#i tagged all the previous ones as ask me about :)

[bsturnzmtts]

Let me show you- Matt Sturniolo

Re uploaded because my account bsturnzmtt got deactivated :( Please follow and let me know if you want to be in my tag list !

Paring: bsf! Matt x bsf! Reader

Contains/warnings: smut, kissing, oral f receiving, slight overstimulation, almost caught?

Summary: Your best friend Matt finds out no has gone down on you before, so he decides to show you how good it feels…

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You and your friends rented a cabin for the summer. It was a very nice cabin and everyone got their own room. All the girls in the cabin decided to go shopping, but you stayed because you weren’t feeling so well. Right now you are in the living with the rest of the guys. You’re on a couch on your phone not really paying attention to their conversation.

“Hey guys, do you think girls actually enjoy getting eaten out, so do they pretend like they do?” Someone randomly asks.

“Nah, I’m pretty sure they enjoy it.” Matt says.

“What if they just pretend because guys like it?” Someone else says.

“Mh I’ve never thought about it.” Another person says.

“Guys, they obviously enjoy it.” Matt says.

“You think?” A guy asks.

“Yeah! Hey y/n!” Matt says.

You raise your head when you hear your name, coming out of your own world. “Mh? Yeah?”

“Do girls actually enjoy when guys go down on them or do they pretend they like it?” Matt asks.

You get a bit flustered by the question. “Oh- I have no idea… I’ve never experienced it.” You say.

Matt chuckles a bit, trying to make things less awkward. “Well, in my experience, most girls seem to enjoy it.”

Everyone goes back to their previous conversation, and you go back to your phone. But Matt eyes stay glued to you, his mind racing with many thoughts, being surprised no one has had a taste of you in that way.

After a while everyone decided to go get some groceries that were missing.

“I’ll pass on this one guys, I think I’m gonna go take a nap or something.” You say and start heading upstairs.

“Matt you coming?” Someone asks.

“What? Uhmm no, no I think I’ll stay here.” He says.

As you make your way upstairs, Matt's gaze follows you. The rest of the group files out of the house and piles into a car to go shopping. Once you hear their car pull away, Matt gets up and makes his way over to the staircase.

You go into your room.

Matt quietly creeps up the stairs, his footsteps barely making a sound on the creaky wood. He pauses outside your door, taking a deep breath before gently turning the handle and pushing it open. The room is dimly lit, with soft afternoon sunlight streaming through the blinds.

“Oh hey, I thought you went with the rest of the guys.” You say.

Stepping inside, Matt says, "Nah, I wanted to stay behind." He takes a moment to observe you, admiring your figure as you lay there. “I thought I'd stay here and keep you company.”

“Cool” you say and pat on the bed on the spot next to you.

Matt walks over to the bed, sitting down gently beside you. He gazes at you, studying your features. He reaches out and carefully tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, letting his hand linger briefly on the curve of your cheek. “The guys you’ve been with are probably assholes.” He suddenly says with a chuckle.

You chuckle. “What?” You ask with confusion.

“I mean… for never going down on you.” He pauses for a moment. “Or are you a virgin?” He asks.

“Noo no I’m not, they’ve just never done it, and I’ve never really asked for it.” You respond.

“That’s the thing, you shouldn’t have to ask for it. If the guy really cares about your pleasure, they would do it.” He says looking at you. “That’s why I’m telling you, the guys that you’ve been with are probably assholes and only care for their pleasure.” He says with a chuckle.

“Mh, I guess you’re right. I mean the guys I’ve been with recently, weren't like good y’know. And I didn’t get to…” you confess.

“You didn’t get to cum?” He asks surprised.

You shake your head.

“Maybe that’s why you seem so anxious and stressed out. You need to unwind.” He chuckles.

You laugh at his comment. “Shut up.”

Matt laughs along with you, a warm genuine laugh that slowly fades leaving a fond smile on his face. His gaze softens as he looks at you, leaning slightly closer. “Let me show you.”

Your breath hitches at his words. “What?”

Matt softly runs his fingers through your hair, looking at you with a soft expression. “Let me show you how good I can make you feel.” He gently traces the outer edge of your lips with his thumb, a faint smirk playing around the corner of his mouth. “I don’t have to get anything in return. I promise it'll be worth it.” He says, his voice taking on a slightly husky timbre. “You don’t have to do anything, just lay back.”

Your heart rate quickens. “Matt I-“

Matt gently presses his fingers against your lips, silencing your words. His eyes gleaming with mischief. “Shhhh.” A small smirk plays around the corner of his mouth as he gently pushes you down on the bed. “Let me take care of you.”

Matt slowly leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, exploratory kiss. His hand gently cradles the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair as he deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a slow, sensual dance.

You quickly melt into his kiss and start kissing back.

A pleased hum escapes Matt as he responds eagerly to your kiss. His hand gently trails down your side, coming to rest on the curve of your waist.

Matt gently trails his lips down the curve of your neck, a soft sigh escaping you as he does so. His fingers trace gentle patterns on your side, causing small shivers to run down your spine.

Matt smirks at your gasp, his lips moving lower down your body. He takes his time, worshipping every inch of skin he reveals with his mouth and hands. He loves the sounds you make, the way your body reacts to his touch. His hands go down to the hem of your shirt and start lifting it up.

Matt looks up at you, a soft smile on his face as he sees the look on your face. His hands continue moving up your body, slowly lifting your shirt along with them. He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to the exposed skin on your stomach. Matt's lips leave a trail of small kisses up your stomach, finally reaching the edge of your bra. His hands come up to cup your breasts, giving them a gentle squeeze as he leans in to kiss the exposed skin around the edge. You lift up a little for him to unclasp your bra. Matt's hands move behind you, his fingers quickly finding the clasp of your bra. He unhooks it, pulling the garment away from your body. His hands return to cup your breasts, giving them a gentle squeeze as he leans in to press a soft kiss to each nipple.

You gasp as you feel his lips on your nipples. “Mmh”

Matt smirks at your response, his tongue darting out to flick at your nipple. He hears your moan and knows that you're enjoying this as much as he is. His hands wander lower, slipping under the waistband of your pants.

Matt leans back to give himself room to work, his fingers quickly finding the button and zipper of your pants. He undoes them, slowly pulling your pants and underwear down in one smooth motion. His eyes never leave yours, the entire time, a small smirk on his face the whole time.

Matt's hands run up and down the insides of your thighs, slowly spreading them apart. He leans in, his eyes seeking out yours for permission before he presses a kiss to your clit.

“Mmh.” You moan and arch your back.

Matt smiles at your response, your moan only encouraging him to keep going. He continues to place soft kisses to your clit, occasionally slipping his tongue out to flick at it. His hands continue to rub up and down your thighs, his fingers occasionally brushing against your entrance teasingly. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

Matt chuckles at your breathy response, pleased with the effect he's having on you. He gently pushes your legs further apart, giving him more access. His tongue delves between your folds, lapping at your juices before focusing on your clit again. “Goddamn, you taste amazing”

“Mmh oh god Matt” you moan.

Matt's ego swells at your breathy exclamation. A small smirk plays on his lips as he continues to feast on you, his tongue exploring every inch of your pussy. His fingers slip inside you, curling against your walls in search of that sweet spot.

“Mhhh” you moan and whimper.

Matt hums against you, the vibrations sending ripples of pleasure through your body. He increases the pace of his tongue, alternating between long, slow laps and quick flicks against your clit. His fingers continue to move in and out of you, hitting that sweet spot inside that makes your hips buck against his face. “Fuck, I could eat you out forever.”

“Mmhp Matt.” You whimper.

Matt groans against your pussy at the way you say his name, your moans are music to his ears. Matt looks up at you, his eyes dark with desire, before returning his attention to your pussy. He wraps his lips around your clit and sucks gently, his tongue still teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Matt's tongue continues to tease you, his fingers moving in and out of you with steady rhythm. His other hand comes up to cup your breast, squeezing gently as he feels your nipple.

“Matt mmh I’m close.” You moan.

Matt's pace quickens at your words, his tongue lashing against your clit as he feels you tensing up. He can feel your orgasm building, and the thought of making you come undone sends a surge of excitement through him.

“Mmhp Matt.” You let out as you cum.

Matt laps at your clit furiously as you cum, his fingers still pumping in and out of you. He sucks hard on your clit, drawing out every last ripple of your orgasm. “You taste so fucking sweet.”

“Mh fuck.” You whimper.

Matt continues to lap at your pussy, his tongue still buried in your folds as he helps you ride out the aftershocks of your climax.

“Matt, too much.” You moan.

When you finally go limp beneath him, he pulls back, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "sorry you taste so good," he says, his voice low and husky. His chin glistening with your juices. He slowly removes his fingers from you, bringing them to his mouth and sucking them clean.

"I could taste you all day." Matt says, his tone full of sincerity. He leans in and kisses you deeply, his tongue slipping into your mouth, letting you taste yourself on his lips. “Was that good?”

You smile and nod at him. “It was amazing, thank you.”

"I'm glad you enjoyed it as much as I did." Matt smiles back at you, clearly pleased with himself. He lies down beside you, pulling you against him and wrapping his arm around your waist. "You're so fucking beautiful when you come apart like that." He places a gentle kiss on your neck.

You guys stay like that for a moment until you hear noise coming from downstairs.

“I think they’re back already.” You say.

"Damnit, already?" Matt grumbles. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

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[novaursa]

Legacy (sun over the capital)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Paring: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Note: Just a reminder how events and timeline of the story don't match the canon.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: bloodlines

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The heavy wooden doors to Tywin’s private chambers in the Tower of the Hand were flung open with a force that made the guards stationed outside exchange wary glances. Cersei stormed in, her eyes blazing with barely contained fury, her voice sharp as she addressed her father.

“Father,” she spat, her tone filled with venom. “Is it true?”

Tywin didn’t bother looking up from the stack of documents on his desk, his face calm and collected, though his eyes flickered with a subtle hint of irritation. He set his quill down, folding his hands together as he finally regarded her.

“And what truth are you seeking, Cersei?” he asked, his voice even, though a trace of coldness lurked beneath the words.

Cersei’s nostrils flared as she glared at him, her fists clenched at her sides. “Pycelle has informed me that she—” Cersei’s voice dripped with contempt as she referred to you—“is with child. Your child. And yet, you saw fit not to tell any of us?”

Tywin’s gaze hardened, and a faint, dangerous glint sparked in his eyes at the mention of Pycelle. “I see I’ll need to have a conversation with Grand Maester Pycelle about the limits of his discretion,” he said icily, his voice carrying a warning that made even Cersei falter for a moment.

But Cersei’s fury was unrestrained, her temper flaring once more. “So it’s true, then? You’ve brought another child into this world, and you’ve kept it hidden from your own family! You think of nothing and no one but yourself, Father!”

Tywin rose slowly from his chair, his towering presence casting a long shadow in the low lit chamber. His expression was calm, controlled, but there was an unyielding authority in his gaze as he regarded his daughter.

“This child,” he said, his voice steady and sharp, “will be the future of House Lannister. Whether you approve or not, Cersei, this is a fact that will not change. I made this decision for the good of our family. You would do well to remember where your loyalties lie.”

Cersei’s face twisted with anger, her voice rising as she took a step toward him. “Our family? You mean your ambitions. This is all about your endless schemes, about the name Tywin Lannister—nothing more. And if it’s a boy, you’ll simply hand Casterly Rock to him, disregarding your own children?”

Tywin’s gaze did not waver. “If this child is born a son, he will indeed inherit Casterly Rock,” he replied with a note of finality. “He will carry the name of Lannister, a name that will live on long after I am gone. This child—my child—will be raised with the discipline and values that our house represents. And should he prove worthy, he will take his rightful place as Lord of Casterly Rock.”

Cersei’s eyes flashed with fury, and she let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “So you’ll set him above Jaime, above Tyrion, above me? Just because he’s the result of this… this alliance of yours?” Her voice dripped with scorn. “You’ll disregard your own blood—your true heirs—for a child born of convenience?”

Tywin’s voice remained firm, cutting through her tirade like steel. “This child is my blood, and I will not allow my legacy to falter because of your jealousy or pettiness, Cersei.” His eyes bore into hers, a silent warning in their depths. “You will treat this child with the respect befitting his place in this family. And you will not let your bitterness poison what I have built.”

Cersei’s mouth tightened, her eyes blazing as she struggled to contain her outrage. “And what of your daughter, then? What of your own children who have done everything for you, sacrificed everything for this family, only to be discarded when it suits you?”

Tywin’s expression did not soften, but there was a hint of impatience in his gaze, as though he were weary of her complaints. “This is not a matter of sentiment, Cersei. It is a matter of legacy. Every decision I make is for the strength of House Lannister, and I will not be questioned on this.” He took a step closer, his voice lowering but growing even more intense. “You would do well to remember your place, daughter, and to trust my judgment. There is no room for weakness in this family.”

Cersei’s face twisted with frustration, her voice low and dangerous. “You think this child will be some savior for our family? That he’ll be the one to carry your legacy?”

Tywin met her gaze with an unwavering stare. “If he is a son, he will have all that I offer—an inheritance, a legacy, and the guidance to become what I expect. And if he is a daughter, she will be treated with the same dignity. But I will not tolerate anything less than respect from you or anyone else in this family, Cersei.”

Cersei let out a humorless laugh, her voice tinged with bitterness. “So, we are all simply tools for your ambition, are we?”

Tywin’s gaze darkened, his voice cold and resolute. “I do what I must to ensure our house remains strong. I make the sacrifices no one else will. Do not forget, Cersei, that your position, your power, all stem from the strength I have built. If you truly care for our family, you will accept this and uphold our legacy.”

Cersei clenched her fists, her face flushed with anger, but she said nothing more. The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words, before she turned on her heel, storming out of his chambers, her footsteps echoing down the corridor.

Tywin watched her leave, his face unreadable, his gaze sharp and unyielding. After a long moment, he returned to his desk, picking up his quill once more, his expression composed and resolute.

The soft murmur of voices filled the chamber as you sat comfortably among Lady Olenna, Margaery, and Sansa. Servants moved gracefully around the room, bringing refreshments and tending to every detail, creating an air of quiet luxury.

Olenna leaned back in her chair, observing you with her sharp, discerning eyes, a faint, wry smile tugging at her lips. She had a presence that seemed to command the room effortlessly, every line on her face hinting at a life spent maneuvering through the treacherous waters of court. Margaery sat beside her, her gaze warm and attentive as she listened, and Sansa, ever poised but still shy, stole glances between you and Margaery with a mixture of admiration and quiet curiosity.

After a few minutes, Margaery turned to Sansa, her tone light but inviting. “Sansa, would you care to join me for a walk in the gardens? I’ve been meaning to talk with you about some of the arrangements for the upcoming festivities. I could use your input.”

Sansa’s face lit up with a smile, nodding eagerly. “Of course, Lady Margaery. I’d love to help.”

With a graceful rise, Margaery took Sansa’s hand, guiding her toward the doors. She cast a warm smile back at you and her grandmother before stepping out, leaving you alone with Olenna. The older woman’s gaze lingered on the door for a moment before settling back on you, her expression one of curious amusement.

“Well,” Olenna began, her voice dry and laced with humor, “I must say, Lady Y/N, the former princess turned Lady Lannister. Quite a title for one to carry in such interesting times.”

You returned her gaze with a steady smile, sensing the probing nature of her words but refusing to rise to any bait. “Times have indeed grown interesting, Lady Olenna,” you replied smoothly. “Titles change with the wind, as I’ve come to learn. One must adapt, after all.”

Olenna’s gaze sharpened, a glint of approval in her eyes as she observed you closely. “Adapt, yes,” she echoed. “But you have done more than adapt. I’ve seen how you’ve managed to earn favor with Lord Tywin himself, a man who’s hardly known for his warmth. That alone tells me there’s more to you than meets the eye.”

You let out a quiet chuckle, though the weight of her words hung between you. “Lady Olenna, when survival depends on forging unlikely alliances, one learns quickly. Tywin and I both understand that much.”

Olenna’s lips curled into a knowing smile. “Oh, my dear, it’s much more than survival. Don’t pretend otherwise. Tywin Lannister is many things, but sentimental is not one of them. He doesn’t hold people close unless there’s something worth keeping.” She leaned forward slightly, her tone taking on a more personal note. “And I daresay, it’s rare to see him so attentive to anyone.”

You felt the weight of her observation, her words cutting through the pleasantries and touching upon the truth you’d carefully guarded. Tywin’s attention had indeed been more than mere duty, and though he was hardly a man of outward affection, his loyalty and protective nature had shown in subtle ways.

“What Tywin values most,” you said slowly, carefully choosing your words, “is strength. I think he sees something of that in me, perhaps because we both know what it is to lose family, to survive by our wits.”

Olenna watched you intently, her gaze softened, though her sharpness remained. “Strength is one thing, but what you have is a gift for survival that goes beyond mere endurance. It’s an art form, the way you navigate this court.” She chuckled, a gleam of approval in her eyes. “A former princess of the blood, seated at Tywin’s side, holding his favor like a sword at her hip. It’s almost poetic.”

You allowed yourself a small, knowing smile. “Poetry, perhaps, but with a touch of tragedy, wouldn’t you say? Every choice is calculated, every alliance a delicate balance.” You paused, meeting her gaze with quiet resolve. “For Tywin and me, it’s as much about understanding each other’s strengths as it is about surviving the expectations placed on us.”

Olenna nodded, her expression contemplative. “Indeed. And in a place like King’s Landing, a partnership of that kind is as close to power as one can get. There are few who can claim such influence over the likes of Tywin Lannister.” She arched an eyebrow, her voice carrying a hint of respect. “Even fewer who can hold their own under his scrutiny.”

You laughed softly, a genuine sound that broke the formality of the moment. “Perhaps I should thank you for the compliment, Lady Olenna. But Tywin values loyalty and strength above all, and I value… survival, as we said.”

Olenna leaned back, studying you with a smile that hinted at admiration. “Oh, don’t mistake my words. I recognize a survivor when I see one, and you, my dear, are as skilled at the game as any queen who’s ever ruled from the shadows.” She tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair, a glimmer of satisfaction in her gaze. “But do not be fooled—what you have with Tywin is more than just survival. He wouldn’t waste his time or his protection if he didn’t see something valuable in you.”

You held her gaze, her words sinking in, and you knew Olenna spoke with the wisdom of someone who understood power intimately. “Perhaps he does,” you conceded softly. “But whatever he sees, it serves us both. And in a court like this one, such mutual interests are as precious as dragon’s gold.”

Olenna’s expression softened, her sharpness tempered by a rare warmth. “Well said, my dear. You’ve earned more than mere survival—you’ve earned a place of respect, even here, and that’s no small feat.” She paused, her voice lowering to a more personal tone. “But remember, in this game, allies are often as valuable as titles. And should you find yourself in need of friends… the Tyrells are not ones to turn away those with the strength to endure.”

You inclined your head, understanding the depth of her offer. “Thank you, Lady Olenna. I will remember that.” There was a subtle acknowledgment between you, a recognition that in the shifting sands of King’s Landing, allies could be the difference between survival and ruin.

Olenna’s gaze softened further, her voice holding a rare note of warmth. “Then let’s hope it’s a long-lasting friendship.” She lifted her cup in a small, quiet toast, her smile carrying a hint of respect, her eyes gleaming with something akin to approval.

The small, dimly lit room echoed with the clinking of glasses and soft laughter as Tyrion and Bronn sat together, sharing a rare moment of lighthearted drinking. The table before them was scattered with empty goblets, the dark red stains of Arbor wine smudged across the wood, a testament to the number of toasts they’d already raised.

As Bronn tipped his goblet back, the door opened with a quiet creak, and Varys entered, his footsteps light and his face calm but curious. Tyrion noticed him instantly, a grin stretching across his face as he raised his goblet in welcome.

“Ah, the Spider himself,” Tyrion greeted, gesturing grandly for Varys to join them. “Care to join us for a toast, Varys? It’s not often we have a cause for cheer in this dreary place.”

Varys inclined his head with a polite smile, stepping forward as Bronn slid over slightly, making room for him at the table. “A toast, is it? Now that does intrigue me,” Varys replied smoothly, his voice light but tinged with curiosity. “And what, may I ask, are we celebrating?”

Tyrion chuckled, raising an eyebrow as he leaned back in his chair. “Oh, don’t play coy with me, Varys. I find it hard to believe that the master of whispers is unaware of any piece of news circulating within these walls.”

Varys’s lips curved in a mild smile, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “One could say I’m aware of… many things, my lord. But I do so enjoy hearing it from the source. It lends a certain charm to the information.”

Tyrion laughed, shaking his head before lifting his goblet to Varys. “Well then, let it be known that we are toasting to the newest addition to House Lannister… or at least, the one yet to be born.” He smirked, his voice laced with a hint of irony. “My dear stepmother is with child. And, as you can imagine, this has done wonders for my sister’s mood.”

Bronn snorted, raising his goblet to clink against Tyrion’s. “Aye, Cersei’s likely to drink the whole damn wine cellar dry by morning.”

Varys’s smile widened slightly, though his eyes remained calm and calculating as he glanced between them. “How… delightful. A new addition to the family, and one with such a distinguished lineage. Lord Tywin must be very pleased indeed.”

Tyrion’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he took a sip of his wine, savoring it before setting the goblet down. “Oh, ‘pleased’ might be too soft a word. I’d wager he’s envisioning an heir that can finally inherit Casterly Rock, a son that he can shape in his image.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “And wouldn’t that just be the thing to push Cersei over the edge?”

Bronn chuckled, raising his goblet again. “Here’s to that—no one drives her mad quite like her own family.”

Tyrion laughed, lifting his own goblet to join Bronn’s. “Indeed. Here’s to us, the fine architects of Cersei’s impending descent into madness.”

Varys, watching the exchange with amusement, finally accepted the offer of a goblet from a passing servant, though he held it delicately, not yet raising it to his lips. “My, my,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of humor. “A child born of both lion and dragon. The realm will certainly find that interesting, though not nearly as interesting as the politics it will spark within the family itself.”

Tyrion glanced at Varys, his expression thoughtful as he swirled the wine in his goblet. “Oh, don’t pretend you’re not intrigued by it yourself, Varys. An heir with Targaryen blood under Tywin’s roof—that’s enough to set even the most controlled noble spinning.”

Varys tilted his head, a glint of something almost approving in his eyes. “It does present… unique possibilities,” he agreed. “Tywin Lannister is not a man to make alliances lightly, especially one of such lasting consequence. And if this child should indeed prove to be a son, well… the implications for House Lannister would be substantial.”

Bronn gave a low chuckle, tipping his goblet back. “I don’t see what all the fuss is about. As long as the child doesn’t end up like Joffrey, Westeros should count itself lucky.”

Tyrion’s grin widened, a spark of mischief in his eyes as he raised his goblet to Varys. “Well said, Bronn. If this child inherits even an ounce of Tywin’s calculation and none of Joffrey’s malice, it might actually turn out to be the rare Lannister worth rooting for.”

Varys chuckled, swirling the wine in his goblet thoughtfully. “Let us hope, then, that this future heir finds the best qualities of both parents. Though, knowing Lord Tywin, I suspect the child will have little choice in the matter.”

Tyrion leaned back, his expression shifting into one of contemplation. “Yes, Tywin will no doubt be a forceful hand in the child’s upbringing. But… perhaps there’s a bit of Targaryen fire that might resist even him. I daresay my stepmother has shown herself more than capable of holding her own against the likes of Tywin.”

Bronn raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like you’re actually rooting for her.”

Tyrion shrugged, taking another sip of his wine. “Perhaps I am. She’s proven herself a formidable woman, and not without a touch of compassion—something our family has always lacked. She might actually bring a bit of balance to the golden lion’s brood.” His gaze drifted to Varys, his tone turning thoughtful. “I’d say that makes her quite the wild card, wouldn’t you agree, Varys?”

Varys inclined his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Indeed. In a family as tightly controlled as the Lannisters, a touch of unpredictability can be… refreshing.” His gaze turned contemplative, as if he were already calculating the potential outcomes of this new addition.

Tyrion gave him a knowing smile, clinking his goblet with Varys’s. “Then let’s drink to unpredictability. To dragons in lion’s dens and the chaos they bring.”

Varys lifted his goblet with a faint chuckle, finally taking a small sip, a spark of amusement lingering in his eyes. “To dragons in lion’s dens,” he echoed softly.

And as they drank, a quiet understanding passed between them—of the game, of the players, and of the thrilling unpredictability that even the most careful plans could not account for.

The heavy drapes were drawn to shut out the glare of the midday sun in the Queen's chambers. Cersei sat by the hearth, a goblet of wine clutched tightly in her hand, her face a mask of bitterness. She was nursing her frustration in silence when Joffrey burst into the room, his face twisted with a mixture of anxiety and anger.

“Mother,” he began, his voice urgent, “is it true? Is she… is she with child?”

Cersei didn’t look up immediately, her grip tightening on the goblet as she took a deep, steadying breath. When she finally lifted her gaze to meet her son’s, her eyes were sharp, her expression sour. “Yes, Joffrey,” she replied curtly, her tone laced with contempt. “Your dear grandfather’s new wife is with child. A Lannister-Targaryen child. Imagine that.”

Joffrey’s face paled, and he took a step closer, his eyes wide with a growing panic. “A child with Targaryen blood… and Lannister blood?” He swallowed, his voice a whisper as he processed the implications. “Doesn’t that mean… wouldn’t that mean it could have a better claim than me?”

Cersei’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile, though her eyes were cold. “Yes, that’s certainly what some might think, isn’t it?” She took a long sip from her goblet, the wine staining her lips a dark red. “A Targaryen child, born into the heart of House Lannister. Tywin’s pet project. A new legacy for him to fawn over. And you, my sweet boy, are expected to simply sit by and watch as it unfolds.”

Joffrey’s panic turned swiftly into anger, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “How can he do this?” he demanded, his voice rising. “How can you let him do this? This… this child could take everything that’s mine! My throne, my power!”

Cersei’s gaze darkened, her fingers tightening around the stem of her goblet. “You think I don’t know that, Joffrey?” she hissed, her voice laced with venom. “You think I haven’t seen this coming from the moment he married her? This child is Tywin’s way of ensuring his legacy goes on, with or without us.”

Joffrey’s face twisted with fury, his eyes blazing. “He’ll be no better than Stannis, Renly, or Robb Stark,” he spat, pacing angrily. “Another usurper trying to take what belongs to me. And you—” he turned on Cersei, his voice accusatory—“you should be doing something about it!”

Cersei’s gaze hardened, her voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “I am your mother, Joffrey. And I have done everything for you, to protect your throne, to protect your future. But Tywin… he doesn’t care about anything or anyone unless it serves his ambitions.”

“But you’re the Queen Regnant!” Joffrey snapped, his voice filled with a petulant fury. “You can stop him, you can make sure this child never sees the light of day!”

Cersei’s face twisted, her anger simmering just beneath the surface as she looked at her son. “And how would you suggest I do that, Joffrey? I am not the one who wields the power here. Tywin does, and he has made it very clear that this child will be the future of House Lannister.” Her voice softened, a bitter edge creeping into her tone. “He is willing to cast aside all of us for the sake of this… this perfect heir he believes he’ll have.”

Joffrey’s breathing was shallow, his chest rising and falling as he struggled to contain his frustration. “So we’re just supposed to sit back and watch as he creates another contender for the throne?” His voice was filled with disbelief, his eyes wide with anger and fear. “I’m the king, Mother! I won’t have anyone challenge me—not my uncles, not some… some child!”

Cersei took a measured sip of her wine, her gaze cool as she watched Joffrey’s reaction. “Then you’d better start acting like a king, Joffrey,” she said sharply. “This isn’t about whining or stamping your feet. This is about understanding who holds the real power—and learning how to play the game as they do.”

Joffrey’s mouth twisted into a sneer. “Tywin thinks he can control everything. He thinks he can just replace us whenever it suits him.”

Cersei’s gaze darkened, her eyes flashing with anger. “Believe me, I know exactly how Tywin operates. But for now, we have to be careful. This child isn’t here yet. And if it is born… well, there are ways to ensure it never becomes a threat.”

Joffrey’s expression shifted, his anger tempered by a glint of satisfaction at the thought of removing a rival before it could grow strong. “Then you’d better make sure it stays that way, Mother,” he said coldly. “I will not be replaced. I am the king. And anyone who tries to take that from me… will pay the price.”

Cersei’s lips curled into a thin smile, though her eyes were filled with bitterness. “Oh, my sweet Joffrey. I’ll make sure nothing takes your throne from you. But remember… in this world, it’s not always the strongest who survive. It’s the ones who know how to strike when the time is right.”

With that, she drained her goblet, her expression hardening as she met her son’s gaze. They both understood what needed to be done. And as they sat there, silent but resolute, a dark determination settled over them both—a shared desire to ensure that nothing, not even Tywin’s ambitions, would take away what they saw as rightfully theirs.

You lounged comfortably on a cushioned settee, Tywin seated across from you, deep in a stack of documents and letters. He seemed as immersed in the minutiae of the realm’s business as ever, though he’d allowed you this rare shared afternoon, a quiet moment that felt both peaceful and oddly domestic.

But the calm was interrupted by a soft knock at the door, and when Tywin inclined his head, a young servant stepped in, looking slightly flustered, his gaze shifting nervously between you and Tywin.

“Speak,” Tywin commanded, his tone cool and steady.

The servant cleared his throat, bowing his head respectfully before glancing quickly at you. “My lord, my lady… there is a visitor from Dorne in the city.”

Tywin’s gaze sharpened, his brow barely lifting. “Go on.”

The servant shifted from foot to foot, visibly uneasy. “Prince Oberyn Martell, my lord. He arrived in King’s Landing earlier today and is… insistent on speaking with Lady Y/N.”

At the mention of Oberyn, a flicker of surprise danced across Tywin’s face, though he quickly masked it, his expression hardening. He cast a sidelong glance at you, studying your reaction.

You arched an eyebrow, meeting Tywin’s gaze before turning to the servant. “Prince Oberyn is here?” you asked, a hint of curiosity in your voice. “Where is he staying?”

The servant hesitated, looking distinctly uncomfortable as he wrung his hands together. “Prince Oberyn is… currently at one of the city’s brothels, my lady. He was… most insistent that you be informed.”

You couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at the corners of your lips. Oberyn’s choice of accommodations was hardly surprising, but you sensed it wouldn’t sit well with Tywin. You glanced over at him, noting the slight tightening of his jaw, the way his fingers flexed ever so slightly against the table.

“Of course he is,” you murmured, a hint of amusement coloring your tone. “It seems Prince Oberyn hasn’t changed his ways.”

Tywin’s expression was as cold as winter steel, his gaze flicking to the servant with a dismissive nod. “You may leave,” he instructed, his voice low and controlled.

The servant quickly bowed and hurried from the room, leaving you alone with Tywin once more. He turned his gaze on you, his expression unreadable but his eyes reflecting a simmering irritation.

“Oberyn Martell,” he said, his voice like granite. “Trust a Martell to make his entrance at a brothel, of all places. Did he give any indication why he so wishes to see you?”

You shrugged, a faint smirk lingering. “Oberyn has never been one for propriety. I suspect he has his reasons, though what they are, I can only imagine.” You paused, a playful glint in your eye. “And I imagine they are as intriguing as he is.”

Tywin’s gaze grew colder, his jaw set in a hard line. “Oberyn’s intrigue is of little consequence,” he replied sharply. “The man revels in scandal as if it were a sport. If he seeks your company, it’s likely only to fan the flames of discontent and stir up trouble.”

You tilted your head, meeting his gaze with a calm confidence. “Perhaps. But Oberyn has never been one to seek out someone without purpose. He may revel in scandal, but he is not a fool.”

Tywin’s eyes narrowed slightly, his voice carrying a quiet intensity. “He may be a prince, but Oberyn Martell is still a Martell—impulsive, driven by passions that often cloud his judgment. Do not mistake his presence here as a gesture of goodwill.”

You held his gaze, a hint of defiance in your expression. “I know Oberyn well enough to understand the complexities of his character, Tywin. And while he may be impulsive, he is also… refreshingly direct. I’d rather hear him out than speculate.”

Tywin’s jaw tightened further, though a glint of grudging respect flickered in his eyes. “You intend to meet with him, then?”

You nodded, your tone firm. “I do. Better to speak directly with Oberyn than leave questions unanswered. He’s come all this way, after all. It would be… impolite not to.”

A slight frown tugged at the corners of Tywin’s mouth, though he inclined his head slightly. “Very well,” he replied, though his tone remained clipped. “But I’ll not have him stirring up chaos in this city. And I trust you’ll remember where your loyalties lie.”

You offered him a calm smile, a touch of reassurance in your gaze. “My loyalties are clear, Tywin. But I cannot ignore a visitor from Dorne. I’ll meet with him, hear what he has to say… and return here.”

Tywin’s gaze lingered on you, a mixture of caution and an intensity that spoke of both his protectiveness and his mistrust of Oberyn. “See to it that Oberyn understands his place here. This city is not Dorne, and his actions will not go unobserved.”

You nodded, rising from the settee with a composed air. “I shall make that perfectly clear, my lord.” With a final glance at Tywin, you left the room, feeling his gaze follow you as you made your way down the corridors.

As you walked, thoughts of Oberyn filled your mind—his charm, his volatility, his relentless pursuit of justice. Whatever he wished to discuss, you had little doubt it would be laced with intrigue, perhaps even danger. But that was Oberyn’s way, and if there was one thing you knew about the Dornish prince, it was that he never did anything without purpose.

[megamindsecretlair]

Make Me Weak, Part 2

Pairing: Sex Therapist!Terry Richmond x Sub!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Cursing, mentions of depression, anxiety, and description of sex acts and sexual issues. Hair pulling, PIV, condom use. Power imbalance, Shy!reader. Dark!Terry. Dom!Terry, AU Terry, all consensual. Sorry if I missed some. I'm not a therapist and while I do not make light of therapy, this is purely for my own fun. Please seek real medical attention when necessary.

Summary: You followed Dr. Richmond’s instructions to the best of your ability. You spent so much time in your mind that willingly descending into your body was an experience that opened your eyes to how much you had neglected. Your second session forces you to confront more truths than what you were ready for. 

Terry reaches some conclusions of his own as he tries to shake whatever is ailing him by disappearing between Tasia’s thighs. Yet his mind is on you, on your thoughts and words. During the second session, he can’t help but push you beyond your limit.

Word Count: 5,018k

Part 1 | AO3 Link

A/N: I'n back babbyyyy. I got so inspired reading so many lovely fics. Plus the encouraging asks really helped. I had TOO much fun writing this and you will not hurt my feelings if you don't want to read this one. However, I must tag to keep my taglist updated. Forgive me, my loves. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

You

Hot steam rolled out from the shower as you set it to your desired temperature. You faced yourself in the mirror, thinking over Dr. Richmond’s words. You supposed that there was some truth to what he had told you.

Most people did start by exploring their own bodies first. It must be so easy for guys. Close the door, grab some lotion, and rub one out. Girls on the other hand…your life was constantly spent in a state of panic.

Panic that anything on your person would make your mother snap. Harsh criticisms hidden behind “just talkin’ shit” that Black people liked to hide behind. You were too sensitive to jokey-joke with when you weren’t able to reciprocate. It’s not like you could talk about your mom. It’s not like you could throw insults back in her face and tell her to take it in stride.

Panic that you could be caught or exposed at any point. You were a grown woman, yes. You were also taught to believe that you needed to act as if someone was watching. You believed there was some kind of life after all this and so wouldn’t it stand to reason that someone or something would be looking at you? Or worse, someone would come flying through your door because your family lacked boundaries? 

Panic that you didn’t know what lay on the other side of an orgasm. How would you feel? How would you look? Surely something like that changed a person. Feeling that rush of relief for the first time had to be special. Had to be amazing. Otherwise, why would anyone ever be obsessed with sex? 

Panic that you’d never reach that peak and fall over. Never feel that rush of euphoria that everyone talked about. Porn, books, friend groups. You always felt left out and you didn’t want to anymore, dammit. 

You watched yourself in the mirror as steam overtook it, inch by inch. Until you were only staring at your eyes and the disbelief written all over your face. Would this even work? Were you wasting your time? 

“I need total, focused commitment from you.”

Dr. Richmond’s sultry voice skittered along your naked skin. Goosebumps raised on your flesh from the cold air moving through the house. You would be focused. You would be committed. This was something you wanted so badly, you were fucking desperate. 

So you took deep, measured breaths using the Box method a previous therapist told you about. You inhaled for a count of four, held for four, exhaled for a count of four, and then held it for four. You repeated the process, doing a full body scan. 

You focused on your head, starting with your scalp. You focused on your forehead, feeling the tension melt away and your eyebrows start to relax. You hadn’t even realized that you had it scrunched.

You brought your attention to your eyes, unfocusing them, and allowed them to close. You repeated the process, breathing the entire time, settling down into your body when your mind wanted so badly to escape. To flee. To leave the Horrors. 

When you felt your mind drift, you didn’t chastise yourself. You continued to breathe, focusing on your breaths until you continued with your scan. Your body relaxed fraction by fraction. Your shoulders lowered from up around your neck. Aches and pains became more prominent. 

Your belly expanded and you sighed. You hadn’t even noticed how often you clenched your stomach, never allowing yourself a full breath. You always had to be on edge. Never knew where the next danger was coming from. What new fresh hell you would encounter just around the corner. 

By the time you reached your feet, you felt more relaxed than you had in a long time. Your body prickled with your newfound awareness. Steam caressed your bareskin and you quickly hopped in the shower, letting the warm water cascade across your body.

The water felt different on your body. Each droplet may as well have been a tiny earthquake, popping all over your skin and making you tingle. This…wasn’t too bad. 

You lathered up your facial scrub and gently moisturized your face, soothing the stiff areas. Your jaw popped as it loosened and you moaned from the relief. 

How long? How long have you spent outside of your body? A stranger to it? A foreigner to this vessel you carried around? Had you truly loved your body when you were so alien to it? Or had you just learned to layer on the armor and pretend? 

God, you felt like crying. With one session, Dr. Richmond already had you re-thinking your entire life. Like the answer was there in your face the entire time and you just needed him to shine a light on it. 

You rinsed your face while you grabbed a washcloth and lathered up with your favorite soap. You added body wash and then took your time trailing the washcloth around your body. Starting with your neck, you worked your way down to your chest. 

You took your time feeling the rough cloth against your smooth, watery skin. You rounded the washcloth across your nipples and they beaded under the slow torture. Oh, this was new. This was very nice. 

You were focused, letting the water act as a sound machine, lulling you into a further relaxed state. You followed the washcloth with your hand, moving over and under your areolas and nipples. You pinched your nipples and gave it a tug. You gasped from the responding tug in your pussy.

You moved on, remembering Dr. Richmond’s words about not making it sexual. But fuck, how could you not? 

Heat flushed beneath your skin that had nothing to do with the hot water on your body. You washed your back and then moved lower, skirting your throbbing pussy and washed your legs and dug the cloth between your toes. 

On the way up, your fingers glided around your mound, your hips pushing forward. Your breathing turned rapid, feeling yourself getting more and more excited. Your brain turned to mush, retreating from your actions. Like it wanted to picture something else. You shook your head, and started up with your Box breathing again.

You stopped mid-shower to reorient yourself and get yourself back into that zone of ultimate calm. If Dr. Richmond were there…

You focused on what he might say. There was no rush. There was no rulebook for this sort of thing. There was no reason to chastise yourself. There was no test to pass or box you had to check in order to achieve an orgasm. You just needed to relax, dammit. 

Slowly, achingly slow, you went back to that calm. You continued lathering up your body and then rinsed the soap off. You repeated the process, adding more soap to thoroughly wash your body. To enjoy the feel of the cloth and water and soap on your skin. On your body. 

“This is the only body you’ll ever have so it’s time to think beyond simple body maintenance. Admire your body.”

This was the only body you would ever have. It was time you stopped treating it like the enemy. 

You turned off the water and then got out. The chill air hit the water on your back and you shrieked and shivered, quickly drying off. You went through your nightly routine, taking care of your teeth, face, and deodorant. You sat down on a decorated stool in your bathroom to apply your lotion.

As instructed, you looked at your body. Every mole, every scar, every bump, and every wayward hair. Being in your body was weird to say the least. You had to disassociate to survive your childhood and you never learned to drop those defenses. Your body never realized that it wasn't at war anymore. Or perhaps it was and this was battle fatigue. You were so damn tired.

You massaged the lotion into your skin and then slipped in your panties. You pulled on an ankle bracelet you got while visiting New York once and it made you feel extra pretty, so why not. You turned on your bedside light and pulled out a notebook.

You started a new entry and wrote about the sensations and revelations you experienced. Some of it you would discuss with Dr. Richmond and some of it was never leaving your grave. It felt good to get it all out, uninterrupted.

Sometimes, venting to someone else just gave them room to talk over you. To steer the direction back to them. Brooklyn was like that. In an effort to relate, she ended up taking over the convo and made it about her situation. Then you ended up comforting her about her issue and never feeling truly heard about yours.

In a journal however, you pretended that you were just relaying it to a friend. The type of friend who allowed you to speak. To get your jumbled thoughts out without getting mad or trying overshadow you. 

Done, you collapsed against your bed as if every ounce of strength left your body. You breathed through it, allowed your body to rest for a moment. The hell kind of voo-doo shit did your therapist put you through?

Immediately, warning bells went off in your mind. Surely, you would be whisked away to some super important task around the house. Surely, your phone would ring with some awful accident you had to attend to. Surely…nothing. You were drained. You had nothing. 

You had just enough energy to put the journal up, turn off the light, and drift off to the deepest sleep of your life.

Terry

Tasia bounced like a porn star on Terry’s dick and it wasn’t doing a damn thing for him. He felt himself getting soft the more Tasia shuddered with her pleasure. At least one of them was having fun. 

Maybe he rushed this. Too intent on getting you out of his mind that he hopped immediately into Tasia’s warm heat and didn’t consider that there was no substitution. He knew it was irrational to be drawn to you so fast. After only one session. He was conflicted on that front, but it went beyond just looks. 

Your case, your assessments, your willingness to try, and your obvious smarts was a cocktail shooting through his veins and turning his body liquid. The perfect sub was dropped into his lap and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

And as a man used to getting his way in the bedroom, it stuck in his craw that he couldn’t have you. That it wasn’t your pussy that his dick disappeared inside of. Would you moan loudly? Were you shy in the bedroom? Were you enthusiastic? 

What would your mouth look like taking the full length of him? How far down could you suck him? Did that same determination translate to the bedroom?

Tasia grunted beneath him as his dick rose back to life, thoughts of you turning him harder than a brick. He could build a house with how hard he was at the moment, picturing the curves on your body. The natural handles in your waist for his big hands to wrap around. To hold.

He moaned, picturing it all so clearly. His thumbs would dig into your back. The sounds you would make. His hips jerked just thinking of pounding into you. No mercy. You weren’t some fragile flower. Your insightful thoughts were like a mirror to his own. He wanted to explore with you. And the fact that he couldn’t had him pulling Tasia’s hair back.

“Call me Dr. Richmond,” he commanded.

“Yes, D-Dr. Richmond,” Tasia moaned. It was starting to piss him off. 

“Softer,” he said.

“Yes, Dr. Richmond,” she said, bringing her voice lower, softer. It was nowhere near your voice, but it’d do for the fantasy he concocted in his head. He didn’t have time for any extra tricks tonight. He just needed to get to the other side of his nut. 

He closed his eyes and thought about your case. He wondered if you were doing as you were told. He wondered how well you would take commands in the bedroom. If he even had to give commands at all. If you’d instinctively know what he needed when he needed it. Tasia used to know that. Tasia used to have him out of breath. 

Now…she was a beautiful girl with deep mocha skin, a cute face, and wide expressive eyes. She was like a little doe in a meadow somewhere. He was attracted to the overall softness of her and of her body. The natural way she seemed to know what he needed. 

Perhaps it was him that had changed. His tastes. He was no longer interested in a casual sub-relationship. Perhaps he wanted a more permanent sub. One he could explore every single nasty fantasy with and never get bored. He was getting older, getting into his early-thirties without a significant partner.

And that was what he wanted. A partner. An equal. Someone he raced home to see or spent his days thinking about how he would break her and put her back together like a puzzle box. 

Terry groaned and came into the condom, gripping Tasia’s asscheeks for dear life. It was one of the hardest climaxes he ever experienced. His release triggered hers, causing her to fall forward as her pussy gripped his dick. 

He pulled out and immediately disposed of the condom, coming back to help clean up Tasia. 

“That was…different,” she said, using the word in place of something else. He didn’t want his reputation to slacken in that regard, but hell, this whole thing had been a mistake. He still made sure she came twice before he did, but he usually put more oomph into his sexual exploits. 

He usually had Tasia popping her pussy on his face, or contorting her like a pretzel. Now…he was just over it. Over trying to impress someone that wasn’t permanent in his life. That he couldn’t play with whenever he wanted. He was no longer excited at the prospect of making many women cum. He just wanted to make one cum over and over again. He wanted to collect each one like trophies. 

Terry grabbed Tasia’s hand and kissed the back of it. “Forgive me. Tonight should’ve probably been a gym night,” he said. He smiled for good measure, but it was a close-lipped smile.

“Oh, I’m not complaining. That dick still know how to rock my world,” she said. She stood up, pulling on her sweats and sweatshirt, and slipping on her sneakers. He sat down on the bed and watched her, not feeling an ounce of desire. 

She leaned over and grabbed his chin, making him look up at her. “You take care of yourself and whatever or whoever got you in this funk. And if you need more relief, you know my number,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with another close-lipped smile. Tasia had been one of his longest play partners, he’d be sorry to see her go. She smiled and gave him a kiss on the cheek, showing herself out. 

Terry sat in his fancy bedroom in his fancy house, staring at the empty archway Tasia disappeared through. His mind and body told him that he was ready for something more. Something tangible. Something he could hold and never let go. He only hoped he found it soon.

You

You clutched your journal to your chest as you sat in Dr. Richmond’s office. Nothing about it had changed except the man himself. He chose to wear a cream colored outfit. A soft, oatmeal colored sweater and khaki pants with white sneakers. His gold rimmed glasses flashed every so often from the light overhead and you couldn’t help catching every single thing about him. If only to distract you from your racing thoughts.

It was one thing to live in your body when you were in the comfort of your own bathroom. Your mind escaped once more, retreated to the safest place you knew. Your knee bounced with nervousness. 

“You don’t have to share if you don’t want to. This is a safe space. It’s your space. You get to decide what we do here,” he said. 

You closed your eyes to the sound of his voice. If he wasn’t so damn helpful, you’d ask for someone else. Literally, anyone else. But he was the first therapist to give you a glimpse of the other side. You wanted that more than you were embarrassed.

“No, I want to share. I need to share,” you said. You licked your lips and then cracked open your journal. You skimmed over things you didn’t want to reveal just yet. Too embarrassing for a second meeting, of course.

“I think…I think my mind is safer. I am constantly on alert that I’m “doing the right thing”, as opposed to what actually makes me happy,” you said. 

When you didn’t say anything, Terry leaned back in his seat. He rolled up his sleeves, revealing the golden brown of his forearms. Your mind emptied of any other thought until he cleared his throat. “Can you expand on that?” 

You looked up into his eyes before heat rushed to your ears. You looked back at your journal, focusing on that rather than his lush, pink lips. 

You told him more about how you reached this conclusion. That there was a standard for being Black that you never quite achieved. That at any moment, multiple mobs of people were coming for your Black card. Or, you were constantly trying to over-achieve at school. You had to work twice as hard, had to be the smartest in the class, because if you came home with a B, your mom went on a long rant about being stupid and never achieving anything real in life. Or how everyone praised you at work for going above and beyond and then got mad when you couldn’t sustain it. You were constantly on the lookout for someone else’s standard.

“I have so many fucking voices in my ear, telling me to do this or do that. And I fucking hate it. Which is wild considering that that’s what I seek in a sexual partner,” you said.

Dr. Richmond smiled and nodded. “Your mind is trying to re-contextualize your upbringing. Being submissive is actually about putting yourself in the position of power. A dom is only as good as how well he treats his sub. It’s about the ultimate act of trust on the submissive’s part,” he explained.

“Yes! And how can I trust that someone isn’t going to…take what I say or want and abuse that or make fun of me for it?” You asked. You played with the corner of your journal, not willing to look at Dr. Richmond. You didn’t need to see the pathetic pity in his steel blue eyes. 

“You have to stand resolute in what you want. You have to recognize that pleasure and sex is about give and take. Trust and acceptance. The right partner isn’t going to make fun of you, abuse you, or rush you,” he said. 

You sighed and leaned back on the brown sofa. You felt like you were chasing a unicorn. What kind of guy was willing to be dominant and care about your needs? Reassure you when you needed and took control when your body sent massive panicked waves at him? Took care of the trust you were placing in him to help you relax and cum? While also being physically attractive to you and have you be attracted to him; not a chubby chaser, not a creep, and not an abuser? 

It was impossible. Hopeless.  

“If you’re comfortable, tell me more about what you found,” he said.

You took your mind off of your dream mystery man. When the fuck was it going to be your turn? 

You scanned your journal once more, noting the sensations about actually living inside your body. “I think when I feel an orgasm approaching, I get scared. And that could be part of why I’m blocking it, but even when I’m alone, I don’t know what it feels like. Or…”

“Or…?” Dr. Richmond prompted. 

You grimaced. Fuck, this was so hard to put into words. Too hard to expose yourself like this. But did you want to reach your sixties, seventies, never having a true orgasm? Never finding your way to actual release? 

“Or, there’s no way to control the orgasm,” you said.

Dr. Richmond nodded. “The goal isn’t to control it, you know,” he said. 

“I know!” You groaned and stood up. You thought better on your feet. Or maybe when you had something to do, you were better able to regulate the jumble of emotions inside of you. No wonder your emotions were all over the place. You spent too long disassociating, too long in your mind and not enough in your body. 

“What benefit do you get from being in control all the time?” The scratch of his pen on the notebook drew your attention to him. To his pretty face, dark eyelashes, and push lips. You watched as he wrote in his notebook. Watched the lines and planes of his gorgeous face. His short curled afro. 

“If I’m in control, if I never look weak or stupid or incompetent, then I win. I win at life. And all my bullies, from school to home are all wrong. There’s nothing wrong with me because I know what to do. I know what to say. I’m not an alien,” you said, taking a deep breath at the revelation.

Whatever your insurance company was paying him, they needed to double it. You admitted things you never had in the past. Your previous therapists attacked your problem sex first, focusing on different methods you could try. Some wanted you to describe, in detail, whatever you did to get yourself off. Safe to say they weren’t practicing ever again. 

“Do you believe there’s something wrong with you?” He asked. He leaned back in his seat, giving you an unflinching stare. His face gave away nothing, revealed nothing, as you thought through his question. 

“All the fucking time. Why else do friends keep leaving me? Or guys don’t want me? Or my mom is…my mom,” you said. 

“Have you considered that you aren’t the problem?” He asked.

“How could I not be? I’m the only common denominator,” you said. You flopped back onto the couch but it wasn’t that soft. It thudded under your weight and you took a deep breath. Fuck, you wanted to cry. Tears pricked your eyes, turning them hot and itchy. You refused to cry in front of this man. 

This strange, quiet man who seemed to read you like one of the many books on his bookshelf. No wonder he had so many degrees. He could drag a full confession from a mute. 

“That may be true. But, bear with me, consider that you aren’t the problem. If you take yourself out of the equation, what are you left with?” He asked. He leaned forward on his desk and the sudden intensity of the question made your mind blank.

You had…nothing. No explanation, no back up. You were used to making yourself the problem. The issue had to be you. If it wasn’t you…

You shrugged your shoulders and looked away from him. The silence stretched on, so quiet you could hear the quiet tick of the clock on the wall. 

“Don’t shy away now, dig into it. If it’s not you, then…?” Dr. Richmond prompted. 

The question only seemed to make you clamp up. Your tongue swelled. Your throat constricted. If it wasn’t you, then what? Everyone was incapable of giving you what you wanted? Everyone just had an agenda against you? Please, that was narcissistic as hell. 

Dr. Richmond stood up from his desk and took off his glasses. He pulled out a drawer and retrieved a glass cleaner cloth. He cleaned his glasses and walked around the front of his desk.

“Consider, for a moment, that other people have deficiencies as well. That people congregate in groups because biologically, it’s safer. We seek groups to be in and when we can’t find one, we tend to think that we’re the problem. That we are outcasts, getting left out to defend ourselves. But all that means is that we haven’t found our group yet. You’re trying to fit a round peg into a square hole. You don’t belong with the squares, so no, you won’t fit in with them. 

“The same goes for sex. Everybody has their preferences. People have their kinks, their needs. When those needs aren’t meant, society teaches us to look at our own deficiencies rather than someone else’s. Perhaps the man you need sexually is far different from the men you take to bed,” he said. He waved around his glasses as he spoke, drawing attention to his massive hands. 

Seriously, they were huge. Like two lion paws that could strike down someone with one hit. He held his glasses by the frame, waving it around delicately as he spoke. You were still paying attention to his words, but fuck…he was unreal. 

“But how do I find the man that I need sexually?” You asked.

Terry

Terry inwardly groaned as you asked him that. Plenty of suggestions came to mind, each too crass to suggest. How could he tell you to go into another man’s arms? How could he send you to another man to unleash that hidden hellcat within you and he wouldn’t get to experience it? 

He needed to end this. End this before it even began. He placed his glasses back on his face and crossed a line that he never thought he would. “I think we have more work to do to adjust the way you think about sex before we get into how you attract what you’re seeking. In fact, I’d suggest you abstain from sex until we get deeper into this,” he said.

“Abstain?” You snorted and he fought a smile. Your face showed absolute disgust, like the mere thought was abhorrent. 

“Abstain. From what you’ve told me and what’s in your file, you jumped from overcoming your initial thoughts and reluctance about sex right to jumping into bed. Without really, truly exploring yourself first. Kids explore their bodies all the time right? They grow conscious of themselves and start thinking about hey, my equipment is different from someone else’s equipment,” he said.

You couldn’t help but giggle and it caused him to smirk in return. Yes, it was silly. Talking about sex was silly. But it was true. “And as you start to notice people that you’re attracted to, you start to grow conscious of hormones in your system. Brain chemistry. All the fun stuff that goes into attraction. You start to touch yourself more, explore your preferences through porn or books or experimentation.”

You cringed when he brought up experimentation. He tilted his head. “Did you go through an experimentation phase?” He asked.

You closed your eyes and sighed as if it were the last question you wanted to answer. You completely fascinated him. He had no idea what would come out of your mouth next. How you would respond to certain questions or ideas. 

He snuck a glance at the clock, he was nearing the end of the session. He flexed his jaw. This was so damn irritating. By the time you were willing to open up, it was time to end it. He wished he could carve out a month of sessions to get you to lower your defenses and let him inside. 

“No? I grew up in the wrong generation. All everyone thought about was sex and while I did too, no one was checking for the fat Black nerds unless it was a prank. And I saw everything as a prank. I was always getting pointed at, made fun of, stared at. Jesus, being exposed fucking sucks! So, no, I didn’t experiment. There was no one to fucking experiment with. 

“And it wasn’t like I could go ten feet from my mom without her up my ass about where I was going. Claiming she just didn’t want me to get snatched when all she really wanted was just to control me. To not let me end up like her. Young and pregnant,” you practically yelled, spewing way more vitriol than he expected.

He figured it was a sore spot for you by the way you grimaced, but he hadn’t been expecting…that. Again, he balled his fists thinking of every person that ever let you down. Every person that was supposed to uplift you, guide you, help you, all dropped the ball in teaching you about self love.

Every experience every kid was supposed to have was denied to you. Instead of being asked out with interest, with sincerity, boys treated it like a prank. He was wild in his youth, he wasn’t always nice to people, or he went through life like a little gremlin. But he liked to think he mellowed somewhat in high school. Treating everyone with respect. From the nerds to the jocks. He didn’t know what not trusting people’s words felt like. Like everything that someone said came laced with poisoned barbs ready to sting. 

“This is so fucking stupid,” you whispered. Your lip trembled but no tears fell down your face. 

Fuck, even now you were trying to hold everything in. Control a natural response to something painful. “When was the last time you cried?” Terry asked.

You stood up and snatched your purse and journal from the couch. “Session’s up, right?” You asked. You avoided looking at him as you rushed to the exit. The faux glass door clanged against the wall as you threw open the door and left, steps echoing on the linoleum flooring. 

He stared at the door as it lazily swung back and he wondered. And he pondered. 

Wheww, need more? The Secret Terry Richmond Files | Part 1

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[greenwitchfromthewoods]

redemption : resignation letter. l Javi Gutierrez

❤️‍ broken hearts seek redemption ❤️‍

Summary:  when he came home and he wasn't alone

Warnings:  a little bit of angst, but mainly fluff, one small kiss

A/N:

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

first part is here >>resignation letter<<

a few ways to break a heart [masterlist]

broken hearts seek redemption [masterlist]

You weren't expecting any guests that day. It was a rainy, cloudy day. The small apartment you had been renting for a few weeks was your new haven, although you hadn't quite settled in yet.

When you heard the doorbell ring, you dragged yourself in that direction, a little surprised.

"Good morning!" a young guy grinned at you "I have something for you, ma'am."

"For me?" but before you could say anything more, the guy handed you a large bouquet of flowers. "I'm sorry, but this must be a mistake..."

The delivery guy pulled a note out of the bouquet and handed it to you. It was your name, you couldn't deny it. Before you could ask anything, the guy bowed and quickly ran down the stairs.

"Strange..." you mumbled to yourself, closing the door.

You didn't have a vase, so you filled a jug with water and put them in there. The bouquet was beautiful, and the sweet and fresh scent quickly began to spread around the room. 

There was nothing more on the note, that you were still holding in your hand, than your name. It was weird...

However, you didn't have time to think about it for long. Another bell made you jump. 

This time another man stood behind the door, a little older than the previous one, and the large bouquet of flowers in his hands looked impressive.

"Morning!" he greeted you "I have something for you, ma'am."

"That's a mistake!" you said quickly "I already got the bouquet. A moment ago, there was a young guy here and he..."

The man reached for the note attached to the delivery and showed it to you. Again, you saw your name written in nice handwriting.

"I think everything is correct. It's for you!"

More flowers were placed on your table, this time in one of the pots. You wondered if you should go to the store for some vases, but again you heard the bell.

And again you saw, already a different man, who insisted that the flowers he brought were for you. Within an hour you lost all the pots and two large mugs that served as vases.

Your apartment was starting to resemble a flower shop, and you counted almost fifteen bouquets. All of them were impressive and beautiful, all of them had your name on the tag.

You started to jump nervously at every sound of the doorbell, and you literally snatched the bouquet out of the last courier's hand saying "Yes, I know! For me!"

A loud "Fuck!" escaped your lips with another knock on the door. But you didn't expect that person to be there.

Javi Gutierrez. 

He stood right in front of you, with an elegant shirt slightly unbuttoned at the neck, his hair combed, and his devilishly beautiful eyes staring at you.

"Hi, hermosa." he greeted uncertainly.

"Javi..." you mumbled, folding your arms across your chest and leaning against the door frame. "I figured it was you..."

"Really?" he raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Since when?"

"About the fourth bouquet, but I was sure by the sixth." The shy smile of a child caught in mischief appeared on his lips. "What are you doing here? How did you even find me?"

"I have friends who are good at finding people, hermosa. Besides, it's Thursday." You raised your eyebrows. "Thursday Movie Night? Don't tell me you forgot. I already brought popcorn and wine, and your favorite ice cream and..."

Despite your heart beating like crazy at the sight of him, your mind wouldn't give up. You shifted from foot to foot and cleared your throat.

"Javi... I don't work for you anymore. You know that, right? I left you my resignation." you said. He grimaced as if you reminded him of a dentist appointment.

"I know, but... I canceled it!" he stated, and you widened your eyes at him.

"You can't do that! It was a formal letter."

"I know you didn't really want to do it. I know you, hermosa! And you know me better than anyone else. Let's just say you took an extended vacation." You rolled your eyes. "Will you let me in? I'd like to talk to you, but the hallway isn't the right place for that."

You wondered for a moment if you should do that, but Javi was staring at you so pleadingly that you finally moved over to make room for him.

"Just be careful. Someone decided to make a botanical garden in my apartment." You mumbled.

"Wow! I didn't expect that." he laughed quietly looking around the room.

"Me neither."

He handed you a box of ice cream and with a sigh you went to put it in the freezer. His footsteps indicated that he was walking around your apartment, it was a strange feeling to see him again. You told yourself that you had cured yourself of what you felt for him, but your heart clearly thought otherwise.

"Veronica knows you're here?" you called into the apartment and closed your eyes waiting for an answer.

The footsteps stopped.

"Hermosa..."

There was more to that description than the sweet nickname Javi gave you. Longing and guilt, all of that could be felt in his tone of voice.

You took a deep breath. You were already sure that he sent you those flowers and showed up at your door because he definitely wanted to invite you to the wedding, and Veronica would certainly be a beautiful bride.

"I have so much to explain to you..." he said as you walked out of the kitchen, your arms tightly wrapped around your chest, "I have to explain and apologize."

And then Javi started talking, the words pouring out of his mouth like a waterfall. He told you about Lucas, about Nicolas Cage, about some FBI or other agents, about the kidnapping, about the scenario and about the arrest that took place later... 

Your eyes widened more and more. You waited for the moment when he finally said "I was joking, hermosa!", but Javi was so involved in his story that it had to be true.

"And Veronica?" you asked when he finally let you speak.

"Lucas knew that you were very close to me, closer than anyone else, and that I cared about you, and...and..." he swallowed loudly. "I couldn't risk, hermosa... Veronica was supposed to help me. I wanted him to believe that you meant nothing to me."

"She was fucking convincing." you muttered under your breath.

"Right? She was the one who suggested that you go away for a while."

"Javi, I resigned from work. Was that part of your brilliant plan?"

"I don't think so..." he replied, a bit confused "Your letter was really depressing."

"It was formal. Professional."

"So emotionless! That wasn't you, hermosa!"

In a few long steps and small maneuvers between the bouquets standing on the ground, Javi stood in front of you. He seemed so unnatural in this apartment and with such nasty weather outside. Skin kissed by the sun, curly hair and sweet brown puppy eyes staring at you. He kept pulling at all your strings, you couldn't kid yourself that it was different...

"I left because I felt hurt." You said quietly, you wanted him to understand you, to feel what you felt "You were always close to me and I fell in love with you. And you... I knew I had no chance with Veronica. She was beautiful and a perfect match for you."

"She's a very nice girl." Javi shrugged "But she has one flaw." You raised your eyebrows waiting "She's not you. And you are... You are everything, hermosa! I wanted to protect you from Lucas, I didn't want to hurt you. You know I'll never..."

You knew that. Javi would never hurt you on purpose.

"This is all madness..." you mumbled, shaking your head in disbelief.

"Listen..." Javi stepped even closer, his large, warm hands smoothing your shoulders. "You know I never... You're really important to me. Not as an employee, although you do that brilliantly. But you're also my friend, my soulmate... I think that..."

"Stop here." Your hand on his chest stopped what he was about to say. "This is too much, Javi. I know you meant well, but... You hurt me."

"Then let me fix this, please. Come back with me, go back to your job and let me win your heart like you deserve..."

Your head was a mess, but your heart had already made up its mind. You saw the relief in Javi's gaze as you finally nodded. A huge smile appeared on his lips.

In an instant his arms wrapped around you in a tight hug, he kissed you on the cheek and picked you up spinning you around.

"Hermosa! You won't regret it."

"Javi! You're crushing me!"

"Sorry!" he put you down clearly embarrassed "I'm just so happy! I'll help you pack or I'll have someone else do it and you..."

"Thursday Movie Night." Your words tore him from his train of thought "Javi, we can't miss this, can we?"

He frowned, thinking about it. On the one hand, he wanted to take you home right away, but he didn't want to overwhelm you again. Finally, he nodded.

"Si, we wouldn't want to miss this."

You made some popcorn and you both sat down on the couch, Javi chose a movie for you. It was nice. Having him next to you again, feeling the warmth of his body, hearing his chuckles or funny comments. When you snuggled into his side, your eyelids getting really heavy, he kissed your forehead lightly.

You were already asleep when he could finally say what you were holding him back from saying.

"Te amo, hermosa... You're everything."

☆☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

[nonsensenook]

Chapter 4 | Lingering Scars, Heavy Sighs

Synopsis: You and Bajie leave The Hollow heavy with separate burdens which you both chose to drown out with alcohol. A continuation of this unapologetic take on you, the reader, accompanying the Destined One on his journey. 

Word Count: 5,035

Warnings: Sadness, Violence (Brief Mentions) 

Author’s Note: A bit heavier of a tone than previous chapters, at least in the beginning. Is it just me or are these chapters getting longer? I thank you very much for your patience, kind words, and I hope you enjoy! 

Requested Tags: @joyfulllittlething, @servamp01, @suntizme

Ch. 1 - Ch. 2 - Ch. 3 - Ch. 3.5 (Optional) - Cont.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arriving at the Webbed Hollow had you go against a rule you’ve enacted on yourself since you came to this world: try to change the course of the story. You had time to think through your plans again before you and your group arrived at the Village of Lanxi. While smuggled in the chest carried by two pig Yaoguais you were silently deep in thought as Bajie rolled his eyes at the petty gossip the two were exchanging. You could tell he was getting impatient from how often he peeked out from the chest. In your lap was the Destined One in his bird form, cradled in your arms. You absentmindedly pet him as the village came closer. 

You had a chance to alter the course of the future. Maybe some lives can be spared and some stories re-written. After all, your presence is proof enough that things can be skewed off course, at least a little. But no matter how you went about it you couldn’t see a future where things went the way you wanted them to. You couldn’t shake the dreadful feeling that your actions would be in vain. At the same time, you wouldn’t forgive yourself if you didn’t try. 

You had warned Bajie of the dangers that came from trying to trick the ladies of the house. You were careful not to teeter too close to the edge when warning Bajie, cautious of him questioning the knowledge you held and if he were to begin asking questions you couldn’t answer. In the end, you couldn’t give an explanation that justified not going through with Bajie’s plan, at least not one good enough to satisfy him. They needed to infiltrate the Hollow, even if they were seen through. And so, the Weavers Needle landed its mark. You swallowed the bitter taste of failure and carried onward. 

The Hollowed Web was the most perilous of all lands you’ve traveled to so far. Knowing this beforehand didn't change that fact. You were hesitant to jump into it with the Destined One, but there were no other ways for you to continue forward without him. You were grateful that the kindness of the Fourth Sister extended to you as well. She had safely taken you both into the Hollow. 

The Fourth Sister was another one whose outcome you tried to rewrite. Knowing her fate if the Destined One were to continue tearing the talisman made you consider deeply whether or not you should advise him not to do so. You ultimately chose to stay your hand as your companion tore each talisman. You hoped your choice was the right one; that a chance of a future outside of this Hollow was one she’d take even if it meant becoming a captive of the Celestial Court. You wanted to believe in that chance and couldn't make yourself take it away. 

You spent much of the time in The Hollow clinging to the Destined Ones back or having him catch you as you traversed from platform to platform. Your guard and stress were at an all time high as you thought of every possibility while Yaoguais ambushed you from above and below. Nothing was changing. Even when you warned Bajie or the Fourth Sister, everything was falling into place as they should. As the Destined One kept you both alive you worked to think of a way, any way to make just one change. You felt yourself sink further into despair as every moment played out as it had before. Your unprecedented presence had made no difference. 

~

You were silent as The Hollow was left behind. Bajie was the same, both of you were deep in thought, matching the usual energy which The Destined One carried with him. Your gaze was unfocused, your mind elsewhere. Many times you were stopped by the Young Sage from walking into a tree or off a dangerous ledge. His arm would wrap around your waist protectively or his hand would be placed on your shoulder to redirect you. You would apologize to him before sinking back into your stupor. 

Bajie was the same, if not worse. It would take several attempts to get his attention and once he acknowledged you with a grunt his mind would go back to where it was the very next moment. When a hostile Yaoguai appeared on your path, Bajie didn’t even glance at it until he was flung back from an attack. This made him turn into his boar form, crushing the Yaoguai against a tree. When he returned to his usual self, he made no acknowledgement of what happened. He simply kept walking. 

You couldn’t stop wondering how you could have acted differently, how you could’ve guided them from this preordained path. If you have been more clever - if you have figured out a way, then Bajie wouldn’t be mourning. The Fourth Sister wouldn’t have been captured. Five daughters wouldn’t be digging a grave. You clutched at your arm, nails digging into your skin. What use was your knowledge if you could do nothing with it? What use were you to any of them? Your hands ran through your hair as the same question was brought forth. For what reason were you here? 

At some point a fire was started and a blanket draped gently around you. You shook out of your state briefly to look up and see the Destined One stirring something in a pot over the fire. You hadn’t noticed the sun had begun to set. You weren’t even sure when you had even sat down. You looked around and found that Bajie was nowhere to be seen. Looking at the inventory the Destined One laid out you noted some items were missing: several jars of brew and a few pieces of food. You gave a strong guess or two as to what happened to them and Bajie. 

The Destined One produced a bowl and spoon, ladling out hot broth. You watched him walk to you, crouching down to hand you the bowl. You accepted it, but made no movement to begin eating. The Destined One plopped down beside you. You could sense he was troubled as he took the bowl back from you. He stirred the broth once, then filled the spoon half-way before holding it beside your lips. You gazed up at him. 

His brow was slightly furrowed, mouth tilted in a small worried frown, and his eyes were urging you to please eat. You felt your heart ache. Guilt washed over you as you looked at his expression. You turned back to the food, leaning forward to sip at the broth. You quietly continued to let him feed you. When you asked if he’d prepared any for himself he interrupted your question by spooning you more broth. You swallowed quickly then put your hand up as a barrier. “I’m not going to eat anymore if you aren’t going to eat at all,” you said. The Destined One stared at you for a beat then took the bowl to his lips. You felt yourself smile a little watching his tail lash behind him. You then obediently ate the rest of the soup. You had him finish off the last spoonful himself then leaned into his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” you said. In response the Young Sage bumped his head against yours as his tail wrapped around you. His arm pulled you closer to him as your vision began to blur. “I’m sorry…” you repeated quietly. The Destined One held you knowing that your last apology wasn’t for him. 

~

You found Bajie at the edge of a nearby lake with a jar of brew in hand. Several jars were already emptied and tossed aside. You sat down beside him as he finished another and added it onto the growing pile. He wiped his mouth, eyes trained on the still lake. 

“What do you want?” Bajie asked bluntly, tearing another bottle open. 

“A drink,” you answered, grabbing a bottle of your own. 

You felt Bajie’s gaze shift to you as you tore the brew open and tilted it back, taking in large gulps of alcohol. You almost slammed the bottle down as you let out a heavy sigh. 

“You don’t drink,” Bajie said incredulously.

“Since when?” You responded, glancing sideways at him. 

Bajie seemed to think for a moment then held out his jar towards you. In return you held out your own drink, tapping it against his. With that small toast you both took a swig from your drink and sat in silence staring out onto the lake. The last colors of twilight were fading. As the full moon began to rise you watched as fireflies slowly blinked awake. 

You didn’t know what to say to Bajie. No apologies would come without explanations you couldn’t give. Bajie was the same, bound by a similar rule that had you both brood in silence. You thought of the little girl; the youngest of the Spider Sisters. You remembered the expression on her face as she watched Bajie walk away. Again and again everything brought you back into the same loop, the same feeling of helplessness. You felt you wanted to throw something to hear it shatter and break apart. Instead you took a big swig in a pathetic attempt to drown and shut those thoughts out. 

The night continued like this until the moon shone its reflection onto the center of the lake. You and Bajie continued to drink, neither of you stepping from your own worlds. The alcohol was coursing through you. You felt buzzed as the ground swayed ever so slightly. Your mind felt like it had been soaked, half-heartedly rinsed, then left out to dry as the brew washed over your senses. Out of the corner of your vision you saw Bajie turn from the lake and sigh heavily as he closed his eyes. 

“Do you regret it?” the question left you before your mind fully comprehended it. Yet, you didn’t feel any panic once you did. You just wanted to hear the answer. You watched the subtle ripples of the reflected moon as Bajie kept his eyes closed. You thought he hadn’t heard you. A small part of you was grateful, ready to rebuild the broken silence. Then Bajie opened his eyes. 

“A better question is,” Bajie said, picking up a rock and turning it in his hand, “would I do it all again?” 

You stared at the lake, watching the fireflies lazily dancing on its surface. 

“Would you?” you asked. 

“Would you?” he asked right back. 

Your hand went to the scar on your arm. Flashes of memories flipped through your mind. From the moment you fell into this world to now. You thought of all those times your life was in peril, the struggle it took for you to adapt, the fear, the ache of home, the helplessness, and this evolved deep rooted guilt. You felt your hand clutch at your drink harder as your arms held yourself together. Then the Destined One appeared in your mind. You thought of his eyes, his smile, his little mannerisms, his gentle hands, the moments you two shared, his warmth, his fury, his joy, his pain. Him. You thought of Bajie. The stories he’d tell you as you rested. The times he’d fight alongside the Young Sage. The way he cared for you beneath that layer of gruffness. How he’s sitting beside you now, sharing a moment to drink with you.  

“Yes…” you said. 

“Then you have your answer,” replied Bajie. 

Even if this journey ends in pain and tragedy you already knew. If given the choice, you’d choose to do it all again. Bajie makes a sound between a grunt and a hum. He turned the rock once more then tossed it into the lake where it skipped twice disturbing and dispelling the image of the moon. You watched the ripples smooth itself out, sipping from your drink. 

Bajie spoke up, “Your turn,” he said. 

“Hm?” you picked at the grass, becoming more aware of how warm your body had become from the drink. 

“I’m owed a story,” said Bajie. 

You laughed then emptied the last sips of your bottle before wiping your mouth. Your hand went to grab another, humming as you undid the seal on the brew. 

“Have I ever told you about the time I was captured by bandits?” 

“No, but I am not surprised. You attract unwanted dangers like our Master had. Might as well wear a sign reading Free Morsel.” “Funnily enough, they thought I was your master,” you said, ignoring his quip. 

Bajie choked on his drink, “Those idiots thought you-” Bajie burst into laughter, hitting the ground as he did so. You could only make out some snippets of what he was saying in-between his cackling. 

“They thought-you! A pious monk! Oh yes, I see you are just brimming with virtuosity.” 

You rolled your eyes as Bajie’s laughter settled down to a controllable chuckle. 

“I couldn’t have been this cheeky when I first asked you for a story,” you grumbled. 

“Oh no, you were much worse,” countered Bajie. 

“Can I tell my story now?” 

Bajie tilted his drink to you, “Floor’s all yours, kid.” 

Bajie listened as you recounted the event of your capture. You skimped a bit on the details regarding the argument you and the Destined One were going through. He mumbled about how you were “Just like Master” when you shared how you were caught unawares to be consumed. He seemed to enjoy your description of the rats and their little tussle. He snickered when you told him the lie you had fed them. 

“They really believed that?” 

“I’m still telling the story, Bajie.” 

Bajie seemed gripped as you told him about the rising tensions the group had when they argued on what to do with you. Then came the moment the rat leader opened his mouth to take a bite of you. You built on that suspense up to when the Destined One dramatically appeared to save you which had Bajie grunt. 

“What a surprise,” Bajie said sarcastically. 

You must’ve been a bit too descriptive in how you described the Destined One as he battled the rats because Bajie interrupted you by saying, “Yes, yes the dashing little monkey prince came and rescued you. What happened afterwards?” 

You paused. “Afterwards?” you repeated. You blinked as the events of ‘afterwards’ replayed in your mind. You were grateful your cheeks were already flushed from the alcohol. You cleared your throat, absentmindedly swirling your drink around and feeling there was a little over half of it left. You avoided looking at Bajie. 

“Nothing much, we just continued the journey as usual,” you said casually. 

“Huh, figured the kid wasn’t one to take advantage of the situation.” Bajie commented. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, such a romantic rescue usually ends with a kiss at the very least.” 

You froze. You couldn’t tell if the way Bajie was leaning forward out of the corner of your eye meant he was knowingly teasing you or you were just imagining it. Bajie continued, “So nothing hap-” 

You threw your drink back, gulping it all down loudly as some of it spilled from the corners of your mouth. 

“Woah, slow down, kid. You’ll drown yourself drinking that much all at once,” Bajie warned.

You didn’t listen. Tossing your empty drink aside, you grabbed and ripped into another, giving Bajie a brazen smile. 

“Scared I’ll out drink you, old man?” 

Bajie seemed taken aback for a moment then flashed you a grin. He emptied his drink down his gullet, mirroring you in grabbing another. 

“Big words from such an impudent human. You’ll be regretting that tonight,” Bajie said. 

“Such a powerful Yaoguai like yourself s’got more to lose,” you replied spilling a little of your drink as you offered him a toast, “And only tonight, Bajie? No, you’ll be the one regretting this come morning.” 

Bajie snorted, almost crashing his drink against yours. 

“We’ll see about that.” 

~

You couldn’t stop laughing. The ground was constantly moving. The world seemed to take a moment to catch up every time your gaze shifted. Your words were slurring, tumbling over each other. You and Bajie were constantly switching between tearful laughter and heated arguments. All of which were nonsensical. The arguments escalated into petty bets. Who can chug the fastest without pause? Who can throw the most accurately? Who can stack the taller brew tower? Though you won your fair share Bajie was quite ahead in wins which made you challenge him again and again. More and more silly bets came and went. You’d just beaten him in a very fair and not at all skewed agility test when Bajie spoke up, almost tripping over an empty jar. 

“Alright, I know one-one thing. I can summon that kid without speaking a single word.” 

You tilted your head in thought, your drink tilted with you spilling a bit on the ground. You didn’t pay that much mind as you squinted at Bajie. 

“And no using your powers?” you questioned. 

“Not one,” assured Bajie. 

Bajie stumbled over to you and waved you closer like he’s about to share a secret. Without much or really any thought you leaned down. Bajie reached his hand out and flicked you hard on the head. You yelped, clutching your head as you fell to the ground. You went back and forth cursing at Bajie and groaning out “Why.” The answer came when two familiar hands pried yours from your face. The Destined One had been successfully summoned. The Destined One turned your head to examine it. Joy at seeing him sparked back into irritation towards Bajie as you heard him cackling on the ground. Bajie pointed to you, “Take that one back to camp before they drink all my alcohol.” 

“Don’t listen to him, he’s drunk,” you huffed. 

“You’re drunk!” Bajie retorted. 

The Young Sage made to take you into his arms, an offer you’d never thought you’d turn down. In your drunken stupor indignation and stubbornness flared, catching ablaze on the alcohol coursing through you.

“Now it’s fair,” you threw an arm around the Destined One and pointed at Bajie, “As a team we’re taking you down, old man.” 

Bajie guffawed, “You think adding the kid is enough to match the Zhu Bajie?” 

“If you’re too scared now that my monkey prince is here, then go ahead and cut me off,” you challenged. Bajie’s ear twitched. He walked up to the Destined One and shoved a drink into his hand. The Young Sage looked at the drink then at Bajie. 

“Your pre-requisite,” Bajie said slyly. 

The Destined One looked at you still hanging onto his shoulders. You were grinning stupidly back at him, giving him a thumbs up for encouragement. The Young Sage downed the drink in one breath. You watched mesmerized as the drink spilled from his lips and trickled down his throat. You felt something smack you on the shoulder. Tearing away from the Destined One you looked at the ground where a pebble was rolling to a stop. You frowned at Bajie. 

“Quit your gawking, I can see you drooling from here,” said the Pig Guai.

The Destined One threw the empty jar aside looking roguishly, sinfully, and devastatingly handsome as he wiped his mouth with his wrist. You grinned at Bajie who responded with a chuckle, “You’ve got some catch-up to do, Nephew. I’ve got ‘em beat eight to one.” 

“You lying piece of-” 

The games began. 

An outlooker could describe the scene and sound like they’re about to tell a joke. A monkey, a pig, and a human were drunkenly running around near a lake scattering the nearby fireflies and small wildlife. Every so often the human would be yelling at the pig as he shoved more drinks into the monkey’s hand. The monkey remained unphased by the amount of alcohol he consumed and was the only one not swaying on their feet. At some point, someone's mother was being insulted. 

Bajie’s challenges were becoming more ruthless. The beginning was a simple game of rock skipping. Bajie had made an impressive six skips while your own rock sank to the bottom of the lake immediately. The Destined One had picked up a rock without much thought and flicked it across the lake's surface. The rock skipped across the lake, going well beyond six and continuing into the distance. You jumped onto his back with a fist in the air. Bajie was quick to prepare for the next game. 

The Destined One dominated them all. No matter the amount of drinks that Bajie handed him he didn’t seem even the slightest bit buzzed. You saw that he wore a subtle grin;  his tail swayed to and fro as Bajie challenged him again and again. He was fully enjoying himself. You didn’t mind at all that he was carrying you in almost every challenge being much too busy laughing and stumbling around as you cheered him on. Eventually, Bajie threw up his hands. 

“Alright! Final challenge,” Bajie swayed heavily pointing back and forth between the two of you. You were being carried on the Destined Ones shoulders as you switched between drinking and having him drink from the same jar. Bajie had just lost to a simple game of rock paper scissors in which you were the victor. The Destined One had held you up as you laughed victoriously. 

Bajie’s words were heavily slurred as he went back and forth between the line of drunken delight and vexation. Bajie patted around his body then produced a small jade pendant which he almost dropped. Bajie held it up for you and the Young Sage to see. 

“A simple game,” Bajie hiccuped, “of keep away.” 

You watched as Bajie took a few steps back, making some distance between you and the Destined One. Bajie walked into the lake till the water reached his waist. You patted the Destined One gently on his head. He set you down from his shoulders. You knew this one was truly for everything. 

“Five minutes should be enough for you two numskulls,” Bajie said, “Come at me, the both of you!” Bajie tossed the pendant up. You followed its trajectory as it ascended, readying yourself to dash towards it. Beside you, the Destined One did the same. In slow motion, your eyes followed the pendant as it descended. In the next moment, you watched as a catfish met it halfway and swallowed it. The very same catfish fell back into the lake with a small plop, disappearing below the surface. You stood there, staring as the ripples of the lake smoothed out again. It took you too long to comprehend what just happened. For a moment, you and the Destined One stared at the silent, unmoving lake. In the next, you were wading through the water calling Bajie a list of colorful names and terms which this world had yet to hear. 

You addressed the Young Sage. “Any fish-like transformation in your arsenal?” you asked, already knowing the answer. The Destined One shook his head. You kicked at the water in vain. As sudden as it came, you felt your anger douse itself out. That little cheater. You couldn’t say you wouldn’t have done the same if you were in Bajie’s shoes. Or would it be hooves? 

You laid back onto the water, mindlessly floating about. You let yourself swear at Bajie one more time with a smile as you swore revenge. Fireflies flew in and out of your sight. The moon was outdoing itself tonight as it shined brightly in a sea full of twinkling stars. A familiar face appeared in your vision. The Destined One looked down at you as your head bumped against his leg. 

“I’d ask you to join me, but I’m not too sure if you float,” you said. He seemed happy enough to simply watch you.

After five minutes, Bajie appeared bursting from the lake shaking off excess water onto you and the Destined One. You stood up to glare at him and give him a splash back. He tsked at you. 

“Hey now, it’s a bad look to be so sore after losing,” Bajie chided. You flicked water at him defiantly. Bajie ignored the little water droplets you pelted at him. 

“As winner,” he continued, ignoring your jeering, “I declare you both cut off from drinking anymore of my alcohol and you shall call me King Bajie the Unparalleled from now on.” 

“We’re not doing that,” you said then sneezed into your elbow. Your drenched clothes clung to your body as the Destined One scooped you up into his arms, ignoring how his own clothes were getting soaked. 

“Yes, take that insolent human away, Nephew.” said Bajie in a haughty tone, waving you both off. 

You opened your mouth to reply, but ended up sneezing again. The Destined One turned away quickly, wading out of the lake to get you onto dry land. You turned to Bajie, ready to counter him with an insult. Your tongue stilled as you looked at him. Where Bajie was just standing, a young man now stood watching you both leave with a forlorn smile on his face. He was tall, handsome, with an almost exalted air surrounding him. As the fireflies blinked in and out around him, he turned away from you, his long dark hair shrouding his face. You didn’t dare blink, not even when the trees and foliage began obscuring your vision. You watched as the young man looked up at the moon, turning that little jade pendant in his hand.

~

You were snuggled in the Young Sage’s arms as he carried you back to camp. A blanket of drowsiness wrapped itself around you. Cut off and kicked out, you finally felt the exhaustion of the day catch up to you. Looking up through half-lidded eyes, your hands went to trace the Destined One’s face. Dreamily, you brushed through his fur. 

“It’s so soft,” you said as you scratched the back of his head. He leaned into your hand then tilted his head this way and that to make sure you get every good spot. 

You laughed, “You are adorable.” 

The Destined One blinked. That was a newer compliment. You knew it was one you typically kept to yourself, but you didn’t care. Your inhibitions had been washed away, perhaps abandoned at the edge of the lake a drink or two ago. In this moonlight, underneath the sky dusted full of stars the Destined One looked much too- “Handsome,” you said out loud. The Young Sage seemed surprised, but fully embraced your sudden praise with a smile. You kept them coming, his subtle joy at your words pushing you on until you were babbling. You talked about how fun tonight was, you wondered if he’d ever gotten drunk, then you would double back to complimenting him again. His eyes, his smile, his hands, that tail of his, everything about him you flooded with shameless praise. The Young Sage looked close to laughing. 

You couldn’t make out the details of anything. The world was an unfocused blur on an unfinished painting. The only thing clear to you was him. You smiled wistfully, looking into his eyes. 

“You know, before I came here I-” a sudden wave of nausea hit you. You covered your mouth as you felt yourself salivate. The Destined One quickly put you down where you braced yourself against a tree and emptied your stomach. The Destined One steadied you with a hand on your back. You felt sick and dizzy, no longer able to open your eyes without the world spinning out of control. The next instances came in snapshots: being cleaned up, changed, asking for water, groaning, more vomiting, more water. You fell asleep curled up next to the Young Sage, clutching at his robes while he combed his hands gently through your hair. 

~

The next morning, you woke up feeling dehydrated with a throbbing headache. You squinted in the light of the sun, catching your pig guai companion fairing the same across the way. Both of you groaned as the consequences of your actions produced an unforgiving hangover. 

The Young Sage was just fine, you could make out his fuzzy shape warming up in the distance with his staff. He’d left a little kettle beside the embers of a dying fire already heated and ready. You forced yourself up and poured a cup of hot tea with shaky hands. Bajie stayed where he was, but continued his lament of groans as he tried to cover his eyes from the sunlight. He hadn't made it to his bedding last night which sat unused only half a foot away from him. You placed the steaming cup near Bajie, his ear twitched as it followed your movements. You poured yourself another cup and took a sip, shivering as the hot liquid coursed through you. 

Bajie slowly sat up, taking the drink you’d given him. He took a sip and shivered as he closed his eyes. 

“Thanks, kid,” Bajie said. 

You gave him a small hum in response. Birds were greeting you with their chorus as a warm breeze blew through your hair. The Destined One returned, sitting beside you and handing you breakfast already prepared. You looked at him as you held your pulsing head. Your memories after leaving Bajie were hazy and jumbled, as if someone wiped at the pages of your mind while the ink was still drying.

“Did I say anything weird last night?” you asked. 

The Destined One tilted his head in thought. He gave you a small, almost indiscernible, mischievous smile and shook his head. You probed him more as that tail of his flicked back and forth. The Young Sage took your cup and sipped at it, remaining unmoved as you pestered him on what you could’ve possibly said. Bajie, with eyes still closed, spoke up, “Silence,” he said, “The Unparalleled King Bajie commands it.” 

A passerby could describe the scene that happened afterwards and sound like they’re about to tell a joke.

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Mine friendo, one, I dunno why it reblogged three times and I do not take any of that back, and two, I need your take on a Nikto kitter cause I wanna, with permission, write a piece with your au 🙏 if it's okay

Okay so, I had to wait until I got home for this but PLEASE IT'S OKAY TO WRITE FOR THIS OH MY GOSH PLEASE DO. All I ask is a tag as credit please. I mean, it's not really my au, it's just appreciated. It's not necessary. What is necessary is tagging me so I can read it! I want to read this!!!

TW: mentions of torture, violence, recovering from grievous wounds

However, your other part of your ask might lead to a bit of a tragedy. See, when Kortac created their task force of cat hybrids, they were trying to use the parts of cats that make perfect hunters to make their soldiers. Silent, fast, agile, strong, excellent eyesight under low light conditions, enhanced smell and hearing, capable of mimicry, able to endure hot and cold environments. Above all, they were to be loyal. So, they used the domestic cat to keep their soldiers domesticated enough to keep them under their thumb.

Nikto was among the first used. He was the first successful prototype. He was perfect! He was loved for his skills as a soldier, and he was loved as being an affectionate domesticated cat. Nikto was adored.

Unfortunately, KorTac had funding cuts and all the perfect soldiers they made had two choices: be let free, or be euthanized. The head of the lab was a soft-hearted man, and he insisted that the cats were to be set free. When the order went through that the cats were to be euthanized regardless, he panicked and smuggled the cats out to a city where he let them free. He begged them to forgive him as he let them go.

The cats all gathered together to face the harshness of city life. Not all of them made it, but most managed. They were homeless cats, homeless humans. They were lost and scared, but they persevered.

Eventually, some of the cats started to get adopted. Nikto watched as his brothers and sisters in arms managed to find places to stay and hide in their cat forms. He saw how wonderfully things worked out for them. Surely, he could find a happy home too, right?

So Nikto let himself be adopted by someone. He was picked up by a teenager with his friend and brought back to a shed. There, Nikto was forced to endure the worst of human behaviour.

The teens learned of a way to make money online. A strange way, but an easy way. It made good money, so they heard. It was easy, as long as you could do it.

Nikto was tortured for hours and hours in that shed. Being a stray for so long, he was too hungry and weak to be able to shift and defend himself. Instead, he was forced to endure horrors I hate to repeat.

When the teens figured that Nikto was dead, they put him in a can and kicked it over into a puddle of some leftover household acid, remains of what they'd used on him previous. Too weak to move, Nikto accepted his fate and closed his eyes.

He was woken up later by an animal trying to nibble at him. Parts of his body fell off as he heaved himself out of the puddle. He felt himself shake, he thought this was the end. But, he needed to warn the others. He couldn't let them suffer a fate like this.

Nikto hauled himself through the streets. He pushed through back alleys to get back to the city, and back to where his squad mates lived. When he arrived back, they did their best to care for him, but they didn't think Nikto would make it through the night.

But he did.

Nikto lived the next day, and then the next day, then the next and then the next day. Every day he lived was a miracle. Hutch, Roze and Askel poured their heart and souls into Nikto, and too their amazement, Nikto began to recover.

His skin started to grow back, his eyes fluttered open. His breathign relaxed, he started to talk.

And talk he did! He told them all about the humans. He warned them all. He made them all swear to protect themselves, to never let themselves fall into the wrong hands again. He made them swear to be strong, to always be healthy enough to shift into human forms. They promised, and they followed his word.

To this day, Nikto feels his heart drop when he hears someone has been adopted. He's made an initiative where each time one of their kin are adopted, another will follow them home to ensure they go to a safe home. They always make sure.

Nikto is still afraid of humans. It doesn't help that nobody really wants to adopt a cat like him... He's covered in scars now, scars that transfer to his human form. Despite how horrible he looks in his cat form, he'll stay in that form to avoid showing his human face. He's never forgotten the fear he felt when he saw his own eye staring back at him from within a fleshy socket, surrounded by redness and folds of scar tissue. He won't ever let anyone see his human face again, he swears by this.

Sometimes, someone will be foolish enough to ask Nikto if he'd consider trying to get adopted again. Nikto never says anything. He never has to. The way the whole room goes silent speaks volumes.

When he leaves them to stew in their own pity and misery, he'll think about what they said. He'll consider their words. A part of him wants to be adopted. He wants a warm, happy home. One like back at KorTac. He's been told KorTac was horrible, but when he was in the cage he had a roof over his head and three meals a day. He didn't go hungry, he didn't shiver at night. He was always safe.

Nikto, despite it all, still wants a home. Is he ready yet to find a human to trust? He doesn't know. He doesn't think he'll ever be ready, but he reminds himself that nobody is ever ready for change. It just happens. One day, a human will find him and love him for who he is, he holds onto that hope dearly.

Here's a quick ref of Nikto for you guys at home. Sadly, he can't really wear a mask in cat form, but at least he has a mask in human form. Still, despite how rough he looks, he still prefers living as a scarred cat than having to face his human form in the mirror again.

Oh, and as for the video? The one those teens made to make hundreds of thousands of dollars? The one that would make them filthy rich?

It made $97 USD.

[la-pheacienne]

I hope this doesn’t come across as rude, but I was looking through your Lyanna/Rhaegar tag, and I struggle with this pairing. I enjoy it sometimes, but a few things just don’t add up for me. It’s often framed as Lyanna leaving of her own agency and Rhaegar choosing love over duty, but realistically, it feels like he unintentionally set her up to fail. I say this due to the North being largely isolated from the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. So, while Lyanna probably had some idea of southern dynamics—especially since she was about to marry into a southern family—understanding them is one thing, but actually navigating that world would be completely different. Ultimately, Lyanna would have a hard time thriving. I personally don’t think they got married, so if they had survived, she would have borne the brunt of it—her reputation ruined, potentially raising a child viewed as a bastard and a potential threat. Even if Rhaegar stayed committed, what if he eventually fell out of love or died? She would have no inheritance, and her security would be entirely dependent on Rhaegar and his family’s favor. She could return to her own family (if they weren’t declared traitors), but she’d still have to rely on them. She’s never truly independent; it’s like she left one cage only to enter another, all in the name of love. And it seems as if her agency doesn’t extend beyond that single choice. Logically, this just doesn’t sit right with me. It’s still a compelling story, but I don’t think Lyanna would thrive in this situation if they survived.

This is a continuation of my previous ask. Let’s look at this a bit more critically. In canon, Rhaegar takes Lyanna to the Tower of Joy in Dorne, guarded by three Kingsguard. Now, why would he do that? Dorne is HIS wife’s homeland, yet he brings Lyanna to the opposite end of the country, to his wife’s territory. Paired with the three Kingsguard, it seems likely he did this because he saw Lyanna as a flight risk. Rhaegar controlled whether she stayed or left. He even controlled her basic needs—her food, shelter, safety, clothing. She had no money to secure these things independently, and the Kingsguard weren’t loyal to her; they answered only to Rhaegar. Now, I do believe Lyanna left consensually, but to her own detriment. Even if she attempted to escape, she’d have little chance of surviving the Dornish desert, and that’s assuming she could even find help. Let’s say she did make it out of the desert—she’d then be in Dorne, likely pregnant with the child of the Dornish princess’s husband, in the middle of a rebellion. Do you really think the Dornish would sympathize and help her return? Her family had been declared traitors, and Dorne was loyal to the crown. They would most likely refuse to assist her and certainly wouldn’t help her get back. Lyanna Stark had no real agency. She might have felt free in moments, and perhaps things between them were good enough that she didn’t question it at the time. But it’s hard to believe Rhaegar didn’t understand this dynamic on some level. Why not take her to Dragonstone, his own property? There, he had full control without the complexities of hiding her in his wife’s homeland.

You don't come across as rude at all. But I'm afraid I can't help you much with this.

I'm not saying there is no power imbalance between a crown prince and a 16 yo high born maiden, I just don't think the parameter of power imbalance between them plays/will play a significant role in the way the story unfolds. I don't think the author had that in mind and I don't think the complexity/nuance of Rhaegar and Lyanna's situation stems from that. The dynamic you are describing, one of a predator and a prey, isn't particularly nuanced or rich to me, it's basically just Robert's take with a feminist twist. You can absolutely read the story like that, but I don't. The way I see it, Lyanna was betrothed to a piece of shit and she knew that, she met Rhaegar who was the antithesis of her betrothed, they bonded, they fell in love, she wanted him, she chose him and she ran away with him and stayed with him until the very end. That was her agency. It sucks that the social norms in universe would never let them be happy together, for the reasons you state. But that is a tragedy that stems from external factors (traditions, socia conventions and moral code), not something that can be attributed to Rhaegar specifically, imo. That is a reason for the reader to feel sorry for the couple, not necessarily criticize their decision. Also, you repeatedly state how Lyanna could not possibly thrive in this situation while forgetting Lyanna's circumstances prior to her meeting Rhaegar. Lyanna running away with a man she chose is precisely her exerting her agency, which fits with her wilful personality the way Ned portrays it. Whether we ideologically agree with this or not, for women in this pseudomedieval context, choosing their own lover/husband against their families wishes is the best marker of independence, and it is considered as such in the collective consciousness that the author is probably tapping into, at least to my understanding. In this context the choice of a partner is not just any choice and Lyanna's arc being so tightly linked to that choice does not diminsh her character to my eyes. Her story has truth to me even if it doesn't satisfy some generic requirements of media portrayal of female empowerment.

If we absolutely have to get all technical then no, Lyanna did not have a full time job, health insurance or social security. I technically can't disagree with you on that, I just don't personally find it interesting or relevant.

"Dorne is HIS wife’s homeland, yet he brings Lyanna to the opposite end of the country, to his wife’s territory. Paired with the three Kingsguard, it seems likely he did this because he saw Lyanna as a flight risk".

That is a guess. I have my own. Since we are so meticulous with the in universe details, let me just say that we don't actually know what the KG were doing with Lyanna. Were they keeping her imprisoned because of the "flight risk", or were they protecting her from her dumbass brother who wanted to hand her over like a trophy to his dumbass abusive and rapist BFF, a man she had already specifically declared she did not want or appreciate and who happened to be hunting her down? (We coincidentally see Ned regret his decision to arrange Lyanna's marriage to Robert for an entire book btw). Were they keeping her imprisoned or were they protecting her from Aerys who would probably want to capture her like he captured Elia and her kids? Many questions. Also, why did they hide in Dorne? Because Rhaegar knew Lyanna had nowhere to go in a 'hostile" Dorne in case she wanted to escape, or because Elia was already in the know and Dorne was loyal to Rhaegar and remained loyal to Rhaegar even after Elia's death so he knew that Lyanna would be better protected there? Idk, these are just blind guesses. So many possibilities, and you choose the most boring one.

Also, the what ifs do not interest me. "What if Rhaegar fell out of love", but that didn't happen in the story we're reading. Rhaegar is not a real person. He is a fictional character in a fictional story with specific plot points and a specific ending, serving as a vehicle for a broader theme. And grrm didn't write about a man who fell out of love and dumbed his lover in the middle of the desert. If he wanted to write that story he would have. Instead, he wrote about a man who died because he fell in love. So I'd rather focus on that since that's what actually happened.

The way I see it, you're trying to say that this pairing is not supposed to be a love story because of the power imbalance/Rhaegar's callousness/Lyanna's recklessness but what you truly mean is "I personally do not care about any of the major themes that are at play with this fictional couple because I personally can't forget/forgive/put aside their power imbalance/Rhaegar's callousness/Lyanna's recklessness which I believe are more important and overshadow the general themes of this story ". To that I disagree.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

hope you feel better soon!

I am riddled with ailments, but I stay silly!

[cuteniaarts]

Digitalised + coloured + redesigned version of my Suiren and Vaatu sketch from two days ago, as promised!!

Coming up with Suiren’s design was a very long process of trying and failing because after you’ve drawn 9+ different versions of one character, the creativity starts to run a little dry, but I’m actually really proud of this one, she looks absolutely adorable <3

(Also yeah I did mostly just scribble Vaatu’s pattern because who has the energy to draw the all out accurately. Not me, that’s who, I’m chronically tired. People who draw him on the regular have my utmost respect. He’s still a funky little guy though :D)

Bonus, Raava incessantly screaming inside Suiren (and being completely ignored because Suiren is tired of her) while all this is happening:

[riddlerosehearts]

i found ur blog recently after becoming incredibly infatuated with twst but specifically idia shroud (my friends said i act like him to an uncanny level and they were absolutely right...) and i love your vilidia posts dearly. ok that's it thank u

OMG that's so awesome, welcome to the twst fandom and congrats on having such fantastic taste in characters and ships lol!! i adore vilidia (obviously, if my whole vilidia tag is any indication) but i haven't posted about them in so long, i hope you don't mind if i use your ask as an excuse to share some silly little headcanons that i don't believe i've posted before:

so i think that when vil was like, 10 or so, his dad tried to encourage his love of potion-making by getting him one of those candy chemistry kits. the ones that come in super cute colorful boxes and teach you how to make things like exploding pop rocks and glow-in-the-dark gummies while explaining the science behind it. (here's a picture of basically the exact thing i'm thinking of.) but vil, poor sweet little vil who'd already let the brutality of the entertainment industry make him believe that he needed to be absolutely perfect, just rolled his eyes and said he was too old for that stuff and that all of that candy wouldn't be good for him anyway. he never once touched the kit, even though part of him probably did really want to.

and i also think that at some point, after he and idia had started dating, idia bought one of those same kits online and just barely mustered up the courage to ask vil if he'd like to join him and ortho in making some of the candy. he claimed the entire thing was ortho's idea, but vil could tell that idia really wanted them to do this together and he decided it'd be okay to indulge his boyfriend just once. as he actually made the candy he realized that although it obviously didn't teach him a single thing he didn't already know, it was still a lot of fun and he wished he hadn't rejected things like that as a kid.

also, speaking of chemistry, there's a voice line in-game where idia implies that he is not good at it. so while i think he and vil would be fascinated by each other's different fields of scientific interest and would love talking about it together i also think that one day idia just very overdramatically goes like: "omg i'm doing soooooo bad in my chemistry classes... if only some super smart and kind and very attractive person would help me out..."

and vil responds by telling idia that he most certainly does not share his younger brother's talent as an actor. but he agrees to help anyway and then they have cute study dates.

idia's habit of starting to excitedly infodump about his interests only to suddenly get embarrassed and stop persists for a while into his relationship with vil but every single time it happens, vil encourages idia to keep going. he often says things like "oh, are you done already? that's a shame, i was so looking forward to hearing more about sora's journey to save kairi". it takes a long time but eventually idia gets to a point where he's so comfortable around vil that he doesn't feel embarrassed anymore.

[jakeperalta]

I literally think being in the taylor fandom is making me a worse person like I am so not a hater at heart and yet I just get so irritated by the fandom that it makes me feel like the most negative bitter person :/

[averlym]

Can you do prompt 34 for araleyn?

no.34, gen: "you look happy" //sometimes i think too much about dlyh

[rocksinmuffin]

GUYS HOW CAN I BE INTO VORE IF I DON'T KNOW WHAT IT IS

Hmmmm… you say you don’t know what vore is and yet you then bring up Soundwave’s mouth despite no one mentioning it. Interesting. 🤔

[longagoitwastuesday]

*reading a thesis about the evolution of the concept of infinity in China with a large amount of tabs open with diverse articles or word combinations to further look for information, all the while seething, blood boiling* I wish Satoru Gojo would fucking cease to exist

[beautifel]

i. hate that i cant ignore any longer how fucked up i am

[mishy-mashy]

Hi! I noticed you bring up fanfiction every once in a while, so do you have an ao3?

I DO

But the stuff I post here isn't actually written out and posted anywhere else, and my ao3 (posted stories) is pretty bare. Like, I only touch it to read other people's stuff at this point

Everything I do write is OC stuff though, and that's not everyone's jam

The stuff I do post here all comes from my notes for said fic ideas. They're all fleshed out enough that I can write them into proper stories. Like, the whole plot is figured out, I know where to end, character perspectives, all that jazz. I just don't write them out, since I don't have that motivation, and the stories would end up huge

I don't like posting the actual stories either. People have asked for updates on the new chapters I just put down, and I've run into a lot of copy-pasters. Even the few things I have on ao3 is having a mimic somewhere. So I otherwise keep everything to myself, or post little things here

I've been going through my past stuff lately to reorganize. It's fun. Even if they're old (some are over 5 years old), I find little gems that surprise me like these

(Unordinary; Re:Zero; BNHA)

Like- they aren't that bad. That's surprising. How old are these things???