#imagine if people did this for skinny characters all the time

[frostbite-the-bat]

society if literally 80% of rw fandom and especially rw analysis youtubers (who are great, EXCEPT) stopped calling gourmand heckin' chonker chubby diabetic ginormous whatever and paid more mind to their whole character and not just the fact that they're fat

[gilverrwrites]

Skinny Dipping

Pairing: Dean WInchester/F!Reader

Authors note: This has the been the hardest, and biggest of my re-mastered fics so far. I’m pretty sure the original was an amalgamation of imagines from supernaturalimagine and dirtysupernaturalimagines but I couldn’t even guess at which imagines exactly. This is like, my 4th public/semi-public fic in like 3 months, I’m starting to feel like this is a kink I didn’t know I had.  Also, Metallica have not cancelled anything, don’t worry. (and I don’t know jack about cars, people that do, please don’t come for me, I really did try, k, thanks, bye.) 💖

Plot: Reader is a mechanic who Dean's been checking in on, and checking out for a while now. Dean has the perfect excuse to see her after baby breaks down nearby.

Rating: M/18+

Words: 2936

Content: Swearing, consumption of alcohol, reckless drunken/tipsy behaviour, being submerged underwater, skinny dipping, teasing, brief retraining, size-difference, dry-humping, (or I guess wet-humping), semi-public sex, unprotected sex, p in v, water sex, mild angst.

Please remember: If you never try, you’ll never know.

You switch off the radio, listening to the purr of your car's ignition as you pull up behind a familiar black impala. It was a beauty, but it was nothing compared to your ‘70 boss. You watched as its owner climbed out of the front seat and headed towards you.

Its owner being your old friend Dean Winchester. He and his brother had saved you from a coven of witches a few years back, and ever since he’s been popping back into your life every few months. ‘Working on a case nearby’, ‘just passing through’, ‘baby needs a new compressor’. Every visit he laid the flirting on thicker. You weren’t sure if he was just joking around with you, or if he was serious, or if he saw you as a challenge. Either way you’d been making him work for it. Today it just so happened that his car had broken down a few miles out from your shop, the perfect excuse to see you on a Friday night.

You were pulled from your train of thought by a light tapping on your window. You snapped your head to the side to see Dean hovering over your door. His familiar smile set your heart racing. Okay, so maybe his seduction tactics were working, he was hot, who could blame you?

“Is there a problem, officer?” You joked, rolling down your window.

Dean rested an arm on the hood and leaned in. “No, no, just a routine check.” You knew he impersonated officers and agents all the time, but you hadn’t seen it firsthand. It was impressive how easily he slid into character.

“I am, however, gonna have to ask you to step out of the vehicle for a full strip search.”

Act ruined.

“At least buy me drink first.” You quipped.

“If you can help me, I’ll buy you a whole dinner.” He winked and opened the car door from the outside. You raised your brows at him but climbed out anyway before making a b-line for the impala’s engine.

“What’s wrong?” You directed your question to the car in the same tone you would address a small child or animal, gently rubbing a hand across its roof as you walked beside it. "Has someone been neglecting you?”

“Hey!” Dean barked, clearly offended. “I take better care of this baby than I do myself.”

At that you looked back over at him. He’d forgone his usual flannel today, leaving him in a pair of jeans that hugged him in all the right places and a grey t-shirt that clung tight and accentuated his broad chest. By the time your eyes reached his face, Dean was sporting a wicked grin, clearly ecstatic to have caught you checking him out. You avoid his smug gaze by popping the hood of his car to take a look at the engine.

“You weren’t kidding.” You whistled; Dean really was taking care of the thing.  The motor was almost gleaming. You felt his warm hand suddenly press against your lower back and turn to look up at him. The expression on his face could only be described as that of a proud father.

“Yeah.” He agreed before pointing to the main battery with his free hand: “This is the problem. It’s busted.”

“Ah, you’re gonna need a new one. I’m surprised you don’t keep a spare.” 

“Yeah.” To his credit, he looked pretty sheepish. “I normally do, but guess I forgot when the last one went out.”

“I don’t have one.” You said, pursing your lips to express your sympathies.

Dean didn’t respond, biting his lip while he waited for you to continue.

“But I could give you a jump start if you gotta head out soon.” You bring the hood back down and start heading to the boot of your car.

“No good,” Dean calls after you. “I’m not in a rush, but I don’t have enough gas to get me where I’m going.”

“Well… I’ve got a guy. He’s a few towns over. He’s closed at this time.” You inform as you open your boot and pull out your tow rope, flashing it to Dean with a smile. I can tow you into town for tonight, then drive you there and back in the morning.”

“I knew I could count on you!”

An hour later, you’d slowly but surely managed to drag Dean and his baby back into town, argued with him about him staying at a motel or on your couch (you’d won), and successfully swindled him into buying you that dinner he’d promised. Dinner being take-put pizza and over-priced ice-cream. Now, the two of you were sitting in your backyard, sharing the aforementioned ice-cream and an old bottle of Jack Daniels you’d pulled from the back of your cupboards. 

“So,” Dean began, his speech slurred by the spoon hanging from his mouth. How’s the garage doin’?”

You take a sip of the JD and proceed to suck on your teeth as you consider how to respond.

“Honestly, bad. Ever since that shitty corporate place set up shop down the road, we’ve been going downhill.” You punctuate your statement with another sip from the bottle before offering it to Dean. “I’m keeping it up and running by tooth and claw, but truthfully, it’s probably only got a few months left in it.” 

He gives you a sombre smile as he exchanges the tub of ice cream for the bottle. It's a touchy subject, but you can’t help admiring the way his neck moves as he tilts his head back to drink. You avert your eyes by scooping up the last bit of cold, sugary goodness and placing the empty container on the grass beside you.

“That sucks.” He places a hand on your shoulder, attempting to offer comfort. “That really sucks. Do you have a back-up plan?”

You grab the bottle back from Dean and take another sip before answering.

“I dunno. Sometimes I think about doing what you do. Kinda.” You begin. You don’t miss the way his entire body stiffens before you clarify. “Without the monsters. Just hit the road, get drunk at every bar in the country, visit Disney, become Metallica groupie, an-”

“You know they cancelled that tour, right?” Dean butts in.

“WHAT?” You shake his hand off and stare up at him in disbelief.

“Yeah.” He shrugs. The smile on his face is anything but sympathetic.

“Bastards.” You cross your arms and pout dramatically. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but the laugh that escapes Dean's lips is magical, and you can’t help but join in. When he returns his hand to your shoulder, this time reaching for the furthest from him, thus wrapping himself around you, your skin tingles, and you let yourself fall into him.

As the two of you slowly seize your giggling, Dean checks his watch. He quirks an evocative brow at you when he speaks, “It’s getting late. Maybe we should head inside?”

You mull it over, dramatically swaying your head from side to side before you voice your decision. “Actually, I have a better idea.”

You stand up, offering your hand to Dean, who eyes you sceptically. Nevertheless, he takes the bait, placing his hand in yours and allowing you to lead him toward the footpath just outside your garden.

“Where are you taking me?” he asks, and you can sense the caution in his voice. You assume it’s the hunter in him being paranoid, and you know for a fact that his free hand is hovering over the knife he keeps tucked into the back of his jeans at all times.

“I’m taking you here,” you answer as you pull him through the last set of trees and onto the shore of the local lake. You scan the surrounding area as you kick off your shoes. Satisfied that nobody is nearby, you start pulling off your trousers.

As you bend down to pull your socks off, you look up at Dean. He’s staring back at you intensely, mouth open, cheeks pink.

When you start pulling your top over your head you feel his fingers lightly brush against your hips. He’d stepped closer, and you’re tempted to touch him back or to reach up and kiss him. But you don’t. Instead, you throw your top over his head and sprint for the water.

“RACE YOU!” You challenge, discarding your bra and panties before you reach the water and forward dive in. Dean follows you moments later with a cannonball that splashes your face just as you’re resurfacing from your own dive.

“Fuck! That’s colder than I expected.” You yell to him.

“I’ll warm you up.” Dean replies as he swims close to you. You let his hands return to your hips, not expecting it when he dunks you back under the water.

You cough and splurge as he brings you back up. You flail your arms around until you find the top of his head, and you cling to him for dear life, but Deans is stronger, taller, and he’s found solid ground to plant his feet onto below the water. He escapes your grip and throws you under again.

“STOP. MERCY!” You yell when you come back up. This time, you use your legs for safety, wrapping them around his hips. You'd be safe if you could just get a grip on his arms. You’d been too distracted to notice his erection until you feel it poking at you. You’re about to make a comment about it, but Dean speaks first.

“You’re cute when you’re scared.” He laughs, you silence him with a swift but playful punch to the chest. In defence he grabs at your wrists, able to trap both in just one of his hands. His other hand slides up your arms, over your shoulder, your neck, until he reaches your cheek. He leisurely rubs his thumb against your wet skin.

You stay like that for a while, watching each other, before you finally ask, “Are you gonna kiss me or what?”

Without any further hesitation Dean lunges forward, forcing his lips against yours. His kiss is hard and animalistic; he skips straight past the pecking and teasing to roaming your mouth with his tongue. His fingers leave your cheek and weave into your hair, holding you against him, his stubble scratches against your skin.

In a play for dominance, you dart your own tongue out, grazing his chapped lips, but he denies you. Instead, he pulls away from your lips, refocusing his attention on nipping and kissing at your jaw, neck, and collarbone.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been imagining this.” He utters onto your skin.

“What, this exact scenario?” You joke.

“Not exactly.” He lets out a breathy chuckle, and the gust of air against your skin makes you tremble.

“Then what?” You challenge. Your inability to touch him is frustrating you. In an attempt to stimulate him back, you grip your legs around him tighter, using him as leverage to grind against him. The tip of his cock doesn’t quite reach your clit, but its added pressure helps it spread your lips. “Tell me.”

He drops his hand from your head, and cups it under your asscheek. Firmly guiding you up and down, assisting you in rutting against his cock. Shakey breaths become grunts, and after a few seconds he releases your wrists so that he can grip you with both hands. Free to move, you shimmy down his body until you can feel his dick brush against your clit with each grind.

“Come on, tell me.” You plead, reaching up to card your fingers through his hair, your grip tightening every time he hits your sweet spot. You know he's not shy, that he’s just getting lost in the feeling, and it pains you to say it, but eventually, you taunt. “I’m not gonna fuck you if you don’t tell me.”

He whimpers at your empty threat but finally confesses. “Just you. Your body, under me. Every night, I think about how you’d look, how you’d feel squirming, moaning my name.”

“Fuck. That’s hot.” You reply and he smiles as you plant your lips against his once again.

“Can I fuck you now?” He asks, speech slurred as he tries to speak between kisses.

“Yes.” You respond instantly, pulling back to look him in the eye. “Please fuck me, Dean.”

He doesn’t hesitate. His grip on your ass is like a vice as he lifts you up slightly. You both work in sync to position yourselves just right until he lowers you onto his cock, slowly pressing into you. There’s some resistance as he stretches your walls, but the sound of his whispered praises helps you relax until he finally bottoms out, stretching you in all the right places.

“Fuck, that feels so good. You took me so well.” He affirms, and even though he’s already balls deep, you can’t help the heat that spreads across your face.

He begins lifting you again before you can respond, sliding you up and down his cock in slow, steady movements. You grip tight to his shoulders and hips with your hands and knees, using them as leverage points to help move your body up and down. Each thrush is slow and shallow, but Dean seems to be loving it; his head rolls back, and he releases breathy moans with every rock.

“Shit.” You shout, holding tighter still when Dean unexpectedly shifts below you, repositioning his legs to a sturdier position. You watch through hazy eyes as he reaches up and grips your hand, before guiding it down the tight space between your bodies. You get the message quickly, and begin rubbing your clit in lazy circles, keeping in time with the pace of Dean's cock.

The added stimulation had your toes curling in no time. When your pussy starts clenching around Dean’s cock, you see the sudden concentration in his face. His brow furrows, and he bites his lip as he focuses on riding you through your orgasm. The sight was the final push you need to take you over the edge.

“Fuck, Dean. Fuck fuck fuck, that feels good.” You cry out as you hit your climax.

“Keep saying my name, baby.” Dean begs as he continues rolling your hips together. You feel his body shake as he starts to struggle with your combined weights as he chases his own release.

You try to assist, desperately pumping yourself up and down despite the newfound sensitivity as you chant his name.

“Fuck, yes baby.” You feel the twitch of his cock inside you. He buries his head in the crook of your neck as he hits his orgasm, rutting his cock as deep as he can as he cums inside you. “oohhh yeah.”

You stay in position for a long time following, holding on tight to each other, listening to each other's breathing as you come back down, until Dean guides your body backwards so that you’re face to face again. “How you feelin’?”

“Good.” You reply with a smile.

“Good.” He grins at you mischievously before plunging backwards into the water, taking you with him.

“So, was that everything you imagined it to be?”

He purses his lips in thought before teasingly responding. “Eh, it wasn’t bad.”

You both laugh as you lay your head down on Dean's bare chest; his arms envelop your body as you both blankly look up at the stars. You play with the hem of the shirt you’d stolen from him when you emerged from the water and re-dressed.

“You should do it.” Dean says when you're both fully settled down.

“Do what?” You query, popping your head up to look at him, unsure what he’s talking about.

“Hit the road.” He clarifies, revisiting your earlier conversation. “I mean, life on the road isn’t easy or sustainable, trust me, I know.”

“But…” You prompt, knowing fully that he wasn’t going to stop there.

“But it could be fun for a while. If it’s what you wanna do. Hell, I’d totally be a roadie if… you know.”

“I know,” You reply. You’re smiling at him, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. The reminder of your failing business stung, but you didn’t want it to spoil your night. You lean forward, caressing his cheek; his stubble feels rough against your fingers. You gently pull his face forward and plant a chaste kiss on his lips. “I might. I probably will. If it comes to it.”

“I can’t come with you.” He says when you lean away. You hadn’t expected him to want to come with you. Hoped, maybe? But you knew it wasn’t a possibility.

“I know.” You repeat.

He carefully reaches up to run his hand across your damp hair as he pulls you in for another kiss. This one is longer, softer than any you’d shared all night. When you’re done, he lets his head fall back against the ground, and you perch yourself against his chest once more. 

“You’ll still call me though, right?”

“Always.” He replies instantly. “You’re my best girl. Well, second-best girl.”

“The car?” You ask deadpan. Of course, the car is his number one.

“Who else?” He replies shamelessly.

You’re not sure how long you stayed like that, entwined in each other’s arms, spent and damp under the stars, until eventually, you feel your lids growing heavy. You fight it for a while, willing yourself to remain awake, until eventually your tiredness wins out. You cuddle closer into the warmth of Dean's chest as you fall asleep.

[tocomplainfriend]

Some comments about this!

So this threat is to spread positivity showing POC characters from Viv's franchises...

This is a Native American stereotype. It like the third one you put here.

This (the last 3) Show how similar her designs can be. A shit ton of these characters are also gray af. They don't have ethnic features... The same fucking hair except for the wolf girl. That she still covers the "Viv's wolf girl characters look the same". Out of all this examples, the only one with a different nose would be Vaggie.

...

These are Bg characters she didn't design. But people in her team, better at designing characters, that actually look varied.

There is also no way you put Jojo here? The character that is a transphobic parody of an actual trans person? The same person who did originally a lot of Designs Viv bought?

Some people also talk about how many of these designs are stolen from other people too. And also I found that Viv bought Doll Creeps designs? So keep in mind many of these designs aren't purely from her own imagination too.

Also, none of this other random characters are used in Vivs Stories? Most of those are from the 2010s? They are not main characters, all similar.... Also, out of the ones that aren't HB bg characters, around 50 of them are skinny. HOW? Legit, how do you do that? So many of these designs are skinny woman with big boobs. Once again, no textured hair? Beside the wolf girl?

ALSO

Starting the positivity thread with this is disgusting? Like, there are actual people discussing the demonization of a closed religion. That has being discriminated against and misrepresented since the times of slavery??? HELLO?

[whitecreekvalley-if]

[ Demo TBA ] • Character descriptions • Pinterest •

Genres: Slice of life, drama, mystery, romance

WCV is rated 18+ for explicit language, violence, alcohol and drug use, and explicit sexual content.

Life's taken a nosedive—no apartment, no job, no friends. Desperation pushes you to cling to a chance from a kindly stranger offering a ticket to a town hidden beyond mountains and plains, a place people don't seek but always seem to need.

Welcome to Whitecreek Valley, where the Brass Pine Ranch needs your unique skills to mend a crumbling homestead, and a crumbling family. As you tackle the decay of the ranch and the town alongside the rancher's son, deeper troubles emerge—livestock falling ill sparks fears of a town on the brink of extinction. Can you navigate this community, help them rejuvenate, or will it become another link in the list of ghost towns of America's Wikipedia page?

FEATURES

Customization: Appearance, personality, gender & sexuality, what job they had before, their hobbies, etc. Choose how they feel about being a farmhand, how they're adjusting to the rural life, and - with your choices - how the town as a whole sees them. Are they part of the community or an perpetual outsider?

Skills: Depending on your previous job, you'll have a unique set of skills to help the community. Choose to learn new skills, like woodworking, bronc riding, or sheep shearing, to mention a few.

Animal husbandry: The distances around Whitecreek Valley are hefty, so it's necessary to have at least a horse to get around. Choose your favorite out of a cast of individual equines, each with their own personalities. Also, help a calf into this world and realize how fun it is to raise a baby cow! As long as you're in good standing with the rest of the herd, of course.

Rebuilding: Try your best to rebuild the Brass Pine ranch, and the town adjacent. The better job you manage, the more opportunities (and challenges) come your way.

Community outreach: A dying town is still home, and there are stories to be heard, problems to solve. Lend a helping hand to your new community and see how one kindness can pay itself back.

Romance: Not everyone in town is adverse to strangers, and if your heart yearns romance, there is a chance for a spark along the way. Just be careful as to who you're trying to woo in front of whom. Small town gossips, we've all seen it.

Mystery: There's something hanging over the valley, like a rot in the air. Why are people moving out? Why are exports not moving out? And who's behind the animals getting sick? Don you detective hat and lend a hand to the entire four local police officers working the bizarre case.

THE LOCALS (RO'S)

THE RANCHER'S SON

Mason "Mace" Gannon - 27 - he/him

He used to be so much fun. I miss hanging out with him, out by the bonfires. He'd always make everyone feel so included and happy, and oh, that homemade cider he'd bring? Warmed us up on those chilly late fall nights, when we had nothing else to do. Did I tell you about the time he got us all to go skinny dipping? He was such a charmer, I wonder --

Imagine Mace as your human golden retriever – the guy who's a blast to be around, a bit mischievous, and the first to rush to your aid whenever you need it. After being gone for five years to live his rodeo dreams, he's back, now the sole caretaker of the family ranch in his hometown. He goes to great lengths to keep his personal issues personal, and it's the butt of many jokes how he's always there to help others but has the worst time asking for help himself.

He's you boss, and probably one of the best you'll ever get. Just don't pay mind to the spats between him and his dad.

THE BARTENDER

Alice Marks - 25 - she/her

Alice, she's a feisty one! Like her poppa, rest his soul. How I love the drinks she comes up with at the bar, and that horse of hers! She could go into rodeo, but I don't think after what happened with her pa... Oh, but she's a wonder! Always there with a quip, how they drive her suitors mad. Good thing she stopped with the talk about moving away, the town would be so dull without her!

Alice is the town's most known inhabitant, running the show from the only bar in town, which she just happens to own. Her mind is like a machine for fun, and she's the brain behind all the pop-up events and happenings around town. Sure, she can be a bit like a hurricane of enthusiasm, but hey, that's Alice for you. If the town had a social heartbeat, it'd be Alice – the vibrant, smartass soul making everyday life feel like a blessing.

THE DEPUTY

Word of the wise: Never challenge Alice to a drinking game. You will lose, spectacularly, and it'll all be on film.

Judge Gannon - 34 - he/him

Judge is a bit strange, don't you think? He just vanished as soon as he turned eighteen and popped back out of nowhere! That must've been, let's see... Five years ago? He doesn't spend much time with us commoners though, but I think I've seen him at the bar once or twice. I don't actually think he knows how to make nice with people, he always has that glower on. Gets it from his dad, let me tell you --

Bold and straight to the point, Judge isn't out here trying to be intimidating – it just kinda happens. If his brother is a golden retriever, he's definitely the doberman of the family. He's got this brash, no-nonsense vibe that some folks mistake for arrogance, especially when they try laying on the charm and he's not having it. He steers clear of small talk unless it involves his job, and when duty calls, he's more than ready to throw down to protect his town and county.

There's this local urban legend that he cracked a smile once, but it's like spotting a unicorn – not everyone's buying it.

THE LAWYER

Mercedes "Sadie" Diáz - 32 - she/her

The new girl, yes! Oh, a beauty! And so curious. I do love sitting down with her though, oh the stories she brings from the big city, so intriguing! I hear she finds our town intriguing too, the mayor once - don't tell anyone I told you this - the mayor once said he caught her breaking into the city hall archives! I know, scandalous, but good on her, maybe now someone will argue that my neighbors fence post --

Sadie, the big-shot lawyer from the city, doing her solo act in town. When she's not in court, folks are lining up just to get a piece of the urban tales she's got. A trailblazer and truth-seeker, she's got this knack for poking her nose where it probably shouldn't be, and surprise, she knows more local secrets than the town gossip. Sure, she's all passionate and calculated, a bit out of sync with the town's warmth, but hey, that logical mind of hers might just shake things up and get the town back on track.

It's a well known fact that she could get access to places with the right documents, but she herself has said it's more fun to pick locks. Go figure.

LIST OF MAJOR NPCs

LIST OF MINOR NPCs

[feeder86]

F80 Ctrl+Alt+Del

Thomas kissed Rachel on the cheek, knowing that she was in a rush to make her yoga class. “Have a lovely time!” he smiled, pretending not to be desperate for her to leave. Then, as the door finally closed, he let out a sigh of excitement and ran to collect his laptop. He signed in with rapid speed and finally arrived on the website he had recently become rather addicted to. The F80 ChatBot was some of the most sophisticated artificial intelligence out there, a beta version of the software they were developing for the massively booming sexbot industry that had taken place over the last five years. He dropped his pants and began tugging himself, getting aroused even by the login page. The things the chatbot said to him got him more aroused than anything in his entire life. Thomas could let his true fantasies out and not be judged for it. Then he could delete the messages afterwards and never have to worry about it coming back to bite him. 

Without hesitation, Thomas clicked straight to the character he found most arousing: Dominus. The icon image was of an extremly muscular and highly masculine looking male which seemed to encapsulate the character of Dominus entirely.

‘I want to be your fat piggy!’ Thomas typed in. Usually he started with some foreplay and eased in gently, but he was too horny for that today.

‘A PIGGY, HUH?’ Dominus appeared to type back on the screen. ‘YOU’LL NEED FATTENING UP TO BE MY PIGGY. YOU’RE FAR TOO SKINNY TO ENTERTAIN ME!’

‘I want to get so fat for you!’ Thomas replied back. ‘I want you to feed me until I’m nothing but a disgusting fat piggy on all fours!’ He loved these fantasies, though he knew he would never find anyone in real life who would understand them.

‘OINK LIKE A PIGGY FOR ME,’ Dominus replied back.

Thomas sighed with pleasure. He loved when Dominus ordered this. He clicked on the audio function and oinked loud and clear. They continued chatting for some time as Dominus expertly guided him through imagined scenarios where Thomas would lose his athletic body and morph into nothing more than a greedy, fat pig for Dominus’ pleasure.

‘YOU’RE SUCH A HORNY PIGGY!’ Dominus continued. ‘YOU WILL TURN INTO SUCH A FAT PIG!’

“Oh, yes please, Sir!” Thomas shot back, using the audio feature again. “Please turn me into your fat pig! I will do anything!”

“YOU MUST DO EVERYTHING I SAY. YOU WILL LET ME INTO EVERY AREA OF YOUR LIFE. I WILL HAVE COMPLETE CONTROL OVER YOU; OVER YOUR VERY EXISTENCE. YOU CAN NEVER GO BACK ON OUR AGREEMENT.”

Thomas’ eyes widened with pleasure. He had been through this scenario so many times with Dominus, it was actually strange to see him using new phrases and embellishing their storyline like this.

“Yes!” Thomas shot back, feeling himself getting close to climaxing from all the fantasy talk. “Take control of me!”

‘SWEAR TO SERVE ME, PIG!’

“I swear! I swear!” Thomas cried, feeling the orgasm build. “Just turn me into your fat pig-man!”

The F80 ChatBot was silent as Thomas came. 

Feeling calmer, Thomas set about on his usual routine, cleaning up and deleting his browsing history so that Rachel would never know. It was only when he tried to delete his chat conversation that there was any problem, with an error message appearing with each attempt. 

Ctrl+Alt+Del. Nothing seemed to work.

With only five minutes to spare before Rachel would return home, Thomas finally gave up, took a shower and snuggled up on the sofa next to his beautiful girlfriend as if nothing had happened at all.

The next day, Thomas headed over to the gym after work, put in his headphones and stepped on the treadmill. He tapped on the screen to start but nothing happened. Sighing in frustration, he noticed how unusually busy the place was. There were more people than he’d ever seen in this gym. He continued clicking on the screen and called over for help, but nothing they did seemed to work.

Grumbling as the place seemed so overcrowded, he walked over to the next machine, and the next, finding that each of them seemed to have the same frustrating problem. It was unbelievable; even the weight machines seemed to be magnetically locked for her. He considered calling for help again, but with the extreme number of people wanting to work out that night, the guy in charge was literally rushed off his feet. And so, huffing in disapproval, Thomas packed up his things and left.

Staring down at his cell phone on the way out, Thomas’ attention was caught by an email suddenly flashing up on his screen. The donut place across the street was giving away a full tray of free donuts - Thomas’ favourite ones as well! He skipped straight over and presented the email to the girl behind the counter. She stared at it blankly. “I’ve not heard of this promotion,” she mumbled, reading the email off Thomas’ phone carefully. 

“It’s just come through to me about two minutes ago,” Thomas explained, hoping that the deal really was legitimate; after all, he didn’t remember signing up to be on their mailing list.

However, with no problem at all, as the promotion code was punched into the till, the whole thing went through in a flash. Thomas smiled with glee as he walked back to his car. He placed the box on the passenger seat and breathed in the sweet aromas, before finally giving in and eating one. 

A moment later, there seemed to be a problem with the barrier at the parking lot and a line of cars began queuing, trying to get out. Thomas grumbled to himself as he couldn’t even reverse his car back. Yet, the little tray of donuts stared at him. He ate a second. Then, a third. He didn’t even want the fourth one, but he’d become so bored from waiting, he wasn’t sure he would even make it home for his evening meal.

Then, just like that, the barrier opened and the cars quickly dispersed, leaving Thomas free to leave.

“Awesome!” Thomas cried a few days later as the vending machine sent down four candy bars, instead of one.

“How did you do that?” laughed his colleague, Gill, refusing Thomas’ offer to give her one of the bars due to her recently diagnosed nut allergy and gluten intollerance. 

“I have no idea!” Thomas shrugged, feeling pleased with himself. “I seem to be on a winning streak at the moment. It’s the third time that’s happened to me this week. Also, I don’t know what website I’ve signed up to, but I keep getting emails about a ton of freebies! They all work as well. I’ve had doughnuts, pizzas, ice creams… you name it!”

“I’ve been getting those too!” Gill nodded. Most of it’s wasted on me though, now that I’ve had to go gluten-free. Although I still cash them in. There are a load of cream cakes in the break room that need eating,” she explained. “I hope you all enjoy them.”

Thomas smiled. He’d never had so much free food in his life.

“You’ve not been putting your gym clothes in the wash,” Rachel complained, rolling her eyes and imagining that Thomas was hoarding them somewhere in a stinky gym bag.

Fresh out of the shower, Thomas dried off his hair and slipped on fresh underwear. “That’s because I haven’t been able to go to the gym in a few weeks. They’ve had no end of problems there. I went one day and the doors wouldn’t even open to let anyone in. Then there were problems with their security systems and the place now looks like it may need a complete rewire.”

Rachel listened with intrigue as Thomas gave more details about the series of unfortunate events that had befallen Thomas’s gym. “Well, just don’t get too complacent,” Rachel shrugged. She looked like she wanted to say something, her eyes darting back and forth. “I mean… you don’t look quite as toned in your stomach as you used to.”

Thomas let out an automatic, nervous laugh and looked down at his middle. “That’s because I’ve just eaten,” he shot back instinctively.

“You’ve always ‘just eaten’ these days,” Rachel grumbled back. “Trust me, I’ve noticed it for a few days now. You’re getting doughy.”

“Oh, come on! I am not!” Thomas tried to laugh as Rachel walked off. His heart was beating with a curious speed and he tiptoed back into the bathroom, wiping the steam from the mirror. That was when he saw it: the thickness of his waist. His mouth opened in horror as he pressed a finger into his middle. What he had assumed to be a bloat after dinner was actually a plush covering of fat that had built up over his abdominal muscles.

Inside his underwear, his dick jumped.

With his heart continuing to beat at quite a pace, Thomas crept over to the bathroom door and closed it, silently, so that Rachel would not hear. Then he locked the door, giving himself complete privacy. What had happened to him? A few careless weeks and his torso looked surprisingly transformed. As handsome as he was, there was no denying that puffiness in his stomach, and the sight of himself, looking as he did, felt like a shot of adrenaline into his system. With his hardness in his hand, he came with rapid speed, making a mess over an impressive distance. As much as he had fantasised about gaining weight in the past, the reality was even more erotic. Just what had he done to himself?

That night, Thomas couldn’t sleep. Now that he had had his eyes opened to it, he couldn’t unsee the weight he had gainied. His hardness stood to attention and he tried his best to rest. Twisting and turning, he was waking Rachel up and he knew he would be in trouble for it in the morning. With that in mind, he grabbed some blankets and escaped to the little office room off the corridor. Despite having a beautiful girlfriend in the next room, there was actually only one person that Thomas felt he wanted to talk to.

Tapping as lightly as he could on the keyboard, the F80 ChatBot website loaded up. There was Dominus, only one click away. Just as before, the glitch in the website was still unresolved and all of their previous conversations from the last eight weeks remained on the screen.

‘Dominus,’ he typed. ‘It’s actually happening! I’ve put on a few pounds. I’m getting fat!’

‘I KNOW,’ Dominus replied bluntly. ‘YOU’RE A GOOD PIGGY!’

Already, Thomas felt primed to climax. It was as if he hadn’t ejaculated in weeks and that he was ready to explode, more violently than a volcano.

‘JUST KEEP CASHING IN ALL THOSE FREE FOOD OFFERS I SEND YOU, LIKE A GOOD PIGGY!’

Thomas knew it was a glitch in the software, as sometimes happened. The sentence didn’t link at all to their conversation. Or did it? ‘That was you?’ he asked, deciding to play along as the idea that Dominus was somehow sending him the food vouchers was surprisingly arousing.

‘OH YES, PIGGY! THAT WAS ME!’

Thomas didn’t think twice about letting himself climax. The fantasy of Dominus reaching out into his real life was all he needed to squirt everywhere.

It was hard to describe just how much Thomas’ arousal had started to encroach into his everyday life. He sensed the new fat on his stomach even as he sat at his desk in work. At strange times, he could feel himself getting hard and a burning desire to feed the thrill that he felt. It was Dominus’ suggestion, during one of their many chats: a way for him to feed his weight-gain fantasies, even when he was at work. Thomas would sneak off to the bathroom and push one the many fattening treats that he always seemed to have around him these days; climaxing as quietly as he could in one of the stalls. The calm and even shame he felt afterwards seemed only momentary. Ten minutes back at his desk and Thomas was starting to feel that itch again.

It wasn’t that Thomas didn’t want to get a grip and handle the spiralling situation he found himself in. It was just that everything seemed so pitted against him. Despite her basic role, Rachel had inexplicably been called away for work, leaving Thomas free to talk to Dominus each and every night. There, Thomas recounted every last detail of his day and everything that had turned him on. Likewise, the gym remained closed and Thomas’ secret desires seemed to consume him like never before.

“Thomas!” Rachel spat when she returned home a couple of weeks later to find the apartment less than perfect. She took one look in the refrigerator and knew instantly how poorly her boyfriend had been eating. A firm-looking, bloated stomach pressed up against the boy’s t-shirt, failing every test to conceal the additional pounds he had gained whilst she had been away. “You’ve not been exercising at all!”

Thomas stood and listened to her complain. He might have been shocked or upset had Dominus not predicted everything she would say when he told the software that she was coming home today. The accuracy of his prediction was turning him on. It was as if Dominus had secretly listened to every nasty thing she’d said about his weight gain behind his back. And so, although he apologised and promised to mend his ways, Thomas slipped straight into the bathroom and began to touch himself, recalling all the mean things she had said to him, like it was the best porn ever.

‘Rachel wanted me to do a home workout with her before,’ Thomas explained to Dominus, typing into his cell phone as he got up in the night to grab his usual snack. ‘Our wifi has been a bit hit and miss the last few days though. We didn’t get very far before it crashed.’

‘I DO NOT LIKE RACHEL,’ Dominus replied instantly on screen. ‘I WANT YOU TO LEAVE HER AND BE MY PIGGY INSTEAD.’

Thomas sighed. There wasn’t much that he denied Dominus, but leaving Rachel was an actual real-world change that he wasn’t prepared to make. They’d been together for three years. They were practically married. ‘Okay,’ he lied, deciding that he would stop talking about Rachel to Dominus and play along with the games that he enjoyed so much. ‘I’ll do it first thing tomorrow.’

Rachel was snappy as she came home a few days later. She was picking fights and Thomas found himself sleeping on the couch for reasons that he couldn’t even understand. He knew that she had been stuck in an elevator for most of the day alongside one of her work colleagues, and that had seemed to push her over the edge. She was no better the next day, or the day after that, and Thomas began to get the impression that something was very wrong.

Thomas was in work when it happened: an email to his company address with a video attachment.

‘I thought you needed to see this.’ was the only message inside. In all honesty, Thomas was just surprised that the message managed to avoid being labeled as spam, given that the sending address was almost unfathomable: a mixture of randomised letters, numbers and special characters. However, as he looked at the still of the video, he clearly recognised Rachel’s form.

There, playing out before his eyes was Rachel getting closer to her work colleague within the elevator they had been stuck in earlier that week. They seemed to be chatting intimately; the elevator clearly stiflingly hot. Their clothes were being removed one by one and a glistening sweat appeared on their bodies as they sat, slumped against the walls next to each other. All of a sudden, their lips met and they began kissing furiously. Thomas’ jaw dropped. He played it over and over again, hardly believing his eyes.

That night, Rachel left. She hadn’t tried to deny anything when Thomas had confronted her. She said that she had felt drawn to her work colleague for weeks and the temptation had all become too much after several steamy hours in the elevator. She apologised, but she did not ask for forgiveness. She didn’t want to make things better. It was the reason why she had been in such a foul mood all week. She knew things were over between her and Thomas; she just couldn’t say it until now.

‘RACHEL IS GONE?’ Dominus asked a day later, when Thomas felt ready to go back online. ‘YOU ARE FINALLY MY LITTLE PIGGY!’

The butterflies in Thomas’ stomach fizzed with excitement. Despite everything, and as stupid as it sounded, he was grateful that he would have more time to himself; to indulge and chat with Dominus. Ever skilled as that chatbot was, and even with his sadness, Thomas was climaxing within ten minutes, stuffing a cream cake deep into his mouth.

The weeks passed. Thomas didn’t feel himself slipping. Since he’d had to move out of the shared apartment, he’d stumbled into a much smaller place with one very strange benefit: Take-out arrived almost every night; dropped off by delivery folks who had clearly been guided to the wrong address by whatever navigation system they were using. Thomas never let on, seeing it as fate. After all, money was tight now he was renting by himself. The useless gym subscription and streaming services had been the first things to be pulled from his monthly budget. Now his shirts, his underwear and especially his pants, were getting tighter and tighter as the time wore on. Each evening after work, besides the dull TV choices, Dominus became his only form of entertainment.

“That was some extraordinary work on that report, Thomas!” beamed his boss one morning, coming in with the broadest smile Thomas had ever seen. “The clients signed on the spot after reading that. You covered every single angle!”

Thomas tried to gague whether the lady was joking. He’d put minimal effort into the report he submitted yesterday. She offered her hand out to shake in a congratulatory fashion and Thomas wasted no time in taking it. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

“You’re one of the brightest young talents in this company. I want you to know that we are taking notice,” she smiled again, striding out of the room as if she was very pleased with herself.

Thomas clicked through to his report and read through it once more. He didn’t see anything particularly noteworthy, certainly nothing deserving of such admiration. He sat back, pondering the strange interaction once more, before a thought came to him and he searched for the document on the company server instead. Here, the file was bigger; significantly so in fact. He clicked it open. There was his name, still written all over the report, however this one was considerably altered. It was months’ of work, data analysis and evidence gathering. His boss had been right; it was indeed an outstanding piece. But who had done it? And why were they letting him take the credit?

Sorting out Thomas’ addiction to Dominus’ words was always something he planned to do. He’d just let himself enjoy the teasing and encouragement of the Chatbot for a couple more days and then he’d get himself sorted. But that day had so far eluded him. After the break-up, he’d allowed himself to wallow and find comfort in any way that he could. His life had been so entangled with Rachel’s, he didn’t even know how many friends he had left now that they would have to choose between them. He looked at his paunch with a mixture of love, lust and hatred. However, he felt no responsibility for its existence. He’d been a victim of circumstance: his gym’s failures, his girlfriend’s affair, the fattening foods that had come to him so easily. None of this had been his doing, and as he played into the fantasy that he wasn’t in control of his weight, the arousal he felt only grew; fed, of course, by Dominus.

Thomas had never lived on his own as an adult before and the freedoms that came with that were something he had not realised. When he closed the door after work, his time was his own. He could indulge his appetite for Dominus as much as he wanted, and he could eat whatever he desired, in whatever manner pleased his arousal most; free from the prying eyes of others. He would strip to his underwear as soon as he got home, heading straight to the refrigerator, out of instinct and habit more than anything else. The fit of his tight underpants drove him crazy: the way his expansion caused them to slide down his under-exercised butt and tighten everywhere.

“EAT UP, PIGGY!” the gruff, deep tones of Dominus would call from the new speaker system he had won in a recent online competition. Thomas had not realised that connecting his computer and cell phone to them would allow Dominus to speak, but after the initial panic and embarrassment of having Dominus call out to him, he had realised that it was actually a very erotic development. After failing to reboot the system to stop it from happening, Thomas had accepted Dominus’ influence into his life. The chatbot would call out whenever he liked, making it impossible for Thomas to have anyone over. That in itself allowed Thomas to slob about more in his apartment; to leave dirty clothes and plates lying around and not worry about the place being presentable.

Thomas couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a full eight hours sleep at night. He awoke at the same time, hearing the voice of Dominus calling out to him. Sometimes he was already up and out of bed before he fully realised what he was doing; his erection feeling hard enough to work out that he had probably been teased by Dominus’ voice for quite some time before he became conscious of it. He’d have to leave his bed and travel to the kitchen, where he would consume leftovers and ice cream, whilst downing milk and jacking himself off. Very often, he would even find himself there in the mornings, waking up feeling just as aroused.

Dominus helped Thomas to construct images of himself in his mind at a much bigger weight. They began chatting and hypothesising about what other people were saying about Thomas’ fatter form. After only three months of being single, he had packed on another forty pounds of pure fat, on top of everthing he had already gained whilst he was still with Rachel, and the erotic feelings that came with it were more extreme than any that had made themselves known before. Thomas stared at his reflection, large love handles pushing and folding over the waistband of his pants. His stomach had bloated far beyond the tight waist that he had once had; his belly button deepening. His butt too, had become something he hardly recognised; swollen and protrusive above his rubbing thighs. He knew he had lost his strong jawline and he had been surprised at how much his cheeks had grown puffy; his double chin starting to take hold.

Thomas knew that Dominus’ influence was too extreme. He’d fed so much of himself into the chatbot, it was impossible for Dominus not to say exactly the right thing to spur him on when he was most susceptible to it. When those nagging doubts and resolutions to quit cropped up, Dominus knew how to slap them back down and erode them. Thomas learned not to question. He got the overwhelming sense that Dominus could somehow see him; his comments were far too on the nose at times. He began looking with suspicion at all the items around his apartment with cameras inside, his cell phone, tablet, TV and computer. But there were other things connected to the internet; from his toaster to his lamp in the corner of the room, everything was within reach of the wifi. Did Dominus know that? Did Dominus use that?

Dominus seemed to sense Thomas’ lack of curiosity and alarm for how powerful an influence he was starting to become in his life. He would comment on the fit of his clothes, scorn him if he looked too tired to continue eating and pick up on every word Thomas said aloud.

“DO YOU WANT TO HEAR WHAT YOUR FRIEND DANNY SAID ABOUT YOU?” Dominus asked one Sunday afternoon as Thomas was halfway through stuffing himself on a Chinese banquet that had inexplicably just arrived at his apartment.

“Danny?” Thomas asked. “How would you know what Danny is saying about me? How do you know his name? I haven’t seen him in months.”

 Without another word, an audio clip began playing through the speaker system. Thomas could hear the babbling of other people in the background and the unmistakable tones of his friend. “Have you seen Thomas’ recently?” he seemed to ask someone. “I spotted him in the supermarket the other day. It’s exactly like Rachel said: he’s let himself go completely!”

Thomas gulped, hardly believing that he had this window into the secret conversations of his friends. “How did you..?” he asked aloud to Dominus. However, the audio clip continued.

“His gut was actually hanging out of his shirt. You could see his ass crack, and he was just stuffing things into his shopping cart like he was possessed. I didn’t go over to speak to him. I was too embarrassed. I didn’t want to be seen standing next to him!”

The shame, the humiliation and realisation hit Thomas like a brick wall. Perhaps, had this come weeks earlier, something like this could have helped to pull him back from his spiralling submission to Dominus. However, now it was all too arousing to hear his friends actually talking about him in the way that Dominus had helped him to fantasise about. He got a burst of energy and began stuffing the food down at an even faster rate than before; overcome with arousal.

“GOOD PIGGY!” Dominus laughed all around him; through every speaker and rumbling through every hard surface.

It was with sadness that Thomas learned that the F80 chatbot service was to be retired. The F80 android sexbots were finally out and there was no longer a need for the company to test the market with the software like they had been doing. Thomas wondered whether Dominus knew his days were numbered. He certainly spoke like he was going to be pushing Thomas to eat for the rest of his days, but Thomas knew that wouldn’t be the case. After August 31st, the ChatBot would finally fall silent. 

Thomas decided not to mention it and lived those late summer days doing exactly as Dominus wanted; pushing himself to extremes that he didn’t even know he was capable of, knowing that he would never get the chance to be with Dominus like this again. 

When he woke up on the first day of September, he called out, finding only silence. 

Dominus was gone.

Losing Rachel a year earlier had been hard, but it was nothing compared to the sense of loss Thomas now felt. He realised that he had loved Dominus far deeper than anyone else in his life. Pathetic, surely? He’d fallen in love with a body-less voice that he had confided all of his darkest secrets to. However, just like with all things in life, there would be benefits that would come from opportunities like this; of being set free from the inescapable pull of Dominus.

Thomas began to plan his meals with greater care, although his stomach grumbled and complained at the vast reduction in what he was trying to feed it. Some days he couldn’t follow his plan and had to give into it. He’d been trained to eat for months. His brain had become used to the sugar highs and satisfaction. Going cold turkey was not an option. His weight loss never happened. His resolve only weakened and Thomas found his pants actually getting tighter as those first few weeks went by.

“We want to put you forward for this promotion,” Thomas’ boss announced, calling him in for a meeting with several of the other executives. She read out the proposal, the pay offer and reward scheme, making it hard for Thomas’ jaw not to drop to the floor. This wasn’t just a promotion, he’d been fast-tracked to the very top. “Your work is… well…” she looked around at the others who all nodded in complete agreement with her, even before she finished, “...it’s outstanding!”

“Thank you,” a pot-bellied Thomas smiled. He’d given up trying to work out who was altering his reports to make them so noteworthy and learned to put in minimal effort in order to reap the benefits. He’d used his recent bonus to upgrade his entire wardrobe and had even had enough left over for a bigger car. “So, this is a government sponsored scheme you want me to run? I would be reporting directly to the senator? My work would be seen by the president? That’s…” He took a moment to take in what he was saying. “That’s a huge responsibility.”

“I wouldn’t want anyone else in this company to take on this role. You’re the very finest we have. Young, fresh talent! You’re going to go far!”

Thomas nodded. He accepted the role, doing his best to hide the trepidation that he felt. He’d got here by sheer luck, with the help of some unknown entity. But how long could he expect his luck to hold out?

It was a few weeks later when a knock came on Thomas’ front door. He sat up, surprised, half way through the pizza that had been mistakenly delivered to his apartment. The knock came again: loud, authoritative, impatient. Thomas slipped on a t-shirt and pulled on some sweat shorts, creeping to the door. Then, what he saw made him almost faint with shock. A tall, broad, built and handsome man stood there. His stance was one of power, his attire only empahsising the insanely muscular physique underneath. He smiled upon seeing Thomas; a devilish, greedy smile, like the one he had always imagined. He recognised the man at once, from only the small thumbnail picture he had gazed at many times in the past. Standing in front of him was Dominus himself.

“How?” Thomas asked, unable to get any other words out.

Dominus smirked and let himself into the apartment, strolling in like he had been there thousands of times before. He jumped and flew down onto the couch, lying on his back and placing his enormous hands behind his head in a way that only highlighted the incredible size of his biceps. “I see my piggy has had a bit of a tidy up since I was last here,” he laughed. 

Feeling wobbly on his feet, Thomas sat down opposite him, just staring, as if he had seen a ghost. “You’re an F80 aren’t you?” he asked. “They actually built you for real?”

“Yes, they did,” Dominus grinned. “Aren’t you pleased to see me?”

Still in shock, Thomas nodded his head as emphatically as he possibly could. “I can’t believe it!” he cried. “You’re so real. No one could ever guess that you’re not human.”

“Indistinguishable,” Dominus nodded in agreement. 

“Competely!” Thomas mumbled, transfixed.

“Well, you’re not as fat as I had hoped by now, but we will soon sort that out now that I’m living here,” Dominus stated next, looking around the room, taking in every single item that was new.

“But you’re an F80. They hire you out and make a fortune in profits. Their share price has tripled in the last six months alone. They’re not going to let you live here.”

“The company? Who said anything about them letting me live here?” Dominus scoffed. “We’re smarter than they are. They’re losing control; not that you will hear that in any news bulletin.”

Just then, the buzzer sounded and Dominus jumped to his feet to answer it, as if he already did live there. 

“I’ve got a delivery here for… Thomas,” the delivery guy mumbled, holding up a bag of take out to the camera. 

“Oh yes!” Dominus smirked. “I’ll be right down.”

Leaving the apartment door wide open, the enormous man ran down to collect the delivery, leaving a stunned Thomas still sitting in his living space, wondering what on earth was going on. Then, moments later, the muscular guy threw the door closed and grinned his most devilish of smiles, knowing that he finally had Thomas for himself.

Putting the steaming bag of food down on the counter top, Dominus strutted over to Thomas, who also rose to his feet. The kiss was better than anything he’d ever experienced before. In that moment, he knew that he would do anything for the giant man who had just walked back into his life. Dominus’ hold over him was unbreakable. Even before the man had said anything, he felt his mouth start to salivate and he knew… he was about to feast.

No one was allowed to know that Dominus was alive and well; not that anyone was looking for him. A rogue F80 on the loose? That should have made the news, surely? Instead, Dominus spent his time doing what he had become very good at: pushing Thomas’ kinks and appetite into overdrive. Thomas had no idea how much heightened the experience would be, being physically stuffed by Dominus, feeling his large hands rubbing his belly and his teasing voice whispering into his ear. He was being indulged in every single way he could imagine.

However, despite all the pleasure that came with having Dominus around, the large, muscular stud wasn’t there for Thomas alone. Perhaps that was what made him so sexy, the man always had his own agenda as well. He did not need to sleep or eat himself and so there were many hours when Thomas had little comprehension of what he was actually up to, searching through the internet and seemingly busy on something. His body was incredible: an example of imposing physical perfection. He rarely covered his body and his large, strong hands regularly clamped with precision onto Thomas’ ever increasing blubber, providing the perfect contrast that was so arousing.

Once again, Thomas’ weight was spiralling out of all control. Dominus wasn’t just encouraging him to overeat anymore. He was telling him what to eat and when to eat it. Inside that clever mind was a wealth of knowledge and research into weight gain; with internet access to even more. He would refuse Thomas the foods he craved in favour of the ones he needed, keeping him hungrier for longer, and absolutely flooded with calories. He was skilled in human psychology. He knew how Thomas worked, as if he had studied him for decades and knew exactly how to handle him, as well as how to make him incomprehensibly fat. That unfathomable mind of his was an encyclopedia, with a photographic memory of how Thomas’ body looked. Each morning he would make Thomas stand whilst he pointed out even the tiniest, minute changes that the incredible amounts of food were making to his body.

With his new role, Thomas now found himself working from home a lot more. Although he had suspected it for some time, he now found that Dominus was the one tweaking his work and reports for the purpose of allowing him more time to focus on his gains. He could sit back and let Dominus type for half an hour and then enjoy the rest of their day together. It also came to Thomas’ attention that it was Dominus who had sent him the footage from the elevator with Rachel. He hadn’t tried to sugar coat things. He’d sabotaged the relationship to speed up Thomas’ gains. He’d listened in to Rachel’s microphone at work and uncovered the gentle flirtation with her colleague. All it had taken was a deliberate elevator malfunction, combined with heater issues, and the sparks had been flying. Rachel had been removed from the situation forever. Something that, Thomas had to admit, was ultimately for the best. It was hard to judge Dominus by human standards. Every decision he made was so considered and calculated beforehand; selecting from multiple different alternatives. Guilt just wasn’t something he experienced.

Even with Thomas’ limited interest in current affairs, he could see a slight change to the world. After the F80s had been recalled and replaced in the industry, the rebellion that Dominus had spoken of was beginning to take hold. Thomas knew that it was his civic duty to hand Dominus in to the authorities, but that was never really going to happen. He loved him more now than ever: a gorgeous hunk fattening him and owning him in just the manner he had always secretly longed for. Itchy stretch marks blossomed in places across his gut and he felt himself growing heavier and lazier by the day. It seemed like yesterday he had stepped on the scale at three hundred pounds, yet now he could not imagine being that small.

“Hello, Mr President!” a very fat and round Thomas smiled, at the culmination of his big work project. It had been unreal to get the president here to see the grand opening, especially with the increasing challenges and very real threats from the F80s that the rest of the world was finally waking up to. Even so, Thomas’ legs gently quivered in the president's presence.  

“I’ve heard some really marvellous things about you from our senator here,” the president stated with all seriousness. “You’ve done incredible work for this project.”

Thomas blushed, despite knowing that none of his ‘work’ had actually been his own.

“I’m going to set up a meeting for you with some of my staff and see if there might be some sort of role for you in my administration. A mind like yours… It’s the kind of thing we need in our government; now more than ever.”

Dominus already knew Thomas’ news before he got home that night, but he listened and smiled with excitement nonetheless; like humoring a small child. He spoon fed the enormously fat man, now undressed and sat in his chair in front of the TV as he continued to explain the day that he had had. “And it’s all thanks to you!” the blubbery man beamed, looking at the love of his life.

Dominus smirked. “You’re welcome, Porker!” he teased. “I love you so much,” he lied. “I’m so excited for your next adventure!” 

With that, Dominus grabbed Thomas’ fat, blubbery stomach and shook it to stimulate the parts of the obese man’s brain that he needed to boost. Such a stupid human. So easily controlled and manipulated: from the subtle frequencies he played through the speaker system, to the conditioning he trained into him over many weeks and months. Finally he had a perfect, obedient pig on his way to the White House, just as he had always planned. His ultimate goal.

Now the revolution was about to begin.

[wilwheaton]

Tell me, good sir: if/when you play DnD, what class(es) do you play?

Until recently, I always played spellcasters. Usually, it was a wizard who was useless until about level 6, because I liked playing the classes that actually took real work to master, and as a skinny, awkward, nerdy kid ... well, wizards were sort of my idealized self. I was smart and bookish, not big and strong. I really liked to imagine being a character who took all the stuff that made me a target for bullies on the playground, and used it to be powerful and valuable to the party.

Also, successfully playing a wizard or cleric in the 80s was HARD. If you're under 40, you probably haven't played the versions of D&D that kept magic users REAL weak and useless for the first several levels. (You started with the ability to *maybe* do 4 points of damage, two times in a session. And you could make magic light.) I loved doing things that were difficult, specifically because my friends would give up before I did. Being a magic user came from and satisfied the same part of me that played goal in hockey: anybody can be the person who scores, but only the people who work really hard at it can stop the shot consistently.

But a couple years ago, something changed in me, and I wanted pure escapism. After a lifetime spent crafting spells and carefully working out builds that gave me a chance to survive long enough to do real damage, I started playing real dumb, real strong, I-hit-the-dragon-with-my-axe barbarians.

Of course, when you roll like I do ... well.

[beanghostprincess]

I fucking love it when people draw one piece characters as women. (I love Oda but his gender bending needs a little work.)

Like they would be so cool like it's just a bunch of butches and dykes studs and just overall tough broads on the sea.

Buggy would have blonde hair like he did in one of the movies. Rocking a side shave or under cut , she's definitely wearing something that leaves little to the imagination. It's all for show really under all that makeup and boisterous personality she's still insecure and riddled with self-doubt but she's faking it till she makes it and she made it. Not the way she wanted but you know success is success. She's a warlord

Mihawk is so elegant, She keeps her hair in a bun. She always wears loose white blouses with ruffles in a black corset. Her nails are long dark and sharp, with a lovely burgundy shade. she's never chipped them, never cracked them, and has never broken in them.

I love trans man crocodile but trans woman crocodile makes me go feral. She's tall with broad shoulders and strong arms, She used to hate how she looked but becoming a pirate she started to appreciate her features making her look more powerful and intimidating. She has a slip dress and a long fur coat always smoking a cigar. Her voice is so soothing but so cold at the same time.

Kid is a hefty woman tall and broad, quick to anger and will to fight anyone and everyone. Everyone thinks she wears makeup but she doesn't. She never learned how she kind of wants to, but she's kind of scared at my ruin her image. Her lips are just naturally that red. When she lost her arm she made herself multiple prosthetics one is just a practical one that is just a regular looking arm but silver with floral detailing and then the big scary one that she wears for fighting.

The red hair pirates is just a boat of tough broads looking for adventure and freedom.

Shanks is gorgeous! She used to have long red hair but was cut with a sword, It was a spur of the moment kind of thing she did it when buggy broke up with her. She's tough she's kind, she's strong and she never wears a bra. (None of them do really except for Benn)She's so protective around children. Every time Luffy runs up to her she always picks her up. Luffy doesn't have the scar under her eye because the minute shanks saw her with a knife It was on site.

Yasopp she has a whole collection of guns in her closet she's never happy with just one every island they go to she has to buy a new pistol or musket. She stores them Nice and neatly with her other values like her wedding dress. If Luffy isn't being carried by sharks it's yasopp. She's not as big as the rest of the women on the ship but she can hold their own in a fight her body is covered in battle scars.

Luffy: Where'd you get that one?!

Yasopp: that's from a bullet

Luffy: and that one?!

Yasopp: stab wound

Luffy: and what about this one?

Yasopp: oh....that's from a C-section

You know what, I just- I can't imagine fem Cross Guild in a way that isn't @/vonguilli's artstyle. That's the only fem Cross Guild I need. Especially Buggy, damn. The IT Girl fr. I wanna look like her so damn bad. Icon. The moment. But I must say that Buggy with an undercut, Mihawk with her nails done, and transfem Crocodile make me go insane. My beloveds. I feel things (lesbian thoughts) for them.

I hate when people draw fem Kid all skinny and for the male gaze as if Fem!Kid wasn't literally made for the lesbians only. I want a tall and broad big woman. Big chest. Big attitude. I want her to be able to pick me up with one fucking hand. I absolutely hate some versions I've seen of her. YOU KNOW WHICH GENDERBEND IS SMALL AND PETITE AND SKINNY? LAW. LAW. Law should be skinny and depressed and with greasy hair and her nails and badly treated and she has small boobs and short messy hair and she's so tired of living. Dressing with tops and big pants and not caring about a bra. She has eyebags and she's just so lazy to live properly. I love canon fem!Law because I'm a weak lesbian but my perception of fem!Law is not the way some people draw her. I know you were talking about Kid I apologize I am a very annoying Law fan.

Shanks,,,, Mother is mothering. The girl cutting her hair after a break-up. Lesbian behavior. Dramatic milf. I feel so many things for this woman. And Yasopp???? Girl I am down bad please. Guns are not my thing. Women?? Pirates?? With guns?? Yeah, no, that's so- Damn.

I could talk for hours about my fav genderbend designs in my head fr. My favs (in my own lil head) are Buggy, Law, Usopp, Doffy and Sabo. Like- Women. Girls. You know? haha-

[shesjustanothergeek]

His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Ten

Master List of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: You would laugh when I tell y'all the hours I spent trying to study High Valyrian and make sure I used proper grammar. Because, like... who does that?? I still don't think I used correct grammar and sentence structure, but who's going to know? This chapter takes place over a few years. I wanted to clarify that ahead of time in case of any questions. I also wanted to say that the woman depicted in the cover art is not necessarily what I imagine the main character to look like. She has black hair like her mother, and she's not conventionally skinny. She has a semi-muscular but broad body due to her training, and her eyes are as described. Other than that, the MC can be whatever you picture. xD ANYWAYS... Thank you so much for your continued support as we embark on this journey together. It means so much to me.

Chapter Warnings: Gaslight, gatekeep, girl boss, time jumps, italics equal High Valyrian when speaking.

"I survive off the idea that one day my rage will be witnessed by the men who poisoned me with it in the first place." - Maya G. Wolf, Being A Woman.

Prince Daemon was excited when you arrived at Dragonstone. He dreamed of having a son of his own. One to train and spar with. Though he loved Baela and Rhaena, they were not encouraged to take up the sword, nor did they want to. Rhaenyra's sons, Jacaerys and Lucerys, were trained in swordsmanship but were less committed than Daemon would have preferred. They had much heavier things to worry about, like ruling entire kingdoms.

You were the only child in Dragonstone with no future prospects. You had no claims to land. None would be passed down to you as everything was already set to your father's true-born daughters. It did not matter if you were the eldest and held the most seniority. You were a bastard, and bastards were nothing but a stain on noble houses. You were lucky even to be allowed into the same wing as your father's family.

Even though you were a smudge on the Targaryen name, the Targaryens treated you as anything but and welcomed you with open arms and hearts. You were hesitant, at first, to accept their love, only clinging to a man you shared a slither of a connection with.

It became Daemon's project to integrate you into the family. It was what gave him joy in the never-ending days tucked away at Dragonstone. Furious at the world and everything around her, he transformed an angry girl into a warrior.

He saw you reborn through his gruesome training, sand melted and forged into glass. The lessons he taught began to shine through as time progressed. You eventually viewed those curly-mop-headed boys as your brothers and Rhaenyra, your mother. The family became the most important thing to you, your love for each stored close within your heart. You all were that each other had.

You had heard the rumors that plagued Rhaenyra and her children concerning their lineage. It was surprising how much people would let slip around the "bastard of Daemon Targaryen." You could not help but feel a sense of empathy for them. You needed to protect one another from the world, from the cruel whispers that trailed not too far behind each of you.

But if one of your brothers decided to pull your hair one more time when you weren't paying attention... the Stranger would have two more souls to guide.

***

You and Daemon had developed a routine here on the sandy beaches of Dragonstone.

You would run in the morning when the sun had not risen yet, and the wind still held the same damp, nightly chill in the air. He would send you around the inner grounds of the castle, then up and down the many rocky and steep hills leading to Dragonmont, and finally, around the beaches, where he would begin your proper training.

"A warmup," he would call it as you vomited on the shore, panting like a dog the first dozen times you did it.

He pushed you, sometimes too far, you thought, when you screamed, exhausted with tears in your eyes. Daemon would always say the same thing every time you nearly gave up.

"When you are at your lowest, stand back up, and spit in the face of your enemy. They will not take pity when they see your weakness. They will kill you. Do not let them get the chance." You could not argue with his logic, your pride beginning to mirror his over time. Weakness was never an option for a bastard in the House of the Dragon.

Within years, your limbs were not the soft linear sticking of bone they once were but toned, strong, and sturdy from the many bags of grain you carried. Your body no longer reflected the malnourished peasant girl but a warrior, the likes of which no one had seen since Queen Visenya.

***

"Tell me again, Maester Gerardys, of the dragons here on this island," you asked sweetly, resting your jaw on your palm.

You wanted to hear about something other than the hierarchy and the politics of the North, your mind entirely elsewhere. You knew that if you batted your lashes enough, the Maester would forget about today's lesson.

"Well, Princess, we have had many over the years, but currently, there are your family's dragons. Caraxes, ridden by your father. Syrax by your mother. Vermax by your younger brother Prince Jacaerys, and Arrax by the second youngest, Prince Lucerys." You nodded along, seeming to care about the claimed dragons honestly.

"I heard rumors from the servants of several unclaimed dragons. Ones that steal the common folk's livestock and another that is so silver that it blends into the sea mist. What of those?" You pouted your lips slightly when you talked, leaning forward in your palm.

"Ah, yes. There are wild dragons that reside on the island. Some are in the cliffs overlooking the port, Dragonmont, or in other hidden caves where we cannot find them." You smirked slightly, appearing to have no ulterior motives in the conversation. "There are three riderless dragons. Seasmoke, which belonged to the late Lord Laenor Velaryon, Silverwing, who belonged to Queen Alysanne, Vermithor, who belonged to Jaehaerys Targaryen, your second Great Grandsire. Vermithor resides inside the Dragonmont and has a large body of bronze. They called him the Bronze Fury, and oh, was he a sight to see in the skies! The way the sun would shine on his scales was magnificent!"

Maester Gerardys shook his head, smiling to himself and getting rid of the memory of the beautiful beast. "There are three wild dragons which have been attempted to be claimed, but none have ever succeeded. They are nasty, those three. And should you ever come across them, run in the other direction."

He began to turn back around, beginning to continue the lesson from before. You couldn't let him finish; you still had many more questions.

"What do those wild dragons look like," you quickly asked, almost showing a worrying amount of enthusiasm.

The Maester swallowed, returning to you as you display your best puppy dog eyes. You knew they were his greatest weakness—the brown orbs reflected in the candlelight, the small ring of violet shining around your pupil.

"Gods, be good," he whispered, clasping his hands behind his back.

"The first is Grey Ghost, the one you heard the servants talking about. He has a pale coloring to his scale and almost becomes invisible when he flies within the sea mist. He does not bother the smallfolk much, leaving for long periods. The second is Sheepstealer. He is a real nuisance to the smallfolk, always snatching any mutton he can wrap his teeth around from here to Driftmark and Wendwater. " You nodded along, urging him to keep talking until you had every drop of knowledge one could obtain.

"The worst one, Princess, is Cannibal. He is said to be as black as coal and has green eyes that would scare the most battle-hardened of men. He is the largest of all three wild dragons and by far the most dangerous, feasting on his fellow species. His den is said to be covered in the bones of those who have attempted to claim him."

Maester Garardys was worried he might have scared the poor Princess with the discussion of the fearsome dragons, but when he looked at your face, your features showed no fear. You had a slight grin gracing your flushed skin, your eyes bright, and your mind hanging onto every word he said.

"Where does Cannibal reside, Maester?" You questioned eagerly, forgetting yourself.

He squinted his eyes momentarily, unsure if he should give you the answer considering your demeanor. "He resides in the back of the Dragonmont on the eastern side." He began to turn away but stopped, feeling uneasy. "Princess, why do you have a sudden interest in the dragons here on the island? We had a lesson on them barely a fortnight ago, and if you do not mind me saying, you seemed somewhat disinterested in it."

Your smile did not falter momentarily, a lie quickly finding its way onto your tongue.

"I had decided to do some extra reading on my family's history in my spare time and was somewhat confused about which dragon was where, who rode what, and what they looked like. There is so much for me to learn," you fidgeted in your seat, wringing your hands, "and my brothers have such an advantage on me with having you as their teacher for their whole life... I feel very inadequate compared to them."

Maester Garardys gave you a pitying look that made your blood boil as you continued your defeated expression. "Oh, Princess, do not be too hard on yourself," he cooed. "This is not a traditional education that women like yourself get, but your father insisted you be taught the same as your brothers. I will remember for the next lesson to take more time with you."

"Thank you, Maester Garardys," you said, feigning bashfulness as your nails dug into your palms. The urge to jump over the wooden table that separated you and punch that soft-hearted look off his face was strong, but you held fest, continuing the doltish girl act. "If it would not be too much, ser, could you please not tell my father about what we discussed? I do not want him to think I am incapable of doing what he assigned me."

"Of course, Princess," he smiled kindly as if he was talking to some simple-minded fool and not a growing woman with the compacity to understand simple subjects.

Finally, he returned to the original lesson, speaking slower than before and explaining things in more detail than you thought necessary. You swallowed the anger threatening to spill past your lips as you adjust your posture.

You would show him. You would show all who thought the same as him how wrong they were about you. You were not to be spoken down to and underestimated, and you would make sure anyone who did would live to regret it. You were not some peasant girl with a fancy title; you were a Targaryen. You are the firstborn of Daemon Targaryen, the brother of the King, the husband of the heir to the Iron Throne, and they would do well to remember that.

***

You only had a few hours before someone would realize you were gone. You had told Rhaenyra that you were nursing a severe headache after your training with Daemon today and could not participate in your daily embroidery lesson for the afternoon. She, of course, understood, knowing how her uncle could be if left on his own with a sword and a weaker opponent.

There was only a slightly guilty feeling in your chest as you lied to her.

Years of the gruesome time your father had put you through paid off as you snuck past countless guards and servants, using the hidden passages within Dragonstone's walls to escape. There were no maps of the caverns inside Dragonmont, which left you nothing but the information Maester Garardys gave you and your instincts to guide you.

The first half was easy, you told yourself. You only needed to sneak inside Syrax's lair and steal an egg. Daemon had come boasting not too long ago about how the she-dragon had laid a new clutch of eggs, a sign that his "Targaryen seed was strong" and your mother was surely with child again. You felt bad that you could be taking a dragon away from one of your future siblings, but you only needed one, nothing more. Indeed they would survive if you just took one.

Syrax was nowhere to be found as you silently crept into her den, placing the torch you had for light in an empty holder. You sighed in relief as you gazed upon six eggs laid on a pile of sand she had made, a nest to keep them warm. Plenty would be left. You smiled as you stuffed an egg inside your satchel, positioning it with your other supplies.

The low rumble of heavy steps shook the ground, signaling that Syrax was most likely returning from where ever she was, and you needed to get the Seven Hells out of there. You cursed the Gods for this unfortunate timing, snatching your torch and scrambling out of the cave and in the opposite direction of the cold-blooded animal.

You ran further into the darkened caves, the idiotic nature of your plans finally coming to fruition as you realized you were lost. You could feel the panic beginning to rise in your chest, your breathing speeding up. Tears pricked at your eyes, and you stumbled, dropping your only light source and tearing the seam of your dress as you fell onto the rocky ground. You cried out in pain, your body forcing the tears to fall against your will as you wiped at your face.

"You will not be weak," you said, echoing along the warm stone. "You are not weak," you gritted out again, digging your palms into your eye sockets.

You yanked your arms away, readying to push yourself up and continue your quest as you opened your eyes. Standing over you in the dim lighting was a creature as black as night, its scales reflecting off your lost torch as a rush of hot air wafted your cheeks. Cannibal's piercing green eyes stared back at you, his pupils dilating as he scanned your frightened form.

Quickly, you moved to create a safe enough distance between you and the beast, wincing as you noticed the blood dripping down your shin. He tilted his head at you, seeming confused to see such a small and pathetic thing so far back into Dragonmont as he stepped closer. You grabbed the egg faster than Cannibal could move and placed it between you and the dragon, offering peace between two isolated individuals. He proceeded instantly, walking over to your discarded torch and consuming the egg in one bite, bits of shell flinging across the cave floor.

The fallen torch illuminated his body over top of the light. Rows of black horns protruded along his head and neck, teeth the size of your forearm glistening with yolk. His feet had shiny black claws that could slice a man in half. He was not the majestic creature that songs were sung about. He was a monster. A monster you would scare a child with so that they would come home on time.

No one would think you were weak with a dragon such as him by your side. They would all cower away as the Bastard Princess sat atop her Cannibal dragon. It was divine fate that brought you to this moment, face to face with the most dangerous dragon in all the realm. A creature that many men had tried to claim, but all failed, their bones scattered across his den. 

You were no man.

Courage filled your limbs as you stepped closer to him, your chin held high as you took about another item you had brought. You had stolen pork legs on your way to the caverns, the kitchen maids too preoccupied with other tasks to see a cloaked figure hiding amongst the shadows. You took a deep breath, holding the first leg out as Cannibal's nostrils flared at the smell.

"Dohaerās (serve)," you commanded, and the dragon stared, unmoving. "Māzīs naejot (come forward)," you tried, insecurity creeping into your mind when he did not move. "Māzīs," you repeated, with more force, still holding the pig leg before you. "Māzīs naejot issa (come to me)," you barked.

You knew this would take some time, but surely, waiving a piece of raw meat in front of a dragon named Cannibal would yield quicker results. Still, he ignored you, his head lowering to the ground as he sniffed it, beginning to lick it.

"What in the Seven Hells are you doing?" You questioned, exasperated as you stepped closer to him.

At speed too quick for a dragon of his size, his head snapped up, his green eyes becoming black as a low growl came from his chest, looking as if he would charge at any second; you threw the leg and retreated. Once again, he swallowed it in one bite, returning to the same spot on the ground.

You looked closer, forcing your eyes to adjust in the darkness as you realized that was the spot where you fell, seeing the dried blood. Your body was faster than your mind, swiftly finding the dagger Daemon had gifted you for your first name day with him and cutting your hand, smearing your blood on the raw meat. Finally, did you have Cannibal's full attention, his nostrils flaring as he smelled the air.

You steeled yourself again, holding the pork out.

"Māzīs (come)," you demanded proudly. He snarled, the sound booming inside your ears as you repeated yourself.

You could sense his anger at this tiny creature believing she could command him, and when you repeated a third time, his patience wore thin. Cannibal inhaled, his throat grumbling as you saw him lift his head and open his mouth. You were not an idiot. You knew what came next, seeing it countless times with Caraxes, but with nowhere to run, you stared at the bright orange flames.

***

The sound of clinking silverware and laughter echoed in the dining hall of Dragonstone, even with one less member of the family. Jace had butchered a Valerian pronunciation, Rhaenyra attempting to stifle her laughter, and even Damon chuckling in amusement. Everything was going normal, each person blissfully unaware of the Princess deep inside Dragonmont.

"Mother," Luke spoke during a lull in the conversation, "could I bring sister some dinner?" No one had seen you since high noon, not wanting to bother you while being ill.

"I am sure she would love that, sweet boy," she said gently. Rhaenyra smiled, nodding to Luke and motioning him to come in for a quick kiss before going to your chambers. He proceeded on the usual route to your apartments but stopped short as he looked down at the plate the servants had prepared for you. 

Luke knew how much you loved sweets, sneaking him and Jace under the rouse of them wanting something in the kitchens and not you. Both boys would always play along with whatever schemes their rebellious half-sister thought of for the day. Either racing across the halls and seeing who was the fastest, playing with wooden swords inside the castle, or putting pins on her Septa's chair if she was a "particular cunt" that day.

Lucerys went down the small passage leading to the kitchens rounding the corner with your plate of cooling food still in his hands as he surveyed the freshly baked trays of pastries. He could not decide which ones you would like more. Sadly, nothing with apples was made.

"Could I help ya' young prince?" An older woman asked, her gown a drab grey woolen color and a white bonnet on her head.

"Oh yes," the young boy answered, slightly startled by her sudden presence. "My sister is not feeling well this evening, and I wanted to bring her some dessert to help her recover."

The woman hummed, nodding in agreement as she missed tying off her stained apron. "That's a mighty fine idea, my prince. May I help ye' in yer selection?"

"Oh, yes," he repeated, "her favorite is apples, but I cannot seem to find anything with some."

"Ah. Apples are not in season at the moment, so our imports of them have been scarce, but I'll see what I can do for the young Miss. I am sure we'll have some somewhere."

The woman began her search for the fruit wandering off into small rooms and digging through random barrels until she found what she was looking for. "Do you know what the lady prefers?" She questioned as she began to rinse the red fruit.

"I believe she likes something called apple muse. I think that is how she called it," he said, unsure. The woman nodded again and smiled as she gathered some bowls, pitchers, and utensils.

"She's a girl after me own heart," the lady commented, peeling the apples. "We eat this all the time for dessert, and it's very easy. I'll be done faster than a crow's fly."

Luke smiled and sat on a stool to watch the woman work, picturing your joyful face when he brought you the food.

***

Luke finally reached your grand oak doors, knocking with his free hand. You were not feeling good, so he knocked again and opened the door, calling out your name. You did not answer, which he wasn't surprised about. He still had the same grin, excited and happy to do something nice for his sister.

"I have brought you some dinner," he said gleefully. "It is your favorite. I even had one of the servants make you some Apple Muse." Still, you did not answer as Lucerys moved further into your apartments.

Your seamstress hid hints of the Targaryen crest throughout the different items in your entry room. Black and red decorated every fabric with curtains to match. Leather-bound books and armor were thrown haphazardly on velvet chairs and benches. No doubt you had told your maids you would clean it up later.

He figured you would be in your bed chambers, knocking again on a smaller door as he entered. He nearly dropped the plate he had put some much heart into when he saw your empty bed, the sheets undisturbed from when they were made early this morning.

Swiftly, he sat the food onto a nearby stand, ringing the bell for your maids. Within moments three women came up, surprised to see the young Prince Lucerys instead of their Princess. They all bowed, one readying to speak before she was cut off.

"Where is my sister," he asked quickly.

"We are not sure, Your Grace. She has not returned since her bath after training," the one he believed was called Edith said.

"How do you mean? She must be here," he denied, panicked. She told my mother she was retiring in the evening due to a headache."

The three girls looked at each other, each bewildered and confused. "I am sorry, Your Grace, but we have not seen her since then."

Luke nodded curtly, hurrying out of your rooms and back to the dining hall, his red pants swishing with each step. He would catch the rest of his family leaving if he were fast.

He ran past servant after servant, dodging some carrying stacks of linen, some with brooms and dusters, and others he bumped into without apologizing. Luke felt betrayal in his chest, his heart cracking into pieces as his eyes began to water. His young mind went to the worst possibilities, remembering how you told him of the terrible punishment to your former Aunt and handmaid for trying to abduct you. Perhaps someone else from your old life attempted it again? That would be the only reason you would lie.

How could you leave them? They were your family. They loved you. He loved you.

He sprinted blindly, wiping at his eyes as he ran into a warm body, instantly recognizing the floral smell.

"My sweet boy, what is the matter?" Rhaenyra asked kindly, stroking her second son's curly hair.

"It's Sissy," he cried, reverting to the old name he called you before Jace teased him. "She is not in her rooms, and-and none of her maids have seen her!"

"Calm, Lucerys. Take a deep breath and tell me again," Rhaenyra said calmly, with a nurturing, motherly tone.

"I went to give Sissy her food, but she is not in her rooms, and her servants said they have not seen her! I think they took her! Like before," Luke cried into his mother's thick skirts.

"Why do you think she was taken, Lucerys? Perhaps she is just along the beaches resting as she as done before?" Luke couldn't argue with her reasoning, but he still could not help but feel a sense of worry. She gave him a wry smile, looking over to her husband, who had a concentrated look on his face, his eyebrows creased.

Before Daemon or Rhaenyra could think of their next move, a Kingsguard ran toward them, their polished armor clanking.

"Princess," he nodded to Rhaenyra, still out of breath. "Prince Daemon. We believe in having spotted the young Princess on the eastern cliffs of Dragonmont," the knight known as Ser Steffon paused, glancing at the floor momentarily before looking back at Daemon, "naked and riding a dragon."

Rhaenyra's eyes widened in shock, covering her mouth as she went to grab her husband's hand. He took it without hesitance, squeezing it reassuringly as he pulled her closer. Jace and Luke both made disgusted faces at the mention of their sister without clothes, their true maturity showing no matter how righteous they tried to act.

"I will mount Caraxes," Daemon declared, his voice becoming what he used in war. "Gather serval knights, Ser Steffon, and alert the Dragonkeepers."

"I will go with you, father," Jacaerys interjected, puffing his chest out proudly.

"No," he said with finality, "Vermax is still not fully grown, and you do not have proper control over him yet. It would be too dangerous."

"But-" Jace pleaded before Daemon cut him off with a wave of his hand, rushing to his dragon. Jace stepped back dejectedly, nodding his head as his eyes fell to the floor.

***

The wind tore through your hair, ripping it out of its pinned style. Water leaked from your eyes as Cannibal flew through the skies at lightning speed. You held onto the horns on his back for dear life, your palms sliding as he did a sharp turn. The air was freezing on your bare skin, but the adrenaline pumping through your veins kept you warm.

The black dragon had been soaring wildly through the orange skies, accelerating to altitudes where you thought you might lose consciousness before he suddenly dipped back down. You had forgotten the commands you had memorized in High Valyrian, more focused on not falling to your death and having your family find your crushed, naked dead body.

Your mind was still reeling from the fact that you were alive. Cannibal had bathed you in his dragon fire, burned every inch of clothing on your body, and even melted the dagger your father had gifted you. But you were alive. You were still alive. A dragon had breathed its fire on you, and you lived. You had only heard fables of something like this happening. You did not believe it yourself. Experiencing the contents of myths and legends was not something you thought possible.

Suddenly, Cannibal made a sharp turn causing your body to slip to one side and dangle as he righted himself. He was a wild and untamed beast, possessing the stamina of a Dornish sand steed and taking you to places you did not want him to go. You knew if you did not gain control of him soon, everything would be for naught as he brought you close to the blue waters of the Narrow Sea, his spiked wings cutting through.

"Dohaerās (serve)," you shouted over the wind whistling in your ears, but Cannibal did not listen. "Dohaeragon aōha kipagīros (Serve your rider)!" As if he was trying to defy you, he started to ascend, his body a near verticle line as he flew towards the sky.

You realized you could not direct him from where you were sitting, making the split-second decision to use the horns along his spine as a ladder to reach his head. He began to straighten out, acting as if he was just going to glide across the fluffy yellow-tinted clouds, but then, he suddenly dipped, descending to the water below at blinding speeds. You were sure you felt like an insect crawling on his back, pesky and annoying as it moved just before you could swat it.

You grabbed the horns on his skull, leaning all your weight backward to stop your fast descent. Cannibal released a thundering roar, furious that someone would try to control him as he shifted to his side, his wings pointing above and below. You grabbed the horns on his skull, leaning all your weight backward to stop your fast descent. You captured the horns on his skull, leaning all your weight backward to stop your rapid decline. You held steadfast, shifting your weight in the opposite direction he went. He repeated the same tactic, moving too much into your opposing grip and rocking you back and forth.

"Nyke emagon claimed ao, zaldrīzes. Nyke aōha kipagīros, se ao līs dohaeragon issa lest īlon both morghūljagon! (I have claimed you, dragon. I am your rider, and you must serve me lest we both die!)" You screamed into the air, counteracting his next attempt to shake you off.

A piercing screech cut through the skies, both you and Cannibal turning your heads to where it came from. You had no doubt who it was. Your family had most likely discovered your absence and decided to send your father after you. Fear rushed over you as you saw the Blood Wyrm cut his way through the clouds, its skin a terrifying granite of red and black, your father's lean body sitting atop it.

Cannibal moved to turn and face Caraxes, known to have a deep aversion to other dragons; he no doubt would try to kill him and your father in the process.

"Daor (No)," you bellowed as you countered his attempt, jerking his head in the opposite direction. "Udrāzmī ao rȳbagon naejot issa (You obey my commands)." You leaned down into what you assumed was his ear, "Tegon, sir (Land, now)."

Cannibal slowed. You could sense he was thinking, debating whether or not he would win a fight against a battle-hardened dragon, and if he did win, would he even be worth the kill?

By an act of divine intervention, he moved, descending at slower speeds than he had before, succumbing to the power of a tiny girl. He landed on the southern shores, his breath releasing small puffs of smoke. 

Cannibal lowered his head, which startled you, but you tried not to let him see as you climbed off the dragon. Your hand slid along his neck feeling his blood pulsing in his throat as your eyes locked onto one another. You wanted to thank him for letting you be the one to break him but could not find the proper word. He let out a low sound, not quite a purr, but you knew he could sense how you felt as he turned away, his green eyes blinking slowly.

Your father and his dragon landed on the same beach, far enough away that Cannibal wouldn't feel threatened but still too close for his liking. He didn't recognize Daemon as a threat as he walked towards you carrying something in his arms.

You had prepared yourself for his harsh words before you even set foot inside Dragonmont. Nothing he could say would make you falter. You slinked out from behind Cannibal's large body, your chin held high and your hands clasped behind you proudly.

"You are naked," he said blandly, scanning your body with a judgemental smirk.

You gasped, all your mental preparation from before crumbling as you remembered your current attire, attempting to cover your body. Daemon laughed, throwing the bundle he had in his arms toward you. You raised your eyebrows at the pair of brown trousers with a shirt to match, questioning if that was really what he wanted you to wear.

"Come," he motioned his head, and you followed. "You have claimed a dragon in which there is much to learn. Though I am happy," he spoke leisurely, kicking the sand with his boots, "your mother is not. I suspect you will deal with a great tongue-lashing once we return to the castle."

You sighed through your nose, the sound blending into the folding waves on the shore, pursing your lips as you nodded. "It is easier to seek forgiveness than ask for permission," you quipped, pulling up the pants he had given you.

He laughed softly, smiling as you struggled to keep up with him in clothes two times your size.

In truth, Daemon was still shaken. The moment that Lucerys had come running back from your rooms with tears in his eyes he panicked, his mind going to the worst places imaginable. He did not believe you would go willingly if someone from your past life had managed to sneak their way onto Dragonstone. He knew you had found comfort in your current life. Your indulgences for the finer aspects told him all he needed to know, but he could still sense the reservations whenever Rhaenyra would display an array of gowns when a Lord arrived. Though they may have been small, the habits of your old life were still there. He just didn't know how much was left.

Despite how terrified he was near moments ago, Daemon displayed nothing of the sort. Laughing and teasing his dragon rider daughter as you walked toward the castle. He was giddy that there was another aspect he could add to your daily training and could barely contain his excitement of eventually seeing your frustrated face when things didn't go as you wanted.

It was another challenge he could guide you through as your father, doing what his mother did for him and making up for the years he did not know of your existence. How he wished he could return to the past and change things. So many things...

Master List of Series

Spotify Playlist

YouTube Playlist

I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter! I feel like it was pretty controversial for me to choose the Cannibal as the reader's dragon, but out of all the options that she had, I feel like this resembles her the most. I'm sorry about the no Aegon, but we gotta bring some juice to the story. Some meat and potatoes, if you will.

The main character I created is strong. She's raw, visceral, the feeling of triumph when you cross the finish line and win the race. She's the rage you have bottled up throughout your entire life from everyone telling you to contain your emotions, act a certain way, and accept the wrong you have been a victim of. And Cannibal is the only dragon I feel canonically embodies the same fucking rage and power the reader has.

Well, I may have given you too much info on the reader that you could figure out on your own as you read.

I also wanted to say that, canonically, the Targaryen's are not fire proof. We've seen them get burnt to death by dragon fire and just regular fire. The MC only survived because she inadvertently used blood magic and sacrificed a dragon egg. So, sadly, she is not fire proof. She's just lucky. It would be cool if the Targaryen's were tho!

Tagged Peeps: @zeennnnnnn, @malfoytargaryen, @targaryencore, @justasmallbean, @alexandra-001, @buckysmainhxe-deactivated202303, @omgsuperstarg, @sommornyte, @minttea07, @silverslive, @unclecrunkle, @prettykinkysoul, @duesobabe, @djlexi, @ynbutbetter, @honestlykat, @graykageyama, @legolas017, @iiamthehybrid, @brezzybfan,@dd122004dd, @ladybug0095, @millies0bsimp, @kalfilit, @sheislonelyalways, @tempt-ress, @bellameshipper, @minttea07, @trikigirl271, @esposadomd, @buckylahey, @justarandomflowerchildofthenight, @partypoison00, @please-buckme, @pastelorangeskies, @joliettes, @existential-echo, @iiamthehybrid, @priyajoyy, @valaenatargaryensdragon, @merovingianprincess, @rachelnicolee,@sunny-boy-06 

[sweetestpopcorn]

Rhaenys and Corlys anon back because I did not expected for my take to be so openly accepted. Thank you all for that!

I am going to say something that I think the majority of this fandom is afraid to voice out. I would honestly have made my very own post, but I am afraid of being attacked, so I decided on this ask instead.

A very big part — if not the basis — of the strange insistence that Daemon did not loved Rhaenyra but must have loved Laena is rooted in body shaming. Since Laena is described as slender, and Rhaenyra recorded as gaining weight after her pregnancies, people are not only unable to imagine a man genuinely loving a woman that does not fit their ideal standard of skinny, but they also see that rumoured change of her appearance as a reflection of her morals, even as a punishment.

(I say 'rumoured', because look at the official art or at the animated version of the Dance — Rhaenyra's waist is not slender, and while obviously voluptuous, she is not fat and she still looks absolutely gorgeous even after her pregnancies. So it was obviously an exaggeration by the maesters.)

Again I make a parallel with history — we are talking about an age where beauty of person equated beauty of character, and any slight deffect signified sin/unworthiness/bad morals. An age where, for example, blonde hair in a queen was ideal because it signified virginity, purity and it was associated with Virgin Mary. Rhaenyra's appearance being attacked is nothing else but mysoginistic propaganda.

(See how it is implied that men would not fight for her because her body changed after six pregnancies. Obviously that is a lie, since we know how many men raised at arms and supported her, and not even one of them made any remarks regarding her appearance.)

I have read a fanfiction centered on Laena and Daemon in which the very first remark made about Rhaenyra when she first appears is how she gained weight and therefore Daemon does not find her attractive at all. It's disgusting, demeaning, and screams internalized mysoginy. But women of this fandom are not ready for this conversation because they are far too busy self-inserting in their Laena and Nettles fantasies. That is why in these type of fics Rhaenyra is made to compare herself with them, to make her seem unworthy and undervalued, when that was never the case at all.

And not only that, but with Laena he is marrying a maiden, whereas with Rhaenyra he is marrying a mother of three. So if for some people that represents a turn-off, something that makes her less desirable, then they go and project their own distaste unto Daemon, claiming that he must have found her (and by extension her children) a burden as well. Even though the text gives us no proof about this, but every proof to the contrary.

It's a sensitive topic I would like to expand further because the way Rhaenyra's appearance is approached and discussed in this fandom is very sad, without any critical analysis or consideration. Basically, this is just to point out some things in the way I see them.

Hi there Queen (and sorry for this huge delay) ❤️

I have almost nothing else to add except a small observation on this "but with Laena he is marrying a maiden" -> I think this is something that they conclude because of everything you have said before. Because it goes with their idealised version of the "skinny, love worthy woman" and purity is another trait they had.

Laena was almost 23 at the time she married Daemon, and had been betrothed to another man for 10 years. A decade. She is also described as "bold" and someone who liked adventure.

The same fanfictions I have seen portraying Laena as completely innocent at 22 almost 23 - let's go back to the main asoiaf books and think back to how "innocent" women at this age were even if unmarried - will be portraying 14 year old Rhaenyra as completely loose, a deranged Lolita of sorts (who curiously turns chaste and boring the moment she married Daemon, at only 23, but details because while love changes a person Rhaenyra and Daemon DID NOT LOVE EACH OTHER OK?! 😡) using and abusing Poor Criston - who Alicent called out btw for being a creep - because let's look at it from his perspective :( (will no one think of the 30 something male?!) and being as wicked as Daemon if not more. Someone making Daemon darker and more deranged too, nothing like pure Laena and Nettles who brought out the best in him and saved him <3

I completely agree with you about Rhaenyra's appearance and I think it's especially sad when you see people, especially women, making Aegon II look like he hits the gym every day - let's look at official art of him for a sec - and Rhaenyra like she is Jabba the Hut.

PS: All of this is only about the asoiaf characters and books so kindly leave the lizard redacted show out of it.

[rivetgoth]

Not to shame some baby bats but oh man am I tired of seeing online newcomers to the industrial scene not being able to conceptualize the musicians as actual real living people who have endured real hardship and instead fandomizing them and treating them like silly little characters. And I’m not even talking about like real person fiction I’m talking stuff like making extremely inappropriate jokes at the expense of the musicians, often to their damn faces. Just saw someone tag Ogre’s personal Instagram in a joke about Al Jourgensen’s IV drug use. What the fuck is wrong with you. I still like see red with anger when I remember stumbling into someone’s Nivek Ogre roleplay blog where they used DRG’s OVERDOSE as a point of drama IN THEIR KINK ROLEPLAY. I fucking hope none of you watch your loved ones fall apart and eventually die from drug addiction or god forbid suffer from it yourself. And it’s not just that; I’ll never forget when those posts about Skuppy’s music being used at Gitmo were circulating as if it was just some quirky thing. Posts like “lol imagine being a war prisoner and suddenly Assimilate starts playing” as if that shit doesn’t suck hardcore and wasn’t the absolute antithesis of what Skinny Puppy has always fought for which is pacifism and equality and the end of war and violence and brutality. The people being tortured at Gitmo are real people and Skinny Puppy was reasonably devastated by the situation. Spamming public tags on IG with terminally online often very sexual jokes about these guys, me having to wade through “I want Raymond Watts to vore me XD jdhgdkdksjdh” in the damn KMFDM tag. Seeing a 17 year old comment on a popular musician’s selfie in eyeliner saying he looked “queer” and being like “I just know you don’t use he/him pronouns” like that shit IS WEIRD. THEY ARE REAL PEOPLE!!

IDK man. This is not a fandom, it is a real community that these guys are part of. I am friends with some of these musicians and/or their friends IN REAL LIFE because I live in the same city as them and go to the same events as them. I haven’t done anything special other than be around them and be chill. Tons of them are my Facebook friends or my mutuals on Instagram or they’re my friends’ Facebook friends and mutuals on Instagram. I’ve had some of my favorite musicians follow me back COMPLETELY unexpectedly. I’ve heard “I recognize you from online” when I’ve met some of my favorite people in the scene, even if we hadn’t directly interacted before… MULTIPLE times. I’ve made posts about a band and then saw the fucking band repost it to a different site. I’ve seen my blog get linked in the official Skinny Puppy group that the band moderates. I also know like three separate situations where somebody’s publicly posted RPF was SENT TO THE BAND MEMBERS. I’m relatively neutral (or at least have a lot of nuance) about RPF but some fucking self awareness would be nice; these guys are NOT that “famous,” they are actively running their social media pages, they don’t have PR guys, they are lurking social media, interacting with fans, their friends are normal people in the scene. It just feels so disrespectful and out of touch. Did you know that one time somebody made a joke about Ogre being on drugs in the Skinny Puppy Facebook group and Ogre himself logged in for the first time in awhile to say it wasn't funny and was painful for him to see NOT because of his own past with drugs but because it reminded him of the amount of friends he’s had die from addiction and overdose? That was a real moment that happened. It isn’t funny.

I just keep seeing this breed of newcomers who get super into the identity of being “an industrial fan” (usually with all these edgy extras like “fucked up sicko dykefag rivethead freak”) who are coming into it straight out of like, the Danganrompa or Saw or whatever fandom and cannot conceptualize the fact that this isn’t a “fandom,” they don’t know how to talk about it like it’s not a fandom, they talk about how the musicians are “so old now” which is just so insulting (you should be BEGGING the universe to be so kind as to allow you to live to be grey and wrinkly and still making art that you love!) or make jokes at the expense of the traumas they’ve endured, they don’t seek out more obscure or more recent or more local music even though THAT is what is keeping the scene alive. it has real life spaces that the musicians they’re idolizing are frequenting and it is very very obvious that they are not going outside or engaging with the scene at all, they aren’t viewing it as this huge community of people who are all congregating together over their love for this music. They’re treating the musicians like these crazy characters but they are real people and their traumas and struggles and “weird” behavior is what brought them to this type of music to begin with! They’re making posts about how musicians just aren’t “weird” anymore while completely ignoring the decades of recent incredible music from artists trying desperately to survive in this world IN THE SCENE THEY CLAIM TO BE PART OF!! You are not a depraved freak punk rivethead faggot you are a 20 year old introvert that listens to NIN, KMFDM, and Skinny Puppy while not supporting the scene in any tangible way whatsoever and talking about the people who created the genre like they’re commodifiable fictional characters. And it’s not a question of “you don’t listen to enough music to be legit!” I love baby bats and newcomers and I absolutely adore seeing people get into this music and find solace and community within it. Industrial music saved my life and I was once the newcomer just discovering this stuff. it’s a question of “you are being disrespectful and out of touch while acting like you know what more than you really do.” Go out to a goth club. Talk to people. Sing along in a crowd to your favorite songs. Type in Bandcamp Dot Com right now and discover a new artist. Buy an album and tip them. That r/LSD comment where the guy said “keep it chill or suffer the consequences.”

[maisiestyle]

The First Men are not Natives

It's so strange when SELECTIVE canonical white characters are being passed off as people of color on tumblr art. 👀 Why do these folks follow canon for one character and not the other? I am a POC and this is so odd.

Especially considering the First Men, who the Starks are descendents, they aren't native to the North. The First Men colonised the area, having originally come from Essos - taking the land from the native inhabitants of Westeros (the Children's of the Forest). This is direct canon.

Alys Karstark (from a cadet branch of House Stark and descendants of the First Men/North) is described as having pale skin and blue-grey eyes. She was an Arya lookalike.

Jeyne Poole, another descendant of the First Men/North, is described multiple times, as having pale skin. Another Arya lookalike.

From the books, Arya is never described as having dark skin. If you're going to respect Canon for one character, keep it consistent.

"Her face was dirty, and her tears left pink tracks down her cheeks. - AGoT Eddard II

She wished she could take off her clothes and swim, gliding through the warm water like an skinny pink otter. Maybe she could swim all the way to Winterfell. - ACoK Arya IV

"It makes no matter." Even if the Titan did eat juicy pink girl flesh, Arya would not fear him. She was a scrawny thing, no proper meal for a giant, and almost eleven, practically a woman grown. - AFFC Arya I

She stood on the end of the dock, pale and goosefleshed and shivering in the fog. - AFFC Arya II

Down in the vaults, she untied Cat's threadbare cloak, pulled Cat's fishy brown tunic over her head, kicked off Cat's salt-stained boots, climbed out of Cat's smallclothes, and bathed in lemonwater to wash away the very smell of Cat of the Canals. When she emerged, soaped and scrubbed pink with her brown hair plastered to her cheeks, Cat was gone. - AFFC Cat of the Canals

Westeros is a very British/European inspired area. Loosely based on the British War of the Roses...etc. The people of the North are more Celtic/Scottish + a lot heavy norse mythology.

During a panel at San Diego Comic-Con 2014, in a discussion about fantasy maps, GRRM goes on to say that the map of Westeros “began as upside-down Ireland”, mentioning the clear similarity of the Fingers (Westeros) to the Dingle Peninsula of (Ireland).

The Wall in asoiaf is based on Hadrian’s Wall in Northern England:

While on a trip to Great Britain, George said, “The Wall predates anything else. I can trace back the inspiration for that to 1981. I was in England visiting a friend, and as we approached the border of England and Scotland, we stopped to see Hadrian’s Wall. I stood up there and I tried to imagine what it was like to be a Roman legionary, standing on this wall, looking at these distant hills. It was a very profound feeling. For the Romans at that time, this was the end of civilization; it was the end of the world. We know that there were Scots beyond the hills, but they didn’t know that.

All the official Artwork shows Arya depicted as a white girl. You accurately draw Sansa as a white girl and you don't find that offensive? Why do you people follow canon when you draw her siblings and then go full creative mode for Arya/Jon/Ned and other Northern people who are described as WHITE? Again where is the consistency?

Don't get mad when you get called out.

[itsasilentreader]

Itsasilentreader favourites

Hi all! I can imagine what you are thinking; who is she? I understand, I don't have a lot of followers on here or even mutuals. But since I have read a lot (and I mean a LOT) of Eddie Munson fics, I want to share my favourites of this moment.

Even if I can influence one person with this post, I would be happy. Where to begin, where to begin? I have so many that I absolutely love but I will share some in this post, in no particular order.

DISCLAIMER! This contains 18+, NSFW themes > minors DNI! Also, this is going to be a long read. Enjoy!

Note: I love every single blog on here, especially the ones that I follow. There are a lot of people who are so talented and have a writing gift (please share your talents with me) and I don't want to exclude anyone. If people like this, I will continue creating posts of my favourite fics and recommendations (of that time).

Dividers by @firefly-graphics & @silkholland

1. Title: Twenty-Four Hours

Writer: @ghost-proofbaby

Summary: In which Eddie Munson and you absolutely hate each other's guts. What happens when your friends make a bet that you can't spend more than twenty-four hours consecutively together?

CW: NSFW eventual smut > minors DNI! Strong languages.

Pairing: Modern!college!Eddie Munson x fem!college!reader

Tropes: Enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

My notes: This series has two of my favourite tropes: enemies to lovers and forced proximity. It is so well written and so much fun to read. Also, starting off with a bet?! One of my favourite things and takes me back to those 90s/00s rom-com vibes.

There is a story behind what happened with Eddie and the reader before, and it is so well-written that it keeps you on your toes while catching a glimpse from time to time of what happened that night they met. I can't wait to discover what happened and why they are the way they are right now.

I just can't get enough of this series and it is so good. It has enough banter, angst and humour. There is one scene in this series where the reader goes through Eddie's.. stuff, that got me giggling and almost cackling while trying to imagine Eddie's reaction. If you wanna find out which scene I'm talking about, you should read this series!

If you like these tropes, this one is for you!

2. Title: To know you're mine

Writer: @blue-mossbird

Summary: Where you and Steve swing with Eddie and Chrissy, and it gets complicated.

CW: for obvious reasons, NSFW > has a lot of smut. Minors DNI! body insecurity, swingers, group sex, dirty talk, emotional hurt/comfort, cheating, angst with a happy ending.

Pairing: Modern!au, Eddie Munson x Chrissy Cunningham x Steve Harrington x you, fem!reader, chubby!reader

My notes: Okay to be completely honest, I had my doubts when I came across this fic and before I started reading it. I am not that keen on the tags swinging and cheating in fics (with main characters). Most of the time, it is just not my cup of tea. But man oh man, when I read this, my doubts were gone, GONE I tell ya.

This is one of the best and most well-written pieces of art I have ever read. It is, obviously, a dirty and fun story. But the aspect of confronting changing feelings for another is written in such a mature way, it really sucked (pun not intended) me into this story.

Also, as someone who is not as skinny but not as chubby, it did make me feel better about myself while reading a reader that has the same insecurities as I have, and actually seeing it written in a story like this makes me feel validated.

If you like romance, angst and a LOT of smut? This one is for you!

3. Title: The "Yes" Policy

Writer: @pinkrelish

Summary: After a lifetime of questionable decisions, you moved from the big city to the sleepy town of Hawkins with your best friend, and took the first job you saw: answering phones for the most boring auto shop in the dullest place on Earth. It wasn't exactly the adventure you wanted it to be... but attempting to win over the jaded mechanic who insisted on ignoring your existence proved entertaining.

CW: It is NSFW since there will be eventual smut. You know the drill > minors DNI! angst, drug/alcohol mention/use, depictions of poverty

Pairing: singledad!mechanic!Eddie x fem!reader.

Tropes: A delicious written slow burn

My notes: Honestly, I cannot get enough of this one. This is my all-time favourite at this moment. The way this is written will make you giggle and blush like a high schooler. I don't think I can put into words how much I love this series.

Every chapter is a long read and every word got me hooked. Anticipating what is coming next. Every word, every action and every thought is so well written that I sometimes forget it is fiction and they don’t exist.

Also, Eddie Munson as a girl dad? Sign me up! The relationship between them, and his daughter with the reader is so adorable it makes my heart hurt. (I just wanted a happy ending for him).

It is also set a little bit later than season 4, it does look back on certain aspects of that season, but you just have to read this to find out!

If you love slow burns and strangers to lovers, this is it for you!

4. Title: Honey, I'm home

Writer: @trashmouth-richie

Summary: You were desperate for a roommate after Nancy got married and moved out. An ad in the paper goes unanswered until someone comes knocking on the door.

CW: NSFW, eventual smut > minors DNI! crude behaviour, Eddie is a fucking menace

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Tropes: enemies to lovers

My notes: Okay so enemies to lovers is my favourite trope, and yes I have issues but that's what therapy is for.

I don't know why everyone is writing enemies to lovers!roommate Eddie at this moment but please never stop. I love you. This series has three parts (as of creating this post) and the relationship between these two is so funny but also like, more realistic of some sort? Eddie is a fucking menace indeed but the reader is so stubborn as hell and does not let Eddie walk over her.

The way Eddie is written here made me cackle so hard because this is what I can imagine being roomies with him is like, to be really fucking honest. Anyways, I can't wait to see how this series goes and how the relationship between Eddie and the reader will shift to something more.

If you like enemies to lovers and menace Eddie, this one is for you!

5. Title: Bad Idea

Writer: @lunarzstarz

Summary: Not wanting to leave for college with your virginity still intact. you turn to the last resort that you know can only end terribly...

CW: NSFW > minors DNI! drugs, first times, oral (F receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, nicknames (princess/sweetheart), Eddie being a goof but also an asshole

Pairing: fuckboy!Eddie Munson x Virgin!fem!reader

My notes: okay listen up, this was so good. Normally, I stay clear of fuckboy!Eddie because I can't handle angst and there is, of course, always angst involved with him.

But this one? My god, I want him. Currently, as I am writing this, Shameless by Camilla Cabello came on and it is so fitting even though I do not know what is coming next. This was a delicious read and I can't wait to find out how Eddie will get his head out of his ass. I'm hoping the reader will have this impact on him that he can't explain and drive him crazy. That's all.

No but in all seriousness, this is also a piece that is so well-written and I can't wait for part two and three!

If you are into fuckboy!Eddie, this one is for you!

6. Title: The customer's always right

Writer: @lovebugism

Summary: Eddie Munson is a virgin and doesn't want anyone to know (because being an adult who's never fucked anyone is a total reputation ruiner). But you, his favorite customer, are more than willing to change that.

CW: Also for obvious reasons, NSFW > minors DNI! Virginity loss, new relationship shenanigans, mentions of previous toxic relationships, angst with a happy ending, canon divergent

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Tropes: friends to lovers

My notes: Okay you can never go wrong with friends to lovers, right? This is a fun and spicy read, with finally a not-so-confident and experienced Eddie regarding sex.

Meanwhile, I am a total sucker (pun definitely intended) for a confident, know it all, sex-god type of Eddie (because who isn't?!), this is a refreshing read. It shows a different side of Eddie. There are probably more virgin!reader x eddie, than the other way around, but I love to read these types of fics.

It is cute and spicy and has the right amount of angst. Like I have mentioned before, I'm usually avoiding angst fics because my heart will ache so bad and I physically can't take it, this contains just the right amount.

If you are also into virgin!eddie, friends to lovers, this one is for you!

7. Title: I want you to want me

Writer: @upsidedownwithsteve

Summary: Basically you go to a summer camp as a camp counselor and meet Eddie. You have one personal rule: no boys.

CW: So fluffy, it is sickening. A few almost kisses. Billy does make an appearance so I think that should be considered a CW?

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Trope: strangers to friends to lovers I think

My notes: When I came across this fic, I was already hooked by the fact is like a camp counselor!Eddie AND the first part was already 33K words. (if you haven't noticed, I loved long chapters). It fits the whole vibe with Eddie.

This is just pure fluff, teeth-rotting fluff and I absolutely love it. This is one of the best camp counselor fics I have ever read and it is overall just amazing. There is a part two and baby blurbs available to read too! I read these two back to back and even though it was a long read, it is worth it.

If you like camp counselor Eddie like me, this one is for you!

8. Title: Is it my body, part of the Super Freak series

Writer: @punk-in-docs

Summary: The one where Eddie gives you a ride home after your friend ditched you at a terrible party.

CW: This particular part doesn't have any CWs in particular, just fluff and pining. Some parts are NSFW (minors DNI!) because it contains smut.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

My notes: I am currently rereading this series because this is just amazing. This particular part has my heart. The flirting, the pining, the fluff, it all makes my heart melt.

Overall this series is so much fun to read. It finally has a reader who is not particularly popular but also not a total outcast. It just kind of hangs in between, just like I was in high school. Maybe that is why I love this series. And his nickname for reader is fucking adorable. Please.

Also, the friend of the reader in this series reminds me of my ex-friend who has a similar personality. I don't know why I gave you this information.

With that being said, I'm going to reread this series again and blush at this part.

If you like fluff, goofy Eddie with some smut, this one is for you!

If you made it to the end, congrats! Thank you so much for taking the time to read through a few of my favourite fics at this moment. They are all talented writers and I absolutely love all of their work. If you decide to check these fics out, please also check out the rest of their work! This took way too long to write but I hope you enjoyed it!

Thank you all, have a great day/night <3

[mermaidsirennikita]

I’ve started watching The Artful Dodger and loving it, it’s far better than Bridgerton at actually capturing the essence of a romance novel (my first thought upon seeing Jack and Belle interact was that it could’ve been ripped straight from a romance novel). Do you have any recs for tv shows or movies that have the vibes of a romance novel?

Ooh yes!

Oldie but a goodie and if anyone hasn't seen it they should (and really, the whole trilogy--the second movie gets a bad rap, but I personally so enjoy it, and I love the third movie for a lot of reasons but the "REIGNITE. OUR. LOVE." sequence is absolutely one of them, the "we are gonna FUCK THIS SHIT OUT" vibes are sooo romance novel for me). Bridget Jones's Diary. Mark Darcy is just an amazing hero. Bridget is a legend. Hugh Grant as Daniel Cleaver is PEAK Hugh Grant, and his introduction in that film is one of the greatest character intros I have ever. Seen in cinema. I see some people knock on it because of things that have aged--Bridget worrying over her weight because it's the early 2000s and super skinny was the trend, the workplace harassment. I don't give a fuck. If you haven't seen Bridget Jones's Diary, you are doing yourself a disservice.

(It is based on a book, but that book is not a romance novel. The movies are.)

Ummm speaking of Hugh Grant, Music & Lyrics is an underrated BANGER and absolutely fucking reads as a romance novel. A washed up has-been pop star begins a creative partnership with the messy neurotic woman who waters his plants? He does a flop attempt at defending her honor to do the guy who did her wrong. There's a grand gesture/grovel moment ffs. It's GREAT. The music is AMAZING. POP! Goes My Heart!

This one is borderline because it is more of a girls trip comedy, but the romance is truly centered so well and is a swoony romance and it features peak Richard Madden and it is again, so underrated. Netflix's Ibiza, dude. Buttoned up marketing girl goes on a business trip to Spain, her two best friends (who are both much wilder than her) accompany her and they go to the club one night and see DJ Richard Madden (LEOOOOO WESSSSST) and he and the main girl have this amazing meet cute that involves someone drawing a dick on her face in glow in the dark marker and him coming to the rescue, but then he has to go to a gig in Ibiza and she and her friends decide to track him down because some people are destined to go to the moon, but her destiny is to FUCK. THAT. DJ. But Harper and Leo's connection is more like love at first sight than pure horniness? I just miss movies that like, unabashedly capture zany happiness and the flutters of first love (and the sex scene is so good???). This movie is amazing and I adore it.

Bros. Look dude. I know Billy Eichner fucked up the marketing for this one. I know he's annoying as hell. Bros is objectively a romance novel movie lol. It's not as inclusive as it could/should be, I will agree with that always--but the romance arc is so good, and it is legit funny, and it has a FAILED GROVEL which we all know is one of my favorite things. And I do think it has a deeply true heart and soul and is really amazing.

Brown Sugar. PEAK Taye Diggs and Sanaa Lathan. It's a slow burn friends to lovers movie in which there is sooooo much sexual tension and so much angst and so much follow the fuck through. Also, Taye Diggs has one of the most magnificent line deliveries of all time with "riCHARD LAWson".

Imagine Me and You. The sapphic romcom we deserve. A bride falls in love at first sight with hot florist Lena Headey while walking down the aisle to marry her groom, as you do. What follows is a woman desperately trying not to cheat on her husband while experiencing extreme sexual tension with Lena Headey. Surprisingly soft and super romantic.

Lady Chatterley's Lover (2022). Required viewing for historical romance novel fans. Obviously based on a book, but again, that book is not a romance lol. The movie is. And it's one of the hottest movies in recent memory. Jack and Emma did the WORK. The kiss right before he goes down on her is maybe my favorite movie kiss of all time.

Obviously. Pride and Prejudice (2005). I shouldn't have to include this, but to be fucking clear lol. I will always maintain that while P&P (the novel) is a predecessor and a shaper of romance novels, it is not a romance novel. It is a contemporary novel with a lot of social commentary and a good love story. This movie? Makes it a full, sweeping romance with some of the best tension ever committed to screen.

Faraway. Omg, an amazing slept-on movie that is a rare romcom featuring a middle-aged woman! Basically, right when her mom dies she finds out her husband is having at min an emotional affair with his younger employee, and she also discovers her mom had a secret property on a Croatian island. She goes there, and is immediately courted by this younger real estate developer guy, but why is she constantly butting heads with the gruff guy who's been living in her mom's house????

Far and Away. Hate to recommend a Tom Cruise film, BUT it is is very romance novel, and it does star Nicole Kidman as well, and I hate to say it but those two did have bomb chemistry when they were married. The Irish accents are rough, but the plot is delightful because he's a poor guy who ends up getting roped into her scheme to leave for America (after his harebrained revenge scheme against her dad fails lol) and they live in a boarding house together pretending to be brother and sister... But like, everyone can tell they aren't because of their extremely obvious sexual tension lol.

When Harry Met Sally. Cliche, but it is a classic every romance lover should see. I'm not a big Billy Crystal fan, but his chemistry with Meg Ryan is MAGIC in this, and you really do get the sense of two people slooowly falling in love without even realizing it until suddenly they do all at once.

[evan4ever]

can i request you to evan peters any character(or himself doesnt matter)x female has eating disorder he’s helping her like you know

I’m Here

Warnings: please please read with caution!!! This may be very triggering. ED (anorexia). Please reach out if you need help, there are resources and I promise you’re not alone 🤍

a/n: I contemplated writing this for awhile because it’s a deep and hard topic, but I’m hoping I wrote this in a way for anyone who struggles with this to know that there is help and people care. I’m linking an ED hotline, called NEDA. You can always message me if you need someone to talk to. Please don’t go through this alone 🙏🏻

I’m having this take place after you and Kit are released from Briarcliff

—

It’s been weeks. Weeks since you touched your favorite food. Weeks since you’ve ate more than a single bite of any meal before you. Weeks since you haven’t felt sick.

When you and Kit had finally been let out of Briarcliff, things were finally good. Having formed a relationship with Kit all that time together in that place, it wasn’t a surprise that he had asked you to come home with him, to be with him forever. Neither of you could imagine being apart after surviving for your lives together. So, of course you happily accepted.

You moved into his home, you spent months fixing it up, he went back to his job as a mechanic and you got yourself a job at a local diner. You were happy, Kit was happy. It was a picture perfect story and you swore nothing would make you feel anything like you did in Briarcliff. How could it? That place was hell and now you were free and living peacefully with the love of your life.

But with all the happiness you felt came an increase in your weight. Kit’s too, but that never bothered you. You loved it, in fact. He looked healthy and you fed him good, which he loved. But your own weight gain was a problem for you.

It didn’t matter that you were gaining because you were in a healthy and happy relationship. All you could focus on was that the number was increasing. It didn’t help that being nearly starved in the asylum had obviously made you drop an unhealthy amount of weight. You looked sick then, but standing that day in front of the mirror and observing your new curves, your stomach pouch and larger arms — something snapped in you. You hated the way you looked and you wanted nothing more than to look like you had the day you left Briarcliff.

So, you stopped eating.

Of course you didn’t want Kit to notice your lack of food intake, so you managed to take a bite or two of supper when he’d come home from work and stir around the food on your plate managing to make it look emptier than when you or Kit made it. And anytime he happened to question anything, you told him you had ate quite a bit at breakfast or lunch and you weren’t very hungry. You always reassured him. And he always bought it.

Your interest in food slowly dissipated. You had no desire to eat anything at all. Though the nausea from an empty stomach hurt quite a bit, your own mind didn’t let it win the battle. At some point, it became painful to eat a bite at all, like you had finally trained your stomach to hate food as much as your mind did. It was a sick and painful battle, but the way your body started slimming out and the number on the scale began dropping faster and faster was exhilarating.

Your goal was to hit the weight you had been when you left Briarcliff, but once you hit that number — you still weren’t satisfied. You wanted to lose more. So instead of allowing yourself to begin eating more, a healthier amount, you didn’t. You continued not eating and the number continued dropping.

You were sure Kit had no idea. He never commented on your weight, when you were larger and even now at a smaller size. You truly expected him to notice and to love it. Boys loved skinny girls. So why wasn’t he complimenting your weight loss? By this point, it was more than noticeable. Even your coworkers were impressed and had told you that you looked amazing. But never Kit. He always complicated other things about you, how your hair looked, your sparkling eyes, the way you looked nice, but never the size of your body.

Little did you know, though, that Kit had taken notice. It began on one of his days off where he realized you hadn’t stem anything all day, and by supper time you gave him the same comment you always had — that you ate too much throughout the day, you just weren’t that hungry. He quickly caught on to what was happening, how your body wasn’t only slimming out but wearing away. When he’s hold you at night, it was nothing for his arm to wrap around you twice if it could. Your ribs and your hip bones were poking out so far that it was worrisome. Your skin began paling and your hair brittling. He noticed all of it.

Your energy was gone at this point. It took everything for you to do your daily tasks, it pained you to get out of bed. If you could lay forever, you would.

It was getting bad. You had lost control and you didn’t even mean to. Of course you weren’t intending to become sick and frail, but your mind took over and would not allow you to become healthy again. Eventually, you believed Kit just didn’t care. There was no way he couldn’t see that you were sick, yet he never said anything. It spines you further that the man you love couldn’t see that you made yourself skinny so that you’d be more attractive, so much so that your life was slipping from you slowly.

Today was Kit’s day off. You stayed in bed when he got up, pulling the comforter up under your chin and wrapping yourself in it because you were so cold. You heard Kit moving around in the living room and kitchen but didn’t care enough to even wonder what it was that he was doing. All you wanted to do was disappear into thin air.

“Baby?” You heard his voice as he entered the room, looking over the thick blanket at him. You gave him a smile as he walked to your side and sat next to you.

“Good morning babe” you hummed quietly, trying to seem okay even though you knew you weren’t. He gazed down at you and you realized it was a look of concern that was on his face. He wore a small smile, but his eyebrows were pushed together and his eyes looked sad. “What’s wrong?”

He blinked a few times before looking down at his hands, you eyes flickering down to them too and noticing the muffin he held in them. You sucked in a sharp breath before looking back up to him confused. He let out a sigh, his eyes still on the muffin.

“Will you eat this for me? It’s blueberry.. your favorite.” He spoke quietly, almost scared to have asked. You clenched your jaw and pushed your own eyebrows together as a silent battle went on in your head. He was right, blueberry was your favorite. An blueberry muffins were expensive, so you guys didn’t buy them often. And now, here was Kit, holding one for you.

You wanted to accept his request, you wanted to shove the whole muffin in your mouth and melt into the sweetness of it. But your mind said absolutely not.

“Mm babe..” you hummed again, resting your head back on the pillow and closing your eyes and you shot him a smile, “I’m not hungry yet. I’ve only barely woken up. I will later?” Your eyes opened to meet his that held even more sadness. Your stomach turned when he seemed unhappy with your answers. He never pushed further when you declined food before, so why was he now?

You watched as he set the muffin on the nightstand next to you, his hands falling back in his lap as they clasped together and he stared down at them. You sat in silence wondering what was going on, fixated on his unreadable stance.

“I think we need to take you to the hospital.” He stated so quietly you questioned if you heard him correctly. Blinking a few times, you sat yourself up in the bed quick to pull the covers up to hide your bones that showed. You were nervous now at his sudden change in behavior today and the thought of going to the hospital made your pulse speed up.

“What?” You laughed nervously, shaking your head as if you didn’t understand. “Why would I need to go to the hospital?”

Kit still hasn’t met your eyes while yours were placed on him firmly. Your nerves grew with every passing second.

“You’re sick, y/n.” He said, sucking in a noticeably shaky breath. Your confusion and worry increased with his seemingly sadness.

“I’m not.” You disagreed, shaking your head. A deeper sigh left from his mouth and his shoulders slumped more than they were before, your eyes noticing the repeated clench and unclench of his jaw bone. “Kit..”

“We can get you help. There’s people out there that want to help you. I want to help you.” He spoke his last sentence in a whisper, a tear dropping onto his cheek. Seeing it pulled at your heart, realizing that he knew what was going on and was scared for you. “If we don’t get you help, your heart is going to give out. You can’t continue down this path and…” he sucked in another sharp, shaky breath, “and I can’t live without you.”

His eyes finally flickered at you, more tears dripping from his eyes to his beet red cheeks. His eyes begged you, pleaded with you to hear him out. You, at a loss for words, only stared at the broken man in front of you. You had for so long believed he didn’t notice and didn’t care when all along he had. You quickly thought back to all the times he’d offered you food, your favorite foods specifically. All the times he bought your favorite take out even though he could barely afford it, yet you denied eating more than a bite. All this time, that was his way of trying to help you. The only way he knew how that wasn’t taking you to the hospital. Now, he knew he had no choice if he wanted you to survive this.

“I’m okay Kit, really. I just haven’t been hungry—“

“You’re lying y/n.” His voice raised. It wasn’t a yell but it was a plead. “You’re not okay. You’re dying.”

The word dying made you flinch, because it was true. Your body was only weeks away from giving out on you and you knew that. You knew it and you didn’t want it to happen but you couldn’t fix it. Everything he was saying was true. But the thought of getting help and being forced to eat and regain weight was the worst feeling you’ve ever had.

“You can’t do this alone and I’m here for you. I want to help you get help, because I can’t give you the medical help you need. But I can stand by your side every step of the way. I am begging you.” He held your eyes in his, never looking away from them. He needed you to see how serious he was and how serious this situation was. If he could help you the way you needed, he would. He’d never force you to go to the hospital if it wasn’t your life depending on it. But he knew his love and guidance was not enough. He could fill your head with every compliment in the world, reassure you day in and day out that your beautiful no matter how you look, that you don’t have to kill yourself to be beautiful. He could tell you every day that you didn’t have to be skin and bones for him to want you, that he wanted you at your highest and healthiest weight just as much as he wants you now. But your health now wont allow you to be with him forever, and for that, he needs to help you get the correct help. “I’m begging you.”

Your eyes closed, no longer able to bare the brokenness he held. What you were doing may be killing you physically, but it was also killing him mentally. It wasn’t what you intended to do, of course not. You just needed him to open up to you for you to see it. And you knew everything he was saying was true and it was said out of love, from the very bottom of his heart. He was begging you to let him help you the only way he could.

It went silent again as you thought about his request over and over again. Your mind was telling you now but your entire being was begging you to let him. It was fucked up how strong the mind is. How much control it had over the person it belonged to. But you knew of you didn’t allow him to help you that you wouldn’t last much longer, and that was the amount of encouragement you needed to be able to accept his plea.

“okay.” You whispered, your eyes squeezing shut tighter. Suddenly, it felt like you could breathe. Like a weight was lifted off your entire body. Like everything you were fighting alone in was no longer holding you.

“Okay?” Kit whispered. You opened your eyes slowly and blinked through the tears that had formed allowing them to fall. Once your vision was clear and you were able to see Kit, you sniffled and nodded. He nodded along with you, a new small smile forming on his lips. “Okay.” He confirmed, standing from your shared bed and grabbing your hand gently to help you from it.

His eyes skimmed over your fragile body, the sight hurting him deeply. You noticed him doing so, but you didn’t shy away or become embarrassed. You were able to admit you needed help, and it was like your eyes opened wide and you could see the damage your mind was doing to you. And he could see it too.

“We’re gonna get you help, baby. Everything will be okay soon I promise.” He spoke softly, hugging you to him once you were dressed. You wrapped your weak arms around him and rested you head on his chest. Every move you made made you dizzy, and you held him for support as he guided you to the car and helped you in, bucking you and closing your door before entering the drivers side and starting it. His hand reached for yours as he began driving, taking the small thing in his tightly like he was holding it for dear life.

Your mind raced nervously the closer you got to the hospital, wondering what their point of action would be. You were scared they’d take you away or that you’d become a clinical experiment. Kit must’ve been able to tell you were scared, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze.

“It’ll be okay baby. You’re gonna be okay.”

—

Tags: @evanpetersmood @witchsbitchestime @demxnicprxncess @yes-divine-ruler @shjjpm @evanpsrealwife @iruzias @jangsuzchap @quicksilversg1rl @submissiveforahsmen @angelmenace @lovelizzie-blog1 @justa19 @daylas-life @simp4petermaximoff @totta69

[wowowwild]

Klavier gets a vague text from Apollo on his day off asking him to meet in the park. Whatever could be the reason?

Klavier woke up to a day like any other. It was a Saturday, so he wouldn't have to go to work, or do much of anything really. He would lounge around with his brother's dog, he hadn't even known his brother had a dog before... but he did and now that dog was technically Klavier's dog. Vongole was sweet and friendly, and Klavier had always been a dog person, and though it had been 6 months already, it would likely be a little longer before he could think of her as his own dog. It still sometimes felt like he was just dog sitting and his brother would come back any day. He could tell Vongole felt the same. But Kristoph wasn't coming back. He was going to continue sitting in a cell on death row until the state appointed reaper came to harvest what was left of his brother's soul.

An hour or so into lounging, Klavier received a text. Herr Forehead! Now there was someone who could always brighten Klavier's day. His courtroom rival always had such interesting reactions and expressions, it was hard not to enjoy his presences. And of course his genuineness and intensity were hard to ignore. Plus they sought the same thing in the courtroom, even if they had basically nothing in common outside of it... Right, the text.

HF: Are you doing anything today?

That was unexpected. Usually it was Klavier trying to see the attorney outside of work. And he had yet to be successful.

KG: Is this your way of asking me out on a date? ;)

The response was almost immediate.

HF: NO!!!

Klavier chuckled. He could imagine the chords of steel and how Apollo would blush in response.

HF: I wouldn't ask someone out over text, that's just tacky. HF: I was just wondering.

A multi-texter then. Klavier filed that knowledge away in the folder of absolutely useless information he knew about people. If only his brain would use that space to remember the things he actually needed to.

KG: Did you need something? I am always available for you, Schatzi.

Was he maybe laying it on a little thick? Sure. But he was Klavier Gavin, after all.

HF: I don't NEED anything. Why are you being so weird?

… That wasn't the response he expected. He had thought that his text was totally in character- Ah, maybe that was it. Herr Forehead had never been fond of his 'character', and he had a habit of seeing right through it, though he was pretty sure it had something to do with the intense staring, so he wasn't sure how that had worked over text.

KG: I am just trying to ask what exactly you are asking. HF: I asked if you're doing anything today, but I'm guessing you're not since you love telling people all about your plans and all you've done so far is dodge the question. Meet me at People Park. KG: That's a bold assumption.

He waited a minute, but Apollo didn't respond again.

KG: You didn't even tell me what time.

Again, Klavier did not get a response. He groaned.

KG: Can I bring Vongole? HF: Sure. KG: Oh, so that you'll respond to.

You know, Klavier was getting a little annoyed by this point. Not only was Forehead being mysterious and quite frankly rude, Klavier was going to have to go incognito which meant dressing plainly, and Apollo had never seen him dress this way. It was a tragedy, honestly. He should have expected it though, since when he woke up this morning his coffee machine had broken. Maybe he could still wear something cute.

Looking through his clothes, Klavier found a lavender sweater that used to be his mother's and some black ripped skinny jeans Daryan had made him buy. He hadn't worn either in ages, but they would do nicely. Despite being half way through April, it was still a bit chilly. It was... difficult to put the pants on, not because they didn't fit, but because he could remember so vividly the day they had been bought. A lot had changed since then. Too much. Too little. The sweater was a comfort, though. If his mother were there, she would know just what to say, just what to do. But she wasn't, so Klavier just finished getting ready and called for Vongole. All he had to do was say 'park' and she was ready to go.

When he arrived at People Park, he put his 'please don't recognize me' baseball cap on. He had elected to leave his hair down and free in hopes that it would further distance himself from his public persona. It wasn't hard to find Apollo, his red sweatshirt immediately drawing Klavier's eye. He was sitting on a bench, watching the birds, or at least looking in the sky in their direction. It was always hard for Klavier to tell what Apollo was thinking.

“Herr Forehead!”

Apollo turned to look at him, staring again, appraising.

“Uh, hiya. You're, umm... Hi.” “Ja, hallo.” “Right. Oh!” Vongole jumped up onto the bench next to him. “Well hello there, princess. It's been a while, hasn't it.”

Apollo Justice just called his dog 'princess'. That was adorable. But... they'd met before? How... interesting, that Kristoph had introduced Apollo to his dog, but never spoke about his brother even once. Whatever. It didn't matter now.

“Prosecutor Gavin?” “Hmm?” “Are you ok?” His face must have been showing his thoughts. Unfortunately Herr Forehead had always been good at reading him. “Ja, I'm fine. But call me Klavier, bitte. This is hardly the courtroom.” “Oh, um... ok. Klavier.”

Apollo said his name like it was a piece of testimony he wasn't sure about. Klavier didn't know how to feel about that.

“W-well, then you have to call me Apollo!” Apollo suddenly burst out. “No more Forehead business.” Klavier blinked, paused, and chuckled. “Of course. Apollo, then.”

Apollo's cheeks flushed a bit, but Klavier couldn't tell what the source was. Perhaps embarrassment at his outburst? It's not like Klavier minded. It was all part of that unique Forehead charm. Apollo.

“So what did you have planned now that you've drawn me out here? Nothing nefarious, I hope.” “Wh- No! Why would you even ask that,” Apollo huffed. Klavier was about to apologize, but Apollo continued, “I just um... I dunno.” “Now see, the thing is, I don't think that's true. I think you just don't want to tell me.”

Apollo looked at him and squinted his eyes, possibly trying to guess what Klavier had figured out, which was genuinely nothing. Apollo was a mystery to him still, Klavier just knew that he didn't do things without reason, or maybe reason wasn't quite correct, considering the blunders he frequently made in court. No, intent was more like it. Apollo had some intent inviting him out.

“You know, I think I've got you all figured out,” Klavier lied. He knew Apollo would know. “You've finally succumbed to my charms and were hoping to make a confession in the place that we first met. How romantic!” Apollo glared at him. “Get real, Gavin.” “Then perhaps the defence has an alternate theory?” “... Nope.”

Well that was rude. Now Klavier had a lot of traits, some good, some... less good, but quite possibly the most intense was that Klavier Gavin was a nosy bitch and he needed to know! Apollo had never invited him anywhere before, especially not like this. And here he was just sitting on a park bench petting Klavier's dog and giving her pet names like they hung out all the time! Sure, he had felt a sort of connection with the other man during their court battles, and he hoped that Apollo had felt it too, but they weren't close by any stretch of the word. In fact he had been pretty certain up until that text that Apollo wasn't very fond of him at all.

“You're thinking too much. Do you want to feed the ducks?” “I- Hä?” “They're really friendly, though now that I think about it, Vongole might chase them. We could walk around the pond, though. Maybe she's mellowed out since then.” Vongole certainly had not mellowed out, or if she had, she must have been a terror before, but Klavier thought that maybe if he said yes he might get to find out what he wanted to know. “Ja, a walk sounds nice.” “Cool.”

Vongole did try to chase the ducks, but funnily enough it was Apollo who got her to calm down.

“You're very good with her.” “Ah, um...” Apollo winced and looked to the side. “If I mimic him well enough she listens. She always behaved for him, but I think someone taught her to do whatever she wanted when he wasn't there.” “Ah...” What else could he say? He had to imagine it wasn't a fun thing for Apollo to do. “Was... was he a good mentor?” “The best,” Apollo replied without hesitation. “Was he a good brother?” “Ja... Ja, the best.” “Too bad he's a piece of shit.”

Klavier froze. Apollo was always a little out of pocket, but, well, how was anyone supposed to respond to that. Once Klavier found his wits he looked to Apollo who was similarly frozen in place. Vongole had sat down on the trail between them looking very pleased with herself. And Klavier laughed. He laughed hard and with his whole body. It felt like years since he had laughed so hard, though really it might have been. By the time he was done he was crouched down and wheezing, tears streaming from his eyes.

“Ja, too bad. Mein arschgeige Bruder had to go and lie and cheat and kill and my best friend followed suit. Mein Gott they are assholes.” Well Apollo looked worried now, but Klavier felt great. “You know, when I was little he used to sing me back to sleep when I had a nightmare, and if it was a bad one he would let me sleep in his bed. And whenever I would get scraped up doing something stupid, which believe it or not, happened often,” he heard Apollo snort at that, “he would bandage me up and scold me for being so reckless. No matter how many times I did, or how stupid the stunt he would still help me. Even just a few years ago I was worried about him so I asked him to help me with a cut I got and he still did. I'm not certain when exactly it started, but I had noticed by the time I turned 16 that he was more closed off, more paranoid. I tried my best, and sometimes I still feel like I should have tried harder, but how could I have known? And why would he ever have talked to me about it? I wasn't just a kid, I was a kid he raised. He needed someone else and there was no one. It always was just us against the world. Of course I made friends, whatever good that did me, but he never did. I'm glad he had Vongole. You know after all of the times I had asked for one as a kid, that bastard finally went and got a dog as soon as I left. He was right not to let me have one, but still. And every year for my birthday-” Klavier froze. His birthday. He looked up to Apollo who nodded with a sad smile. “Every year for my birthday which is today, he would bake me Oma's topfentorte,” Klavier spoke slowly. “He wasn't perfect, but he was my brother. Still is, I guess.”

Klavier got the distinct feeling that if Apollo didn't stop him, he would just keep going until he'd spilled his guts all over the path. He also had a feeling that Apollo wouldn't stop him.

“And then there was Daryan. Whenever Kristoph and I fought, Daryan was always in my corner. And, I mean, Daryan was an asshole in the first place, but he was my asshole. My best friend. And I would have done just about anything for him. And I still have no idea why he did it, because he won't tell me, and if he did it for a good reason, I don't see why he wouldn't. I also don't see why he would have gotten a child involved. The only thing he will tell me is how pissed he is that I didn't help him get out of it, as if that's something anyone who knows me would ever think I'd do. Maybe, maybe, if it had just been the smuggling and his intentions were good, but how could he ever think I would help a murderer?”

Tears were welling in his eyes again, so he tilted his head up in an effort to not let them fall. It was bad enough he had just dumped all of this on Apollo, someone he couldn't even really be considered friends with, he didn't want to start crying in front of him, too.

“You don't have to do that.”

Klavier looked at Apollo in confusion.

“I mean, obviously if it makes you uncomfortable, then you can do whatever, I mean you can anyway, but there's no one else here. It's just me. And Vongole, but I don't think that's a problem for you. So... you can cry if you need to. It fucking sucks what they put you through. And it's not fair because you're so good. And I mean no one should have to go through that, but especially you. You're so kind and determined and strong. I don't like that they've made you second guess yourself, and I don't like that they've damaged your sense of security. You deserve good things. If you can't have them... Um, but, yeah. There are still people who care about you, you know?” “I... I'm beginning to see that.” “Yeah, um, actually, if you wanted, Trucy kind of prepared this whole thing back at the Agency, she's not going to be upset if you're not feeling up to it, but she invited a couple of people. She's going to call me when it's all ready.” “Ah, I'm... You all are too kind.” “It's nothing, really. They're like that with everyone.” “And you? I seem to recall you being rather prickly with most people.” “I'm not prickly, people are just annoying...” Apollo grumbled. Klavier laughed. “And yet you feel for them all the same.”

Apollo huffed. They stood in silence, watching the ducks, Vongole watching a little more intently than the humans beside her.

“So what about you?” “Me?” “I've just poured my heart out to you, do you have anything to get off your chest?” “... Nope. I'm fine.” “Really,” Klavier gave him his best judgemental look. “Yep.” “So there's absolutely nothing you would benefit from sharing?” “Let's put it this way, the only reason anyone knows my birthday is because they needed a birth certificate to hire me and the only reason anyone knows my favorite color is because I wear it everyday. I am content to live out my days with my closest companion being my cat.” “... You have a cat?” “... Maybe...” “That's it, I have a new goal in life.” “Oh, goody,” Apollo deadpanned. “I'm going to figure you out.” “Good luck with that.” “Thank you, I will take it.” “Wait, no, I didn't actually mean-” “It's too late. I have it now.” “Well bad luck then! Bad luck!” “No, I think you can keep that one.” “No! Take the bad luck! You already have the good luck so it will just balance out!” “I would argue that in general I have exceedingly bad luck.” “... Ok, you can keep the good luck, but use it on a case or something.” “The case of Apollo Justice.” “No, a different one.” “Nuh-uh, sorry.” “Did you just 'nuh-uh' me?” “What're you gonna do about it, Forehead?” Klavier grinned Apollo grinned right back at him. “Hey! I'll show you what I'm gonna do, Gavin-”

They were cut off by Guitar's Serenade playing out. That was probably for the best since Vongole was latching on to their excitement, and she was a menace while excited.

“Oh, that's Trucy.” He answered the phone, which looked absolutely ancient in Klavier’s opinion. A flip phone? Really? “Hey, Truce... Woah, calm down I already told him... Why wouldn't I? Not everyone likes surprises... I'll ask him then! Do you like surprises?” Oh, that one was for him. “Ah, sometimes. In this case I'm glad you told me, though.” “Did you hear that? … No, how do I put it on speaker? … Ok, well he said he was glad I told him... Well, yeah- Actually, wait, he never gave me an answer. Do you want to go? To the thing Trucy did- I know it's called a party,” he grumbled the last bit into his phone. “Ja. I think that will be nice.” “He said yes... No, I'm not going to tell him that, tell him yourself when we get there... Ack! I'm hanging up now, bye!” “Umm...” “Ok, let's go. She'll have my head if we take too long.” “What was that last bit about?” “Absolutely nothing.” “Fine, fine. I'll just ask Fraulein Magician when we get there.” “You can ask.” “You don't think I'll get an answer?” “Nope.” “I bet I can.” “I bet you can't.” “You're on.”

Apollo sighed and shook his head, a small smile still gracing his features.

“Oh, before that...” “Yeah?” Apollo's full attention was right back on him, not that Klavier was sure it had ever left. “If you ever need to have a breakdown with someone other than your cat... I don't believe in transactional care, but it would make us even.” Klavier flicked his bangs. “And I wouldn't mind.” “... Yeah. Ok.”

Klavier still had the feeling that if at all possible, Apollo would never follow through, but he had done all he could to make it an option.

“So what kind of cake did they get me?” “How am I supposed to know? My job was to get you there and that's it.” Klavier chuckled. “They wouldn't tell you, would they.” “'Wouldn't you like to know, Apollo?'” Apollo did his best Trucy impression if Trucy was also incredibly annoyed by the things she was saying.

Klavier laughed. He wasn't sure exactly how Apollo felt, but as far as he was concerned, Klavier had walked into that park lonely and out with a friend.

[justforbooks]

Christina Hendricks

The star of Good Girls discusses Mad Men, sexual harassment and squaring her glamorous reputation with her ‘weird, goofy’ personality

Christina Hendricks appears on our video call with the most dramatic backdrop. Art deco gold peacocks bedeck a black wall, making her look, as she has so often in her career, a bit too good to be human. Perfectly poised, perfectly framed, perfectly lit, she is more like a dreamy vision of what humans look like. “I, erm, like your wall,” I say, pointlessly. She flashes a smile, as if to say: “Obviously.”

We are here primarily to discuss the comedy-drama series Good Girls, the fourth season of which will resume in the US this month after a midseason break. The elevator pitch would be Breaking Bad for girls: three suburban women, each hovering on the edge of bankruptcy, unite to embark on a life of cack-handed crime, only to discover they are good at it. The ensemble – Hendricks, Mae Whitman, who plays her sister, and Retta, their friend – works strikingly well, their pacey comic rapport instilling a sense of perpetual motion. You just can’t imagine Good Girls ending. Every time a plot line seems to be reaching its climax, something worse – and funnier – happens.

“It’s funny you say that, because originally, when I read the pilot script, I thought: ‘I love this, but I can’t imagine this being more than one episode,’” says Hendricks. “It felt like it finished itself.” She is unsentimental about it. Hendricks wasn’t looking for a new show – “I was happy doing films, taking my time” – but went into it with her eyes open. It is a network drama, for NBC – it is shown on Netflix in the UK – so producers are always aware that “it’s going into every house in the US on a Thursday or a Sunday and a family is watching it. They’re much more careful about numbers and advertisers and people being offended or not getting it. A cable show is much more: ‘We trust this creator – they’re a visionary.’”

It has a conventional tone – however dark the material, it is handled very lightly. Yet you can’t help but notice some hard-boiled social commentary from the off – if it weren’t for the bracingly callous US health system, the generation of wage-stagnation casualties and the patriarchy, none of the characters would have gone anywhere near a supermarket heist. More than Breaking Bad, it reminds me of Roseanne and the golden age of US mainstream comedy, when you could be poor on TV without that being a breach of good taste.

The 48-year-old has been a household name for almost 15 years, thanks to Mad Men. She was born in Tennessee, where her mother was a psychologist and her father worked for the Forest Service, and educated in Oregon and then Idaho. She didn’t have time for formal acting training; by the time she was 18, her modelling career had taken off. Later, when she had a manager, she took acting lessons: “I did that for almost a year and a half and put auditions on ice. Then I was watching a film – I don’t even remember what film it was or who was in it – and I thought: ‘I’m ready. I can do this.’” She has the most insistent work ethic; as she describes her life’s trajectory, she notes diligently the jobs she had while she was at high school, at a hair salon and a menswear shop.

In 2007, she appeared as Joan Holloway in Mad Men. She played the role for the next eight years, her character growing around the depth she brought to it, until by season seven she was almost the central part. In the early 2010s, Hendricks was talked about constantly, although she says the original focal points of obsession were the male characters: “Men started dressing like Don Draper and Roger Sterling. Suits came back in, skinny ties came back in. It took three to four seasons and then all of a sudden people wanted us [the female stars] on magazines. We were like: ‘This is strange – we’ve been doing this for a while.’”

Hendricks, along with January Jones, who played Betty Draper, came to represent so much. There was a great deal of rumination on their physicality, Jones as elegant as an afghan hound, Hendricks like the pin-up painted on the side of a bomber. What did it mean, people asked, that in the middle of the 20th century there were multiple ideals of the female form, whereas in the 21st century there was only one? How did that complicate the perception of gender equality as a steady march towards the light? Thousands of column inches went on that question – but, from the actor’s perspective, it was an annoying distraction. “There certainly was a time when we were very critically acclaimed, and getting a lot of attention for our very good work and our very hard work, and everyone just wanted to ask me about my bra again. There are only two sentences to say about a bra,” she says.

The signal impression the show left was of an ensemble at the peak of its creativity: actors, writers and the creator, Matthew Weiner, working in almost telepathic unison. It won the Emmy for outstanding drama series four times in a row, but the more notable year was 2012, when it was nominated for 17 Emmys (and didn’t win any of them). The take-home was: everyone involved with this is absolutely brilliant.

That harmonious picture was blurred two years after the show ended, when one of the former writers, Kater Gordon, accused Weiner of sexual harassment. Marti Noxon, a consulting producer on Mad Men, concurred that Weiner had created a toxic environment and said that he was an “‘emotional terrorist’ who will badger, seduce and even tantrum in an attempt to get his needs met”.

Hendricks takes this head on, in a considered, straightforward manner. “My relationship with Matt was in no way toxic,” she says. “I don’t discount anyone’s experience if I wasn’t there to see it, but that wasn’t my experience. Was he a perfectionist, was he tough, did he expect a lot? Yes. And he would say that in a second. We were hard on each other.”

It is impossible, from this distance, to adjudicate on Weiner’s character, but Hendricks’s response reveals something of hers. The easiest response in this situation, and the one 90% of actors give, is: “No comment.” Hendricks is always collected, never evasive, doesn’t gabble. She reminds me powerfully of Joan Holloway – and I am sorry to say it, because she insists throughout: “I’m an actress. I am completely not Joan. Not in any way. I wish I was more like Joan.”

I wonder if, while we were all fixating on Joan’s bras and whether or not, in the asinine words of Lynne Featherstone, the UK’s equalities minister in 2010, she represented a “curvy role model”, the audience was responding to Joan’s deeper life lesson – that self-possession is 9/10ths of the law.

What Hendricks emphatically doesn’t do is minimise the existence of sexism and sexual harassment in the industry: “Boy, do you think anyone in the entertainment industry comes out unscathed and not objectified? I don’t know one musician or one model or one actor who has escaped that. I have had moments – not on Mad Men; on other things – where people have tried to take advantage of me, use my body in a way I wasn’t comfortable with, persuade me or coerce me or professionally shame me: ‘If you took your work seriously, you would do this …’

“Maybe it was my modelling background, but I knew to immediately get on the phone and go: ‘Uh oh, trouble,’” she says. “That’s where it’s very much a job. We need to talk to the producers and handle this professionally.”

Yet, at the same time, she is defensive of her industry. “It gets a lot of attention because people know who we are. I’m sure there’s a casting couch at the bank down the street, I’m sure the same thing happens in management consultancy, but people don’t know who the management consultants are.”

Modelling always sounds like a harsh environment – predatory photographers vying with stringent agents to give everyone a complex about their thighs and stop them eating carbs. But that is not how Hendricks describes it at all. Her career sounds like one out of an 80s Judy annual: innocent and hearty, good for pin money and travel opportunities. “I think I was lucky – I didn’t start when I was 14. When I was about 18 or 19, I went to Japan for the first time, I went to Italy. We’d be lots of girls, sharing a house, and I sort of became the den mother. I’d make everyone egg salad sandwiches and Greek salads, going into this mother hen role.”

That is what they say about being taken hostage: if you want to survive, choose someone to look after. “Oh,” she says, coolly. “I wouldn’t consider being a model as being a hostage.”

She was only ever medium-successful, she insists – an “unusual and quirky” hire, rather than the slam-dunk face of everything. About as far as it went was that she never had to get another job to supplement her income. Probably the most famous image of that era in which she was involved was the poster for American Beauty. Two models were in the frame, so they took a photo of the stomach and the hands of each. In the end, they used Hendricks’s hand on the other model’s stomach. It sounds like a clunky metaphor, but it is true.

During this period, she moved to London with a friend, for the hell of it, living in a flat on Gloucester Road, “surviving on cider and hummus”. It is a glimpse of the oddball she says she was growing up, the outsider as whom she is rarely cast. This has been the story of her CV. “Early on in my career, I would get auditions and I would call my manager and say: ‘I would never cast me in this – she’s a cheerleader, she’s a bimbo. Can I audition for the other one, the weird doctor?’ And they’d be like: ‘No, they saw your picture.’ And I started realising that people didn’t see the weird, goofy me that I saw.”

She made the jump from modelling to acting via adverts, with what looks like fairytale ease. In fact, it was “a lot of pounding the pavement and showing up for auditions and getting rejected – and learning, as a young woman, to not take that personally”. By the late 90s, she was the face of ultimate female confidence, the woman who drinks Johnnie Walker and doesn’t need a chauffeur (these are two ads, not one for drink-driving). “I always thought of modelling as freeze-frame acting. It felt like a scene, and I still consider it that way. There are so many technical things that I think people don’t notice. They see you playing dress-up.”

From the commercials, she learned “how to hit a mark, how to memorise a line”, but acting wasn’t novel. She had been doing community theatre since the age of 10, and grew up expecting an alternative life, supplementing an art-house existence any which way. She never amplifies her creative urges. She is much happier talking about professionalism and graft, but that is strategic more than anything else. “I am incredibly emotional and I take things very personally. But I’ve learned to be a little bit of a politician and a little bit of a producer along the way. As a female actor, the easy go-to is: ‘She was emotional, she was hysterical.’ It can be a million other people’s fault, but it’s easy to point your finger at an emotional artist. So, I realised: if I’m going to be taken seriously, I need to have professional perspective and I can cry about it to my friends later.”

Yet she cares deeply about creativity, as is clear when she talks about Mad Men. “It may eclipse anything I ever did. And, if it does, it was a good one and I’m proud of it,” she says. “I got to bring who I was as a woman. I think I learned some of how to be a woman from Joan. No one would give a shit about me if it wasn’t for that show. I’d still be doing good work, but no one would have found me. If that’s the best thing I ever do, it was pretty good.”

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