,” Fosco says, meaning the photos. The four of you know that’s not true; it is a lie for the rest of the world, it is hope for Aemond’s campaign. “On the beach. They were whispering, comforting each other. Because of Mimi. That is all.”

Aemond scoffs, his remaining eye fierce and wrathful as it lands on you again. Aegon grips your shoulder, still crouching over you, still shielding you. “You bitch. I should have left you at that party in Manhattan to be the dope-smoking whore you were when I found you.”

“I shouldn’t have helped save your life in Palm Beach.”

And Aemond blinks at you, not hurt but bewildered, like he doesn’t understand your words, like what you said is impossible. He doesn’t believe you saved him. He believes it was God’s will.

Otto storms into the hotel room and takes in the scene: you and Aegon on the floor, Aemond pacing furiously, Fosco attempting to mediate. “Nobody says anything,” Otto commands, deep booming voice, black suit like he’s going to a funeral. “The Wall Street Journal hates Aemond. Everyone knows that, they’re probably the only national publication that would run the story. Our newspapers are already pushing the counternarrative, that this was a shameful, deceitful, desperate attempt to discredit Aemond right before the election. Our supporters will insist upon an innocent explanation. Nixon’s will use the photos as evidence of our degeneracy, our amorality, us immigrants with our strange faith and our progressive politics. Everyone else in the country will be warring over this headline. We will say nothing. We will conduct business as usual. The best thing we can do now is go out there and keep our schedule as planned.” He looks meaningfully at Aemond. “And your wife must be at your side. Smiling, unscathed, devoted.”

“I lost my composure,” Aemond says to you, more collected now, businesslike. He is smoothing any wrinkles out of his suit jacket. “I was wrong to put my hands on you. I apologize for that. It was beneath me.”

You reply: “Very little is beneath you, I’ve learned.”

“You have been.” A trace of a grin, crooked and cruel. “Plenty of times. And you will be again.”

Aegon is watching is brother, seething but terrified, sheltering you with power that is only illusory, never real. It is a mirage that Aemond or Otto could punch through at any moment. It is glass that would shatter into crystalline dust.

“If I win, you will beg on your knees for forgiveness,” Aemond tells you. “You will beg in private, you will be perfection in public, and I will magnanimously overlook this indiscretion in which you were taken advantage of by my notoriously dissolute brother. There was no affair. There was a fleeting moment of weakness on your part and depravity on Aegon’s. We will put it in the past. I will be the president of the United States and you will be my first lady. You will spend every second of your existence in service of my career, my country, and my legacy. You will give me children. You will obey me entirely. And you and Aegon will never be in a room alone together for the rest of your lives.”

“You can’t keep me away from her,” Aegon says.

“I just did. I make the rules here, I am the heir to this empire. If you wanted that responsibility, you should have seized it. You squandered it, you cursed it. It’s mine now.”

A whisper: “Aemond, it’ll kill me.”

“Then have the dignity to die quietly. It will be the most useful thing you’ve ever done.”

“Aegon must be seen in public too,” Fosco says, trying to sound like he isn’t defending him. “If you appear to be punishing or excluding him, it will be used as evidence of his guilt.”

Aemond nods, then turns to his brother. “As soon as the election is called, whichever way it goes, I want you gone. I don’t care where you go. I don’t care what happens to you once you’re there. You will disappear. We will say it was your choice, and if you comply you can keep your children and receive a modest amount of severance pay to get you started. And as long as you abide by my terms, my wife will not be harmed.”

Aegon doesn’t reply. His large Atlantic-blue eyes glisten, his lips tremble, his hand is still on your shoulder. You think through the throbbing pain of your bleeding palm: Is this the last time he’ll ever touch me?

Otto grabs Aegon, wrenches him away from you, drags him yowling and clawing at the carpet through the doorway.

~~~~~~~~~~

Your hand is freshly bandaged, pristine white gauze that people in the crowd jostle to touch like the relic of a saint, to pray over, to kiss. Men tell you how brave you are to bear the pain without weeping. Women give you komboskini, stained not with their husband’s blood but with only the clean, colorless ether of hope, faith, reverence, love.

Fosco and Helaena have been dispatched to accompany the children on a tour of the Franklin Institute, one of the oldest centers of science education in the nation. Aemond is giving a speech in front of the Liberty Bell at Independence Hall. You and the others are arranged around him like a starving crescent moon. You are standing immediately on Aemond’s left side, Aegon placed at his right. He looks drunk, he looks drugged; you aren’t sure if anyone else can tell, but you can. His cheeks are flushed. His eyes are pools of murky, desolate indigo like the night sky between stars. A few attendees give the two of you curious glances, but no mention is made of the accusations in the Wall Street Journal. You get the sense that if someone took it upon themselves to ask a question on the subject, they would be jeered, reviled, banished like President Johnson, who is currently besieged in the White House by the ghosts of Vietnam.

When you look to Aemond, you see his scar, his prosthetic eye, fierce and stoic determination in the lines of his face. He is quoting the inscription on the bell: “Proclaim liberty throughout all the land unto all the inhabitants thereof…” The bronze metal has a crack in it like one of Zeus’s lightning bolts. The smile on your face is frozen, demure, humble. Aegon’s eyes accidentally catch on yours—a childlike vulnerability, a deep raw woundedness—and then swiftly dart away.

“America is the Land of Opportunity, but some have forgotten that,” Aemond says into the microphone, and vengeance creeps into his voice like a spider up a wall. “Unfortunately, for as long as new communities have arrived at our shores, vile and prejudiced lies have been used to demonize them. Greek immigrants have been crossing the Atlantic for over a century. In 1909, rioters violently expelled them from Omaha, Nebraska. In 1922, an anti-Greek initiative was launched by the Ku Klux Klan. In 1924, Congress drastically restricted my people’s entry in favor of migrants from Northwestern European nations like Britain and Germany. Greeks have been condemned as unintelligent, immoral, and unworthy of the glorious opportunities of this country. We have been barred from jobs and universities, we have been used as cannon fodder in the World Wars. Discrimination against any group is antithetical to the American Dream. I have given an eye for this nation, my wife has bled for it, my brother has—even in the midst of personal tragedy—uprooted his life and the lives of his children to fight alongside me for a better America, and I will not stand by silently as the Targaryen name is tarnished by bigoted falsehoods…”

Now you can no longer hear him over the thunder of the applause, and you remember all the other faces in all those other cities, their eyes illuminated as if by fire, as if by the sun. You imagine devotees of the Greek gods bowing low in temples of white marble and flickering torches, bringing offerings of gold and livestock, grain and blood, murmuring prayers, bargaining for miracles. Did the gods hear them? Do the gods love anyone but themselves?

Alicent and Criston are watching you and Aegon with the same eyes: large, dark, shimmering, a curious combination of horror and profound sympathy. You can feel yourself becoming a ghost, a legend, a myth. One day people will read about you in textbooks and academic journals, in plaques erected at Aemond’s alma mater, Columbia University, and your own, Manhattanville College; and they will know only the fabled version of you. Who you really were will fade into nothingness like Echo, like Icarus into the waves, like Eurydice when her lover Orpheus dared to glimpse back at her.

That night in your penthouse suite at the Ritz-Carlton, you get out of the bathtub—dewy with steam, donning your pink robe—and then go to your side of the king-sized bed and slide open the top drawer of the nightstand. The card Aegon gave you at Mount Sinai isn’t there. Your heartbeat quickens; your stomach lurches.

“What…?”

You get down on your knees to reach into the back of the drawer, to see if the card has snagged somewhere. You hear footsteps and whirl to see Aemond standing in the doorway between the bedroom and the living room. He is holding the card. The cartoon cow beams jubilantly at you. You recall what Aegon wrote inside after crossing out the manufacturer’s message: I thought this was blank…congrats on the new calf! As your eyes widen, Aemond rips the card down the middle.

“Don’t!” you scream, rushing for him. “Please don’t, it’s all I have from—!”

Aemond shoves you back and then, with a grin more like a wolf baring its teeth, tears through the remnants again and again until the card is nothing but shreds. He opens the sliding glass door that leads out onto the balcony and throws them into the cold night wind, where they scatter in a flurry like snowflakes, like bones turned to splinters by cluster bombs in the swamps of Vietnam.

The paper fragments spiral down thirty stories towards the zooming headlights on South Broad Street, and you think about following them. Then Aemond pulls you into his arms as frigid air blows through you and whispers: “You don’t need Aegon anymore. You just need me.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Monday, November 4th, and you are walking alongside Ludwika on Broadway in Astoria, Queens, the part of New York City known as Greektown. She chats about the modelling jobs she did here before meeting Otto, her Louis Vuitton stilettos clicking on the sidewalk, her Camel cigarettes smudged with red Yardley lipstick. It is an act of kindness; she is trying to distract you. A few yards away, Fosco is telling Aegon about how he just won $500 by betting on the NASCAR Peach State 200, held at Jefco Speedway in Georgia. Aegon nods along, preoccupied, miserable. He has dark shadows around his eyes and is smoking one of his Lucky Strikes. He is wearing a green knit cap, windblown curls of his blonde hair escaping from underneath. You’re not supposed to stare at Aegon, but sometimes you can’t help it. You miss him. You’re worried about him.

The Targaryens have suites reserved at the Plaza Hotel in Manhattan, where the family will stay through Election Day to witness the results as they are tallied on the evening news. The children are there now, enjoying pizza from Little Italy with Helaena and the nannies. But you and the other adults are being photographed by flocks of journalists as you head for lunch at one of the oldest Greek diners in the United States, paying homage to Aemond’s ancestry. The candidate himself is locked in a fraught conversation with Otto and Criston: polls gaining here, polls slipping there, Nixon inching further ahead in Florida, the state you were supposed to help Aemond win.

“What should I order?” Ludwika asks you. “Not spinach pie, oh, horrible, worse than Hitler. Something else. Why can’t we go to a Polish restaurant for once? I will take you sometime. You will see. You will try a pierogi and never look back. We invented bagels, you know.”

“Beagles?” Fosco says. “What an accomplishment! They are so cute!”

“Bagels, stupido.”

“Do not bully me. I am suffering too. I should be back at the hotel eating a prosciutto pizza.”

As you pass an electronics shop with stacks of televisions in the windows, all turned to NBC news, the journalists begin to gasp and chatter excitedly amongst themselves. The flashbulbs strobe madly, shutters clicking and reporters shouting for Aemond to give them a comment. The youngest Targaryen brother has appeared on the screens, bruised and gaunt and missing teeth. He looks twenty years older than he is. His once-golden hair is turning white.

Otto sputters: “What…what the hell is that?!”

“Oh my God, Daeron!” Alicent howls, and then bursts into the shop so she can hear what her lost son is saying. The rest of you hurry after her, locking the front door behind you so the journalists can’t follow. Through the windows, they take photographs until Fosco and Ludwika lower the blinds.

Inside the maze of electronics, three adolescent employees gawk at the presidential candidate and his retinue. “Out,” Otto instructs them, and then, when they are too stunned to immediately vacate the premises: “I said, get out!” The teenagers scurry into the backroom and slam the door.

“Daeron,” Alicent moans in front of a Zenith color television. Tears flow torrentially from her huge, horrified eyes. Criston holds her, arms circling, his cheek pressed to hers, and you are reminded of how Aegon touched you in your hotel room in Houston, in his basement at Asteria, on the shores of the Atlantic Ocean.

Daeron is saying: “The United States has committed war crimes in Vietnam. I am ashamed of the actions my country has taken here. We have burned children with napalm, executed innocent civilians, and interfered in matters that we have no legitimate jurisdiction over…”

“He is reading from a script,” Fosco says. “You can see his eyes following the words.”

“Shh,” Otto snaps.

Daeron continues: “The only honorable course of action now is to immediately withdrawal all American soldiers from Vietnam…”

“I think this will help us, actually,” Otto says. “People will know he’s being forced to make propaganda for the communists, and they will have sympathy for him and the family. They’ll want to rescue him and all the other servicemen too. He’s obviously…under duress.”

Aegon drops to his knees and puts his palm against the screen over Daeron’s face, just like the shadows of your fingers once fell over Ari as he fought for his life in an incubator in Mount Sinai Hospital. “Do you see what they’re doing to him?” He turns to Aemond with tears in his eyes. “What you did to him? You left him there, you abandoned him, and now he’s being tortured.”

Alicent looks to Aemond, puzzled, petrified. “You tried to get him out, didn’t you?” Aemond doesn’t answer. Otto averts his gaze, counting the tiles on the floor.

“Dear lord,” Ludwika mutters, lighting a fresh Camel cigarette and puffing on it anxiously.

“Was it worth it?” Aegon demands. “Selling your soul?”

Aemond is steely, resolved. “It’s almost over.”

“You were all right.” Aegon stands, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his green-striped sweater. “I don’t have what it takes to win the presidency. I couldn’t do something like this. Me, the perennial fuckup. Me, the godless degenerate.”

“Aegon,” Alicent whispers. “Please…please don’t…”

He turns to his mother, insurmountably sad. “Mom, I tried to stop him.” Alicent sobs and covers her face with both hands as Criston embraces her. She can’t even look at Aemond. She can’t believe what he’s become. Her long coppery hair flows like blood.

You reach for Aegon, your fingertips brushing his ruddy cheek, and immediately he folds into you, burying his face in the curve of your neck, breathing in your warmth as you inhale his smoke and rum and pain and terror. “Daeron will be home soon,” you say, not knowing if it’s true. Your bandaged hand aches; your throat burns.

“I should have gone instead. It should have been me.”

“No, Aegon. Your children need you, I need you. I wouldn’t have made it without you.”

Then Aemond yanks you away, his grip on your wrist like an anchor, like chains.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Dad, play us something,” Orion says; and it is the first time you can remember him calling Aegon that. Aegon smiles. He’s sitting on one of the couches in the penthouse suite you share with Aemond, the Gibson guitar he bought back in July lying across his lap as he strums it absentmindedly. The television is on and turned to CBS News. It’s just before midnight on Tuesday, November 5th, Election Day. The children are thrilled. It’s the one night they’re allowed to stay up as late as they’re physically able to. This allowance is not purely altruistic; Aemond wants them awake and ready for photographs as soon as the winner is announced.

“What should I play?”

“Frank Sinatra,” Fosco says. He is beside Aegon on the couch, smoking a cigar and flipping through the Sports section of the New York Times, which he’s not really reading.

“Marvin Gaye,” Ludwika suggests. They are both on your side of the room. Aemond, Otto, Sargent Shriver, and a number of campaign staffers are huddled around the television, transfixed by the ever-updating vote totals. Alicent and Criston are between your factions, murmuring back and forth to each other, flutes of golden champagne in their hands. Helaena is on the floor entertaining Violeta, Daphne, and Neaera with Crayolas and coloring books full of scenes from gardens. You recall how eerily calm Helaena had been the night Aemond was shot in Palm Beach, like she somehow already knew he’d survive. Now she is nervous, looking fretfully around the room, wringing her hands, filling outlines of butterflies with ten different shades of blue.

“The Beatles,” Orion tells Aegon, casting Fosco and Ludwika a judgmental teenage glance.

“Any particular song?”

“You can pick.”

Aegon sips at his rum, ice cubes clinking in the glass. He looks over to the coffee table, where you are embroiled in a game of Battleship with Cosmo. He’s getting better; he’s genuinely sunk your destroyer and submarine so far. Then Aegon’s eyes drop to his guitar strings and he plucks the opening notes of In My Life. His voice is soft and low, almost secretive.

“There are places I’ll remember

All my life, though some have changed

Some forever, not for better

Some have gone and some remain…”

Cosmo turns to watch his father. Orion, Spiro, Thaddeus, and Evangelos are gathered around Aegon’s feet, gazing up at him with admiration, with love.

“All these places had their moments

With lovers and friends, I still can recall

Some are dead and some are living

In my life, I’ve loved them all...”

Cheers erupt over by the television; Aemond has just won Michigan. But then tense, indistinct deliberations follow. Florida is still too close to call, a bad omen. You wonder where Alys is as she watches the results come in. There must be some part of her—however small, however smothered—that fears Aemond will win. If he captures the presidency, she could be separated from the man she loves for the better part of a decade. You drink your Pink Squirrel, wishing it was stronger. You think of sea sponge divers down in the depths and imagine what that first gulp of air tastes like when they resurface, when they shed their rubber suits and brass helmets and step back into sunlight, warmth, freedom like Persephone returning from the Underworld each spring.

“But of all these friends and lovers

There is no one compares with you

And these memories lose their meaning

When I think of love as something new…”

You wear a sapphire-colored gown that Aemond chose for you, strings of silver around your wrist and throat, diamond teardrops hanging from your ears. Your hair is up, your fingernails painted a tasteful opalescent shade, the aching of your bandaged hand dulled by booze and Vicodin.

“Though I know I’ll never lose affection

For people and things that went before

I know I’ll often stop and think about them

In my life, I love you more.”

More triumphant shouts and applause across the room by the television: Aemond has won Washington state. From his own suite at the St. Regis Hotel a few blocks south on 5th Avenue, Nixon’s people must be celebrating that he just secured Ohio’s 26 electoral votes. He needs 270 to be the next president of the United States.

Florida, you think. If Nixon can take Florida, I think he’ll win the whole thing.

As Aemond and Otto are distracted, as Fosco and Ludwika watch with pitying, knowing eyes, Aegon sets his guitar aside and walks by you with his rum in hand, taps your shoulder, disappears onto the balcony. You wait a few minutes—Cosmo wins Battleship and goes to color on the floor with Helaena—and then follow Aegon.

Outside the night sky is moonless, starless, thick with clouds. Rain is beginning to fall, soft hushed pattering. Far below taxis and limousines are still rushing and blowing their horns on West 59th Street. You can see the vast forested shadow of Central Park and streetlights like constellations. In apartments and office buildings, windows are illuminated as Americans sit numbing their fears with beer, wine, shots of liquor, smoldering hand-rolled joints.

Aegon is cross-legged at the ledge, one hand on the iron bars of the railing, staring out at the nightscape of Manhattan. His hair lashes in the cold November wind. His nose is pink, his eyes wet and faraway. He passes his Lucky Strike cigarette to you as you join him and says: “I don’t think Aemond can win without Florida.”

“No,” you agree, taking a drag.

Aegon snatches a rattling orange bottle from the pocket of his olive green army jacket, pops it open, and swallows three pills with a swig of straight rum, dark amber poison.

“Don’t do that,” you say, you plead.

“I need it, babe.”

“I want you to still be alive in ten years.”

Aegon smiles and reaches over to pat your cheek twice. “I think that ship might have sailed, little Io.” Can decades of self-destruction be undone, uninflicted, nullified like Heracles becoming immortal? Can the Underworld be escaped? “Come with me. No matter what happens tonight.”

“Aegon, I can’t.”

“I’m in love with you.”

“If I leave, he’ll hurt you. He’ll hurt me worse.”

“It’s not fair,” Aegon says, his voice breaking.

“Nothing is.”

There is an uproar inside the hotel room, screams that could be horror or triumph, realized dreams, breaking bones, bullets through flesh. You and Aegon are on your feet, hauling the balcony door open, stepping through the threshold into the rest of your lives.

Glasses are being toasted until champagne rains down onto the carpet. The telephone is ringing so Nixon can concede. On CBS News, Walter Cronkite is reporting that Aemond has won Florida and thereby accumulated 270 electoral votes. The blue text on the screen reads: Senator Targaryen will be the 37th president of the United States.

[nocternalrandomness]

National Naval Aviation Museum - Naval Air Station Pensacola, Florida

The National Naval Aviation Museum is the world’s largest Naval Aviation museum and one of the most-visited museums in the state of Florida. It features more than 150 beautifully restored aircraft representing Navy, Marine Corps, and Coast Guard Aviation. These historic and one-of-a-kind aircraft are displayed both inside the Museum’s over 350,000 square feet of exhibit space and outside on its 37-acre grounds.

[batboyblog]

One woman miscarried in the lobby restroom of a Texas emergency room as front desk staff refused to admit her. Another woman learned that her fetus had no heartbeat at a Florida hospital, the day after a security guard turned her away from the facility. And in North Carolina, a woman gave birth in a car after an emergency room couldn’t offer an ultrasound. The baby later died.

Complaints that pregnant women were turned away from U.S. emergency rooms spiked in 2022 after the U.S. Supreme Court overturned Roe v. Wade, federal documents obtained by The Associated Press reveal. 

-------

It’s happened despite federal mandates that the women be treated. 

Federal law requires emergency rooms to treat or stabilize patients who are in active labor and provide a medical transfer to another hospital if they don’t have the staff or resources to treat them. Medical facilities must comply with the law if they accept Medicare funding.

The Supreme Court will hear arguments Wednesday that could weaken those protections. The Biden administration has sued Idaho over its abortion ban, even in medical emergencies, arguing it conflicts with the federal law.

“No woman should be denied the care she needs,” Jennifer Klein, director of the White House Gender Policy Council, said in a statement. “All patients, including women who are experiencing pregnancy-related emergencies, should have access to emergency medical care required under the Emergency Medical Treatment and Labor Act.”

PREGNANCY CARE AFTER ROE

Pregnant patients have “become radioactive to emergency departments” in states with extreme abortion restrictions, said Sara Rosenbaum, a George Washington University health law and policy professor. 

“They are so scared of a pregnant patient, that the emergency medicine staff won’t even look. They just want these people gone,” Rosenbaum said. 

Consider what happened to a woman who was nine months pregnant and having contractions when she arrived at the Falls Community Hospital in Marlin, Texas, in July 2022, a week after the Supreme Court’s ruling on abortion. The doctor on duty refused to see her.

“The physician came to the triage desk and told the patient that we did not have obstetric services or capabilities,” hospital staff told federal investigators during interviews, according to documents. “The nursing staff informed the physician that we could test her for the presence of amniotic fluid. However, the physician adamantly recommended the patient drive to a Waco hospital.”

--------

Federal investigators looked into just over a dozen pregnancy-related complaints in those states during the months leading up to the U.S. Supreme Court’s pivotal ruling on abortion in 2022. But more than two dozen complaints about emergency pregnancy care were lodged in the months after the decision was unveiled. It is not known how many complaints were filed last year as the records request only asked for 2022 complaints and the information is not publicly available otherwise. 

------

‘SHE IS BLEEDING A LOT’

Other pregnancies ended in catastrophe, the documents show.

At Sacred Heart Emergency Center in Houston, front desk staff refused to check in one woman after her husband asked for help delivering her baby that September. She miscarried in a restroom toilet in the emergency room lobby while her husband called 911 for help.

“She is bleeding a lot and had a miscarriage,” the husband told first responders in his call, which was transcribed from Spanish in federal documents. “I’m here at the hospital but they told us they can’t help us because we are not their client.”

Emergency crews, who arrived 20 minutes later and transferred the woman to a hospital, appeared confused over the staff’s refusal to help the woman, according to 911 call transcripts.

One first responder told federal investigators that when a Sacred Heart Emergency Center staffer was asked about the gestational age of the fetus, the staffer replied: “No, we can’t tell you, she is not our patient. That’s why you are here.”

-----------

Meanwhile, the staff at Person Memorial Hospital in Roxboro, North Carolina, told a pregnant woman, who was complaining of stomach pain, that they would not be able to provide her with an ultrasound. The staff failed to tell her how risky it could be for her to depart without being stabilized, according to federal investigators. While en route to another hospital 45 minutes away, the woman gave birth in a car to a baby who did not survive. 

In Melbourne, Florida, a security guard at Holmes Regional Medical Center refused to let a pregnant woman into the triage area because she had brought a child with her. When the patient came back the next day, medical staff were unable to locate a fetal heartbeat. The center declined to comment on the case. 

--------

For Huntsberger, the OB-GYN, EMTALA was one of the few ways she felt protected to treat pregnant patients in Idaho, despite the state’s abortion ban. She left Idaho last year to practice in Oregon because of the ban.

The threat of fines or loss of Medicare funding for violating EMTALA is a big deterrent that keeps hospitals from dumping patients, she said. Many couldn’t keep their doors open if they lost Medicare funding. 

She has been waiting to see how HHS penalizes two hospitals in Missouri and Kansas that HHS announced last year it was investigating after a pregnant woman, who was in preterm labor at 17 weeks, was denied an abortion. 

-----------

President Joe Biden and top U.S. health official Xavier Becerra have both publicly vowed vigilance in enforcing the law. 

Even as states have enacted strict abortion laws, the White House has argued that if hospitals receive Medicare funds they must provide stabilizing care, including abortions.

In a statement to THE AP, Becerra called it the “nation’s bedrock law protecting Americans’ right to life- and health-saving emergency medical care.” 

“And doctors, not politicians, should determine what constitutes emergency care,” he added.

Idaho’s law does not allow abortions if a mother’s health is at risk. But the state’s attorney general has argued that its abortion ban is “consistent” with federal law, which calls for emergency rooms to protect an unborn child in medical emergencies.

“The Biden administration has no business rewriting federal law to override Idaho’s law and force doctors to perform abortions,” Idaho Attorney General Raúl Labrador said in a statement earlier this year. 

Now, the Supreme Court will weigh in. The case could have implications in other states like Arizona, which is reinstating an 1864 law that bans all abortions, with an exception only if the mother’s life is at risk. 

EMTALA was initially introduced decades ago because private hospitals would dump patients on county or state hospitals, often because they didn’t have insurance, said Alexa Kolbi-Molinas of the American Civil Liberties Union. 

Some hospitals also refused to see pregnant women when they did not have an established relationship with physicians on staff. If the court nullifies or weakens those protections, it could result in more hospitals turning away patients without fear of penalty from the federal government, she said.

“The government knows there’s a problem and is investigating and is doing something about that,” Kolbi-Molinas said. “Without EMTALA, they wouldn’t be able to do that.”

--------------

The Repeal of Roe V Wade has been a disaster for pregnancy health care, with doctors turning away pregnant women just because they are pregnant out of fear that treatment might violate ever changing extreme and unscientific abortion bans

The Biden Administration's strong stand that EMTALA does cover emergency abortion care has forced hospitals to keep their doors open to people in need. A Republican administration would not enforce the law this way, Donald Trump has already said he'd leave it up to the states and certainly would drop the Biden Administration's law suit against Idaho's restrictive laws.

as horrible as all this is, it can always get worse, this is a preview of what a national Republican Abortion ban would mean for every pregnant person going to the hospital, you or someone you love could be left bleeding in a waiting room.

[snoopledrooplecheesedoodle]

Yandere Anasui Narciso X Therapist Female reader

Yep, will do. This is before Joylene went to prison and the events of Part 6 haven't happened yet. Pucci may be mentioned. I have never been to prison and am only using what I've seen of Green Dolphin as reference. Take anything that happens with a grain of salt.

Psychosis (Yandere Anasui Narisco x Fem! Therapist reader)

Tw: Sexism, mental illness, mentions of SA, murder, Anansui, obsessive behavior and other gross and suggestive themes. DON'T READ IF YOU'RE UNDER 17 (even still you're on thin ice if you complain).

The clicking of heels rings through the prison's male section as a woman walks beside two heavily armed security guards. The Green Dolphin male ward was no place for a woman to be by herself. The inmates either made disgusting comments about her and what they want to do to her, or they cursed her out and threatened to kill her when the guards leave.

The woman in question is (Y/N) (L/N) a recent graduate of Florida State University with a master's in psychology. While rather young, (Y/N) was a very bright person recommended to the Green Dolphin Street Prison by her professor. (Y/N) was very interested in the criminal mind and its workings, so this job while not glamorous piqued her interest. Sighing to herself, (Y/N) pulled down her skirt to cover as much of her upper legs as possible. Pigs. She knew none of them would have the courage to act this way when they were in a session with an armed guard.

"Listen newbie these prisoners contain some of the vilest criminals in Florida. You'll need to toughen up because your fancy degree won't be able to protect you." The male officer on your right sneered at (Y/N). (Y/N) huffed before turning to him. "I was under the impression that at least one armed guard would be nearby during a session." The guard on her left snickered mockingly, placing a heavy hand on your shoulder. "You're a big girl, you should be able to protect yourself. Besides you ain't even that cute for no one to fu-" (Y/N) slapped the officer's hand away harshly, glaring in disgust. "You have no right to speak to me or any colleague that way." The left male officer's eyes narrowed into his puffy cheeks making him look like an angry bulldog. "You think you can speak to me bitch cause your hot shit?! I oughta beat you like your daddy should have."

The officer on the right looks away as the officer on the left closes in. To (Y/N) it became very apparent that the male officers saw no use of the female employees here and were threatened by her intelligence. She knew that they were masking their precious egos and wouldn't do anything. (Y/N) made no move to back away and looked the chubbier officer in the eyes. "You know projecting your own trauma onto others won't resolve the internal pain." The left guard's cheeks turn even redder as he pulls out his Billy Club. "Why you-!"

Before she was hit, (Y/N) calmly yet defiantly stares into the cop's eyes, he falters and snarls at the woman. "Fucking witch, what did you do to me?!" "Given you something to work on, now would you both kindly escort me to my patients or will I have to report to the warden for gross incompetence." Both prison guards grumbled something about (Y/N) being a "pretentious bitch" but (Y/N) could care less she had clients to meet.

It was turning night and (Y/N) had finished some paperwork on her latest client some blind man named Johngalli A. He refused to open up to her at all and kept staring at the wall. (Y/N) chuckles to herself about the irony of your statement before sighing...why couldn't she just be assigned to the women's ward? Well, time to go home and shower the day away.

Those bastard cops left her defenseless in the men's ward no less! (Y/N)'s heels being the only noise in the uncomfortably quiet hallway. (Y/N) darts her eyes left to right as she turns the corner. Once she gets out of the male ward she can walk to a gate! (Y/N) visibly relaxes at the sight of two guards at the front of the gate. She tenses back up as they block the gate with their faces obscured. "Is there a problem gentlemen?" (Y/N) asks the guards who stood like sentries before the gates of Hell.

"Oh, look at that it's princess, can't believe you survived your first day" cruel brown eyes stared directly into her soul. More cops with a vendetta against (Y/N), when will it end? (Y/N) huffs and tries to barge through the flesh barricade, only to be met with resistance. "What's the hurry pretty thing? We just want to get to know our coworker better right Lewis?" The second one pipes up causing Lewis to glare at him. "Shut it Darnell, just grab the girl!" Darnell shrugs before attempting to grab (Y/N), key word is attempted as (Y/N) does not want anything to do with these men. She elbows the one trying to grab her hard in the windpipe. Darnell wheezes and falls to the ground, (Y/N) pulls pepper spray out of her bag and sprays Lewis in the face. Lewis covers his eyes and falls to the floor hollering.

(Y/N) tries to make an escape when Darnell hits her in the back of the head with the butt of his rifle. (Y/N) curses Darnell for recovering quickly as she falls to the ground, black spots filling her vision. "Fuck that bitch is quick on her feet." Darnell gasps as Lewis gets back up their voices become indistinguishable, but (Y/N) sees them getting down and trying to take of her clothes. Tears bubble up as she tries to move away only to be forcefully held down. The last thing (Y/N) sees and hears however is pink hair in her peripheral vision and a scream of agony.

(Y/N) wakes up in the trauma care center with prison nurses fussing over the bruising on her arms. Some cops who weren't complete dicks found the woman lying on the floor with her blouse partially unbuttoned and bruises on her arms and the back of her head. Hanging above your unconscious form were the dead bodies of your would-be assaulters Officers Lewis McVay and Darnell Thompson. Their bodies were so horribly disfigured that officers were only identified by a DNA test.

(Y/N) was horrified at the news yes, she thought they deserved to be punished but for someone to play God to this extent makes the woman feel unnerved. Her boss wasn't completely terrible since (Y/N) was given a week off. In this time, (Y/N) couldn't get the question out of her mind. Who saved her?

Monday at 9 am sharp (Y/N) arrives to work, she won't let the trauma stop her from helping the patients. Also bills need to be paid and college debt doesn't make life any easier. The guard at the front gate greets (Y/N) as she walks into the prison. Before (Y/N) can make it to the health wing, the warden approaches with a stern look on his normally pleasant face. "Ms. (L/N) I hope your break was pleasant, I regret to inform you that an inmate has personally requested you to be their therapist." That was news for (Y/N) as she was under the impression that most of the prisoners in the male ward hated her. It filled her with a weird sense of hope that her progress might not be all in vain.

"Great just hand me his personal files and we'll get started tomorrow." The warden held his puppet Charlotte up to you and spoke through it. "You don't understand, he wants to have a session now!" Now? (Y/N) was stunned why was the warden being so pushy about it. "Alright, I still need the man's files." The warden smiled and handed the woman the manila file under his arm. "Thank you very much Miss (Y/N) you've done the right thing." (Y/N) walked off in the direction of the male ward without bothering to respond.

The male prison ward was a lot quieter with the lack of jeers from the prisoners, however there was a lingering tension in the air. Many of the male prisoners glared daggers at the therapist as she made her way towards the room where her next patient was waiting. Inhaling (Y/N) put on her best brave face and opens the door. Waiting for her with a bored expression was a flamboyantly dressed man with long pink hair. The patient's rose-colored eyes lock with (Y/N) an indecipherable look as he trails her form. The therapist also took his appearance in further as she made her way to your seat.

His attire was impractical for a prison, consisting of a mesh shirt with pink shoe prints attached to it, a purple stewardess hat with gold horns on it, and thigh high white boots trailing up to the skimpiest brown skirt she's ever seen. Sitting down in the seat, (Y/N) greets her patient without breaking eye contact. "Good morning Anasui, I am (Y/N) (L/N) your therapist. I cannot prescribe you painkillers or antidepressants, but I can recommend you to a psychiatrist if I decide it is best for you." Silence. Very well, (Y/N) thought, he must not be quite comfortable yet. "The warden told me you requested my services personally, is that correct?" Anasui stares at your mien before speaking in a baritone voice. "I did doctor." (Y/N) shakes her head as she looks sheepishly at Anasui "Oh no I'm no doctor, I can't afford to spend any more time in college."

"Interesting"

(Y/N) got uncomfortable, it felt like Anasui was the therapist not her. "Do you find my lack of a doctorate amusing Mr. Anasui?" (Y/N) switched to strict therapist voice, she needed to let him know that she won't bend to whatever he has planned for her. Anasui stands up from his seat and stalks closer to the therapist. (Y/N) maintains eye contact with the prisoner as he kneels down until their foreheads are touching. "Why are you here (Y/N)?" Anasui asks as his hot breath fans over the woman in front of him, his tourmaline eyes scanning her facial features for any trace of dishonesty. (Y/N)'s eyes narrowed as she retorted sternly. "That is none of your concern Anasui, please return to your chair." "I won't." (Y/n) furrowed her brow in frustration as Anasui seemed to only get closer. She knows not to reveal all her cards, yet she knows that Anasui will refuse to continue this session unless he's pacified.

"If you must know Anasui, I happened to get into my profession because the criminal mind fascinates me. Now would sit down so I can figure out how to help you?" (Y/N) glares at the unruly patient in front of her, Anasui pulls away and stands back up to his full height, peering down at her. Anasui scoffs before sauntering over to his chair and sitting down. (Y/N) sighs before scribbling down 'difficult patient' on her patient notes. Who could blame her for being a little petty with a criminal? "Alright Anasui how was your childhood?"

(Y/N) came out of the room weary and a bit defeated. It was difficult to get through to someone who looked at her as if she were nothing. The little she gathered about him were short normally one-word answers. However, the audacity does not end there as Anasui asked many invasive questions about the therapist's personal life. (Y/N) gave lackluster responses and it seemed to be the only time that Anasui paid any attention during their session, as she would meet his unwavering gaze greedily soaking up the answers. It was honestly quite creepy.

(Y/N) was not watching where she was going as she collided with a firm object, causing (Y/N) to fall and drop her papers everywhere. "My apologies miss (L/N), I must not have been watching where I was going." A deep yet warm voice spoke as (Y/N) looked up to be met with the prison's chaplain Enrico Pucci. The young flushed as the handsome man offered you a firm hand, pulling her up. He was quite handsome for a man of the cloth. "Oh no father it was my fault, I've been stressed with work recently." Pucci nods his head as he gives (Y/N) a knowing look. "The prisoners here can be quite difficult, but you must not let you stray from guiding these lost lambs to salvation." (Y/N) smiles gratefully at the encouragement from the priest. "Thank you, father I won't let, you down." Pucci waves as the woman walk to the canteen for your meal. She won't let Anasui best her.

Not now, not ever

Lunch was uneventful as the therapist ate in the cafeteria, none of the inmates attempted anything. Must still be afraid of what happened to the last people who tried. (Y/N) didn't mind the peace as she looked through Anasui's file in hopes of getting some information which might crack him. It said he was a lonely boy who enjoyed taking things apart and was sent to the psychiatric ward for disassembling a neighbor's car. Clearly some compulsive behavior that continued on in a disturbing way with his crime. When he caught his girlfriend in bed with another man, Anasui methodically killed and disassembled their body parts so "they'd never be together again". You would think that was the actions of a mentally ill individual, but the psychiatric analysis declared Anasui was perfectly sane. Well, there goes her appetite, however (Y/N) achieved interesting information for her next session with Anasui.

(Y/N) awoke in a cold sweat to the blare of the alarm. She had one of the most disturbing nightmares about Anasui looking down at her with rage and slicing her limbs off one by one as she bleeds to death. The inmate's furious expression frightened her as (Y/N) had never seen more than a neutral expression on the pink haired criminal's face. The woman wanted to avoid that terrible fate of choking on her own blood, so she was determined to get into Anasui's good graces. Dressing in a comfortable sweater and a nice pair of dress pants, (Y/N) applies a slight bit of makeup before walking out the door in pleather dress shoes.

Morning traffic was light as (Y/N) drove down to the prison with a (hot beverage) in hand. Florida's weather was not (Y/N)'s favorite as she felt sweat beats form on the hand holding her beverage. She just hoped the air conditioner was working in her office as she had some paperwork to do after meeting with Anasui. Crossing the bridge, (Y/N) showed her work badge to the officer in the front before driving to the employee parking lot. She was ready to deal with her unruly patient.

(Y/N) could feel the tension filling the room. Anasui refused to look at her and the only sound was the scribbling of her pen. Alright time to deploy new tactics, not looking up from her paperwork (Y/N) asks. "Anasui what's your opinion on love?" At this question, Anasui sat up straight and burned holes into the top of her head. "My opinion on love?" Anasui slowly asks as if he's not sure what (Y/N) just said. (Y/N) looks up with a sweet smile. "Yes, I would like to know how you feel about love. How have you felt it? Who you've loved?" Anasui looks at the therapist with an unreadable expression before he sighs. "I don't love anyone." (Y/N) raises an eyebrow before shaking her head. "That's not what I asked, I want to know how you feel about love. I doesn't have to be romantic or recent, just tell me about your view on love."

Anasui looks like he had been punched in the gut as he looked away from his therapist's calm yet curious expression. "I never loved my family." Anasui began looking unsure of himself as the woman in front of him gestures for him to continue. "It was nothing they did wrong, I just never really cared what happened to them. I never cared about anyone until I met her..." Anasui looks down at his boots as if contemplating how much to share. "Was she your girlfriend?" (Y/N) asked gently, a tone that surprised Anasui. Anasui nodded and looked up to meet the woman's gaze. (Y/N)'s face was warm and welcoming a contrast to the normally hard professional exterior. "What was she like?" Anasui flushed at the question as he looked up dreamily. "She was perfect. Tough yet kind, I felt like I held the world in my arms when I held her." His face softened as his eyes filled with adoration. "What changed?"

At this question Anasui's eyes filled with rage, the same rage that (Y/N) saw in her dream. "I found another man with her in her bed, fucking her right before my eyes. How could she be so shameless as to sleep with another when she was mine?!" Anasui raised his voice towards the end, vitriol filling his voice as his eyes grew dark and a blank expression came across his face. "I figured if that if she didn't love me anymore than she deserved to die. The man who led her astray had to go too." (Y/N) shivered as she tried to keep a neutral face at the prisoner's confession. His voice was measured and cold like a true killer. (Y/N) knew she had to get him out of this volatile head space, or she might be next.

"I'm sorry that you had to go through such heartbreak, love isn't always easy. I don't think you should give up on love entirely Anasui, there's always someone out there for everyone." The therapist hid the waiver in her voice as she felt ice shoot up her spine, Anasui's dead eyes gazed at her apathetically. (Y/N) jumped as Anasui appeared right in front of her caging her into her chair with his body, his gaze fixed like a predator observing its prey. How did he get up so fast?! Anasui observed the panic on (Y'N)'s face as he leaned into her face. "Do you really believe there is someone who is willing to love a monster like me? A murderer who killed two innocent people and feels no remorse?" Anasui challenged the woman in front of him, daring her to delude herself in believing that he was worthy of love.

"Yes, I believe that even murderers can find love." (Y/N) steadily stated placing her hands in her lap to hide how badly they were shaking. The man who put her in such a compromising position scared her to know end. She had dealt with many vile criminals that threatened her life but there was always anger, blazing fire in their eyes. Anasui was icy cold as nothing was displayed behind his eyes. His forehead bumped into (Y/N)'s harshly as he looked her up and down. "Could someone like you love me? Someone innocent and free from the cement walls that confine me?" (Y/N) brought her own face close enough for their noses to touch before speaking. "Yes, even innocent people can fall in love with criminals. It's up to the criminals to open themselves up to the idea of being in love though." Anasui's eyes widened at her action and words, she was tough. However, the fire in her eyes was something beautiful to experience firsthand. She cared enough to try to get through to him which means she cares.

She must love him

His eyes fill with an emotion he only held for one other person, adoration. (Y/N)'s eyes widen as Anasui plants his lips on her forehead and he pulls away smiling. She had never seen this man smile, except when he mentioned his ex. Her gut felt like it was filled with lead as Anasui takes her hands in his and speaks. "I think I'm ready to love again."

I think I'm ready to love again

What an ominous warning for what was to come. If (Y/N) could come back and warn her previous self not to take on Anasui as a patient, she would. However, it seems he was obsessed with her before even officially meeting. This obsession morphed from curiosity to some bastardized version of love. Some sick replacement for affection. (Y/N) couldn't continue this charade of being the caring therapist if it meant her life was in peril. She'd have to move to the women's ward or worst case, another prison entirely. Stirring the coffee that she obtained from the break room, (Y/N) contemplated her next move. Anasui is a dangerous man, who knows how he will react to her leaving? For now (Y/N) needed to lay low and make it perfectly clear to Anasui she did not love him at all.

"You're late." Anasui's voice held a tinge of annoyance as (Y/N) set her leather satchel down. The woman grimaces at the sign of a negative emotion, keep calm and everything will be fine. (Y/N) turned to Anasui and gave him a professional smile. "I don't think it's possible for a therapist to be late, if this concerns you, we can finish later." Anasui considers this and nods, scooting his chair in to be closer to his beloved therapist. (Y/N) pushes her own chair further away from the pink haired male, causing him to frown. "Anasui, you know I am your therapist, right?" Anasui gives her a dreamy look as he reaches out to (Y/N). "You are that and more my darling." (Y/N) recoils into herself at his lovesick eyes burn holes in her very soul. She needs to pick her next words carefully.

"As your therapist it is important that I maintain a distance from your personal life. I believe that it is wise for us to observe our relationship as patient and provider, nothing more and nothing less."

"Marry me."

"What?" The cold feeling of dread raked its icy fingers through your neck hairs, which stood at attention. Anasui's pink lips quirk into a confident smirk as he pulls a small black box out of God knows where. He opened it to reveal a modest ring with a small diamond. "I see no need to court properly as we already know so much about each other. I want you to be my wife and I will be your husband." "NO." (Y/N) shouted her calm facade quickly unraveling as Anasui approached her chair once more.

"No."

(Y/N) looks away from the towering pinkette in front of her, the room's energy becoming sharp and frigid like an icicle. (Y/N) had to stand firm now or she would never escape this monster "I can't marry my patient; besides you know nothing about me." (Y/N) thought reason would reach the seemingly logic-oriented prisoner, but he was too far gone. A rough hand gripped her chin and pulled her face to peer at his own misty-eyed stare. "You're wrong, I know more about you than even your own parents. I can treat you better than any other man so why do you refuse me." (Y/N) didn't believe him one bit.

"What's my favorite color?"

"(F/C)."

"When was I born?"

"(DOB)."

"Do I have a pet?"

"No but you've also preferred cats over dogs."

(Y/N) gasped and pushed herself further in her chair as the monster in front of her caged her in once more. This has to be a bluff, an attempt at besting her, she won't yield. "Anasui if you don't sit down, I will alert the guards." (Y/N)'s tone waivered as her eyes were wild with panic. Anasui soaks in (Y/N)'s terrified expression with a deadpan expression. "If you call the guards, I'll slaughter every last one of them. If you leave, I'll break out and find you." His eyes did not lie as he said this phrase, she were frightened. How unstable could a prisoner be to claim to love her after only a few visits?

Before (Y/N) could retort, Anasui slams his lips on hers muffling any cry for help. He took advantage of her open mouth to wriggle his pink muscle in. (Y/N) screamed into the kiss as Anasui had closed his eyes in bliss. The therapist lay limp as she let him have his way with her mouth, before he pulls away a sting of saliva connecting (Y/N) to this ravenous beast. "If you're not ready for marriage now we can court, just know that refusal can lead to the death of many." Leaning down to place open mouth kisses on her now exposed neck, leaving pink lipstick marks all over.

"What will it be (Y/N) marriage or courtship?"

[odinsblog]

Nazis, openly waving Swastikas and doing the Sieg Heil salute in Orlando, Florida

Not a single uniformed police officer in sight. I say “uniformed” because the odds are that some of the people doing the Nazi salute are probably in law enforcement.

Now, contrast that to how overly militarized police have routinely shown up at peaceful Black Lives Matter protests

Or how the police treat peaceful college students protesting for free higher education

Or how the authorities treated Black people simply walking in our own communities, after the murder of Mike Brown

Oh, and how about six months before the January 6, 2021 white supremacist riots, when National Guard troops were deployed to the Lincoln Memorial on June 2, 2020, during George Floyd protests held in Washington, DC? Where was this overwhelming presence on January 6, 2021??

And finally, Ron DeSantis, a leading Republican candidate for President of The United States(!), has a large following of Neo-Nazis, but he has yet to explicitly denounce them. I guess maybe he’s too busy banning books, or making sure drag queens aren’t reading books to children, or making sure that accurate Black history—aka American history—isn’t being taught in schools.

I could go on and on and on, but the police never seem to have that same energy for actual fucking Nazis, or the Proud Boys, or Oath Keepers, etc etc etc

Domestic terrorism by white nationalists is the biggest threat to social stability, justice, democracy and to America itself.

👉🏿 https://www.thepinknews.com/2023/09/04/orlando-florida-nazis-march-blood-tribe/

👉🏿 https://www.nbcnews.com/news/amp/rcna103186