#white shoes after labor day

[kply-industries]

[cantsayidont]

In John Waters' SERIAL MOM (1994), I had never previously registered that Juror No. 8 in Beverly's trial, the juror whose white shoes (after Labor Day!) provoke Beverly's murderous ire, is played by Patty Hearst — as in, William Randolph Heart's granddaughter, Symbionese Liberation Army Patty Hearst.

[jazziejax]

𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐡

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Elijah ‘Smoke’ Moore x Black!OC & Elias ‘Stack’ Moore x Black!OC

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - In the underbelly of Prohibition Chicago, a quiet bartender begins to suspect a dangerous secret about a man who might not be just one man after all.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Violence, implied abuse, trauma, period-accurate sexism, organized crime elements

𝐉𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 - another one.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 2,511+

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 - 𝐈. 𝐈𝐈. 𝐈𝐈𝐈. 𝐈𝐕. 𝐕. 𝐕𝐈

𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐠𝐨, 𝐈𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐢𝐬 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟕

To the people of Chicago, Odessa Ripley was a simple woman. All they knew about her was that she worked at Gertie’s Fine Dining, was born and raised in Clarksdale, Mississippi, and the second wife to Laurence Ripley, who they only assumed could be the on putting those bruises on her skin that she tried to hide with makeup and a beaming smile. And that was all true. She was born and raised in Clarksdale Mississippi, far out from the small city life the place did have. She lived a small plantation where her family did a little well, though they were still slaves to the money they only could dream of. The eldest girl of four kids.

But she wasn’t the ideal child, not to her father at least. She was so focused on doing her work, making as much money as she could to take care of her family, but the time she was sixteen, she had no prospects. And that didn’t sit right with him. He spent the next two years, trying to turn the field girl into a suitable wife. And she knew the basics, cooking, cleaning, sowing, all that. And though her beauty was there, men didn’t want a girl who worked her whole life doing labor. They wanted a lady. And that was something she wasn’t.

She wasn’t soft spoken, and she wasn’t stupid and naive as most men wanted her to be. She was reserved, didn’t talk much, but when she did it meant something. She was an observer, so she started a lot, and she resting face gave off an unwelcoming feeling to most. And Carl Coulter had lost hope.

That was until he caught word from some white men speaking about their daughters during work, and how they’d send their girls off to marry suitable men.

And then all hope didn’t seem to be lost, and he also saw extra money in his future.

And next thing Odessa knew was that five years ago years ago, she’d been Odessa Maree Coulter of Mississippi, a barefoot girl with callused hands and no prospects. And then her father had sold her off like a debt, packed her onto a train with a suitcase and a scrap of paper: Laurence Ripley, Chicago. And she wasn’t even sure how much she was sold for.

She just hoped it made her family happy, and now they could live a bit better.

And now, by day, Odessa Ripley served fried meats and bootlegged coffee at Gertie’s Fine Dining, a “restaurant” so polite you could bring your elderly mother after church. And by night, she ghosted through the real heart of the place — a speakeasy buried under the floorboards, lit dimly by candles, cigarette smoke and broken dreams.

She wasn’t loud, wasn’t showy. She never was but it was something she grew not to be after years in the bustling city of Chicago. She minded her business, kept her eyes low and her hands busy. In a place like Gertie’s, it was safer not to see too much, though nothing could go down in the designated safe zone.

But even a reserved woman could notice patterns.

There was him. This one man. He was tall, dark, well built and sharp at the edges. Everyone that was anyone seemed to know him. The Italians bragged about him, and the Irish laughed with him over glasses of rotten whiskey.

Same man.

Only… he wasn’t the same man. At least, that’s what Odessa gathered.

She caught it in the smallest things. When he came with the Italians, he wore polished shoes, a perfectly pressed suit, a gold pinky ring flashing under the low lights. His hair slicked hard and smooth when he took off his fedora. The gold outlining the teeth of his canines when he laughed loudly with the men and he kissed cheeks like he was born in Naples.

But when he rolled in with the Irish, he wore scuffed boots, a crooked tie, a rough grin that didn’t stretch far but signaled trouble. His hair tucked under a flat cap, and he laughed easy, slapping backs like he grew up tossing stones at windows in Dublin.

From the inattentive men of the mobs to the unassuming bystanders, it was just one man. A man like no other that gained them more power and money than some of them could ever think of.

But to Odessa, it was two. It had to be. It didn’t make any sense to her. Unless her lack of communication to people besides her children was staring to get to her.

She noticed things about them—him. Some nights, he drank bourbon neat. Other nights, he asked for gin with a twist. Some nights, he limped on his right leg. Other nights, his left shoulder hung low. Some nights, he spoke sharp and clipped, like he’d been raised in Chicago proper. Other nights, there was a soft, creeping drawl that curled the edges of his words.

Most folks would’ve chalked it up to exhaustion, to drinks, or to the weight of the life. But Odessa had lived enough of a double-life herself to recognize a crack in the mask.

But she wasn’t brave enough to say it out loud.

Lord knew she had enough troubles stitched into the seams of her life already. But she did have the ones she grew to love more than she could ever imagine.

Her husband, Laurence Ripley, was a widower. She never knew fully what happened to the woman, and she wasn’t strong enough to ask the little ones or the grieving husband. But from word of mouth, it seemed to everyone that it was simply unexpected. And now Laurence needed help, he said. Needed a wife, he meant.

Odessa learned the difference between the two quick.

She also learned to love his children — Beatrice ‘Beaty’ and Peter ‘Pete’ — who clung to her like barnacles to a sinking ship after the loss of their mother. Nothing but ten and twelve when she first met them, her nothing but eighteen.

Now, she lived with the children, who were closer to her age than she was to their father. She tried her best to keep smiles on their faces, even when they would drop when Laurence came home drunk or angry every night. The three found solace in each other after abruptly loosing the life they once knew.

Still, she couldn’t help but tell the kids her theory late at night, when the dishes were washed and Beaty was playing with her hair while Pete was pretending he wasn’t listening.

“I think there’s two of ’em.” She said, dropping her voice like the walls had ears as she sowed the hole in Laurence’s shirt closed.

“Two what?” Pete asked, looking up from his whittling knife.

“Two men, keep up Pete.” Beaty said said, looking up from the woman’s hair and over to the older boy. Pete simply threw her an annoyed look while Odessa continued. “You don’t know them, but you’ve probably seen them. The one the Italians love and those Irish men laugh with. They look alike, sure, but… they ain’t the same. I swear it.”

Beaty giggled, finishing off the one braid she did with a white ribbon. “Mama Dessa, that has to be the craziest thing I ever heard. Are you making up stories to keep us entertained?” She questioned, causing Pete to snort while Odessa playfully rolled her eyes at the girl. “Ain’t no one slick enough to pull that off.” Peter stated. “’Specially not with those fellas.” He said, before standing up from the table and grabbing his new banjo from the living room, new to him since he saw an old white man throw it out that morning when he was in town getting groceries.

“Ehh.” Beaty chimed back in as she continued with the other half of Odessa head. “It sounds crazy but don’t give those white men too much credit. They ain’t that bright.” She shrugged.

“That ain’t dumb either.” Pete said as she walked back into the small stable that sat in the corner of the kitchen, placing the instrument in his lap. “They just let their egos get in the way of making smart decisions. That’s how they always mess up.” He said, strumming a few strings and letting the soft sounds fill the kitchen. He then paused, looking over at the older woman in the other side of the table. “At least, that’s what you say, right mama?” He asked.

And Odessa smiled into her cup. She then placed it down, offering him her soft look. “Of course.” She said, a bit endeared that he remembered her words. “But don’t go ‘round saying that to other people ‘else word get back to ya and bites. And since you’re in the mood for quoting, also remember—.”

“There ain’t no white man smatter or better than you.” The younger two echoed before the woman could even speak. And hearing their words caused a smile to cross her lips.

“But based on your story, mama Dessa, we may be smarter than you. Cause ain’t no two men posing as one with the mod.” Beaty woke up, her and her brother sharing a laugh while Odessa rolled her eyes at them again as she went back to her sowing.

As they laughed, she wasn’t sure she believed it herself, not really. But deep down, in the place that still had a little fire left, she knew.

She knew.

They never interacted. The man — or men — never said anything to her. Never gave her a wink or a hint. But sometimes, when he passed by her at the bar, shoulder brushing hers, he’d tip his hat just a little lower. And she would nod back. That was it. And it didn’t eat away at her like she thought it would, because even if she was ever right, she knew some things — and some people — were safer left in the shadows.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

The night came in heavy, wrapping Gertie’s in smoke and low murmurs as they prepared to close down for the night. Odessa was working her upstairs shift, and as she wiped down the polished wood of the upstairs counter, head bowed like always, but her sharp eyes caught movement near the door.

There he is, she thought.

Tonight, he was dressed crisp. Tweed suit with a dark green color, a matching flat cap, silver cufflinks, and a dark coat slung over his shoulder. Irish side, then.

He moved smooth through the room, parting it like a ship through water, a close-lipped smile that offered no one comfort.

When he reached the bar, Odessa had already poured a whiskey. Neat. No words exchanged.

He smiled wider now, still small, just a touch to show his nice teeth. Enough to make a lesser girl blush.

“Appreciate it, sweetheart.” He said, voice low and syrupy. She gave a small, polite nod, sliding the glass to him across the bar. Her fingers brushed his glove.

He smelled like tobacco and cologne, something expensive.

He drank standing up, surveying the room that was beginning to thin as families closed down to the night and some men headed to the back to enter their downstairs area.

“Busy night?” He asked, kidding his head over to the bereaved curtain that was stationed behind the bar. They both knew he was taking about the speakeasy below their feet, the room buzzing full of boisterous men drunk off illegal drinks and high off gambling.

“Steady,” Odessa said, voice even. She kept her gaze slightly averted, like a good and unsuspecting girl would.

He let out a small chortle under his breath, tossed a coin onto the bar, and tipped his hat. “Save me a spot next time. I’d love to try the food here.”

Then he was gone, vanishing into the back and disappearing into the dark like a shadow.

The next time was about a day later. She really say then in the same day. She was working her speakeasy shift that night and after the Irish had cleared out and the Italians had flooded in with louder laughs and messier boots, he returned.

But different.

Black suit with a matching wide brimmed hat, gold cufflinks, a white pocket square so sharp it could slice you. He moved as smooth as before, though a little less assertive. He flashed that smug smile that had the women swooning, opposed to the close-lipped smile that said everything and nothing at once that she saw yesterday. His accent was smoother now — words rolling looser, more careless.

“Evenin’, darlin’.” He said, dropping onto a stool with a heavy sigh, like he’d been working all day digging graves. “You got anythin’ that’ll kill a man twice?” He asked with a smirk, showing those gold teeth in the corner of his mouth.

Odessa lifted an eyebrow but kept her voice mild. “Could rustle up a gin, maybe some moonshine or a prayer. Whichever you think’ll hit harder.” She deadpanned.

He barked out a full, throaty laugh — none of that tight and taunt smile from before.

“Gin’ll do,” He said, tapping the bar with two fingers.

She poured him one, hand steady even as her mind rattled. Up close, he seemed a bit broader. His knuckles looked less scuffed, but his skin a shade darker from sun or soot. Maybe she’d imagined the roughness earlier.

Maybe.

Maybe not.

He threw back the drink and grimaced happily.

“You’re a blessing, you know that?” He said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Odessa hummed, taking the glass and pointing him another before moving to the rest of the empty glasses left by men from earlier. “Don’t rightly feel like one some days.” She murmured, surprising herself.

He tilted his head at that, studying her now. The easy humor faded from his face, replaced with something quieter.

Softer.

“You oughta.” He said finally, almost serious before picked a toothpick from the short glass on the bar and put it in his mouth. Then he slid a few coins her way — double what the drink cost — and sauntered back toward the table in the back where a few Italian men were raising hell over dice and cards.

Odessa watched him go, wiping down the already clean bar with slow, careful strokes.

Same man, she thought. Same eyes, same voice.

But…

But not the same weight behind the voice.

Not the same way he wore his own skin.

And no matter how many times Beaty and Pete laughed at her for it, Odessa just knew that those had to be different men. There were two of them. Two faces. Same damn lie stitched up in different suits.

She tucked the extra coins into her apron and said nothing. Some secrets were safer locked behind your teeth.

And she had learned a long time ago. Women like her didn’t survive by speaking the truth.

That is how she got her husband after all.

[wistfulnightingale]

The Night That Changed an Angel (or, why does Aziraphale still wear that shabby vest?)

Mini-Meta Musing (#4)

I've been brooding for a long time about, of all things, Aziraphale's worn velvet vest and the long cream jacket he's kept in "tip top condition for over 180 years now." I love the sweet familiarity, but this is the same angel who popped across the Channel and almost lost his fluffy-topped head in 1793 for dressing like an aristocrat.

"I have standards!"

He's the height of elegance, extravagance even. A dandy. We've seen the same at the Globe Theater 1601, Edinburgh 1827, and even as a Knight of the Round Table in 527 Essex, where he's wearing a glorious pelt across his shoulders! However, sometime after Edinburgh 1827, Aziraphale's stylish extravagance ends. He adopts the dress of distinguished but modest gentility. No seamstresses strain their eyes for days hand stitching ruffles and trims for him any longer. When we next see him in 1862, his clothing is refined, simple, and serviceable. It becomes his uniform, with only minor replacements. Why? What happened to change him?

Edinburgh 1827 happened. And his encounter with tragedy ran over his sensibilities like a locomotive.

Aziraphale had, we were told, saved his earnings over time and had bought land, invested wisely, and became quite well off. He used real money, not miracles, to build the bookshop, paying the builders well and taking care of bills honestly. He built himself up to a more than comfortable lifestyle, from nearly nothing. And his clothes are real, not miracled from nothingness like Crowley's. (source: original showrunner)

Aziraphale's wealth allows him to afford luxurious tailoring and fancy shoes and ruffles and trims. He'll certainly pay the cobblers and tailors and seamstresses well for their labors. It will be a substantial expense for the era. (The linked post gives a wonderful perspective on 1793 lifestyles and costs.)

https://agoodflyting.tumblr.com/post/753227014283083776/why-aziraphales-white-satin-pumps-are-ridiculous

The angel's Edinburgh multilayered and trimmed top coat, soft leather gloves, matching scarf, jacquard vest, silk cravat, etc., look entirely out of place in the back alleys where the poor huddle. Walking the clean, gas-lit avenues with Crowley and Elspeth, Aziraphale is oblivious to the privilege he has in this world.

As he strolls along in philosophical banter with Crowley about the "blessing" of poverty, the angel spouts trite pontifications created by the rich to justify poverty. He genuinely believes Elspeth has more opportunities for goodness.  After all, look at Wee Morag.  He respects her goodness tremendously.  It proves to him his “rightness.”  And so he sabotages Elspeth’s attempt to sell the body she dug up in her attempt to support Wee Morag.  Dalrymple gets no body, Elspeth gets no money, and Aziraphale believes he’s saving her soul.

It’s a poignant moment, though, when Aziraphale cradles the jar containing a tumor from a seven year old child who died because there wasn’t enough medical knowledge to save him.  Turning point number one.  It becomes Real, not a philosophical debate.  Selling stolen bodies puts good in the world.  He’s all for it now, and goes back to encourage Elspeth.  Good heavens, he’s even willing to help this time!

But, as we know, it all goes wrong.  Wee Morag is shot by a grave gun, and dies of her injuries.  Elspeth steals laudanum, and plans suicide.  Crowley drinks the laudanum, saves her in a compassionate Scottish frenzy, and is stolen away by hell because of his kindness.   And it is All. Aziriphale’s. Fault.

Turning point number two.  Another watershed moment where Aziraphale’s world changes again.

One of Crowley’s last earthly acts, before getting plunged into hell, is to have Aziraphale give Elspeth all of his pocket money.  What is pocket money to the angel is a fortune to her, one that can set her up for a better life.  I have no doubt that in the aftermath of the traumas of that night, missing and worrying about Crowley, Aziraphale thinks about all of this.  He considers all of the money he casually spends on fine clothing and expensive tailoring.  He wonders how many lives could change if that money was better spent on helping to relieve the poverty that surrounds him.  He wants to help, and to try to make amends for the harm he caused.  What would Crowley do, if he were free to be kind? And so Aziraphale changes.

I’d love to know the story of how it all played out.  Did he sell his fine clothing and donate the proceeds?  Did he become involved in charitable foundations?  Did he buy the clothing of a simple gentleman and decide to preserve it, however worn it became, as a reminder to himself of his past blindness and vanity?  We see in Season 1 how important it is to him to preserve that coat. (Sure, it's also a fantastic opportunity to flirt and flutter those angelic eyelashes... But, nonetheless!)

By Season 2, the angel who took too long justifying a life-saving miracle for Wee Morag, and who hesitated to give Elspeth his 90 Guineas, willingly and freely gave Maggie forgiveness for thousands of pounds of debt. I'd love to know what else he's done over the last 180+ years!

Whatever happened, it began that night in a graveyard.

[hannahsturniolo]

ʙᴀʙʏ ᴛɪᴍᴇ

Summary: your water breaks early in the morning and you’re going to the hospital to have your baby girl.

This is part 10! Read all other parts HERE.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

It’s 7:33 am. You’re lying in bed with Matt beside you when suddenly, in your sleep, your water breaks. You feel a pop, followed by a huge rush of pressure in your stomach. Panic sets in as you reach over and shake Matt awake, your voice trembling. You’re terrified, unsure what to do or how to even move. But Matt immediately shoots out of bed, grabs your hands, and gently helps you up, calm but urgent.

Matt’s trying to stay calm for your sake, even though he’s clearly panicking too. He keeps reassuring you, over and over, that everything’s going to be okay, his voice steady even if his hands are shaking. He grabs the hospital bags and rushes to load up the car. Meanwhile, you’re trying to put your shoes on, but your hands are trembling. Without a word, Matt kneels down and gently helps you slip them on, his focus completely on you.

After slipping your shoes on, Matt gently takes your hands and helps you stand. He guides you carefully to the car, supporting you every step of the way. Once you’re at the passenger side, he opens the door and helps you ease in, making sure you’re as comfortable as possible. Then he rushes around, slides into the driver’s seat, and starts the car. As you wince in pain, gripping the door handle with white knuckles, he reaches over and places his hand firmly on your thigh, his way of saying, “I’m here. We’ve got this.”

The drive to the hospital felt like torture. Each minute dragged as waves of pain and pressure crashed through your body, growing more intense with every passing second. You couldn’t hold back the groans and moans as the contractions worsened. Matt kept glancing over, his voice steady despite the panic in his eyes. “I’m here, baby. It’s okay. You’re going to do amazing,”he repeated softly, over and over, trying to be your anchor during the longest twenty minutes of your life.

As soon as you arrived at the hospital, Matt pulled up to the entrance and jumped out, rushing inside to get help. Within moments, a nurse appeared with a wheelchair, walking was no longer an option with how intense the pain had become. Matt and the nurse gently helped you out of the car and into the chair, supporting you as if you might break. Without hesitation, Matt took the handles and pushed you through the hospital doors, heading straight for the labor and delivery floor.

Once you reached the labor and delivery floor, everything moved fast. You were taken straight to a room and helped onto a bed, where a nurse quickly checked how far along you were. “4cm dilated” she said, things were progressing, and the baby was on the way. The pain was unbearable now, and you didn’t hesitate to ask for the epidural. While the anesthesiologist prepared it, Matt stayed right beside you. One hand rested gently on your shoulder, the other wrapped tightly in yours as you gripped it with everything you had, wincing through another contraction. “You’re doing great, baby. I love you,” he whispered, over and over, his thumb tracing soothing circles on your hand to try and keep you calm.

Once the epidural kicked in, the pain faded, and a wave of relief washed over you. The contractions were still happening, but you barely felt them now, and for the first time all day, your mind began to relax. Lying there beside Matt, you started talking about baby girl, what she might look like. Would she have his bright blue eyes? His smile? His nose? You both wondered what color her hair might be. Matt smiled, his hand in yours, and said softly, “I hope she looks like you, baby. Beautiful, just like you.” He never left your side. Even when he had to use the bathroom, he hesitated, afraid he might miss a moment or leave you feeling alone. He was all in, right there with you, every step of the way.

The doctor walked in to check your dilation, and after a quick exam, she looked up and said you were at 10 cm, it was time to push. A wave of panic hit you. Matt grabbed your hand, holding it tightly, refusing to let go. You clutched his hand so hard you were sure it might break. Tears started streaming down your face as you choked out, “I can’t do it. I’m scared.” Matt gently rubbed your shoulder, his voice calm and steady as he reassured you over and over, “You’ve got this baby. You can do it.”

Matt kept leaning in, whispering words of encouragement, reminding you how strong you were and how well you were doing. The doctors lifted your legs to begin pushing, and that’s when the panic really set in. Even though you couldn’t feel the pain, the fear was overwhelming , everything was happening so fast, and you’d never gone through anything like this before. You were caught in a full blown panic attack. Matt didn’t leave your side, he started tracing gentle, calming circles across your knuckles, trying to calm you through the chaos.

One of the nurses turned to Matt and said, “Look down, you can see your baby girl’s head, she’s right there.” He looked, and instantly his face lit up with the biggest smile, tears streaming down as the reality sank in, he was about to become a dad. A mix of excitement and nerves washed over him. He’d been waiting 9 long months for this very moment, to finally meet his daughter. “I can see her head, baby,” he said through tears, his voice shaking. “You’re doing amazing, she’s right there.”

You gave a few final pushes, each one bringing her closer. Then the nurse said, “One more push and she’s here.” Matt, completely overwhelmed with emotion, leaned in and gently pulled your head to his chest, holding you close as you gave that last, powerful push. And then, the sound you’d been waiting for filled the room. Your baby girl’s first cry. The moment you heard it, you broke down in tears. They placed her on your chest, warm and tiny and perfect. “Oh my god, baby, she’s beautiful,” Matt whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He kissed your forehead, eyes locked on your daughter, tears streaming down his face as he took in the miracle lying in your arms.

She was born at 6:27pm, almost 12 hours of labour.

After a few precious moments on your chest, they gently lifted your baby girl to weigh her. She was tiny, just 5 pounds, 4 ounces. You and Matt had both been small at birth, so it wasn’t a surprise, but seeing her little frame made it all feel even more surreal. As the nurses worked, Matt leaned down, cupping your face and brushing the hair from your eyes. He kissed you deeply, full of love and pride. “You did amazing, baby,” he whispered. “I’m so proud of you, so, so proud.”

The nurse walked over, cradling your daughter in her arms, and turned to Matt with a warm smile. “Dad, do you want to hold her?” she asked. His eyes lit up instantly, filling with tears he couldn’t hold back. He quickly wiped them away, his hands trembling slightly as the nurse gently placed your baby girl into his arms.

“She’s so tiny,” he whispered, his voice soft and full of wonder. “I can’t believe we made her.”

He sat down in the chair beside you, completely captivated, staring at her like she was the most incredible thing he’d ever seen. As the nurses tended to you, making sure your body was okay, he kept glancing over at you, his eyes filled with a kind of love you’d never seen before. And you, through your own tears, watched him fall completely in love with the tiny miracle you brought into the world.

One of the nurses walked over, holding the birth certificate form in her hands. “What’s her name?” she asked gently. You turned to Matt, your eyes lighting up with excitement, this was the moment you’d both been waiting for, the first time saying her name out loud as her parents. With a smile spreading across your face, you said it proudly, “Charlotte.”

The nurse smiled warmly. “That’s such a cute name, great choice,” she said as she jotted it down on the birth certificate.

Soon after, the nurses finished stitching you up and got you settled into the maternity ward. Exhausted from labor, you drifted off to sleep with baby Charlotte curled up beside you. While you both rested, Matt slipped out, drove to Chick-fil-A, and came back with food, knowing you hadn’t eaten during labor and would be starving once you woke up. The exhaustion had hit hard, and sleep came quickly, your body finally getting the rest it needed after everything it had just been through.

When he came back into the room, he didn’t want to wake you, but he couldn’t help it. He walked over gently, set the food down, and leaned in close, brushing a few loose strands of hair from your face.

“Baby,” he whispered softly, his voice full of warmth. “I got you food. I know you’re starving.”

You blinked your eyes open slowly, greeted by the smell of warm fries and the sight of Matt’s smile. He kissed your forehead, then glanced down at Charlotte, sleeping soundly.

“She’s perfect,” he said, still in awe. “And you were amazing.”

You sat up slowly, cradling your daughter with one arm and taking the food with the other, smiling sleepily. The room was quiet, cozy, and full of love just the three of you, in the soft, golden calm after the storm.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Read all other parts HERE.

Taglist❤︎:

@courta13 @riggysworld @heartsonlyforchris @mattssidepiece @matthewsangel @whore4chris @mattsturniolofuckingsexy @sturkneeohloww @leila-marie4 @sturniolo-szn2 @tezzzzzzzz @fictionalboysstuff @sturnixblogger @vall67 @chrissbxby @sturniolobananas1 @sophand4n4 @stvvrn1olo @xxxxxxlovesstuff @mattspillowprincess @moond0llie @emely9274 @briizysturn @sturniolooluvv @kenziesturniolo54 @d0llworld @kalel2005 @yourfavejules @rheaasturn

[4ttack-ur-heart]

The Boss’s Heart

Chapter I: When Opportunity knocks

Summary: You’ve had enough of working for your slimy boss, but the bills need to be paid. Just before you give up all hope, a stranger comes in one night and paves a new way of opportunities for you.

Warnings: guns, horrible bosses, sexist behavior.

This is more of a prologue to get the ball rolling :) leave back any feedback you have

The streets lay desolate and cold, a biting chill hanging in the air, occasionally broken by the shadowy figures of drug addicts lurking in the corners. As you walk, your foot nudges a discarded soda can, sending it skittering across the slick pavement. The can clatters and rolls, glinting in the dim light, before finally bouncing off the jagged surface of a weathered brick wall.

Walking home from your job was never fun.

The seedy bar you worked at preferred keeping you during the closing shift. According to them, having a woman working would draw in people, which was true, but the place was still a dump. No amount of skin showing would have people lining up at the door for warm alcohol and unsalted peanuts.

The owner wasn’t a peach either. Mr. Norris was an older man in his sixties, with a bald head and a nasty attitude. When he wasn’t drinking the gross liquor, he was holed away in his office, finding out ways to cut corners with expenses, with a dry cigar hanging from his lips.

The bar, The Purgatory Lounge, used to be a pretty lively and popular place before Mr. Norris took it over. Norris bought out the previous owner after seeing the success and money it brought in, but his cheap tendencies eventually caught up to him. The place was falling apart, multiple staff members were let go, and the patrons went from everyday people to the lowest scum wandering the N109 Zone.

Fishing out the keys from your purse, you pushed open the creaky wooden door and shut it behind you.

Home sweet home.

Your home wasn’t terrible-ish? Eh, it was still a roof over your head. The space was a small one-bedroom apartment with the paint on the walls fading, cracked, and tinted yellow from the previous tenants who were smokers. The only pieces of furniture you had were a small armchair that had torn fabric and a table where you would eat your microwaveable meals. You wanted some little house plants, but unfortunately, natural lighting doesn't exist in the N109 zone. The bright white light flickers as you flip the switch and toe off your shoes.

After peeling yourself out of your work attire, you changed into some comfy pajamas and scrolled through job websites on your computer. The little inbox icon on the website’s toolbar remained empty no matter how many times you’ve refreshed the stupid page.

You have had dozens of interviews for different places, but there was always a reason they couldn’t hire you. The more popular bars in the city thought you didn’t have the look they were going for, which was just a nice way of saying you looked too poor.

Other places were looking for men to do the jobs, as a lot of them were too shady or labor-intensive for a ‘little thing like you.’

You were one paycheck away from being homeless at this point. Norris had cut your pay again, making you just a few cents above minimum wage, which was never enough to keep anyone financially stable. At least before his old ass bought the place, you could save a little bit of money before. Now, you’re counting pennies and being forced to decide if you want your heater on or the water.

Shutting your laptop in frustration, you made some instant noodles before heading to bed. As you lie underneath the covers, you toss and turn.

Maybe you’ll dream about being a princess again, living in your huge castle with a handsome prince beside you, your bellies full with a warm fire crackling across the large king-sized canopy bed.

Maybe tomorrow would be different.

But it never is. It’s always the same routine day in and day out. That's all it would ever be.

——

“Mr. Norris, you left before handing me my check yesterday.” You say calmly, but deep down you are fuming.

You were in the middle of making the customer in front of you a cocktail when Norris walked in. You could tell he tried to duck past you and head straight for his office, but you had bills to pay. The guy sitting on the stool in front of you looks between the two of you curiously.

Mr. Norris sighs heavily, tucking the folded-up newspaper under his sweaty sleeve. “Sorry, sweetheart. I lost track of time, we’re getting audited again and-”

“That’s okay.” You smile and pass the customer his drink after garnishing it with a mint leaf. “I’ll just come pick it up when my shift is over.”

“I don’t have your check, Y/n,” Norris says, narrowing his eyes at you.

“Then I should expect it cash then, right?” You look back at him with your head tilted. “Payday was yesterday, sir. Unless you’re going to pay my light bill, I need the money.”

Norris stays silent for a few moments before he rolls his eyes and waves his hand at you, not wanting to cause a scene in front of the only customer you’ve had in hours. “Come by my office before you leave.”

The office door closes behind him, and you roll your eyes at your cheap boss before turning to the gentleman in front of you. “Sorry about him, is there anything else I can get you?”

“No worries, Miss. I’d hate to work for a sleaze ball like him.” He sips his drink before making a sour face.

This guy isn’t dressed in stained sweats either, instead, he wears dark slacks and a grey dress shirt. He almost looks too normal to be in such a place. Maybe he just isn’t familiar with the area, perhaps?

“You want something that doesn’t taste like shit?” You place down the glass you were polishing and don’t even wait for the guy to answer before you duck under the counter and unlock the mini-fridge where Norris keeps his pricier alcohol. He forbids you and the other bartenders from selling it- it’s a special privilege for him only.

“Here.” The chilled amber liquid fills the glass halfway before you slide it over to him. “Sorry about that first one, I can only work with what I have.”

The guy takes a long sip of his whiskey and nods appreciatively. “Don’t worry about it…”

“Y/n,” you smile politely and hold your hand out to him.

“Apollo.”

“Cool name.” You comment and go back to polishing the glasses. Apollo seemed like a nice guy, and he looked to be in his thirties- and the best part is that you didn’t get the vibe that he was a pervert at all.

“Why you workin’ in this shithole, Y/n?” Apollo crosses his arms over the counter.

“Uh,” you drag out before shrugging your shoulders. “I can’t find another job. Trust me, I’d leave if I could. What about you, though? You look like you’re smart. What made you stop in here?”

The man lets out a chuckle. "My wife’s sister a few streets away, and I just finished up at work meeting. Thought I’d catch a drink before stepping into the chaos.”

“Yikes, that bad?”

“I love my wife… hate her sister. That chick is crazy.” Apollo throws the rest of his drink back and holds his glass out to you. “One more for the road?”

You nod and pour him another glass.

“Why are you hiding this stuff? This is some high-end shit.” Apollo asks.

“That’s the boss’s personal stash. I told him we’d make money off of it, but no, he knows the clientele that normally drop in. They deserve what we have, his words not mine.” You give him an awkward smile and raise your hands in defense.

“So why give it to me?”

Once again you shrug and dump out the bowls of untouched peanuts that were strewn across the bar. “You were nice to me. Actually wanted to have a conversation instead of asking if you could hit it.”

Your face turns bright red at your words. “Sorry, you’re like the first person I’ve had a conversation with all night.”

Apollo laughs again and waves it off. “Don’t worry about it, you’re fine.”

For the next twenty minutes, you two engage in small talk. Not a single customer walks in, so you begin to tidy up for the night.

As you wipe down the counters and straighten the liquor shelves, you find out Apollo manages a warehouse on the outskirts of town, he’s got a beautiful wife, and two small kids whom he’d do anything for. All in all, a pretty down-to-earth fella.

He asks why you haven’t found another job yet and you indulged him in your rotten luck with the shitty job market in this city.

Apollo throws back the rest of his whiskey before slapping a few bills on the counter.

Your eyes widen as you quickly count the amount in your head. “Oh no, that’s too much, I was just gonna charge you for the first drink, don’t worry-”

“Nah, take it. I have a feeling you won’t be getting your check after your shift.” Apollo frowns as he glances towards the closed door where Norris disappeared. “He better not see a cent of this, alright? Take the amount that you need for the shitty drink and pocket the rest. It’s a tip.”

You smile at him appreciatively. Normally, you wouldn’t be one for handouts- but money is money, and you have very little of it.

“Thanks, Apollo.”

“Anytime, and here.” He pulls out a business card from his wallet and places it on top of the cash.

“That’s my work address and phone number, call me or stop by when you’re ready to leave this place.”

You stood speechless as he offered one last wave, a smile on his lips. With a tug at his coat, he exits through the door. ——— By the end of your shift, you grab your jacket once the closing tasks are done. Hesitantly, you knock on Norris’s door.

“Come in, Y/n,” Norris says lowly.

Opening the door, the room reeks of his cigar smoke. Your eyes fall to the scattered papers surrounding his desk.

“Do you have my check, sir?”

Mr. Norris chuckles slightly before he wheezes and shifts into a coughing fit. He picks up the small waste bin that was overflowing with crumpled balls of paper and spits in it. Your mouth curls up in disgust at the sight.”

Do you know how much money that bottle costs?”

You stiffen at his words. “W-what bottle, sir?”

“Don’t play stupid with me, did you forget I have cameras in this shithole?” Mr. Norris stands up, and you clutch your jacket tighter as your anxiety builds up.

His hands are in his pockets as he casually walks over to you, but you keep your head up high.

“If I remember correctly… it costs much more than you can afford, right?”

You can feel your heart rate quicken and the blood rushing to your ears. “I don’t know, sir. It was only two glasses, and I told you if we sold that kind of liquor here, we’d have more customers.”

“Doesn’t matter what you think.” His tone is bitter.

“I’m the owner here, not you. Got that?” Norris turns around and takes a deep breath.

“Don’t worry, I’ll just hold your check as compensation.”

Your eyes widen, and you step forward in desperation. “No, you can’t do that!”

“Yes, I can. You stole from me. I can do whatever the hell I want and you’re lucky I don’t fire your little ass. Besides, I saw that stack of cash he gave you, that should cover your light bill, right?” Norris gives you a smile before gesturing you to the door.

“Mr. Norris-”

“The job market is pretty bad right now, isn’t it?” His words cut you off. “I would just hate to see you wind up on the streets selling yourself for a couple of bucks. No one wants to hire a little brat like you, so if you think about it, I’m technically saving you right now.”

You look at your boss in shock at his words. The whole situation makes you want to almost throw up.

He sits back down in his chair and waves a dismissive hand, “I’ll see you tomorrow, kid.” — The harsh breeze stings your face as tears mercilessly roll down your face. At least you dared to wait until you left the building before you started crying. You were so done. With Norris, with that stupid bar, with having no money to survive. Everything.

You kept your head down as you walked home.

You just dared any mugger or criminal to try and mess with you right now. You had no real way of dealing with your frustration or anger besides a few tears here and there.

When you made it home, you didn’t even want to eat. Stripping to your underwear, you collapsed on top of your squeaky bed and cried.

———

You pulled the sleeves of your thin coat over your hands as if they would cover the nerves. The work address Apollo had given you took you to a warehouse hidden within the desolate city. It was rather shielded, much to your surprise. The walk was relatively creepy, too, passing by barren trees and chipped pavement that you only stumbled on once. Something screamed at you to forget about the job and head back home to your small apartment before being humiliated and taken advantage of by Norris at the bar. Your brain mulls over the possibility of you being kidnapped, trafficked, and killed, all before 7 a.m..

“Maybe I should've called him first," you wondered aloud as you finally made your way up to the rickety chain link fence surrounding the property. Various 'KEEP OUT' signs were strewn along the links.

The fence rattles, aggravating the creepy silence of the night. You can't help wince as the metal chains holding the gate clink loudly together.

"Damn it."

Locked.

You pulled the two gates apart with as much slack as the chains would allow and squeeze underneath the metal. The warehouse rests about half a mile from the fence with prickly shrubs and dirt patches littering the yard.

The large doors at the entrance are locked shut, much like the perimeter fence. Luckily, you were able to find a door cracked open by a small slat of wood around the corner.

The door creaks loudly as you open it, and you cringe at the noise and push it back against the peg gently.

Turning around, you're met face-to-face with the barrel of a gun. The silver metal gleams under the dim white lighting. Your body tenses, and a gasp escapes your lips as you freeze in shock. Instinctively, you raise your hands in a defensive gesture, your heart racing as you brace for what's to come.

"You have twenty seconds to explain who you are and why the fuck you're here." The man holding the gun demands. He stands taller than you with a bulkier build.

"S-Shit, I'm sorry! Don't shoot, don't shoot. Apollo gave me this address! Here, I have his card…" With trembling hands, you reach into your purse and pull out the crumpled business card Apollo had given you not twenty-four hours ago.

The man snatches it from you quickly, and his eyes skim over the small lettering before tossing the card to the ground. He grumbles something under his breath and grabs your bicep, making sure to keep the gun pointed at you. You don't dare utter another word; you can practically hear your gut telling you, 'I told you so.'

This is it. This is how you die.

Your feet move with his subconsciously, your shoes tapping against the metal floors with every step. The gun still taunts you as it's pressed rather snugly against your shoulder. Sweat beads down your neck, and suddenly your thin coat feels extremely hot.

The man drags you to a closed door and knocks rather aggressively.

A loud sigh is heard on the other side, and then you hear it- that familiar voice. "Come in, Will."

Will opens the door, and you're met with Apollo sitting casually on his desk and sipping on a cup of coffee. Instead of the slacks and the dress shirt he wore when you first met, Apollo was in a navy jumpsuit.

"Oh, hey!" He jumps off the desk with a grin that heavily conflicted with your traumatized expression. "I was hoping you'd finally leave that shitty bar. Good to see you again, kid."

"You know her?" Will asks.

Apollo nods and grabs the nose of the gun, pushing it away from your body. "Yes, I do. No need to scare her."

Will nods and holsters his gun, he looks at Apollo, who only gives him a nod before he leaves the room and closes the door behind him.

"You alright there, Y/n?" His voice breaks you out of your stupor. It takes a second for his question to register in your head.

"Y-yeah. Just ya know, never had a gun pointed at me before."

Apollo nods and gestures for you to sit in the empty chair across from his desk. “Better here than by yourself on the street.”

You sit down and try to stop your hands from shaking so violently- instead, you clasp them together tightly in your lap.

"Can I get you some water or coffee?" He offers, and you shake your head. The silence is a bit awkward for a few moments as Apollo grabs some papers from a desk drawer.

Finally, you break the silence. "What exactly do you guys do here?"

"We distribute weapons." Apollo answers, keeping his gaze on the paperwork in his hands. That's it? No other details…?

"For who?"

Apollo's soft brown eyes meet yours, but they don't hold the same warmth as before—it's as if he was tentative to tell you.

"Onychinus."

Onychinus? That criminal gang you've only heard horrible rumors of from the streets? The same Onychinus that can make people disappear from multiple records in just a few seconds? That Onychinus?

"Oh."

"Is that a problem, Y/n?" He asks, setting down the papers in front of him.

"I just…" Don't know if I want to work for a gang.

“Onychinus isn't a gang," Apollo tells you as if he was trying to be reassuring. Shit, had you said that outloud? "We're the faction that controls the entirety of the N109 Zone."

You miraculously break out of your petrified trance and had to stifle a scoff. "Is that not what a gang is, though? I mean, you guys 'control' the city, and word on the street is that the N109 Zone is run by criminals."

"Look, Y/n, you didn't receive your check from that shitty boss of yours, am I right?" Apollo places down the papers and leans his head on his hand. His words reel you into check and you’re quick to shut your mouth and remember where you’re sitting.

Your only response is to nod.

"I know it seems scary here, but we look out for each other believe it or not. Especially the boss. He takes care of us so long as we follow through on our part. I mean, yeah, sometimes we need to put people in their place if they mess with us, but a lot of the guys here have families. I told you about my wife and my kids, too. Here," turning around breifly in his swivel chair, Apollo grabs a picture frame from atop the metal filing cabinets.

The photo captures a woman with short, tousled blonde hair that accentuates her dazzling blue eyes that sparkle with warmth and joy. Beside her are two children, the perfect blend of their parents' genetics. The smaller child, a girl with chubby cheeks and a playful smile, is nestled in her mother's embrace, radiating innocence and happiness. Meanwhile, the older child, a boy with tousled brown hair, wraps his arms around his mother from behind, flashing a carefree grin.

Your fingers trace around the edge of the frame as you contemplate your choices.

"So I'm gonna ask you, do you want the job or not?"

"…yes."

Apollo nods thoughtfully and turns the stack of papers around to face you. He leans in, the gentle clinking of his pen from his shirt pocket momentarily breaking the silence as he retrieves it. Your gaze glides over the printed words, scanning the dense paragraphs, until it lands on a substantial figure.

There, in bold contrast, the metal ballpoint of his pen hovers, tapping against the dollar sign as if emphasizing its significance. "That's what you can make your first year here, kid. If there are no problems, of course."

With wide eyes, you swallow hard and suddenly regret not taking him up on his offer for a drink earlier. Your dry lips part as if to say something, but before you can utter a word, Apollo interrupts.

"Full-time benefits, too. Paid vacation, uh, what else…" He clasps his hands behind his head and leans back into his chair.

There was no way this could be real, right? I mean, what job pays this well, offers benefits, and vacation, without you having to sell someone's organs on the black market? But, with this salary, you can move out of your small apartment, actually eat healthy meals, maybe even afford a nice car so you wouldn't have to walk everywhere.

"Apollo?"

"Hm?”

“I don't have to like- kill anyone, do I?"

"Do you know how to shoot a gun?"

"No."

"Then no." A grin spreads across his face. "We'll just have you start processing the orders and deliveries. No violence necessary, kid."

Well,

Oh, what the hell…

"When can I start?"

———

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[shesjustanothergeek]

The Gods We Can Touch Chapter Five: The Princess and the Queen

|Aemond Targaryen x Strong!Reader|

Masterlist of Series

Summary: The older twin of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, you were a picture of the maiden, untouched and untainted by man's sins. At least, that was what Alicent Hightower believed when she held you in her arms moments after her old friend's labors. You were her shining light, her dream. Though you were never hers, she believed you were meant to be.

What will become of you as time passes and the Queen's shining light grows within the blackened darkness? Will her eldest son's morbid fascination with the light burn the realm? Or will her second son's obsession with the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen change the course of the Seven Kingdoms as we know it?

Author's Note: Hello, besties! How about that finale... I wanted to thank everyone who has left lovely comments and support about the story. It really makes me smile. I hope I continue to write y'all a story you like as it progresses. Thanks again!

Chapter Warnings: mentions rape, trauma, and symptoms related to childhood SA, mentions self-harm, emotional abuse.

The halls of the Red Keep were a vast expanse filled with candelabras, torches, paintings, and tapestries. If it was night, one could pass by a person and not notice them. The tremendous shadows held many secrets, causing you only to venture alone if there was no choice. 

But in the day, with the help of the warm sun shining through archways and open windows, it was a magnificent sight. It made you feel deeply grateful and amazed that your ancestors built a place like this and stood the test of time with its beauty. 

A tapestry, in particular, caught your eyes as you walked the grand halls to your lessons with the old crone Septa Marlow. It was woven with the finest colored wool with shiny red, green, brown, and white silk threads, depicting a scene between men, women, and dragons. Studying it with furrowed brows, you felt perplexed as you tilted your head, trying to understand the story told through the fabric. It looked like the people were naked, enjoying a festive party filled with wine, smiles, and dragons that devoured each other, mouths of men, women, and beasts on bodies in odd places.

The artist showed one man with his head buried between a lady’s thighs and a dragon pressed closely behind him. Another was a woman and a dragon resting between her legs, leaning over the top of her with its pointed tongue touching her chest. The memory of what Aegon did to you on the ramparts that night came to the forefront of your mind, and it sent a hot, nauseating wave to your stomach and privy parts. It was such a bewildering piece of art that you never noticed until now, making you wonder if it had always been there and if there were more of them.

“Do you like it?” A voice asked beside you, causing you to release a shriek as you jumped out of your skin. 

As you tried to calm your nerves, Aegon suddenly stood beside you, touching your chest. Every fiber of your being told you to run. To scream, kick, or hurt your uncle after what he did, but instead, your body betrayed you, anxiety filling your shoes with rocks.

“Personally, it’s one of my favorites. It shows how our dragon blood came to be,” he continued, jutting his narrow hip to the side as he flicked his frizzy mane. 

You couldn’t think, breathe, or scratch at the prickling hair on your arms. You were mad—that is what you were feeling. You were upset because your uncle stole you from your thoughts and didn’t listen when you told him to stop. 

“You hurt me, Aegon!” The words echoed against the pale redstone as he flinched like you had struck him. He briefly stared at your scowl as you did with the tapestry, thin lips pursed as he tried wrapping his mind around what you could be referencing. 

“Oh! You mean the other night?” Aegon chortled and shrugged his hands in the pockets of his trousers as if this was the most basic of revelations. “Twas nothing, niece. You know it. We cuff each other about all the time and think nothing of it. This was no different.” 

Fire filled your veins at his passivity, digging your nails into your skin until they left crescents in their wake. “No, this was different. You hurt me, uncle. It still hurts there,” you confessed, attempting to keep your anger instead of the gradual wetness that itched your nose. 

Worry flashed in Aegon’s amethyst eyes as he fully faced you, taking a step closer as you took one back in return. He pretended not to feel the slight at your wordless rejection and held out a sinewy hand. This was how it always was when Aegon did something you didn’t like. You would pout for a few days until he begrudgingly apologized without the words, and then you and your brothers would tease Aemond. He believed this time would be no different.

“Come on,” he sighed with a slight roll of his eyes. “Let’s skip your lessons today and go to the Godswood. You can pick those pretty flowers you like. It’ll be like nothing ever happened,” your uncle offered with his typical lopsided grin.

The action startled you, causing your muscles to tense and your spine to go rigid as you hugged your stomach for comfort. Fear replaced any anger you felt at the notion that you would be alone with Aegon and have no one to help you if he didn’t listen to you again. Without knowing it, your skirt became damp, a dark spot slowly forming on the sky-blue fabric between your legs as you soiled yourself. 

Your face heated in shame as your uncle waited for your answer, too stunned by the involuntary action to think of running away when he abruptly noticed the liquid flowing into the cracks of the stone floor. He jumped away with a disgusted yelp like it would burn him if he touched it as you covered your eyes in embarrassment. Tears leaked from them, unable to stop the thick droplets as they ran down your cheeks like rivers and stained your sleeves. Your uncle would surely use this against you for the rest of your life.

This was all Aemond’s fault, Aegon thought. It’s not enough that he is their mother’s favorite. He had to take the one thing that was his—the only person who was solely at his side and his side only. Now, his being in his niece’s presence caused her to wet herself out of fright. He didn’t mean to hurt you. You both were having a bit of fun. The serving girls never seemed to act the way you were.

Aegon stared at you. Unsure of what to do and if you would still avoid his touch, he took another step forward, preventing the urine from touching his shoes, and reached out to extend tense words of comfort. 

“All is well, niece,” he awkwardly consoled and patted your shoulder like you would a rabid dog. “Tis nothing-”

“Princess!”

The title was screamed down from the end of the hall, interrupting your uncle and distracting you from your shame. Both you and Aegon turned to the commotion and saw Septa Marlow storming towards you at a speed faster than a woman her age should travel. You were severely late to your lessons, and per your mother’s orders, Marlow was allowed to search for and punish you as she saw fit for your misbehaviors. 

Releasing a defeated groan, you hung your head and mentally prepared for the tongue lashing you would receive from her and your mother later as she stood before you, huffing with her bony hands on the waist of her grey skirt. You attempted to hide the damp spot on your dress and covered it with your hands.

“Little Miss, I’ve been waiting for you in the lesson room for half an hour! Your mother told you what would happen if you skipped them again,” the old maid sighed exasperatedly, shaking her habit-covered head in disappointment. “You are a woman of the crown, and yet you toss your duties aside as if they are no more than rotten fruit. When will you learn?” 

Your eyes focused on the pool that glistened in the daylight as it reflected your face. A countenance puffy with tears and wet with snot, plump, moist lips pursed into a deep frown framed by a head of dark waves. At this angle, you could see the small patch of hair you plucked out of your scalp, the urge to touch it coming over you. You wondered if others could see it, too.

“Look me in the eyes when I’m speaking to you, Princess,” Marlow ordered with a strict tone. You gradually lifted your gaze to match hers, fighting back another onslaught of tears. 

You were tired of getting in trouble. You wanted to be the good girl your mother said you were, but it was hard. It seemed as if everything you did was wrong, and you began to believe you deserved harsher punishment because of your continued failure. The urge to feel the sting of hair pulled from its follicle was too strong. You needed to be alone, away from irate Septas and parents, and with your brothers or Aemond—people who understood your sadness and would listen to it.

Your Septa observed you with calculating eyes, flicking from the sorrowful arch of your brows to the downward bow of your lips to your stained skirt. You tried to obscure it more from her view, twisting your body to the side, but it was for naught as she pulled at your wrist, displaying your disgrace for all to see. Marlow’s gaze was piercing, trying to pull puzzle pieces together as she looked from you to Aegon. 

Without warning, she yanked you behind her by your arm, feeling as if she wanted to pull it from the socket and put her body between yours and your uncle’s. 

“What did you do?” she interrogated sharply, her thin lips becoming even thinner with her jaw set. Aegon stared at her, stunned, and you began to weep in horror. “What did you do to her?” 

The question sent chills down your limbs, making the hairs stand on end. What did he do to you? All you could comprehend was that Aegon hurt you with a part that was supposed to be covered, like when you would get into fights that developed into blows. You knew it was wrong, but how Marlow shielded you with her body like a soldier on the battlefield made you think it was more than what a simple scuffle would be.

Aegon stared at Septa Marlow, shocked. His mouth agape as he stuttered to explain, his hands gesturing when he couldn’t get the words out. “Nothing!” he shouted in defense and stepped back from the elderly woman. 

“Liar,” she staunchly declared as she grabbed your uncle by his ear, bringing him closer to her seething gaze.

“Unhand me wench! I am a prince!” He screeched like a kicked dog, yelping and hollering in astonishment. You never thought Septa Marlow was so hearty or bold enough to scream in the crown prince’s face, and it scared you to no end as you hid in the fabric of her scratchy wool dress.

“People respond to pain according to where they were hurt, my Prince,” she spat as you listened with surprise. 

Did she know?

Aegon was awful. He felt slighted and would upset everyone just because he was. You worried Marlow would get into trouble with the Queen for touching her son and tried to lead her away, but your little arms were useless as she spoke through gritted teeth. 

“She isn’t one of your toys you can use as you see fit. When Rhaenyra hears of what you’ve done to her daughter, you’re mother won’t be able to protect you.” 

With that, Septa Marlow released Aegon as he whined, rubbing the afflicted area like she had ripped his ear from his head. You didn’t want her to get reprimanded on behalf of defending you, so you tugged at her sleeve again, begging with your eyes for her to leave. 

“Please, Septa, I want to go to my lessons now,” you implored, the words hiccuped.

She faced you then as if she suddenly recalled your presence beside her and stroked a comforting hand down your loose hair, coming to cup your cheek with a tenderness she had never given you before. It startled you into silence. Anguish glistened in Marlow’s blue eyes, as light as the sapphire bedsheets you slept on every night as she took your balled fist into her cold one. 

“Let us get you cleaned first,” she kindly replied, disregarding Aegon as if he didn’t matter. 

Septa Marlow seemed almost mournful like she suddenly discovered that she had lost a loved one as she led you down the many halls to your chambers in silence.

Your ladies-in-waiting greeted you with startled expressions as they tended to their duties, surprised to see you and Septa Marlow at an odd time. The first one to bow was Edwina of House Karstark, the youngest of Lord Rolan Karstark and his Lady wife. She was a few years older than you and was stout, standing on tall, sturdy legs and hips. Her shoulders were broad underneath her crimson servant gown, which featured wide blue-gray eyes and long brown hair styled underneath her cap. 

“Princess,” she politely greeted with a curtsy as the others followed. 

Septa Marlow wasted no time ordering your ladies to draw you a bath, the women ceasing their actions as they hastily ran to the kitchens to gather hot water. Staring at the older woman with a wary expression, you played with your fingers as you felt the overwhelming fluttering sensation of nerves bubble in your stomach. You hadn’t bathed since before that night, and the idea of multiple people seeing you in a vulnerable state made you want to run away. This wasn’t something you had experienced before. 

Typically, you loved baths, even bathing with your brothers on occasion as you played with toys and the servants scrubbed your bodies, but now, it seemed as if an abrupt aversion deep within you spawned, and you were powerless to stop it.

The maids finished with their last pail of water, dumping it into the metal tub and sprinkling in slices of oranges and nectarines, which were your favorites. Yet you still looked at the steaming water with reluctance. You didn’t want to bathe. It would take too much time, and having your body bare, feeling the hands of people gripping, scrubbing your flesh, water sloshing… 

It was too much. 

“Come, princess, let’s undress,” Enith, another of your ladies from House Blackbar, kindly ordered you with a wave of her dainty hands. 

Without warning, you ran to your bed, resting on your knees as you shook your head vehemently. “No! I don’t want to take a bath. I want to go to my lessons with Septa Marlow!”

The women exchanged confused glances, multiple pairs of colored eyes waiting for the other to do something about your out-of-character disobedience. They knew something must be wrong. You were never one to tolerate having the slightest bit of dirt underneath your fingernails, and not only did you deny cleaning yourself despite being covered in urine, but you wanted to go to spend time with Septa Marlow. You despised your lessons. You would kick and scream until your voice gave out, saying you didn’t want to go. Now you were doing the same.

“Princess,” Marlow called her gaze disbelieving and holding a look of challenge. “You must bathe before you can be seen. Your skirt reeks of piss.” You comprehended her reasoning, but something inside you refused to listen as you shouted disagreements.

Your Septa, the boldest of the women, came forward to grab you, but you swiftly dodged her, sliding across your wrinkled sheets. She dealt with your mother before you and knew how to handle troublesome young girls, though the years weighed heavily on her parchment-thin skin and brittle bones, and she was unable to get a hold of you. 

“I don’t want to take a bath!” You shouted as Edwina took a step forward, attempting to help Marlow undress you. They managed to snatch your leg and remove your dress as you wiggled and squirmed in their grasp, the fabric catching on your ears.

You quickly scampered away after they let go and flung open the adjoining door to your brother’s room, running over each of the neatly made beds as Septa Marlow and your ladies chased you. Swiftly, you ran to the exit, attempting to run out and down the hall. To where they couldn’t find you but were hastily stopped by Enith in front of you.

“Get, Princess Rhaenyra,” Marlow ordered Enith as she and Edwina restrained you, kicking and screaming in their grasp. “What is wrong with you? Does this have something to do with Prince Aegon?” Marlow pointedly questioned, on the verge of coughing with exertion.

Refusing to answer, you continued to thrash against them. You didn’t want to hurt your Septa despite disliking her, but if she told your mother about Aegon being the cause of your accident and she started asking questions, you would have no choice but to tell her about that night. Perhaps you could try to lie and say your uncle startled you in the corridor, which is why you wet yourself. You prayed to the Gods that she would believe you.

What felt like hours of struggling against a girl a few years older than you and an ancient Septa was moments as your mother emerged, a startled, wide-eyed look on her face as she watched you bite Edwina’s dress sleeve. 

“Enough!” your mother shouted over your dispute, ceasing all three of you as you panted.

Without hesitation, you ripped your arms away from the women, stomping to your room and curling face-first into a maroon settee. They were powerless to stop you now that your mother was here. You could hear their mumblings through the wall as a new wave of tears crashed over you, burying your cries into the soft cushions. 

You were uncertain what the reason for your sobs was. It could be that you had just experienced a rush of emotions you weren’t ready to handle or the guilt of making your ladies and Septa Marlow chase you around your shared quarters like a mouse, yet you knew the real reason. You tried denying it briefly, but the conscience your mother instilled in you made you see the truth. 

You were terrified about what she would do if she discovered you snuck out with Aegon, drank stolen wine, and ate desserts from the kitchens when you were supposed to be asleep.

The door to Jace and Luke’s room clicked shut, and you briskly raised your head at the sound, seeing your mother. You swiftly buried your face back into the cushions as you heard the delicate tapping of her shoes come closer. She said nothing for a long moment, sitting beside you and rubbing a gentle hand in soothing circles on your back. 

Rhaenyra wasn’t upset with your behavior; she was more concerned than anything. Like Septa Marlow said, this was unlike you. Your nursemaids taught you how to use the privy, and you hadn’t wet the bed since you were four. For Seven’s sake, it was everything your mother could do to get you out of the tub! 

She knew something had happened, something terrible.

“Little love?” Rhaenyra tenderly spoke your name as she leaned closer. “Will you tell me the cause of this?” 

You merely sniffled in response, rendered into tearful silence. 

Rhaenyra gave you a pitying unseen smile and released a sigh through her nose. She hadn’t seen you this worked up since Aemond pushed you into the garden fountain, smacking your mouth against the stone and knocking out your front tooth. With the tooth, it was an easy fix. All she needed to do was explain that another would grow back since you were young. With this, she was unsure of the cause and did not know how to get the reason out of you. 

“I can see this is hurting you, and it pains me deeply. You must know that whatever transpired will never make me love you less,” your mother confessed, her free hand clasping yours. “Whatever has you feeling in such torment is far more harsh of a punishment than I could ever give you. I could not bear to do more.” 

Slowly, you removed your face from the pillow, turning to rest your plump cheek on it. “You won’t be mad at me if I tell you?” you asked with a childish softness to your voice. 

“You know that I won’t ever lie to you. I cannot guarantee I won’t be upset, but the inner torment you currently face suffices any consequence I could give you,” your mother replied honestly, sighing and scrunching her brows.

While the words didn’t make you feel better, you did feel a lightness in your soul. You fully faced her then, tearful eyes glistening in the natural light like polished mahogany obsidian. Hiccuping your breaths, you leaned on your mother’s shoulder as she wrapped her long arm around you, uncaring about the foul-smelling gown. 

“Aegon, he sn-snuck up on me while I went to my lessons. He scared me,” you explained, thoughts and memories all mumbled together as you began to twist your hair to soothe your nerves. 

“Is that all?” she inquired in disbelief. “Your uncle scared you, and that caused you to…” Your mother didn’t finish the thought before you shook your head, impulsively tugging at your dark locks. 

“No, Mama. It happened before then. A few-a few nights ago, Aegon left me a note underneath my pillow and said he had something to tell me. He told me to follow a secret passage and that he was waiting for me.” 

You saw the color drain from your mother’s face, her violet eyes widening in horror as she swallowed nervously. “We went into the kitchens and wine cellars, helping ourselves to food and drink. A scullery maid caught us, and then he took me outside to the battlements of the Holdfast. We sat, ate, and drank, and he told me about Queen Alicent’s plan to arrange a marriage between us.”

Your mother clenched her jaw, clutching your shoulder and forcing you to face her, gaze searching for something. “Is that all?” You swiftly nodded your head. “Nothing else happened? Your uncle didn’t take you anywhere? He didn’t touch you?”

You stared at her, confused, examining the delicate slope of her nose and the intensity of her eyes. “No. Aegon didn’t take me anywhere. We stayed in the castle,” you answered hastily, trying to appease her unrest. “But he did hurt me. That’s why I don’t want to bathe; it still hurts.”

“What do you mean? How did he hurt you?” The severity of her gaze didn’t lessen, her strong fingers digging into the meat of your shoulders as she said your name. 

“He put his privy part inside-” 

You were unable to complete your sentence as your mother suddenly let out a heart-wrenching cry, pulling you close to her chest as she sobbed. Her outburst took you aback, but instinctively wrapped your arms around her, trying to offer comfort.

“Tis alright, Mama. It’s like when I lost my front tooth,” you said calmly, but she shook her head. 

“No, no, it’s not. Aegon did something to you, something you are far too young to comprehend. Does Alicent’s bitterness for our youth blind her from decency and honor?” 

And with that, you learned what Aegon did to you. 

Rape. 

Your eldest uncle raped you before you knew the meaning of the word—before you inquired where children came from. The tapestry you saw in the hall made sense now, except they were experiencing pleasure while you experienced pain. Your mother told you that what Aegon did was something that should only happen between two people who understood the consequences of sex. 

Your uncle took advantage of your innocence and abused his power over you. He knew you would allow him to do whatever he wanted because you sought his approval like nothing else. 

Your mother told you she also experienced something similar with her Uncle Daemon when she was much older and comprehended what sex was. She recounted how he left a note for her that led to a passage in her chambers just like you did, though he led her out of the safety of the Red Keep to the Streets of Loom and Silk to see her people where he abandoned your mother. You decided then that you didn’t like your Great Uncle Daemon. 

“Did he…” Rhaenyra couldn’t finish her question, tears choking her. “Did he reach completion? Did his… his seed…” 

You stared at her in confusion, still grappling with all she had explained. “Aemond caught us and took me back to his room. I didn’t see any of his seed afterward,” you answered plainly as your mother grimaced at the words. “He hasn’t told anyone. He promised not to. We’ve spent time together reading, and I think he’s becoming my friend.” 

Rhaenyra wiped the water from her face and gave you a forced smile, her mouth wet as she bobbed in acknowledgment. 

“Wonderful. I’m happy for you. You’ve always been a kind girl,” she thickly said, swallowing the excess moisture and smoothing your loose strands of hair. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up, hmm? I can show you how so you don’t have to become bear with anyone you don’t want to.”

“But it’s going to hurt, mama,” you whined, tugging on her satin gray dress sleeve.

“I know, sweetheart, but you must,” she sighed, stroking you in a gesture of comfort for you or her; you didn’t know. “How about we bring Jace here? He’s due for a scrub.”

Rhaenyra would do anything to control this uncontrollable situation. 

Fidgeting with your hair nervously, you nodded in acquiescence, allowing her to undress and lower you into the water. The warm liquid burned you between your legs like you thought it would as you clawed at your mother’s arms, releasing whimpers with tensed muscles until you adjusted. She comforted you with sweet nothings until you calmed, kissing your forehead and calling for a servant to fetch your brother. 

Jace arrived begrudgingly moments later from his lessons and stripped himself bare. You couldn’t help how your gaze drifted below his waistline as you unwillingly compared it to the memory of Aegon’s. You wondered what it would look like, “aroused,” as your mother called it. It sent an unwelcomed yet not entirely unpleasant tickle into your stomach as he got in with a huff. 

As Rhaenyra declined the assistance of your attendants and Jace’s manservants in bathing her children, she deftly took the supplies from them and dismissed them with a swift gesture. Guiding you on scrubbing your body and washing your hair, she momentarily paused as she came upon the small patches of missing hair. A sense of anxiety gripped you as you felt her fingers inspecting the area, but to your relief, she made no comment and continued as if nothing occurred. 

You appreciated her kindness and understanding more than ever at that moment as Jace mischievously splashed you with soapy liquid, and a water fight between giggling siblings ensued.

The sun casts its faint glow from behind the gray clouds of King’s Landing, rays of light shining as if from the heavens above. Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen stood atop her high balcony with her newborn in her sturdy arms, swaying him gently as she hummed a tune and looked over all the splendor the city offered. It was a land she would one day rule over and her children after her as she smiled at the sleeping bundle near her heart. 

The Princess loved her children dearly, especially the man she had them with. Despite having a name that would strike fear into his foes, he had a gentle heart. She felt her allies severely dwindle when he left. In a place Rhaenyra called home, she began to feel like an outcast. Suppose Alicent’s elaborate charade of parading a newborn child and its mother around the Red Keep was any say. The lengths her old friend would go to humiliate Rhaenyra were limitless. 

She recalled balking at her husband Laenor abandoning his post at the Red Keep to escape the rumors of the court and martial unhappiness to fight in the Stepstones with his father. But as time passed, the idea of leaving became more and more reasonable to Rhaenyra. On the chance that she would leave her home, it would not be for her, but for her children, for her only daughter whose innocence was taken before she knew what it was. It made her ill to understand that a child who was far too young to wonder where children came from would experience such depravity. 

Now more than ever, Rhaenyra questioned her children’s safety.

The Princess didn’t care about the concept of purity in this situation. No one knew what occurred other than the two involved, her and Aemond. If word happened to get out, she would fight for her daughter’s name. She was sure her half-brothers would not tell anyone, as it would be death to Alicent’s and her family’s pious image. It was mutually assured destruction. 

The door to Rhaenyra’s bed chambers opened, and a guard bowed and announced the unexpected visitor. She didn’t invite anyone. At the thought, her heart began to race, and she worried it could have something to do with you as she put Joffrey down. 

“Queen Alicent of House Hightower,” he boomed, bowing his helmeted head as the woman entered. 

Rhaenyra had half a mind to send her away. How dare she come into her quarters after everything that happened? After decades of torment and snide comments, she approaches her old friend with an air of ignorant, entitled kindness. 

“My Queen,” Rhaenyra acknowledged, refusing to extend a bow as she clasped her hand behind her back. “What do I owe the pleasure?” 

Alicent smiled briefly, encircling her fingers over her olive and gold waist as she stepped closer. The pointed star of the Seven glistened around her dainty neck. She swallowed as the Princess studied her with calculating eyes, sensing an unusual aura of hostility.

“Excuse my intrusion, Princess. I needed to speak to you. I know that we’ve had our share of differences as of late,” she began with a deep breath, wringing her digits, ��but I believe that we agree on the decency of the realm and the future of our Houses.” 

Rhaenyra raised a manicured brow at the woman before her, and her peony lips curled into a snarl of disgust. She knew the next words that would undoubtedly follow.

“I know you are not blind to the rumors about the plainness of your children-”

“Vile accusations fueled by those lusting for my ruination,” the Princess interrupted, standing behind the golden-colored settee that separated her from the Queen.

Alicent sighed and pursed her lips, refusing to admit her part in the gossip. She knew it was fact, but that didn’t matter now. She could sense a change in the air, could feel the future in which her light slipped away into the darkness. It was a desperate proposition, seeing as Rhaenyra had already made one. 

“I recall in the days prior that you proposed a marriage between your son Jace and my only daughter Helaena. I wish to offer a compromise, your eldest daughter and my eldest son. They would make a fine match. No one would seek to undermine your inheritance if our Houses were united if we allied ourselves,” she rushed, worried that Rhaenyra would interrupt her like before and spoil her dream. 

She desperately wanted to call you her own, to turn things into how they were meant to be. Alicent itched to tear at the skin of her nails as the Princess stewed in the silence. 

Rhaenyra was insulted at Alicent’s desperation and audacity in countering a marriage alliance that her father told her she vehemently refused. One didn’t do these things. Alicent, the woman who spouted about decency and propriety, dared propose a marriage after the atrocity her son committed before the eyes of the Gods.

A scornful laugh erupted in Rhaenyra’s chest as she traced the wooden engravings of the furniture. “Do you truly think me so desperate?” she challenged bitterly, shaking her loosely tied hair. “You approached my negotiations with such repugnance, and now you come asking me if I will sell my only daughter to that wastrel you call a son. No. You’ve already taken too much.” 

Hurt and confusion laced the wrinkles of Alicent’s face, her doe eyes wide with a helplessness Rhaenyra hadn’t seen since they were girls. She felt as if the Queen pierced her heart with her amber orbs, but she swiftly pushed it aside as she recalled the swollen patches of missing hair on your scalp. Distress was not the expectation Rhaenyra had in mind when she denied Alicent, and it briefly perplexed her before the realization dawned. 

“You don’t know,” she enunciated more to herself than the woman in the room. “Of course, he wouldn’t tell you, but why not Aemond?” 

The Queen became distressed at Rhaenyra’s ambiguity and finally began to pull at her cuticles, attempting to distract her from the anxiety and turn it into pain. She wanted to ask what Aemond and Aegon didn’t tell her, but the words stuck in her parched throat.

Rhaenyra let out a sharp breath through her nose as she walked around an armchair and became face-to-face with her forgotten friend. A sense of superiority came over the Princess at finally having the upper hand after years of pining for Alicent’s kindness. At the moment, she had no desire to end the strife between them. 

“Aegon stole my daughter into the night and led her to the ramparts of the Holdfast, where he raped her,” Rhaenyra described with a pointed fury. “Do you know what it’s like to hear your child cry in your arms because someone debased her? She didn’t know the name of what happened to her.” 

Gasping in horror, Alicent covered her lips in shock, bracing one hand on her stomach as if she would vomit. Her son, her firstborn, the child that she loved dearly but also doomed her to eternal suffering, had raped his young niece. Aegon raped the Gods’ Light. If anyone got word of the atrocity committed on the small folk’s favorite Princess, the realm would turn on House Hightower. No one would support Aegon’s claim despite him being a son.

“Who else knows of this?” Alicent hastily asked, her face pale with fear. A small, desperate part of her still wished to continue with the proposal. Maidens were forced into unhappy marriages as a part of life, and this one would be no different. 

With a dismissive snort, Rhaenyra pivoted away from the Queen and strode back to Joffrey’s cradle. It was no shock to her that the Queen had made such a request. Her preoccupation with appearances and how she was perceived always seemed to overshadow genuine empathy, a characteristic that she appeared to have inherited from her father.

“Aemond, and now, you,” Rhaenyra answered as she stroked the button nose of her newborn. “That is the boy you want my child to wed. Her rapist. What do you think my father would do should he find out?” 

Alicent inhaled sharply, nerves winding themselves into a ball as blood trickled into her nail beds. “There is no need to get the King involved. His health is far too precarious. I shall see to it.” 

The Princess stood in the dimly lit chamber, her emotions simmering beneath the surface as she gazed down at Joffrey, nestled amidst the soft white linens that cradled him. It was nearly time for his feeding, and she didn’t want to continue discussing with the wetnurse present, knowing that any whispers or speculation about her daughter would spread like fleas.

“Good. Out of our shared blood, I will spare Aegon from his fate at the Wall. Know that I will be the one to decide where my daughter’s hand goes. You may take your leave,” Rhaenyra dismissed with a flick. 

Alicent stood frozen in place, her wide brown eyes shimmering with tears as her hand instinctively reached for the delicate Seven-Pointed Star pendant resting at the base of her neck. This object symbolized her unwavering devotion to Faith, virtue, and sacred things. However, in this moment of distress, it felt as though the points of the star were searing into her flesh, cutting into her tender palm like a mark of condemnation. The Queen’s fury, initially directed inward at herself for the perceived failure of raising a son she deemed unworthy, swiftly turned towards her eldest child. 

One thing remained unanswered as Alicent swallowed the lump in her throat, inhaling a deep breath before the question came from her plump lips. 

“How does Aemond know? Did he…” She couldn’t finish the sentence, choked at the idea that both her sons were the wickedest men. 

Rhaenyra shook her head scornfully, sneered, and took Joffrey into her arms, refraining from the bitter laugh that threatened to erupt. “He stopped Aegon from reaching completion inside her, but there was no point. He’d already damaged my daughter beyond comprehension. She wets herself at the sight of him and refuses to bathe without her brother.” 

The Princess’s gaze traveled to the floor, a scowl on her face. The recollection of you whimpering as you lowered into the tub played in her mind’s eye. She sat on the lavish settee that separated her from the Queen, exhausted, the effort of standing still too precarious after her labors. 

“That is your decency,” Rhaenyra jeered as Alicent stood with her back ramrod straight. 

The wetnurse entered the Princess’s chambers before she could respond, wordlessly understanding that this was not a subject to discuss in front of the staff.

The act of Aegon fraternizing with maids and indulging in excess was already troubling, but he deliberately destroyed one of the few things that brought Alicent joy. It felt like a personal attack. He shattered your innocence and the light that used to brighten Alicent’s dreams. Although conflicted about the fact that it was her son who committed this act, she couldn’t help but feel a surge of rage inside her, causing her to drop her arms to her sides swiftly.

Sins such as these will not go unpunished, she thought.

“I thank you for your time, Princess. I will see that the matter is duly handled.” With a heavy heart, the Queen bid farewell to her old friend, lingering momentarily at the chambers’ door before leaving. Little did she know that it would be many years before she would set foot in that place again.

As Rhaenyra observed the Green Queen’s departure, her auburn locks cascading gracefully with each subtle movement of her hips, she resolved to assume dominion over Dragonstone. Despite the perils of her leaving, her children’s safety took precedence over her own. The Red Keep was no longer a secure place for any of them. 

Alicent waited until twilight blanketed the castle as she tentatively nursed a goblet of wine, candles flickering in the darkness. She rarely indulged in this vice, but this day required such comfort. She didn’t think one’s world could end in mere moments, yet for her, it did. The future that helped lay Alicent to rest atop her silk pillows was no more. 

After years of tolerating Rhaenyra’s and Viserys’ arrogance, upholding duty, the kingdom, and the law, she felt she was due this one thing. It was not so much to ask. If her old friend were a better ruler, she would understand that marriage to the one who took advantage of you would be a minuscule sacrifice to make for the good of the realm. But Rhaenyra was a good mother, not a ruler—something which Alicent both envied and disliked. 

Downing the last contents of her cup, Alicent stood still in the day’s attire as she nodded to Ser Criston, who returned one in kind. He knew her destination without her speaking it into existence, escorting her the few rooms to her eldest son’s. She didn’t bother the courtesy of knocking as she shoved open the sturdy oak door to reveal her son resting on the mattress near his window, sheets at his thighs and prick in his hand. Bile briefly burned the Queen’s throat, covering her sneered lips to prevent it from spilling.

It wasn’t the first time she caught Aegon pleasuring himself, nor did she think it would be the last as she witnessed him with a pocket portrait of you in his grasp, stroking his glistening member. Alicent felt sick, turning away from the blasphemous sight before her and into Ser Cristion’s armored chest. This is not her son. 

“Fuck!”

The commotion alerted Aegon to their presence as he shouted obscenities, swiftly covering his hips with the discolored sheets. Was he not afforded the same privacy as others? The Keep was his home, too.

“You are in the presence of your Queen Mother. Act as such,” Criston ordered, the whisper of his hand gliding over Alicent’s back. She stepped away from her sworn protector, brown curls loose as she swallowed her tears.

“What have you done now?” she interrogated with a resentful shake of her head, a scowl on her plump lips.

Aegon peered at her confused, mouth opened as he craned his neck upwards. It was hard to tell what his mother implied, seeing as he got into his fair share of mischief alone and with his nephews and niece. “I don’t know what you mean,” he answered honestly, and Alicent believed him. 

She knew her son would survive daily with nothing but firewater and was unsurprised by his dispassionate attitude. This was another one of his jokes, she realized. Aegon was so ignorant of his bullying that it became his nature. He was incapable of understanding the magnitude of how his actions affected others. 

“What you did to the Princess, how you lured her from her bed at some unholy hour and raped a child! She is a child, Aegon!” Alicent roared, her velvet voice rattling in her throat with anger, arms trembling at her sides. “She does not understand the relationship between man and woman, and you took advantage of her. She trusted you!”

Tears pooled in Aegon’s amethyst eyes, his mouth pouting from his mother’s tirade. “She told me I could do it. I didn’t mean to hurt her!” he protested, recoiling. Aegon felt like a child who destroyed a precious vase after his parent told him not to touch it. “Did Aemond tell you? You know he’s lying. He’s still upset about the pig.”

“Another depiction of your cruelty,” the Queen snidely retorted, face curled in disgust. “Rhaenyra will never agree to a union of our Houses after what you’ve done. You’ve ruined all prospects of my happiness. How does it make you feel to treat your mother this way?” 

When her son did not answer, choosing to lower his head and cower, she stormed towards him, causing Aegon to scamper upright in fear and clutch the sheets in his trembling fingers. Without warning, Alicent struck her son across his cheek, pink blooming across his pale skin. Her son cradled his face as tears began to fall, but she roughly yanked Aegon’s hand away, hitting him like before and causing his lip to split as she screamed.

“How does it feel to have destroyed a child’s life? To have effectively decimated all chances of peace with your repulsive desires? She would have solidified your claim. No one would have thought to raise their banners otherwise,” she fumed as her arms gestured wildly, Aegon flinching with her move. “The realm’s blood is on your hands.”

He hiccuped, unevenly breathing as snot dripped into his mouth, stinging his bloodied lip. Aegon rubbed his swollen cheek that would no doubt bear the mark of his mother’s rage the next morn, swallowing his tears, spit, and mucus. 

“I’m sorry, mummy,” he remorsefully expressed, looking down in shame. 

He was only sorry because Alicent found out. Had it not been for her proposition to Rhaenyra, his mother would have never found out.

She sneered, glaring at her son as Alicent abruptly recalled a quote from a book about motherhood she read as a young girl. It stated how deeply a mother’s love for their child went. It was like nothing else and knew no law or pity. How its mere existence dares all things and remorselessly crushes down all that stood in its path.

Alicent could find evidence of herself in her children, no matter their Targaryen queerness or the silver hair and violet sparkle in their eyes. She saw herself in Helaena’s gently sloped nose, Aegon’s round and sleepless eyes, Aemond’s straight-backed bearing, and how his expressive brow always gave away his genuine emotions.

On the worst of days, she reminded herself that she left a legacy—that Viserys didn’t devour every evidence of her girlhood with his cursed blood. She clung to these shards of herself, reflected at her from her children, and it felt like trying to pick up splinters of colored glass from a broken Sept window with her delicate fingers.

The Queen loved Aegon but could not do so as she did for Helaena, Aemond, Daeron, and you. She would drink poison for her eldest but couldn’t embrace him. Alicent would step into dragon fire for him yet refused to say the words he desperately longed to hear. She tried to tell Aegon that she would love him no matter what he did, that he could not stop her from doing so, but the confession refused to roll off her tongue.

“You are no son of mine,” she declared, inhaling a shuddering breath. There was nothing more for her to say, and she left her son, whimpering and sniveling in the confines of his bedroom. 

Aegon stood alone in the dimly lit chamber, his eyes fixated on seeing his mother’s departure. Overwhelming agony and disgrace filled his being, and he found himself utterly wounded beyond words. It cut him deeply to the core that the person who was meant to love and protect him unconditionally could cause him such anguish. He couldn’t fathom how the one stable relationship he had hoped for in a tumultuous life had turned out to be the source of his deepest pain. It seemed as though his mother’s love was limited, only granted to those who could fulfill her expectations.

It seemed as if taking the place of his mother’s favorite wasn’t enough. Aemond also had to take his only true friend. 

Aegon concluded that Aemond must have made the situation far worse than it was in an attempt to direct Alicent’s wrath onto him. No doubt his younger brother did something to displease her. Without Aemond’s interruption, none of this would have happened. His mother wouldn’t be upset with him, Aegon would still have his pride, and you would still be his friend. After all, you were his first.

You were not naive. You comprehended why your mother chose to depart from the Red Keep, and you felt responsible for it all. It wasn’t that you didn’t appreciate the idea of residing on Dragonstone. In the summer, it was a magnificent place. Aegon the Conqueror’s garden was a breathtaking sight that could rival the Keeps, and the perpetual breeze that swept across the island made the high temperatures quite bearable. Nevertheless, you were apprehensive about living there.

It wasn’t your home. 

You were born and grew up here, surrounded by companions and starting a new beginning with your Uncle Aemond. The Keep was all you knew, but it wasn’t all joyful memories. You often faced relentless teasing from your uncles for not having Valyrian features and simply because you were a girl. Despite the challenges, you wanted things to stay the same, even after what Aegon did. When your mother revealed important news during supper, you didn’t complain about your shared feelings, unlike your brothers. 

As the sun dipped below the western horizon, casting a warm yellow-orange glow across the sky, your mother gently reassured you that Aegon would never trouble you again as she tucked you snugly into bed. Rhaenyra, taking no chances, commissioned the palace locksmith to forge a sturdy iron bolt for the tunnel door and generously compensated him for his secrecy. She doubled the guard outside your chambers also to further ensure your safety. 

Knowing that your eldest uncle could not breach your defenses brought you immense relief, finally allowing you to rest your head. However, that sense of peace shattered as you awoke suddenly, a flutter of anxiety gripping your chest.

Your mother arranged to leave King’s Landing within a fortnight, and with your guards becoming more of a presence than before, you worried when you would see Aemond to tell him goodbye. Your mother had expressed her displeasure at you spending time with any of the Queen’s children, and you didn’t want him to think you abandoned him. 

Laying in your soft bed, surrounded by your plush pillows and fluffy duvet, you tossed and turned, battling the idea of if you should do what started this in the first place and sneak through the tunnels of Maegor’s Holdfast. You were scared about becoming lost in the vast passages, but you inhaled an encouraging breath and threw your covers off. A shiver ran through your body, whether from the sudden lack of warmth or anxiety; you were unsure as you snatched the lit candle from your bedside table. 

You planned to go into the first door you saw and take yourself from there, which proved problematic when it didn’t budge, no matter how hard you pushed. It sent a surge of panic into your soul as you glanced around the dark hallways, the sounds of rats squeaking and water dripping adding to the storm of fear that formed. You felt helpless, afraid that from the blackness, a monster would emerge and devour you whole, leaving nothing but bones for your parents to find. 

Exhale. Inhale.

The steady breathing of your lungs calmed your nerves enough to think clearly. All you needed to do was find the next exit. Eventually, the tunnels would end. 

As you went to step forward, a rock rolled under your shoe, causing you to stumble briefly before an idea came to mind. You recalled days when you spent outside with Helaena or your brothers drawing on the stone walkways of the Keep, creating pictures of your family, dragons, and all sorts of animals before they were washed away by rain. There was no rain in here. You could use it to mark your path and retrace your steps if lost. 

Dragging the stone along the walls created a line lighter than the rock as you felt it vibrate along uneven surfaces. Finally, you found another door. You moved the indentation with the shove of your shoulder, and it opened, revealing a dark room lit by only the silver moon glow shining through the windows. 

You realized it was the library as you saw the towers of bookcases lining the room and felt a surge of victory. Quickly, you scribbled the word onto the passage wall as you shut the portal, a painting depicting a fierce battle between men and dragons hanging on it. You could navigate yourself from here and stealthily walk the torchlit corridors of the Red Keep until you find Aemond’s quarters and enter as you did before. 

He wasn’t startled this time and only sleeplessly turned on his side to face you, opening his covers, which you crawled in greedily. You stuck yourself to Aemond’s side, pinning his arm uncomfortably between your bodies until he unwedged it with a sigh and put it under your neck. You were silent for a long moment with your hands tucked near your chin, unsure how to tell him you were leaving.

Aemond realized as he stared at the top of his canopy bed, violet eyes focused on the fabric that swirled in the night. The more he got to know you, the more your presence stopped irritating him. He liked that you respected his boundaries despite having different ones. You knew that Aemond preferred silence and hated it when someone took his things or disrupted whatever plans he made for the day, which was why he was so affronted when you decided to make a regular appearance in his life. 

“My mother is taking us to Dragonstone,” you blurted, unable to express yourself otherwise. 

Aemond blinked at you in the darkness and unhurriedly turned, his brows arched. “For how long?” he questioned. 

“I’m not sure,” you softly soughed, gazing downcast. “I think forever. Mother doesn’t think we’re safe after what Aegon did and the rumors that we’re…” You couldn’t finish your thought. It was as if the word bastard was something you could not say aloud. 

Aemond knew what you meant and pursed his thin lips as resentment swirled in his stomach. It felt like he couldn’t have anything that made him happy. Born without a dragon, he was forced to be the odd one out, and now he was losing the only person his age who seemed to care for him. Something or someone would permanently ruin his happiness. In this case, it was his brother. Hatred burned in his heart for Aegon. 

“I don’t think Mama will allow me to visit the Keep. She doesn’t want us to be around Queen Alicent or any of you,” you sullenly confided, melancholy tugging your eyes. “A part of me wants to leave because of Aegon, but the other wants to stay with you.” 

“I don’t need you to be my friend. I don’t need your pity,” Aemond barked, causing you to flinch. It was the only way he knew to be when he was uncomfortable with the notion of vulnerability. 

You sighed, squirming closer to him and putting your palm on his chest. “I don’t feel bad for you, Aemond. You’re my only friend besides my brothers. Why would I want to leave you behind?” 

He didn’t know how to respond, unused to someone other than his mother speaking with candid emotions. 

“I enjoy spending time with you, uncle. You’re the first person I told that I wanted to be like Nymeria and find my Mors Martell,” you confessed, playing with the fabric of his nightshirt between your fingers. He didn’t know why the idea that you needed to find your prince consort vexed him. 

“We all must make sacrifices for family,” Aemond stiffly explained. 

You could only get Aemond to offer you comfort by explicitly telling him. He was locked within his mind’s fortress, refusing to let anything or anyone in. 

“When Gaelithox is big enough, I’ll ride him and visit you. I promised that we would fly together.” Aemond’s purple orbs flicked to you at the reminder of your oath, and after a long stretch of speechlessness, he took your hand. 

“Very well,” he nodded, and you nestled closer to your uncle, resting your temple in the crook of his neck. That was good enough for you. You could rest easy now, but your uncle’s mind still whirred, stuck on one thought. 

“Do you think you’ll ever find your Mors Martell?” he asked, stirring you from your slumber. “I heard my mother talking one day, and she said that there was no place for a woman to have expectations for her husband. She must accept whatever match her father deems necessary.”

You hushed for a long moment, and Aemond thought you might have fallen asleep before you rose in your arms, looking down at him in the darkness. “I’m a Targaryen princess, not some regular noblewoman. My mother said I may choose who I want to marry, whether he be a knight, a dragon rider, or a second son—so long as he’s worthy.”

Seeing the hesitancy in his gaze, his silver-blonde hair loose and draped over the green satin pillows, you leaned down, bestowing a short yet sweet kiss to the top of his sun-spotted nose with a grin. He lay there, shocked, unable to speak or move, his cheeks blooming a vibrant pink that you could see in the darkness as you lay back down, feeling satisfied in your gut. 

“All I ask of him is that he has a good heart, cares for me as I do him, is someone with whom I can trust my secrets, and protects me from my enemies. That is the type of man who’s worthy. Dragon or not, it doesn’t matter,” you sighed contentedly, feeling the claws of sleep overtake you.

You stirred with a blink when Aemond’s hand rose slowly and tentatively touched your cheek, your brown eyes wide and glimmering in the moonlight. He swallowed hard, feeling how pleasant, soft, and warm your skin felt under his fingers.  He pressed his forehead against yours, feeling your breath quicken. Your uncle was hesitant about expressing what he wanted so as not to frighten you. Aegon was experienced with this sort of thing, not Aemond, and understood that you would see him the same way if he went about it like his brother did. 

As unworthy. 

A monster.

As he leaned in closer, he gently ran his thumb across your skin, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. His fingers traced the curve of your neck, causing your breath to catch in your throat. Even in the dimly lit room, he could feel the heat of your blush.

“May I?” he asked, voice mumbled as you nodded quickly, a giddy feeling in your heart.

You gently traced your fingers along his chiseled jawline, savoring the unfamiliar intimacy of Aemond’s proximity. It sent a surge of warmth through his stomach, and his heart raced as he tenderly cupped your cheek in his hand. 

When your uncle’s lips finally pressed against yours, he was surprised by how soft and moist they were, pulling swiftly in slight embarrassment with a noiseless click of flesh. He turned away with hot ears and abruptly shut his eyes, feeling like he was about to die simultaneously from bashfulness and excitement.

“Let us sleep,” he tenderly ordered, settling back into his former position. It was too much emotion for one time, and you didn’t want to push him further. Aemond felt ashamed that he was sharing the same bed as his bastard niece, yet her presence had a calming effect on him.

You answered nothing, settling beside him like before as he put his arms around you, sending a flutter in your heart. It was his first kiss, just like yours, and for the first time in many years, he felt proud, fulfilled, happy, and worthy. For the time being, he didn’t worry about what a life without you and your brothers meant for him, focused only on your comforting warmth and scent that reminded him of a cool, bright summer day as you both fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.

Masterlist of Series

Spotify Playlist

I hope y'all enjoyed that last scene because it'll be the last sweet one for a long time! XD

Bedwetting, refusing to take baths/showers, and uncontrollable bladder and bowel movements are all common signs of childhood SA. I didn't add that scene in there just for the shock factor. While I didn't experience those symptoms, they are textbook signs.

Some of you shared your experiences in the comments and said what happened to the OC was validating. I wanted to give y'all a public thank you for sharing your experiences even when you didn't have to, and FUCK YOU to whoever did those things to you. Still, there are so many different ways people react to trauma that there isn't a "right" or "acceptable" way to cope with it. Just remember to get professional help if you're able and find ways to channel those feelings that will benefit you positively. It's a lifelong process that can be exhausting at times, but what I like to tell myself (even if it's morbid) is that if I'm dead, then I can't be anything, and if I'm not anything, then the wrong that person did to me is nothing. I don't recommend that line of thinking to everyone, tho. XD

Thank you again for reading!

Tagged Peeps: @millies0bsimp , @britt-mf , @marvelescvpe , @haikyuusboringassmanager , @discofairysworld , @lottiemsgf, @nessjo , @fiction-fanfic-reader , @qvnthesia , @hotvillianapologist , @p45510n4f4shi0n, @theendlessvoidofdarkest , @readerselegance , @gothamgurl2024, @aleemendoza2425-blog

[boredpotate]

Happier Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own Arcane or any links. I only own the concept idea for this story.

Concept: Isekai Fem Reader turns back time to fix her timeline, but has unforeseen consequences.

Reader Pov.

I'm in a clear white space with blue pulsing light that that endlessly spread throughout the whole space. Up, down and around. I don't know how I got here, but a little ways away from me I see someone. A hooded figure with some kind of staff.

"Hello?" I call out and the figure turns to me, though I can't make out a face under the hood. A sharp pain suddenly goes through my skull and I black out.

My eyes shoot open and I feel my body being shaken on the bed again and grunts that I know only one little girl makes. I turn my head and see Isha trying to shake me awake, which makes me smile and forget about the weird dream.

"Five more minutes," I grumble and turn over to the other side, making Isha climb onto the bed and shaking me more to wake up. Her little grunts and hums insisting that I wake up for the day, "*sigh* Okay, I'm up. I'm up." I say as I sit up and get a morning hug from Isha. Her hug being much tighter than before, since her body has become much more healthy during this passing month. Along with more energy to run and jump around.

After separating from the warm hug, Isha hops off the beg and grabs my shoes and leg brace for me as I scoot over and swing my legs over the side. She helps me get my shoes on and put on my leg brace; tightening the lower straps while I tighten the higher one's before holding my hands and helping me stand up. The cane no longer needed now that I have enough strength in the rest of my body to balance myself, but my braced leg still not fully recovered, but getting better. I let out a big stretch and groan before putting on my gear. Isha almost immediately tugs on my hand after I'm ready and heads towards the bedroom door. Always acting like she's my nurse or caretaker ever since she started getting healthier.

What has felt like a little over a month has been nice. Therapeutic in a way. It felt like home again. Having talks with Vander, Silco and Benzo. Getting to know the older Claggor and Mylo and what their interests are and bantering like old times. Talking with Sevika, Vi and Cait about their work and learning that Vi and Cait moved into their own place; even getting invited for tea sometimes. Though most of my time was significantly spent with Powder, Ekko and Isha in Powder's lab. Surprisingly the same one Jinx had but a vastly different mood in it. Though more bright colors have been brought into it thanks to Isha and Powder's drawings and decorating together; creating a strange, but nice, mix of themes.

Mostly Powder, but with a touch of Jinx.

Both Powder and Ekko invited me in to help them with their project for the Innovator's Competition, in fact it felt like they insisted on it with Isha either pulling or pushing me to the lab with them. If I remember correctly it's some kind of chem energy cell that lasts longer and outputs more power. I couldn't do much on the research or figuring out how it works, but I could help with more labor tasks just like old times and Isha seemed to love learning from them. Besides that they would plop me into one of the bean bags or couch and let me watch them at work. Occasionally playing with Isha when she get's bored of waiting to continue working. I didn't mind; it felt nice not being alone. We eventually got the damn thing working, but they still need to run some tests.

Anyway, Isha drags me out to the bar where I see the boys with Powder sitting at their usual table and Vander getting the bar ready for the day while talking with Benzo. He turns to Isha and I as we sit at the bar. Opting for two tall chairs with backs to lean on instead of the regular stools.

"Rise and shine. Today's gonna be a big day," he says before heading to the back and coming back out with two plates of food, "Here, eat up. It's still warm." he says as he sets them down for us. Isha immediately stuffing her face, which makes me slow her down before enjoying my own.

"So, how many people are you expecting tonight?" I ask curiously as I eat my breakfast.

"Quite a lot. There's gonna be a whole party goin' on here along with the competition. Music and dancin'. Y'know Gert, right?." He asks, making me smirk.

"Of course. The girl Mylo has a crush on~" I say out loud teasingly as I glance at him. He flips me the bird as a response and I giggle before I turn back to a chuckling Vander.

"She has a band called "The Chem Sisters". They're gonna perform tonight, and Heimerdinger said he might play some toons too. Said he was working on some bar songs."

"Ha! Can't wait hear those!" Benzo says with a laugh.

"Hey I never asked, what's the big deal about the competition anyway? Is there some big prize?" I ask and I am greeted with Powder sitting next to me and scooting closer.

"Yes and no." she says as she steals some food off my plate. I give her a glare before poking her arm with my fork, making her laugh as Ekko comes up to sit next to Isha. Scooting his stool closer and laying and arm across Isha and I's seats, and I feel his arm brush against my back.

"There is a trophy for the winner, but it's mainly to catch the eyes of investors. Get them to invest in you or your invention, or at least have eyes on you to invest in for future projects or something." Ekko explains for me.

"Ooooh, so the real prize is just getting the spotlight in front of the investors?"

"Yup. The top three are likely to get more eyes on them and if your invention works and you get your bag, that's when you can start taking off in life. Or at least that's the idea." Powder says as she leans her head on my shoulder and letting out a sigh. A normal occurrence from both her and Ekko whenever we hang out somewhere. Ever since that one night we accidentally fell asleep in a pile in Powder's lab after losing track of time and spending all day working.

'It actually wasn't that bad. Best sleep I ever had in fact.'

For some reason, I spot a look from both Vander and Benzo. Their eyes going between Powder and Ekko, and I glance over and see Ekko shifting and adjusting in his seat; avoiding eye contact.

"Something wrong?" Powder asks sounding a little nervous, but is acting casual. Leaning more into me.

'Did they do something?' I wonder before looking at Vander and Benzo. The both of them having slightly narrowed eyes before glancing at each other, then looking back at us.

"Nothin'."

"Yeah, nothin'. Don't worry 'bout it." Benzo says as Vander moves and leans over to him and they start having a hushed conversation. Making me even more confused.

"What was that about?" I ask both Powder and Ekko.

"I dunno." "No clue." They both say with shrugs.

'Clearly I'm not gonna get an answer. Better just drop it.' I thought before I put whatever that was aside and finish my breakfast.

"So, you and Isha gonna join us again?" Powder asks, making Isha tug on my sleeve.

"I know, I remember Isha. Don't worry," I say to her before turning back to Powder, "I promised Isha I'd take her out for some ice cream today and get her an outfit for the party tonight, if she didn't have another paint bomb accident." I say making Powder stiffen before sitting up.

"You-You're going alone?" Powder asks with concern clearly in her voice.

"No. I going with Isha. But yeah, besides her it might just be the two of us."

"But what if you two get lost or something?"

"I think we'll be fine. It shouldn't be too hard to find our way there."

"What if you get hurt?," Ekko asks which makes me look at him in confusion, "Zaun is more safe than ever, but that doesn't mean there isn't any bad eggs stills around. Your leg still isn't fully healed, so if something goes wrong, you might not be able to get away." he explains his worries, but I still feel confused about their concern.

"You're not wrong, but what are the chances of something really bad happening that I'll need to run away? There's a bunch of enforcers on patrol too." I say to try to reassure them, but fail based on their conflicted looks.

"We can go!," I hear Claggor call out and we turn to look, "Mylo and I aren't doing anything today, so we can go with you. We could use a break after spending so much time on our plants." he explains and I see Powder relax a little out of the corner of my eye.

"Are you sure? You don't need to do any finishing touches on your plants or anything?"

"No. The samples from the tree and the plants really helped out a lot into understanding how to get them to grow and still produce air. We already spent the past few days running tests, so we're pretty much ready for tonight's competition."

"There we go. That solves it." Powder says before going back to her relaxed posture leaning against me again and I glance over to Ekko to see he also relaxed. I hear a chuckle from Claggor and glance back to see Mylo shaking his head.

"And people say I'm stupid," he says to Claggor sounding perplexed before turning back to us, "So what are we doing? I wasn't listening."

"We're gonna get clothes for Isha for tonight, then get her some ice cream. Maybe one of those big cones with three scoops." I say, which makes Isha excited; bobbing in her seat.

"You think we spoil her too much?" Ekko asks as Powder picks more food off of my plate.

"Definitely," I pinch Isha's cheek because she's being too adorable, "but she's our spoiled kid, so who cares." I say before pulling in Isha for a quick tight hug, then once again catch Vander and Benzo giving a skeptical look our way before turning back to their conversation.

"A-Anyway, we better get the energy cell ready. Right, Ekko?" Powder says as she stands up from her seat.

"Yeah. You two stay safe out there." Ekko says quickly as he stands up and they both go speed walking out of the bar. Clearly in a rush.

"Well. I'm done, what about you?," I ask Isha and she nods her head before hopping off her seat, "Alright. You two ready to go? Or you need to get breakfast too?" I ask Claggor and Mylo.

"Nah, we got something on the way here this morning." Mylo says as they get up from there table.

"Alright. Vander, we're heading out. We'll be back before the competition starts." I say as we head towards the doors.

"Stay safe out there."

"Bye!" I say and Isha gives him a wave before we all head out for the day.

Vander Pov

"She has got to be the most clueless person I've ever met." Benzo asks after we watch them leave.

"No kiddin'. I mean, I knew they spent a lot of time together. Never thought they'd get like that though." I say, as I look at him disbelief and remembering Powder leaning against Y/n and Ekko having an arm out behind her and Isha being protective, "I know those kinds of looks Benzo. You saw that too right?"

"Thought my glasses might have been playing tricks, but you're right. Those two lovebirds are usually always with themselves in that lab of hers; never seen them bring anyone else with them in there that much," he says as I refill his drink for him and filling a glass for myself, "I'm wonderin' if they both know what each other's feelin'."

"They most likely do if you ask me. After that "she's our kid" comment those two looked more red than a tomato." I say with a chuckle at the image.

"I see why they would. Have you seen those four goin' out around town? Only a month and they're already actin' like a small family they are. I heard the rumors, but thought that's all they were." Benzo says before drinking from his glass.

"You're not alone. I only found out about it when Gert asked me one time during her shift, thought she was joking till I started really taking notice of those two's behavior around Y/n. It's pretty obvious now. Especially after that; never saw Powder get that comfy with anyone but Ekko," I say before taking a sip from my own glass, "So, what's your opinion on it?"

"Y'know me Vander, if they want to and Y/n is fine with it, then I don't see a problem with it. It's not like we haven't met anyone before who had some "friends"."

"That's different. What those two got goin' for her is more than just wantin' a "friend" Benzo. They want her heart."

"Hah! That's pretty obvious. They're already rasin' a kid with her. We better be careful, or else next week they'll be married. Wouldn't mind her as a daughter-in-law though. She fits right in around here." Benzo says, making me chuckle at the idea.

"I wouldn't mind either."

Ekko Reader

"Well it looks stable, power is going through fine, no leaks and not overheating. I think this baby is ready," Powder says after checking off a list of precautions we're taking. I watch her from her workstation as she examines the power cell and can't help but admire the look in her eyes. The passion behind them, "You're staring again."

I snap out of it and fumble with a screw driver I was holding as she laughs.

"U-Uh sorry. Can't help it sometimes." I say as she walks up and wipes some grease off my face before she leans in and gives me a peck on the cheek

"You're cute when you try to flirt," She says as she sits on the chair for her workstation and stretches, "I wish Y/n and Isha were here. We would be celebrating together." she sees with a fond look in her eyes and I can't help but do the same.

"It feels like somethings missing without them."

"Yeah," she says, obvious that her mind is wandering before blinking out of the trance she was in, "By the way, should we talk about that? Y/n, I mean. Y'know?" Powder asks, the first time either of us have actually addressed this topic about her.

'It's pretty obvious.'

"I mean, if you want to. We can. Only if you're ready though."

"Are you ready to talk about it?"

"Honestly, I don't know."

".......Tomorrow then?"

"That sounds good." I say with some relief in my voice. Too much on my mind today to really talk about this.

"So, I guess we're finally done. Investors are gonna eat this thing up, so be ready to feel like eye candy to them." she says with a satisfied smile. I can't help but feel conflicted as I glance between the energy cell and Powder, not wanting to ruin the moment.

".....Hey, I uh, I wanted to actually ask you something." I try to start off, but she is already giving me a skeptical look.

"Yeeeaaaaah?"

"I-I was thinking. Maybe we can present it together, as partners?" I ask her and I already see the hesitance on her face, "I wouldn't have been able to do this without you, and you seem to really like doing this. If we were to present together-"

"Ekko. I just.... I just don't know, okay?," she says as she starts to close in on herself before shaking her head and standing up, "I'm going to get ready. You should too." she says before she starts to leave.

"Powder!," I call out to her, but she doesn't stop, "Damn it."

Reader Pov

"Look at you. You look great Isha," I say as she wears her new frilly dress I got her. We got back awhile ago to prepare for the party for the Innovator's Competition and because the sun was getting low. Isha immediately wanted to go put on her dress; dragging me upstairs without giving me a chance to say hi to Ekko at the bar or bye to Claggor and Mylo before they left to get the plant they chose to show off for the competition, "Ready to show off to people?" I ask and she nods her head before holding my hand and we make our way back down to the bar.

As we walk down the stairs and I look over the people that have arrived a little early for the competition I hear Vander call out to us over all the noise.

"Now who let a princess in the bar, huh?" he says making Isha smile brightly and laugh a little while I also see Benzo and Ekko smile at her from there seats. We reach the bottom of the steps and I help Isha up onto a seat.

"Aw, she looks lovely," I hear from behind and turn to see Silco.

"Silco! You made it!" Benzo says as he claps a hand against Silco's shoulder.

"I wouldn't miss such an important event. Plus, we have royalty visiting." he says as he gestures to Isha with a slight bow, and Vander pulls out a coloring book and crayons from behind the bar for her.

"Get over here. I'm gonna need help serving tonight." Vander says, making Silco chuckle and he ruffles Isha's hair before heading behind the bar with Vander.

I smile at the two before noticing Ekko looking down and I get a look from Benzo. He nods towards Ekko, before moving over to Isha and asking her about her coloring book while I take his seat next to Ekko.

"What's got you so down in the dumps? Something happen to the power cell?" I ask, a little worried about all the hard work he and Powder put into it going to waste.

"No. That's not it. It's just..... I made Powder upset." he says and I give him a skeptical look.

"You didn't say something stupid did you? Did you say "Yes" when asks if she looks fat in a dress? You always say "No". It's not an actual question, Ekko" I ask jokingly which makes him chuckle and nudge my leg a little with his.

"No! Not that. At least I don't think I said something stupid," he says now making me look at him in genuine confusion. He turn on his stool to face me directly and I do the same, "Look, I know we've only known each other for little over a month, but we spent a lot of time together. You..... You see the same thing that I do in Powder, right? When she works? And focuses in on an idea?"

"Oh, yeah! Of course! Passion in her eyes, fully invested on the task, prodigy, genius, talented and a whole lotta potential. You both are the same like that..... except Powder has a habit of biting her lip when she's in her work trance," I finish before looking at Ekko and he stares at me in silence, "What?"

"U-Uh sorry. But yeah, yes! Exactly! I asked Powder if she would present the power cell with me as partners, so that maybe she would start pursuing her passion, but she didn't want to. It's not just this either. She has always been hesitating on pursuing a dream or passion and I don't know why. I know she can be great, an-and I'm not saying I don't like her now, it's just I know she has this passion that she loves and can pursue. But-"

"She's holding herself back for some reason?"

"Yes," he says with a sigh and takes a few breathes before hesitating to look back at me, "I know this might seem like a weird thing to ask, but d-" I cut him off by with a hand on his shoulder.

"I'll talk to her." I say which makes him smile before surprisingly he gives me a hug.

"Thank you." he says and I gladly return the hug even tighter.

"It's fine. As long as you don't mind keeping watch of princess over there." I say as I point a thumb over my shoulder towards Isha.

"It would be an honor, but I don't really know where Powder went. I haven't seen her since she walked off."

"I'm sure I can find her." I say as I stand up and head back up the stairs, already having an idea of where she might be.

'There was always a certain spot she liked to go to.'

I make my way up and up through doors and more stairs leading to upper levels of Zaun. I see and hear more people making their way to The Last Drop for the event. I get to look out over Zaun, the higher I go the more of Zaun and Piltover I get to see before finally reaching that special place I have engraved in my head. Powder sitting by herself at the edge in a new outfit and her hair down.

"Powder?" I call out to her and she turns around. I see she applied makeup and her new outfit in full. A nice jacket with a white dress making a simple, but very good combo.

"Y/n? What are you doing here?" she asks sounding confused as I walk closer to stand nearby, not wanting to invade her space since she might still be in a bad mood.

"Looking for you. Ekko said you were upset." I say, which makes her slightly sad before turning back forward to the beautiful view of our home.

"You didn't have to come looking for me. It wasn't anything bad."

"I know, but I wanted to find you make sure you're okay and..... maybe talk about something?" I say that last part with a little hesitance, which makes her sigh.

"Why?," she asks, still looking forward at the view, "Why does everyone keep pushing me on this? What's wrong with just staying where I am?"

"Because then you'll be stuck Powder. You'll be stuck while the world moves on and regrets build up," I say to try to reach out to her, "We all care for you, and we all know you have a gift. I know that may sound weird since we only met like a month ago, but I've seen the way you work with Ekko. You love inventing and working in that kind of stuff. What's holding you back?" I ask, genuinely curious on the reason.

She stays silent for a few second before I finally hear something.

"I'm scared."

"Huh?"

"*sigh* I'm scared." she says, now making me perplexed at that answer.

"Scared? You? What could you possibly be scared of?" I ask with a short laugh at the idea.

"My-......Myself."

That freezes me in place. My feet feeling rooted in the ground at that answer. At Powder being scared of herself. Just like before. Before she became Jinx.

"W-What?" I ask, trying to control my breathing and ignore the old memories resurfacing again.

"All my life, ever since I was young I always found a way to just mess something up," she says my eyes widening at her words. At their similarity to what she said to me before, "It's like I was bad luck or something. I go on a job with my siblings, it goes wrong. I try to invent something, it doesn't work or ends up hurting someone. What if..... what if I mess up again?"

"But, you were young then Powder. There's nothing wrong with failing; we're all supposed to fail and learn from them to get better. It shapes us. Makes us stronger." I say to try and reassure her, but I don't seem to reach her.

"I-I..... I don't know," she says as she stands up, "Maybe I'm just a jinx."

Jinx. That damn word echoes in my head. Memories of a young Powder crying and blaming herself for the deaths of Vander, Mylo, and Claggor. Believing herself to be destined to hurt everyone close to her. To never know peace or happiness.

'No! Not again!'

Powder turns around and walks past me to leave, but I grab her arm and turn her back around to stop her.

"No!," I say letting my emotions get to me as she stares at me in shock, "You listen to me, Powder. You have the making of greatness inside of you, but you gotta push for it. You need to leap! Charge down the path you want in life and let nothing get in your way," I take a step back and gesture towards the city with my arms, "and when the time comes in life for you to really test your inner iron and steel and show the world what you're made of. I-I can only hope I get to be there that day Powder. Catching some of the light shining off of you," I say as I look up at the stars starting to shine in the night sky, "You may not believe in yourself Powder, but I do," I say before turning back to look at her with tears running down my eyes and cup her face with my hands gently, "You're gonna rattle the stars one day. I know it."

I stand there in tears and see her eyes water before she shoots forward and embraces me into a close hug. I hold her close to me, hearing her sniffles and labored breathes. I take in the moment and just hold her close to me, feeling my shirt get wet from her tears.

We stand there for what feels like forever in each other's embrace, before I feel her pull away but still hold on close and I see her makeup streaking down her face, so I wipe them away with my sleeves.

"You-You're makeu-"

"Shut up." she says before I feel her grab my collar and pull me into a deep kiss her arms wrapping around my neck. My head blanking for that moment not knowing what to do as I feel her explore me deeply before pulling away. Then I start to panic.

"Wha-!" I go to yell, but she puts a finger over my lips.

"Ekko knows," she says, making my brain even more fried than it was a second ago and based off her laugh it shows on my face, "C'mon, I'll tell him about this tonight and we can talk about it all tomorrow. I just really needed that." she says before dragging me back down the stairs and leading me to the bar while I'm left with no words.

'What the fuck.' Is the only thing I have on my mind as we arrive back at the bar. All the sound and music not registering as Powder puts me on a bar stool.

"You're back!" I hear Ekko yell out and I turn to see him and Powder hug and kiss. The kiss brining back memories from just a few minutes ago and Powder gives me a wink, confusing Ekko and making me blush.

"I want to talk to you for a second." Powder says to him before pulling him off to somewhere as I stare at the bar counter; still processing what the fuck just happened.

"You okay?"

My head shoots up and makes eye contact with Vander and I immediately start to panic again.

"U-Uh u-um, ye-yeah. I'm fine. I just....," I say as I stare at the back door of the bar that I know leads to the alley, "I just need a breather from all these people. Be right back." I say before quickly rushing off towards the back door, and step outside for fresh air.

I take some deep breathes of the cool fresh air of the night.

'Calm down. Just breathe and calm down.'

I slowly steady my breathing before looking back at the door and consider going back in, but back out and instead head down the alleyway.

'I need to walk. Get my mind off of, whatever the fuck just happened.'

I thought before walking down the alleyway towards the main street which looked much more busy and crowded tonight.

"It really is a par-"

I'm cut off by a sudden force of pain to the back of my head and falling to the ground; my helmet rolling away from me. The world goes blurry and my head dizzy as I reach for my gun, but my hand is stomped on and my gun is taken from me.

"Got you now. Bloodhound," I hear someone say before I feel my multiple footsteps and my hands be tied behind my back and my mouth gagged, "I think it's time for payback gang." they say before I feel myself be picked up. Too light headed and dizzy to fight back.

'Help.'

Hope you enjoyed. Sorry if there are grammar mistakes.

[cottonlemonade]

Pospicles And Samdwiches

(typos are on purpose)

word count: 785 || avg. reading time: 3 mins.

pairing: single dad!Kuroo x chubby nanny!Reader

genre: fluff

warnings: intentional typos when the child talks

synopsis: you meet single dad!Kuroo while nannying for another family

The summer heat was getting to everyone. The kindergarten was closed for the day because the air conditioning broke and they were not about to get sued for melting the children. So you put yourself and the littlest one into some flowy dresses and instead of your usual route down the road to the daycare, you marched to the supermarket. Both of you sighed happily when the cool air hit you as soon as the automatic doors opened and you grabbed a trolley basket to get started. Wanting to entertain the youngest of the family‘s three children you decided to make popsicles today to battle the pressing heat and humidity. You first b-lined for the milk and yogurt and then headed to the freezer section for some fruit.

“Blueberries… blueberries…“, you repeated under your breath as you scanned the display.

“Found them!“, the little girl called excitedly. She had scuddled a few steps ahead and now tried her earnest to open the freezer door with her tiny hands.

“May I be of assistance, madame?“ The little girl looked up to her right and saw a tall man with spiky black hair bow down, offering his assistance like a butler might. He wore a crisp button down with rolled up sleeves and a lanyard stuck in his shirt pocket so as not to bother him.

The little girl nodded and under your supervision the man opened the freezer, careful not to make her stumble backwards. Using both hands she tugged at the bag of frozen berries that was about half her size and with a lot of noises indicating heavy manual labor she lugged the bag into the shopping basket.

“Well done.“, you said, petting her hair, “What do we say?“

The little girl turned to the man and bowed so low that she almost tipped over, saying to her shoes, “Thamk you!“

The man beamed and replied with another princely bow. “My pleasure.“

“We‘re making pospicles!“, she announced unprompted.

The young man rubbed the back of his neck, “Ah, don‘t make me jealous, I haven‘t had a good popsicle in ages.“

“Y/n makes the best pospicles.“, the little one informed him with a superior grin, then after a moment‘s thought added, “And the best mashed potatoes.“ She counted now on her fingers. “And the best egg samdwiches.“

She put her hands to her hips like she‘d seen her mother do many times and nodded determinedly as if that settled the matter.

Meanwhile you were blushing more and more, needlessly holding onto the handle of the basket in front of you with two hands to shield yourself from the growing embarrassment.

"You don't say!", he says with an over the top impressed expression, regarding you with playful admiration and approval. "Am I even worthy to stand in your presence?" You couldn’t help but give a little chuckle at his performance and his smile widens ever so slightly, making his eyes twinkle with mischief.

He knelt down to be on the girl's eye level. "Can I tell you a secret?" The little girl nodded excitedly and leaned forward. He put a hand to her ear and said in a stage whisper "My kid says my omurice kicks butt." The little girl giggled and waddled closer to you to grab at the folds of your dress and hide her face.

“Is your husband around?“, he suddenly asked, still looking with warm eyes at the girl but obviously directing the question to you.

“Hm? Oh no, I‘m just her nanny.“ You‘re very glad that he apparently hadn‘t noticed yet how much you were staring at him and just how red your cheeks probably were. Your knuckles on the basket handle had turned white and you let go, choosing instead to unnecessarily smooth out your dress and making sure it sat just right on your many curves.

“I see.“, he said, nonchalantly and straightened again.

"You should come with us.“, the little girl peaked out from your dress folds with new bravery, “Y/n can make you some pospicle, too! And a egg samdwich."

“Honey, I‘m sure he is busy.“, you muttered urgently and bowed apologetically in his direction.

But he just laughed and looked thoughtfully down at the girl. “I am pretty busy today, yeah. But maybe we can set something up for this weekend? My son‘s around your age, we could meet at the park, if your mom allows it. We can have popsicles there.“

The little girl‘s eyes glowed with anticipation at the thought of having two popsicle days in one week.

“And samdwiches!“

“Oh absolutely! And sandwiches.“, he agreed.

He reached into his pocket and produced a business card, holding it out to you.

Your heart gave a little jolt when he smiled directly at you. "I really hope those come with a side of mashed potatoes."

art: @yucha913 on Twitter

[breedable-heath]

Going to sleep with a flat tummy and then waking up the next day with a 3 month bump, no explanation or anything.

Naturally no assumptions are made that you are pregnant, probably just bloating…

Then you try and move, and you can feel them. The round shapes in your gut, you are full to the brim with eggs…

No surely not that’s madness…just try and ignore it…I’m sure it will go down on its own…

I don’t have very good health insurance so I want to try everything before I go see a doctor. I try laxatives, hoping I’m just all backed up. I go to work and try my best to hide it, blaming it on the bloating. I can feel them clinking around inside me every time I sit or stand. With many trips to the bathroom, I convince my boss I ate something strange and will have to stay home tomorrow. Hopefully a day of rest will sort everything out.

I wake up the next morning with a 6 month bump and I’m practically starving. I ate everything in my fridge by noon, and I ordered take out two more times. Something is definitely wrong here. I make a doctor’s appointment for the following day.

The next day I noticed my belly button pointed outwards. My skin had thinned, and I can see the faint outline of what I assume are eggs. None of my clothes fit, so I had to put on my biggest sweatshirt. Still my underbelly peaked through. Each step I take the wiggle inside me. Getting ready to go was difficult. Putting in my shoes takes five full minutes. I have to back up my car seat before climbing in the car. My seatbelt clicks and gets stuck while I put it on. During my drive to the doctor, I feel incredibly restricted by my seat belt. Every time I drive over a speed bump I moan. I waddled in to the office. When I sit in the waiting room it’s impossible to keep my knees together, my belly dipping down and spreading my legs apart. When I tell her that I feel hungry, tired, sore, uncomfortable, and strangely horny. She orders an Ultra Sound.

Then we all see the eggs inside me. Each with a small alien creature inside. The tech counted 12. More than the other victims.

Wait, there are other victims?

Two men in black suits wearing earpieces and sunglasses take me to a compound with the other victims of alien abduction.

They give me a hospital bed and serve me a meal for ten people. The government doctor informed me I would survive the ordeal. The aliens inside me will be apprehended once they leave my body. It’s too risky to cut them out. The eggs each have individual umbilical cords attached to several oversized placentas in my swollen intestinal tract.

Firstly, I had to consume a shit ton of calories or the eggs would cause me to starve. Then when they are ready, I would have to shit them out.

They begin birth training that day by stretching my anus. But three fingers make me cum too easily. The nurses keep practicing with me, every hour on the hour until I cum.

On my fourth day carrying alien eggs my belly is twice my size. Beyond any pregnancy I’ve seen. I can’t move much from the hospital bed. I have to buzz for assistance every time I use the bathroom. A two nurses helped guide me, both have one arm holding up my elbows and another arm holding some of my belly’s enormous weight. While I stuffed myself for breakfast I felt my tummy tightening and constricting, causing long periods of pain. Slowly, the eggs shifted lower and caused my hips to widen.

The labor takes 72 hours. I hardly sleep. Each egg widens my asshole 5 inches in diameter. Each time one passes my prostate I can’t help but cum. I paint my swollen belly white each time. It took 12 hours for the first egg to exit my asshole. 10 for the next. After the third egg, I passed a placenta. On average, it took me about 6 hours of labor for each egg. Each time I pushed out an egg, a government agent picked it up and placed it in a locked incubator.

[tonixe]

✢ Hot Secretary

A/N: Thank you, guys, for 883 votes, I am so surprised how many votes were cast in the polls. Sorry for the fic taking so long, and also make sure to drink water. <3

WARNING: p in the v, unprotected sex, cheating, oral sex implied, creampie, affairs. [may be deemed as dark content]

PAIRING: President! Coriolanus Snow x secretary! reader

WORD COUNTER: 1.8k

+ TAGS: @wildcatglove13

Working for President Snow wasn't an easy task or job. You had to make sure that the president was on top of his tasks and ran errands for him, after all, he was running a country of Panem. A large population that needed dot be governed by someone with good skills and attributes such as President Snow.

It came with copious amounts of paperwork and documents that needed to be filled, checked, and printed. And aside from the tedious amount of labor, the pay checked out.

But lucky for you, you managed to land the job. It wasn't a brainer to impress your employer with someone of your talent and skill. You were currently sitting at your desk, your well-manicured nails typing down onto the keyboard, reading as you wrote.

Black letter filling out the blank white document in front of you. Along with exceptional skills, you also have the upper hand with your attractiveness, curvaceous silhouette, and beautiful face, though it is always stained with a serious expression. Your eyes were hidden underneath your Bayonetta glasses, reflecting the light of your computer. On top of it, you always wore a prim, proper white collar shirt, that was almost always 'too tight' holding your chest and wrapping perfectly over your stomach.

Leather pants that hugged your ass, and a stiletto on your feet. It was mostly the part that made him hire you, your looks.

Your hair was always perfectly styled and brushed. You were too busy typing away at the computer, the clicking of the keys ringing in your ears. Your beauty tends to seize Coriolanus' attention, his eyes focus on your meticulous form, if it wasn't your face, it was your bosom in your tight shirt. He would always see a strict expression on your face along with a cold demeanor, coming into his office, and delivering important documents with a monotone voice.

You would always catch him looking when you turned yourself around or picked up papers, his eyes getting a better look at your ass in your tight leather pants. You weren't dumb or too oblivious to take account of his actions, you simply disregarded them.

Simply minding your business as you made yourself busy. You worked for the Snows for about a few months now, knowing the marital problems faced by President Snow and the First Lady were hidden from the public. You learned and noted the habits of Mr.Snow cheating on the first lady, Livia Cardew. She knew as well too, but you only ignored it, it wasn't a surprise knowing that the whole marriage was arranged, but you couldn't help to have a little altruism when you overheard her crying.

But you minded your business walking away, the sounds of your heels clicking on the delicate tile floor. After all, it wasn't your job to know or advise... You were a secretary, not a therapist.

It was a regular day, clocking into the Snow's household, walking around and checking in the employees, with a clipboard in your hand, making note of certain things. Coriolanus from afar gazed at you, ignoring the wedding band on his finger, which he carelessly wore, examining at your body in the skirt you wore. The thoughts of temptation ran through his mind.

Hearing the sound of shoes on the floor, looking to the side, "Mr.President" You greeted formally, "L/N " he responded back, before stopping at your side, "Are there any updates?" He asked, "No, Sir" You looked up at him, before looking down at the clipboard. He leaned towards your ears, "I need you in my office" he whispered, and you nodded, your eyes flickering back at the emoplyees you were once speaking to. Before putting the clipboard between your arms, and following him.

Your heels clicked on the flooring as you walked into the office, standing near his desk, and you watched him close the door behind him, sitting down in front of you. "You called, Sir?" you questioned, "Yes, I did" He respond, "I just wanted to congratulate you— ..and your work here" he began talking, "Thank you, sir" you responded to the compliments nonchalantly.

"Y/N" he glance at your standing figure, "Yes, sir?" you answered,

"Do you have a significant other" he questioned, you felt your cheeks getting red at the personal question making Coriolanus chuckle from your antics. You cleared your throat, "No sir, why?"

He got up and circled around you, you watched.

"I was just wondering—the way you dressed seemed like you had someone you were waiting for" he mumbled, you pursed your lips.

Standing in the center of the office, before feeling his body leaning over your backside, feeling his hard-on on your ass. Parting your lips, you eyed as his hand covered yours, his breath tickling your ears.

"Did you think I wouldn't get distracted with you in that skirt" He whispered, he started grinding himself on your ass. "Sir-" you mumbled, his hands fondling your body, his teeth nipping your skin, slowly bending you over on the desk.

"President Snow-" you panted, feeling yourself getting wet underneath your clothing. His finger was dangerous getting closer to your panties, "Get on the desk" He said, before withdrawing, feeling the weight of him off your body. As you obeyed getting on top of the desk, your skirt hiking up your thighs. His hands splayed on your thighs, before pushing you down onto the desk, raising your legs up in the air.

You felt the weight of his eyes on your body, your ears ringing out the sounds of your tights tearing, revealing your damp panties. Before he yanked it off, the cool air of the office hit your cunt, a moan slipping out from your lips.

"President-" you whimpered, "Call me Coriolanus, dove" the sound of his belt unbuckling made you weak. You peek down at the bulge in his boxers. "Coriolanus, please" You mewl, "I didn't know the secretary was a little slut" He teased, rubbing the back of your thighs, pushing them against your chest. Before taking out his cock from his boxer, looking away from the lewd scene.

Slapping his cock on your pussylips, you whimpered. "Your fucking desperate aren't you" he laughed at your miserable display, your cheeks red, your hands on the backside of your thighs, raising your legs up into the air. He wanted to take a picture of your erotic display. He slid his cock into you, pushing himself deep into your pussy. You bent your back at the pain recoiling in your system. His cock stretches you open, biting your lip at the pain.

His hips smacked into yours, his cock massaging your inner walls, his animalistic pace, as his cock bullies itself into your cunt. God, the way you looked underneath him looked like it was straight from porno, it made Coriolanus smile at the sight.

A once serious and reserved women, crumbling under his touch.

Coriolanus fingers popping the buttons of your collar shirt, revealing your black bra underneath the light layer. His hands massaging your mounds, the very ones that tempt him underneath your tight collar shirt. Moaning from the single touch as he rubs your peaks harshly, forcing his cock into as he snapped his hips into you.

His hands gripping on your jaw, forcing you into a kiss. Feeling his tongue exploring your wet cavern, moaning against his assault.

Locking your legs around his waist, feeling yourself slipping into the pleasure. Your eyes heavy, the temperature of your body rising. Gripping your fingers on the edge of the wooden desk, feeling yourself coming undone. Your ears perking up at the groans slipping from his lips, his hands holding the sides of your stomach, snapping his hips into you.

"Wait—" you yelped, feeling him emptying himself inside you, the warm liquid painting your walls white. Before he pulled out of you, his cock coated mixed cum.

You cringe at the sticky sensation between your thighs, as his cum dripping from you. Looking between your legs at the sticky mess, "Fuck" Coriolanus muttered, his eyes flickering to your limp display as he tucked himself into his briefs. He smoothed out his hair, before throwing you a was of cash. "Buy some birth control pills, I don't want another one running around" he groans.

You weren't lying if you said you were shocked but only nodded to his words, and got up from the desk. The cum leaks out as you slip your panties on and your skirt. You wondered how many women he did that to, not just you, fixing up the buttons to your top and walking out of his office. Though days from the incident, you still worked and completed papers, still typing away on the screen in front of you, but time again it happened.

More times than he buried himself into you, fucking you on his desk or between his legs sucking on his cock with your plump lips.

He would leave little gifts on top of your desk, with expensive jewelry inside, with a letter from him. Opening a letter with your manicured nails with dainty words from him and faux promises inside, even if you were to accept his words, it wouldn't be possible because of his wife. Putting the letter face down and staring at the gift bag with the luxurious brand etch on it.

You plainly ignored it, going back to daily tasks. And time again when you went out with Coriolanus to satisfy his pleasure, it would be meeting at one of his expensive penthouses or a lavish hotel, it was the same thing, time and time again, with him on you and touching you in places a married man shouldn't do to other women. It wasn't a surprise being Coriolanus's little secretary and him screwing up during hours or after. The affair wasn't hidden from the employees inside the Snow's manor, and it wouldn't be a surprise that the First Lady knows it.

But more of a surprise if she confronts her husband about his infidelity.

Looking at the computer screen you typed away, your ears perking up at the sound of heels on the tile floors, the steps echoing and bouncing around the walls of the west side of the manor. Looking up at the sound, you weren't surprised by the appearance of the First Lady. "Mrs Snow " you greeted blankly. An expression of fear, anger, and disgust printed on her face, "Where is the president?" She asked holding her hands to herself, "He's in a meeting" You answered, the answer seemed like something she wasn't looking for.

"I'll tell him that you came to see him—"

"No..he isn't in a meeting is he?" you heard her voice getting louder and enraged at every word that came out of her lips, "The President doesn't like anyone knowing where he is, he enjoys his privacy" You answered her coolly,

"He probably fucking one of his whores—and you are one too, aren't you, Y/N" You finally stopped typing and lifted your eyes from the computer screen, "Like I said, Mrs Snow, the president like his privacy.." you fully looked at the teary women in front of you,

"-And I prefer not to tell you about mine—I'll tell him that you stopped by, Mrs. Snow" The sentence leaving your lips was the final nail of the coffin for her, as she broke down onto the floor, her wails echoing around the manor. You stared at her weepy form before you called maids to escort her away, you wouldn't lie to say you did feel bad for her.

But you are just Coriolanus's little secretary nothing else, not a counselor, or an advisor just a cumdump for him and only him.

You squeezed your thighs feeling his warm cum leaking out from you as you stared at the First Lady getting escorted in front of you.

only his cumdump...and nothing else

[zayne-li]

Cross posted on AO3, may be edited in the future, it was written very shortly after the game actually came out.

Explicit, MDNI.

Zayne gets injured, MC saves him, and Zayne has very normal feelings about it.

Feelings like: femdom, etc.

"Zayne! Zayne! Can you hear me? Come on, get up, you have to get up, we need to go now!"

The world is fuzzy at the edges, and there's a tinny sort of ringing in his ears, but he hears his hunters voice. She's upset. Why?

Arms stronger than they should be tug at the lapels of his white doctors coat, dragging him up off the concrete, and he blinks hard several times. His head is swimming. 

Zayne groans, deep and low as his awareness slowly returns, able to blearily look around and recall that right, yes, we were at my favorite sweets shop... And then...

"I know it hurts, Zayne, but I really, really need you to get up right now." That's her voice again, and then he can see her. Right in front of him, holding him halfway off the ground. There's blood smeared across her lips, cheek, and eye, and her hair is ashy with dust, no hint of the real color underneath it all. 

It occurs to him that it's concerning he can't recall what exactly has happened. Was it Wanderers? Some sort of accident? A weak cough escapes him as his shoes scrape across the loose pebbles on the road. 

Everything hurts. Like one giant bruise all over his body. But he is slowly regaining his senses. He does have at least that.

All around them is destruction: rubble and dust and shouts for loved ones piercing through the fog. The air smells and tastes metallic as his hunter helps him up onto shaky feet, hoisting one of his arms over her shoulder and wrapping the other around his middle.

"Can you walk? We need to get you to Akso now."

Her pupils are blown, and eyes wild. It's a look he hasn't seen on her before. Despite the pain and danger they are in, there is something about her in this very moment(maybe the blood, the adrenaline, this demeanor he's never seen before) that makes his gut clench.

Ought to dissect that later, he thinks. Then again, perhaps not.

"Akso?" His voice is rough, throat sticky with dust.

"Yes, you broke at least two of your ribs in that explosion, you need medical care, do you understand?" 

His eyes drop down to hers, and he realizes just how much they are touching in this moment. All the way from their feet to her head, becoming a long line of heat down the right side of his body.

What timing, Doctor Li.

"I understand." He confirms to her, and plants his gaze firmly ahead of them, forcing his attention onto the task at hand rather than the way that look in her eyes makes him feel.

--

Weeks later he is still recalling that day, though who can blame him, confined to bed rest as he is? Three broken ribs and a full month of leave from the hospital, it's difficult to find ways to entertain himself. 

Zayne closes his eyes and he sees her covered in sweat, that single minded determination carving deep lines into her face. If she'd had to, she would have dragged his limp body to the doors of the hospital. It was a look that told him, "I'm not losing you too. Not today." It was that look that had given him the strength to keep putting one foot in front of the other. 

It aroused him deep in his gut, somewhere he hadn't even known existed. 

It was disturbing, in more ways than one. 

He'd begun to have dreams. 

Dreams of her coming home to his apartment, the door closing with more force than necessary, her dirty boots crossing through the kitchen with purpose. And when she found that purpose, she would have that same look on her face. In some of the dreams she'd still have blood on her face, and she'd lick the droplets away, just as she did while she labored to save his life that day. 

She would grab him by the knot of his tie, stifling his surprise with a bruising kiss, plundering his mouth like a woman starved, using her unexpected strength to push him back against the wall, to cover him with her smaller frame. He would moan into her throat and her lips would curve into a smile against his. 

One night, he wakes around four in the morning after dreaming of his hunters battle lust and he finds himself in an uncomfortable, sticky mess.

Zayne knows he loves her. He has since he was a boy, that has never changed, but through the years, his crush has waxed and waned, but remained fundamentally childlike. It hasn't been until they reconnected this past year that he'd even begun to let his thoughts drift to more unsavory places. And now... Well he determines that this new... Discovery of his remain well and firmly hidden. 

Her presence in his life is too precious to waste with his depraved imagination. 

After all, while he's been bored and cooped up in his apartment, with strict instructions from every person in his life to "Sit and rest, for once!" She has been visiting him almost daily. Usually not for long, as her own work keeps her extraordinarily busy(he supposes he's never noticed just how hard and much she works before, because he himself is often entrenched in his own), but always with an easy smile and some sort of treat for him. Chocolate, or cookies, one afternoon a little fruit tart from a vendor she passed on her way to see him.

Most of the time, it is no challenge for him to recognize that her friendship is far, far too valuable to risk losing. 

Today, she knocks on his door, and when he opens it, he almost forgets. 

She's a mess. 

There's a fairly large, but shallow cut across most of her face, from her cheek down to her chin, her hair is pulled up haphazardly, the leather glove she normally wears is missing, and her clothes, though neat, have small tears across one of her knees, and her shoulder. 

Zayne swallows before he greets her. 

"Difficult day?" 

She exhales a chuckle. "Just a long one, sorry. I was going to go home to clean up, but by then it would have been pretty late, and I was already nearby when I finished, so I thought I'd just uh... Drop in." 

She's sheepish, rubbing the back of her neck with one hand, and Zayne forces himself to look away, making eye contact with the corner of the wall instead. There's a chip in the paint. 

"Really, you needn't trouble yourself on my behalf, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. You require rest as well as I." 

What would it feel like, right now, to have her press up against him? Warm. Solid, he thinks. Would she grab him by his jaw? Turn his face this way and that? 

He imagines how she would taste. Salty and metallic, he thinks, especially now. His hunter, shoving him onto his back in his bed, she would be impatient, barely taking the time to undo their pants before sheathing herself on his cock, using her palms on his chest for leverage to fuck herself as she pleased. 

"Yeah, well then we might as well rest together, huh?"

She pulls him from his depraved thoughts.

Zayne realizes that the heat between his legs, if not controlled soon, will become a much larger problem(no pun intended).

"You have quite the knack for turning phrases, you know." His tone stays even, and he turns away, inviting her inside without another word, his excuse being the television in his living room that needs muting. 

"And you never have this much time off. It's kinda fun, really." 

He hears the click of the door shutting, and the turn of the lock. 

"I brought you something, too."

Thud on the kitchen counter. Whatever it is, it sounds hefty. While he pretends to look for his remote, he adjusts himself in his pants, burning with shame for this predicament. 

"What is it this time?" 

"Brownies! Salted caramel flavored. They're my favorite."

She appears quite suddenly in the corner of his vision, and he jumps, feeling his face grow hot. 

"Thoughtful as always." He smiles, and hits the mute button on another story of wanderer attacks. 

His hunter frowns, leaning her body around to get a good look at him. 

"Something's wrong. What's wrong?" Her tone leaves no room for arguments, and Zayne's eyes go a bit wide just for a moment. 

"What makes you think anything is wrong? Other than my broken ribs?" He doesn't realize it, but he imitates her in the way he tilts his head. The mirth in her eyes makes his chest ache. 

"You're blushing, Doctor Zayne." Her tongue pokes out from between her teeth with her smile. 

"Perhaps I'm coming down with a fever." He counters. 

She squints, but moves away, rolling not just her eyes, but her whole head. "Oooh-kay. Then perhaps I should leave, huh? Keep you from spreading your virus all over Linkon?" 

His mouth opens, but he has no immediate response. 

"Uh-huh." She oozes with smugness. 

God he wants her. Whether in his dreams, or right now, either will do. He's wanted her for so long. And now she's so close. Zayne feels his entire chest go tight with longing. He wants everything with her. For her. 

He wants her to be with him always. If he could put a tiny little hunter in his pocket and keep her there he would, just so he could pull her out when he likes to soothe the ache in his soul that she both creates and fills in equal measure.

He wants her just like this, messy and stinking of rain and sweat and blood, he wants her sweetness, her humor, her easy charisma.

And God he wants her to claim him. He wants the battle lust, her fingernails deep in his scalp, the stinging on his back. He wants her to take whatever she likes from him, his body, his soul, his everything. 

"I wasn't blushing. You are mistaken." Somehow he keeps his voice even and calm, though inside he fights to keep from pouncing on her. 

Down, boy.

Recognition flashes across her face. 

And then a flurry of emotions he has trouble naming. Confusion, shock, and something else he can't define, but it reminds him of the day they were in that explosion, and she became someone he didn't know. 

His hunter steps forward, further into his space, and on instinct, Zayne steps back, his swallow loud in the quiet apartment. 

She must see something on his face. Fear, he thinks. And her expression of bewilderment changes as her gaze flickers rapidly across his features, first his eyes, his mouth, the bob in his throat, the fist clenched at his side, and then back to his mouth.

Her movements are slow as she takes another step forward, as if she's afraid to spook him, like one would a wild animal. She grabs the front of his shirt, and he swallows back a whine. 

His hunter sees this too.

"Why haven't you said anything?" 

"You frighten me sometimes."

Do I, Doctor Zayne?" Her eyes are dark, and she pulls him down to her, tilting her head just so, and holds him a hairsbreadth away from her lips.

He can taste her breath. It makes his knees weak. God, if you are there, don't wake me from this dream.

[newyorkthegoldenage]

Jacob Getlar Smith, Snow Shovelers, 1934. Oil on canvas.

"Snow Shovellers," an oil painting by Jacob Getlar Smith (1898-1958), created while he was in the New Deal's Federal Art Project. The description for this painting reads, "Many artists went out into the cold to find subjects after the PWAP began in December 1933. Jacob Getlar Smith found men hired by the government’s new work relief program, the Civil Works Administration, to shovel snow from the streets and park paths of New York. Some of the snow shovelers sport crisp fedoras and warm overcoats while others wear battered caps and ragged coats; some have practical boots while others wear shoes more suited to office work. Men used to physical labor stride along vigorously; those accustomed to sitting behind desks walk more slowly, bowed with weariness after a morning spent clearing snow. Black and white, poor and middle class—all had lost their jobs to the Great Depression. Smith showed them gathered into the ranks of the New Deal social programs that offered them all the means to get through the winter. A boy pulling a sled walks alongside the men, a reminder of the families who looked to these men for their support."

Photo: New Deal of the Day Text: A New Deal for Artists exhibition label

[cakeofbake]

Irresistible Deals

This is a Come and Get Me AU drabble!! AO3 Link is at the bottom if you’d rather read it there :)

Warnings: none

Word count: 1,168

Summary: Sun and Moon, former criminals, have been approached by the Carol City sheriff with a life-changing deal.

In the city, you fight to survive. In prison, you survive to fight. On one particularly gorgeous day, Sun laid on his uncomfortable prison bed, tossing a roll of toilet paper in the air repeatedly.

There was warmth in the atmosphere today, Sun hadn’t really thought about why, but today just felt… happier. Perhaps it was because no work or usual duties were assigned to prisoners today, although that usually stirred up boredom for Sun.

There was a continuous tapping of the day guards shoes walking up and down the cell line, making sure all of the captives weren’t doing anything mischievous. Sun was quite secretive with his mischief, all his plans and ideas hidden safely in his mind. He never got any ideas of breaking out, though. He knew Sheriff Johnson was smarted than that.

The phone rang at the entrance of this cell ward. Sun remembered that phone, it was firetruck red and only rung when someone of higher rank had an order for work. Sounded like everyone would be doing some labor today after all.

Sun heard the guard mumble a few things and then slam the phone back on its holder. His little black shoes tapped quickly and stopped at Sun’s cell.

“637,” He hollered Sun’s prisoner number at him through the white metal bars, “You’ve got a visitor.”

Sun shifted to his feet and walked to the cell door that had been unlocked. He was filled with glee, happy that someone came to save him from the boring square of space he was bound to for sixteen more months. He held out his hands and let the guard cuff him and then bring him away.

Silently, the guard led him through the plain halls, and then strangely, he took him past the visitor center. Curious, Sun thought. They stopped at security door about half way there and Sun saw his reflection in the metal for the first time in months. Although it was warped and changed by the curvature of the steel, he could still make out every feature of his face and every dirt stain on his bright orange flame colored jumpsuit. He found himself lost in wonder, so much so that he didn’t quite realize he was lead to a conference, and when the door was swung carelessly open, he locked eyes with his brother.

“Moony!” He gasped, overjoyed to see him robot relative. Moon just smiled toothlessly.

At the far end of the long, rectangular table was Sheriff Johnson and Deputy Vance, his golden retriever sidekick. That’s what Moon called him when the two brothers were once free.

“Sit down, Sunrise.” The sheriff said emotionlessly. Sun sat down across from Moon, “I’m glad you both came to meet us here on such short notice, not that your jail time is much affected.” Johnson chuckled as if his joke were at all humerus. Sun just nodded, Moon blinked. “We’ve gathered you two here to purpose a small deal of sorts.”

“A deal regarding…?” Moon interrupted.

Deputy Vance snarled, “If you would keep your trap shut you’d hear, bot boy.”

“Vance, act kindly. They are going to be our partners soon enough.” Johnson drew out his sentence, making sure each and every word reach the heads of Sun and Moon with meaning.

“Partners?” Sun echoed him, “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

Johnson smiled, then said, “You see, we have a murder case on our hands and we haven’t been successful at catching the culprit, so we thought who better than you two to solve our problem.” Sun glanced at Moon who already looked by all means confused, “Allow me to get to the point. If you catch our suspect and arrest them… here’s their picture,” a photo of an average height person in a ponytail and weathered clothing showed up on the screen, “If you catch them, you can have your freedom. All sixteen months cut short. If you don’t take the deal you’ll just go back to your sells and continue on with your natural prison lives.”

Sun lit up with excitement. Their sentences cut short? It sounded like music to his ears, but when he looked at his brother, Moon seemed weary of the situation.

“We’ll allow you two some privacy to discuss.” Then, Vance and Johnson stood up and left the room, along with the guard that had brought Sun.

The two brothers just looked at eachother for a moment, then Moon said, “Sun, I don’t know about this…”

“But Moon!” Sun bursted out, “This is our chance! We can finally get out if here and all we have to do is catch one kid!”

“Yes, but using us as labor bots to catch someone? Isn’t that rather demeaning?”

“No! Of course not! Moon, I hate it here. It’s absolutely disgusting, boring, and- and disgusting! I would do anything to get out of this stink-hole and now my chance is here.” Sun held up his wrists in shackles, “I want these off, I want to wander free, I want to get ice cream, I can’t do anything like that here. Please… for me?”

Moon looked Sun square in the eye, and for a moment, considered going with his gut, then he flat out went against is, “Fine. We’ll take the deal.”

Sun jumped out of his chair and reached across the table, “Yes! Yes, yes, yes! Thank you, Moony! Yes!” He attempted to give Moon a good hug, but with the binds around his wrists, it was quite hard.

About five minutes later, Vance and Johnson came back into the room and sat down, a neatly folded paper in the deputy’s right hand, “Have you resolved a decision?” Vance grinned, he already knew the answer due to Sun’s expressive smile.

“We agree.” Moon said, monotone as he seemed to be around officers of any kind.

“Fantastic,” The sheriff motioned for Vance to slide the paper across the table between the two bots, “Just sign both your names on the dotted line, please.”

Sun happily wrote his name first, now sworn into the deal, then he passed the pen and paper to Moon. He just stared at it for a few seconds, then picked up the fine-tip pen, and then stared some more. Was he really about to sign his independence away to be free?

Yes.

Moon signed with a reluctant hand and passed the paper back down the table, but not the pen.

“Excellent. It was a pleasure doing business,” Johnson cackled, “Allow Vance to take off your cuffs.”

The deputy unlocked Sun’s first, then went around the table. Moon turned his hands away, earning Vance’s frustration, but then he held up a perfectly unlocked pair of handcuffs, “Forgot your pen.” Moon spat slyly, handing his shackles and the pen to the deputy, who rolled his eyes. Then, the four left the room, two a little more free than they were before.

No one ever reads the fine print…

That was it!! I hope you guys enjoyed! This was just a little drabble thing to get the backstory all tied up before I publish the real deal. This can be found on AO3 here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65086666

[kabukinomoe]

AS SWEET AS STRAWBERRIES

BEAUTY ‧₊˚ ⋅

Your beauty feels fresh and sweet, like taking a bite of the juiciest strawberry as they realize how fresh and sweet it is.

Your face is sculpted gently with an artistry that tells a story of a farmer loving their field, taking care of it every single day without fail, and finally finishing up in the sun.

The sun seems to look your way whenever you walk outside, its rays glittering against your face like locks of gold. The sun never seems to make you look unflattering; it always makes you look radiant.

Whenever you walk into a room, people can't help but stare. Not just at you, but behind you. Wherever you go, there seems to be this angelic-yet-light-and-airy aura around you that never fails to catch people's attention.

Your voice is light and airy, like walking on a soft cloud while dreaming, as well as sweet, like taking a soft sip of strawberry milk in the morning sun.

There's something about your smile that makes people unable to forget you. Like honey drizzled over ripe fruit-inviting, warm, and insatiably sweet.

Your eyes hold the kind of wonder you only see in fairy tales. Whimsicality, freshness, and a little bit of mischief, with just enough sparkle to make people feel like they've been let on in a little secret.

The color pink and red fits you... a little too well. As if the color was made from its bare bones directly because of you. The colors don't just compliment you-theyre made for you. No one looks as good in the colors as you do, no one can compare.

When you walk passed people it feels like the soft breeze of spring just rushed by. Gentle, soft, and full of promise, but most importantly, enough to make people think that the cold never existed.

PERSONALITY ‧₊˚ ⋅

Your thoughts have this soft chaos to them, like strawberry soda—light, unpredictable, and endlessly fun to be around.

You give off a type of childlike innocence that always leaves others fumbling about what could possibly be going on inside of your brain. Your ideas and creativity never fail to leave people stunned.

Your kindness never goes unforgotten, as if it is woven into the fabric of time and history itself. In time, the fruits of your labor always end well, just the way you want it to.

Your curiosity is wild and can never be contained, like a child running through strawberry fields, picking off some bugs and getting their hands dirty without a second thought, never afraid to ask 'why?' in any situation while reaching for something new.

Your laughter reminds people of the golden sun fading into the night sky after a long day, rows of pink and gold running through the sky and painting the horizon. You laugh as if you have never tasted sadness, like joy is the only thing coming your way.

There's something about the way that you care, like it's the most natural thing in the world. You never fail to see through the people who need it the most, and they will forever appreciate that.

people don't just remember you, your emeded into their memory. Your implaned into their DNA. No one who glances your way doesn't remember you, even if you were only in the background.

Silence with you is like sitting under a tree in midsummer, letting the sun gaze upon your skin as you let your pores soak up the rays. The warm breeze tickling your skin as the air is filled with a warmth that no one can describe-but they can feel it.

SIGNATURE SCENTS ‧₊˚ ⋅

Strawberry and Vanilla

Raspberry and Jasmine

Rose and pear

Strawberry and cinammon

Strawberry pound cake and Cotton candy

Rose and sandalwood

FASHION ‧₊˚ ⋅

Soft frills, lace, and cotton. Perfect for long walks in a flower field.

Shorts, long skirts, and short-sleeved shirts. You're never afraid to get these dirty, no matter how expensive they are.

Long socks, leg warmers, scuffed shoes. Lingering traces of your wondering curiosity.

Green, red, white pink, brown. The colors that compliment you the most, they represent your childish yet sweet nature that never fails to show through your actions.

Some divider's by @si-eunnis !!

[more-than-tender-curiosity]

I’m really curious as to your opinions on each of the Gatsby films. What do you think they did right/wrong? What do you like/dislike about casting choices? If you could make your ideal Gatsby movie rendition would you take any inspo from the existing movies?

(I would add the broadway musical into that list just for the heck of it but we all know that was just funky music loosely wrapped in Gatsby paper)

Oh good heavens...

Okay. So. I'll just talk about them in order of release. And again these are my OPINIONS !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THAT I WAS ASKED FOR !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! NO YELLING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I WILL CRY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

SO many spoilers ahead. You have been warned.

1926

Obviously this film is lost, but we have the trailer, photos, and Fitz's own reaction to it, which was to say he and Zelda left halfway through. It's not even based off the book, either, but based off a play based off the book, so one can imagine that given the filmmaking style of the time and its disconnect from the source material, it likely wasn't the most accurate adaptation.

Accuracy isn't everything in terms of what makes an adaptation 'good'—it's definitely a factor, though, along with entertainment value, justification for any alteration to the story, attention to detail, Genuine Caring For The Source Material, acting, casting, etc...all of these go into consideration, at least for me.

The casting seems alright for this version. Daisy has dark hair. Nick's taller than Jay and visibly, uhhhhhhhhh...well, like...have you ever heard of 'gay face'? But it ends about there, as Tom looks like he's 50, Jordan is...just not right, and as is often the case, Wilson is somehow beyond 'faintly handsome'? Do they just not have enough middies running around in Hollywood?

The costumes are obviously pretty accurate, though very clearly 1926 trying to do 1922. The skirts are. UP there. And I get that jay's shirts are monogrammed but a hand-sized monogram on each jacket? What? Did they think audiences would lose track of which brunette man was which?

Here's a photo. God nick is such a cunt look at him

I can't accurately give the whole film a rating but what I know of it gives it a 6.5/10. Bonus points to jay for pushing the no white shoes after labor day rule up to the very brink.

1949

...listen.

In terms of accuracy to the book, this is not the best. It's just not. It's a star vehicle for Alan Ladd who, at the time, was popping off hardcore in the film noir market, so they fiddle faddled with the tone a bit and shot it in black and white despite having access to color, amped up the crime (jay smokes some bitches in the first five minutes??? takes a hefty swing at a man at a party????) and then said uhhhhh what book are we adapting again?

East Egg and West Egg are scrambled, which goes against the whole 'east coast/old money' vs 'westerners/new money' thing. Nick and Jordan are married in the beginning before flashing back. Nick's just not hypocritical enough in this one, either, which is bothersome, because that's the whole point of his character in the novel—that he can't see his own faults for the more glaring faults of others.

They press fast forward a lot. Like there's no drive to new york or meyer lunch—nick and jay just snuggle in his boat watching the green light and jay tries to lie to nick and nick catches him immediately and jays like AH. YA GOT ME. HA HA. ?????????

if it weren't for alan ladd I would not watch this movie. Don't get me wrong, I love Macdonald Carey as Nick, but I think playing across from anyone else, this would be entirely forgettable and borderline unwatchable.

Alan Ladd. Alan Ladd. Where do I begin with Alan Motherfucking Ladd. This man is Jay Gatsby personified. I know that's controversial because 2013 has brainwashed people into thinking jay gatsby is over six feet tall, but there is something so distinctly perfect about casting a malnourished 5'7 midwestern blonde with such intense parental issues that he never recovered from the sickness that is an impoverished American childhood as jay gatsby. Alan Ladd was underestimated, spat on, put down from day fucking one. Every single time he got ahead in life he was cut down at the knees until finally, finally he found validation and celebrity in playing these soft-spoken, angel-faced killers onsreen. Only it wasn't enough. It was never enough. It could never fill that void and he could never get ahead of himself. You want to tell me that doesn't mirror the fuck out of Jay's life? You want to tell me there was a man in Hollywood at the time who could so deeply understand this character, even through the bullshit rewrites to try and mold the story into something it wasn't? There are even accounts of him taking reporters to his bedroom to show them his closet, saying 'not bad for an okie boy'. That's Jay. That's Jay in pure essence. Never having enough, and so excited to show what he had. Literally look into his past at all and you will mourn his lack of control over the direction the film took, because I know damn good and well if he had been more than just everybody's favorite film noir star at the time and a more respected name, he could have really pushed and pulled to peel back the story and pull better performances from the rest of the cast as a result.

Bonus points for having a really fucking weird Dan Cody and Ella Kaye. Both were distinctly, visibly, vocally predatory toward Jay and it's like the directors actually looked into prior drafts, even if I know damn good and well they didn't. I don't even know if they read the damn book.

Costumes were fine. I wish wish wish wish it had just been in color (THEY COULD HAVE DONE IT.) so that we could see if jay got his pink suit. I swear to god the sight of alan ladd in a pink suit would actually kill me.

I'll give this one a 7/10 overall, points dinging for accuracy to the novel and pacing and some really weird choices, like having jay come from the rainbow division in the war (????) to making nick like...offer to spank jordan. i don member THAT from the book. Most of these points come from Alan Ladd.

Uh. Here's myrtle getting hit by the car

1974

oh boy.

Where to begin? The film is a fucking mess. It's a goddamn motherfucking mess and I can only watch it if I cut Jay and Daisy out of it entirely, which is a shame, because I love both of their characters (for different reasons) but. oh my GOD.

So they got truman capote to write the screenplay at first. unfortunately he made nick and jay skinny dip, and jordan was a vindictive lesbian, and it was 1974 so they weren't about that noise at ALL. There's other stuff in that script too and it's honestly...not a great script to begin with, but that meant they had to REWRITE THE ENTIRE THING WITH JUST WEEKS TO GO BEFORE PRODUCTION. THEY ASKED FRANCIS FORD COPPOLA (THE GODFATHER.) TO WRITE IT AND HE DID IT IN THREE WEEKS IN A HOTEL ROOM, HAVING BEEN UNFAMILIAR WITH THE BOOK, THEN CLAIMED THEY DIDN'T EVEN USE HIS SCRIPT AFTER ALL??? HUH? HUH WHUH?

you can tell. oh boy you can tell. 'jay' and 'daisy' sit around talking in silent rooms for several minutes at a time, just...expositioning all over the place. it's...astonishing.

that's another thing. i...am aware mia farrow is a beloved actress and she did wonderful things onscreen in other films but she is totally and completely unwatchable as daisy. if I knew no other adaptation, she would make me hate daisy with a blind fucking rage. it's not even that she's a bad actress in this—she just does not fit the role even a LITTLE. she's shrill and loud and like...i don't know if she's on coke or what (I mean it's the 70s.) but she just whines and flails her way through the film in an entirely undaisy sort of way. like where is this girl with the sad, lovely face and the voice that's a deathless song? her voice isn't full of money in this, it's counterfeit. she owes me a debt for making me have to listen to her. she only got the job because her name was big at the time and she just asked for it and got it, no audition, no screen test, no nothing. i wish they would have switched lois chiles into daisy's role rather than have her playing jordan, because she was just a much better match for the character.

1974 has one of my favorite toms at least. I've said it before but he's got that sort of frustrated, unsatisfied disinterest, a sort of distraction about him that really lends well to the whole notion of forever chasing down his college days and all that.

WEIRD fuckin chester mckee in this one, but points for being the first fuckin film to show my man onscreen! there's even an elevator scene in this one but it's not between nick and chester, unfortunately. though there is immense sexual tension regardless.

SPEAKING OF NICK! SAM WATERSTON MY BELOVED!!!!

Yet again another flawless casting along the lines of Alan Ladd as Jay. He's such a bitch. I don't think Nick is the same if he's not a cynical gay little cunt some of the time and despite being apparently one of the nicest people in Hollywood, sam just GETS IT. HERE is someone who floats above reproach like his shit don't stink. HERE is someone who will throw the blame on just about anyone but himself—and has to let jay into that same bubble of protection. HERE is someone who knows he's useless but is too afraid to admit it to himself because he's turning 30 and is about to face a crisis of mortality. he's judgemental and critical and somehow pulls off the sort of mind-altering gay panic nick very explicitly experiences around jay every 5 seconds in prior drafts of the book. i wish you all understood how hot nick thinks gatsby is. i wish you all knew what I know. sam waterston knows. and he gets it. he also just looks like nick. like crooked teeth and awkward nose and all. that's nick. i wanna kick him in the shins.

i gotta talk about jay's house in this one. it's bad. why does he live in a greek temple. like. nick describes jay's house in the book. he does. he's a faux provincial palace. almost a fairytale castle. that's on purpose. why. is he living in a marble box. is it supposed to be a tomb. are you making death jokes. fuck you Robert Redford

speaking of Robert Redford. did anyone let him know who he was playing in the movie or did you just hand him a script and tell him to start wherever. I get that jay isn't known for his brains but I have never seen a more confused lead in a film does he even know the camera is rolling or does he do that naturally

costuming is unmemorable and inoffensive except

YOU CALL THAT PINK? PINK?

6/10. Saved by Sam Waterston. Rendered unwatchable by Mia Farrow.

2000

OH BROTHER THIS GUY STINKS

No seriously who let the BBC do this. 5 million dollar budget and they used 4.9 of it on jordan's fuck ass bob.

I don't even know where to begin. I guess I should start at the beginning. The movie opens to Jay dead in the pool, which is the best part of the movie because he's dead.

Nothing about this film is good. I...I hate to say that because I try to find a little good in every adaptation but holy CHRIST. I have only seen this one in parts because I physically cannot sit and watch the whole thing at once.

Nick is played by Paris from Romeo+Juliet. He's not good. Even the one scene I kind of sort of like, at the end where he burns all of jay's papers(?????) is kind of undercut because HE STILL WRITES THE BOOK?? THE EXPOSE??? WHY BOTHER??? HE'S ALREADY DEAD????

I don't remember tom in this. I barely remember Jordan, but she's really, really into Nick and it's kind of upsetting to watch from a visceral standpoint. It's very uncanny valley. That's a NotJordan. the real jordan would never.

it gets worse.

Whoever thought they should cast whatever his name is as Jay—death. death to all of them. That is the most smarmy, leering, dickweed of a dude I have ever had the displeasure of existing near. It's like if the jay equivalent of people who make hating daisy their entire personality got to design jay's characterization for this film. There are no good parts to him. It's just like every single person who's boiled him down to jUsT a CrEePy StAlKeR OWO got to write a film. i would even be down for that point of view if it was well-acted and well written but UNFORTUNATELY, THE ACTING BUDGET WENT TO JORDAN'S WIG,

I can't even remember. 1974 and 2000 blend together for me.

The costuming is so bad but like. whatever. i thought I could live with it.

until.

oh dear god why does daisy have 2007 hollister hair it's 1917

you get more than one photo this time because I know most people haven't seen this film

tell me this didn't come off a CW vampire show in 2011

IS THAT RENESMEE?

SMILEDOG IS THAT YOU?

THE HAIR?

and of course, jordan's 4.9million dollar fuckass bob

Like i get it. period dramas are hard. but good fucking god. im so uncomfortable looking at every single person in this film

BONUS:

1/10 only because i get to watch NotJay die twice

i need a breather

...

2013

okay

In terms of direct, faithful adaptation, I think this one is the best. Like they didn't technically skimp on anything super major, didn't really try to put scenes in a blender. There's clearly, like. a whole script.

I'm already a Baz Luhrmann fan. I have been since the 7th grade when I saw this little movie called—

Romeo + Juliet. No, not tgg. I saw that next, though, and was obsessed. Love. Love!

I love when you can tell an adaptation is made by someone who actually cares about adapting the source material. Very key words there. Adapting. Source Material. Cares About. Because all of these other adaptations are clearly just looking to use a classic novel to make a movie but bazco clearly wanted to Adapt The Great Gatsby For Modern (At the time) Audiences.

I like a lot of the decisions made there. Casting an Indian actor as Meyer Wolfshiem—even if it goes against the explicit description of him in the book as this small beady eyed little weirdo, I think it was a better call to give a lesser-known (to American audiences) poc actor a role rather than continue digging the antisemitic hole Fitzgerald decided to dig himself for some reason.

The music too. It gets so much flack but I totally get what Baz was going for and it was honestly a little ahead of its time in 2013. To take a very White story (I could talk about the implications of Jay being mixed/black/otherwise poc all day) and apply our generation's equivalent of jazz ("oversexualized black people music") to forcing modern white audiences to face the fact that we absolutely will still sit here and find any reason to try and justify the erasure of black influence on the culture of America at any given point—it's chef's kiss. Shut the fuck up about it. I'm tired of hearing shit about the music being anachronistic. Yes, I would have loved to hear more period-accurate rejuvenated jazz covers in there. NO it would not be swing because hey bitch that too is anachronistic, it wasn't around in 1922. You can't have it both ways. Baz had a point to make and he teamed up with JAY Z to make it and yet again a bunch of white nerds got mad that they had to confront their internalized racism.

Yes, it is that deep. Everything is. To pretend it isn't is cowardice.

Anyway! The CGI pisses me off. It always will. If it's marvel or mordor I really don't give a damn, with that kind of budget you can afford some practical effects and save the CGI for moments where it can ACCENTUATE the practical effects to heighten the sense of mystification Nick undoubtedly felt upon entering this world. There's just no excuse for a lot of their effects and it's very disappointing to think of them trying to act in all these hollow blue environments.

Finally, FINALLY there's some depth to nick and jay's interactions. There's been this sort of disconnect in every other adaptation thus far and I'll give credit to Tobey Maguire and Leo DiCaprio for being friends for six thousand years before taking these roles, because the chemistry is Something Else.

that being said. tobey maguire was a really weird choice for nick carraway. I...don't really see it. I've called it Gooberfication before, as if they're sort of dumbing down his character and making him more palatable for the audience. I don't think it was an acting choice on Tobey's part but a choice made by the filmmakers themselves. There's no point in the book where Nick tries to make himself out as this friendly aw shucks ah geez scuse me ass goober, even when he's trying to claim he's like this unjudgemental dude. He lets you know outright that he'll do just about anything to get out of a conversation. He lies about his relationships, breaks up with people on a whim, is cynical and critical and has a barb to his tongue EVEN AROUND JAY (like when he considers asking to see Jay's rubies, knowing damn well he doesn't have any fuckin rubies.) And that's BEFORE jay dies. He's even worse after that, and I do appreciate the framing device of having Nick write this book while in recovery from...That Event.

which brings me to Baz Luhrmann Ships Natsby, Fuck You. He does. Oh my god. How are they queerer here than in actual fics I've written? Literal fireworks when they meet??? Nick being the one to call jay and hear the gunfire. that is his HUSBAND. "he did not know it (his dream) was already behind him" AS NICK STANDS BEHIND AN IMAGINED VERSION OF JAY. NICK HAVING TO PUT HIMSELF AWAY IN A MENTAL HOSPITAL AFTER GRIEVING HIM FOR YEARS???? BECOMING AN ALCOHOLIC INSOMNIAC WITH DEPRESSION, ANXIETY, AND FITS OF ANGER?????????????? BECAUSE HIS NEIGHBOR HE KNEW FOR THREE MONTHS DIED???????????????????????????? H. HELLO?

GOD.

Anyway. Speaking of their meeting, the song used in the background is Rhapsody in Blue by George Gershwin, which was professed by Fitz to have been THEE gatsby song, so that's a very nice touch. All the newspapers about Jay are written by prior Fitz characters. Even the clippings in Jay's scrapbooks attempt to add realism to the world but they...don't make sense entirely but that's fine. I know the filmmakers read at least Trimalchio but I don't know if they read the Princeton Draft. Either way, good on them.

Will never forgive this film for twinkifying Nick Carraway. Will never forgive it for planting the seed of top jay/bottom nick in the minds of the youth. I completely blame this movie for it. I don't think Jay was even topping Daisy at this point. He couldn't top a sundae. Even if he's played by Leonardo DiCaprio.

SPEAKING OF DAISY!!!!! I think Carey Mulligan did a damn good job at playing her accurately and as as much of a person as she could while still having the film's pov limited to Nick. Carey's a very good actor and she pretty clearly did her research to play Daisy, and was just very well cast. Now if the costume designers had simply allowed her to keep her natural hair color. Same with Jordan/Elizabeth Debicki. Daisy's brunette. Jordan's blonde. It's right there in the book in several places. I've talked about it forever. WHY would you go to the effort to change your actors' appearances when they were already accurate? Why? Why? Are you incapable of imagining a desirable woman who isn't blonde?

that being said, all jordan bakers should be 6'3. Elizabeth debicki, no notes.

tom's fine in this one. myrtle and George are too. chester actually gets to like. appear onscreen and try to get nick into the bedroom but UGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH of COURSE there's no elevator scene because nothing is ever fair or right or good. that's not MY chester (iykyk) but it is certainly A chester which is better than NO chester.

I would like to say that the Plaza scene in this film is the best of any of them. I believe beyond a shadow of a doubt that Jay was at a point in his health that if Wilson hadn't killed him, a heart attack would, and that's precisely the behavior exhibited in 2013's plaza scene. This is a man who has been twisting himself up into a tighter and tighter ball his entire life and has now just fucking sprung open because he's realized this is it, this is the end, everything I have done has been entirely pointless and I'm about the lose the one last fucking thing I have to live for and it's my fault because everything has been since the day I was born. Like I won't say it's 'mask off' and this would have been some sort of normal explosive behavior for him if he did end up getting to 'keep' daisy (because obviously shes An Object,,,,, right,,,,) but this...was coming regardless of whether tom dragged it out of him or not. it really exhibits just how much was going on behind the scenes that not even nick was privy to. just imagine how much pressure wolfshiem put on him in the end to keep going, keep working, as if his life isn't on the cusp of completely turning upside down.

(putting a space here because tumblr got mad about how much I wrote.)

that's one tiny little thing I absolutely adore about 2013. it's a blink and you'll miss it moment where meyer AND GOONS are in jay's office and he asks jay what's going on. It's so simple but so fucking menacing. it's so subtle. the implication that meyer has jay in a chokehold and the more time he spends with daisy, the more meyer gets pissed, and the more meyer gets pissed, the more likely he'll cut jay out of the business entirely, and jay's holding on to this tiny little string of assurance that he can manage it all for daisy and it's worth it for daisy and he's still the pretty face for the front of the company and meyer NEEDS him for that and if meyer needs him then it'll be okay, he can balance daisy and the business it'll be FINE—until it isn't, obviously. he originally turned daisy down when she suggested running away because all his money is tied up with meyer and if he runs, either meyer will track him down and kill him because he knows too much or he has to start over again. of course eventually he comes around to realize that running is their only option but it's too late and he knows that by the time he blows up at the plaza. he hit his breaking point and ruined everything. and leonardo DiCaprio is the only one who I think really captured just how fucking wound up jay really was.

I'm not talking about the broadway musical anymore

but if i were to make my own gatsby film...

I've never actually thought about it enough to pin down a cast. I have, however, considered that if for whatever reason I was given the opportunity to make any sort of adaptation of it, I'd probably have a black Jay regardless, and I think Ncuti Gatwa would be a really fun choice. Look at him. Imagine you're drunk and gay and this is across the table. Nick I get it.

I would try to keep in line with the book as best I could, though, because it's important to me. I live and breathe the history of this novel and I can see all the lives woven into each minute detail and I would hate to not do it justice.

...

Otherwise...I do spend hours a day daydreaming about turning Gatsby into a limited series a la Anne with an E, albeit more adult in nature due to the subject matter. But I can see it in my head so clearly. I wish wish wish I could. Maybe one day. If only.