#like actual breaks because stopping for the day and starting tomorrow is very draining

[kooyabooya]

GAMBIT

m reader x tzuyu // 9k words

The thing about risk takers, you see, is the fact that you tell them to stop multiple times - and they never do. 

At every turn of the hands on the clock, here lies Chou Tzuyu, in her most casual form imaginable. One leg on the other with an arm outward to the head of the couch cushions. She’s got her face at this inquisitive angle; pure innocence, slant lips nearing a sly grin while she’s put through an earful from her manager: 

“You’re on your last set of legs, and I hope to god that this story doesn’t break out in the ringers of the press come tomorrow morning.” 

Nothing could scrounge up the loss of professionalism, draining away from the slips in the shut door frame. Because the challenges become more complicated than the other, and this one might just be the tip of the iceberg. 

“Well then,” Tzuyu starts, and in typical Tzuyu fashion: sweetly and unbothered. “Let’s just have our fingers crossed that no one around here is willing to leak that out to the public.” 

Tzuyu’s manager glances towards your direction, matching the same eyebrow with theirs in pure confusion as to what this conversation was boiling down to. You almost feel bad, but fortunate enough to not be stuck in their position. Dealing with Tzuyu’s bullshit on a day to day basis, growing a gloomy shade in their hair that shouldn’t be there for another twenty to thirty years; luckily, that hasn’t happened to you, at least not yet. 

In the years of service that you’ve had with the agency, you’ve had the fair pleasure in confiding with different individuals amongst the growing industry, to different waves of success. Sana? A world beater that has cameras flashing everywhere she goes. Mina? An absolute angel sent from heaven, well fit into the standards of fame. Those two amongst your clients might as well be considered your favorites - and the list that follows after is a very reputable asset to have. 

But Tzuyu? That is a blank area that has still yet to be defined. 

Something about Chou Tzuyu around these doors and offices has everyone turning their heads in the other direction - because you know from experience in this industry - for someone like her that’s bound for stardom with that one of one face and the age that she’s at will be the kind of story that’s not following the script. She’s one of the most genuine, kind-hearted, and beautiful souls that everyone envies to an extent; moreso jumping over cars and off of cliffs to have a mere inkling of notice from her, a scale tipped in the balance to love or hate her persona at the same time. Every now and then she sweeps you up in that whirlwind too, but who can blame you for getting lost in her charming features?

And you find it to be amazing at how she remains so stoic. Color yourself impressed, or bewitched even, you’re also reminded why this little project of hers hasn’t been brought out to the world. 

“So remind me again,” you’re saying, settling yourself around the office, scooching your way past Tzuyu to take the open spot left vacant on the couch, “Tzu over here was caught with what?” 

The observing of Tzuyu doesn’t stop there, unfortunately, limit testing on how dire this present situation actually is - with those long, glossy locks that rest right past her shoulders and in front of her chest, beautifully so like a sculpture bust; the threaded eyebrows, and those long eyelashes. Then, there’s the dimple - and her baby blue outfit, the heels, the jewelry, snug with the curves of her body, she’s meant to be the main event, the sole person who can shift the atmosphere in just a few steps-

Tzuyu’s manager, sadly, isn’t one to play games however. 

Another quirk of the brow gets thrown, and they hit you with a crinkle from the bridge of their eyebrows, inward lips as if anything said from this point on would be held against themselves. 

So you smile, and play the cool guy vibe, mirroring Tzuyu’s seating position in the exact same way down to the wiggling foot. “Well?” 

A file gets thrown to the coffee table in the middle of you three, and a phone is up in the air - unlocked and everything when it lands in between your hands. It’s already on the photos app, and when you’re zooming in to get a closer look at all of the pictures from what you can see from the date in the top portion of the screen - from last weekend, and you’re doing the exact same expression as her manager. 

“It was supposed to be a breaker event for little ‘miss perfect’ over here,” Tzuyu’s manager starts, laser focused like he thinks you’re going to ask her yourself if the contents in the phone were actually hers - which might not make the situation better. Look, you’ve got to keep it cool and stay professional, since that’s your job - especially since Tzuyu’s also young, not by much, but it still feels all the same. Sure, you could challenge that, but why would you? Every time you look at Tzuyu, she can see that there’s not a single thought past your eyes. “I leave her with Sullyoon for thirty minutes at this event and I-” 

You turn your head towards Tzuyu again to which she gives you the side eye after looking at the phone in your hand, and somehow you just know. 

Tzuyu’s manager flips open the file, filled with a good stack of pictures. He spreads them out all over the table, much like finding a specific still from this gallery that stands out. You’re staring, closer, the photos match up in the phone too and- 

Shit. 

That’s the only word that you can think of, but the meaning and intent could be taken in either one of two ways. As for the thoughts circling around your head?

There’s hardly any. Almost nothing. 

“Okay,” you say, face still unfazed; a skill in itself that took a god awful amount of time to get down perfectly, but still, holy shit. Now you’re seeing why the agency is doing everything in their power to keep this under wraps. You can’t even believe the pictures that show Tzuyu exposed with no clothes at all, clearly tattered up in marks and scratches and ran through from whoever was the person that took the pictures in the first place. There’s her thighs stacked on top of each other with pointe feet, her abs are soaked in fresh spurts of cum, the way that her head is crestfallen to the right side as she tries to cover her face, how she smiles at the corner of her mouth; she’s made for the cameras - and you could see the literal sex that she emits from the stills, every profane term in the book or in your vocabulary culminated into one person - but this is the line of work you’ve put yourself in, as you can feel the two pairs of eyes staring at you from the both of them, waiting for an answer. 

You toss the phone off to the side, and get your fingertips on the pictures, examining them with wandering eyes. And with the calm and composed demeanor you could craft within seconds, you say: “I don’t see what’s the problem here.” 

Nothing flies with Tzuyu’s manager at this point when it comes to you. “Watch the attitude now,” he leads, overbearing. 

“What he said,” Tzuyu doubles one second after, a wisp of hair falling to the front of her face, grinning behind the thin curtain of her strands, “Watch the attitude.” 

You exchange glances between Tzuyu and her manager, clearly in shock at how they’re figuratively double-teaming against you. Tzuyu’s always had a knack for being upbeat and funny, flirty would also be a way to put it, but she’s made that her own thing, her label - the press wasn’t kidding when they said in between the lines that this woman here was going to turn the world on its head, to make anyone from anywhere fall to the ground just to have them acknowledged in her good graces - many will die when granted the opportunity - but it's one of those days that has you wondering why she’s more forward, and obvious, that equation is still getting solved by the second. 

“Done,” you say after, giving in to their demands; it’s still difficult to learn and determine what kind of tale she’s willing to write today and you’re still seeing whether it's a good idea to play along to what’s forming. “What else do we know about her and-”

“Sullyoon’s already had her discussion earlier,” Tzuyu answers right away, combing her hand through her hair, watching her fingers disappear within those coffee bean locks that’s effortlessly charming. “As for me, that’s still yet to be determined. Which also got me thinking: it can’t be that bad as it sounds the way that you’re suggesting it.”

You’re also seeing the attitude that Tzuyu’s showing through her words and how she feels about the entire situation as a whole before you and her manager could even dive into the more complicated bits within the first five minutes of walking into the room. It’s like in her case file written in parentheses: ‘known to be a hot head, and a bit self-obsessed’ - considering her arrogance at times, but her charms make up for it. She can be one or the other, or even both. It’s how she grins: simply desirable. Once she’s put her name out there for the rest of the world, and not even for the industry, the scandals won’t even touch her going forward. She’ll be untouched while you are at the bottom picking up the scraps and taking the damage. 

“The punishment for Sullyoon is a lot more lenient because of me,” says Tzuyu’s manager, but his gaze gets back on her, hand on hip in clear and utter disappointment with the shake of his head. “And Haewon’s already not having it with the incident with Bae. Now with this, it’s a complete clusterfuck of events, so I just-  ugh, it’s a lot.” 

“Sorry to hear that,” you apologize, a hand up but the look on your face shares little to no care about the manager’s pain as of this moment. “And for the record, I feel like we had this conversation before, no?” 

“You’re her advisor, dipshit.” Tzuyu’s manager grits, ball forming at the fist, “That’s the reason why I brought you on board with her in the first place. Isn’t that supposed to be your job to, y’know, advise?” 

“You’re the manager, and might I add the correction: her manager,” you shoot back retortfully, “Maybe you should keep a close monitor on our lovely, budding starlet here from the get-go?” 

Tzuyu stifles a laugh, causing both your eyes and her manager’s to do this form of joint attention on her, and hiding away in the plane of her medium-sized hand, “What?” you both say to her, and it comes off as comical. 

“Nothing,” she muses, lifting a leg up over her opposite one this time, leaning deeper into the cushions of the couch, eyebrows up in the horizon of her forehead, beaming. “I just thrive amongst the bickering you two are having over my career.” 

“See?” And Tzuyu looks away from your rolling eyes, “I put it in the file in bullet points. She’s not ready for this kind of pressure and lifestyle, and do you really want me to go through the list of the incidents she’s already put herself through to serve your memory?” 

“I would find it best for you not to remind me of everything up until now.” Tzuyu’s manager shuts down the question, spinning his phone in hand between the fingers, “Please don’t-” 

“DUI charges, social media backlash because of a vape laying in her lap in one of the pictures, smoking out late at night with Ryujin and Yuna,” You’re listing out the events anyway, because Tzuyu’s manager can easily tell that you’re the kind of person to not really give a shit about these kinds of things. It’s not you being put under the spotlight - this microscope that’s always being picked off with a pair of tweezers - how one influencer’s words could brainwash the general public into rubbing their palms with a pair of tangerines. They’ll always follow, to some extent; and for Tzuyu, that’s the kind of power she wants to have - to get people talking about her and not stop there. 

“So do you want me to keep going?” You ask again, clearly caring little to none as Tzuyu examines her personal stills, head tilted when she picks up one of the photos. “And may I remind you that she’s got a gala event to attend to in the midst of all this, so let me ask you this boss,” you say, and you can see the flared nostrils coming from Tzuyu’s manager, “How do you want to go about this?” 

Tzuyu’s manager freezes, phone vibrating in record time like crazy. He’s taking a few seconds to strategize the next move, what’s the next course of necessary action. Keeping Tzuyu here is the worst idea, because that breeds into speculation. Compounding that, there’s also the monumental effort of keeping these pictures on the table in her phone on the down low, which may be impossible at this point, given with the insiders circling around like moles in the organization. 

“The event isn’t for another hour and a half or so,” Tzuyu’s manager announces, eyes darting back and forth from the phone to you two sitting on the couch, pulling his lips upward at the exchange of messages. “Fuck this industry sometimes,” he groans, “You do things here and there and don’t expect the treatment to be - goddamit, Haewon’s calling me again about Sullyoon,” he says, phone to the side of his head when he answers. “Hey, Haewon. No, I uh- I’m here with Tzu and- yeah, I’ll come over right now to see the situation.” He pulls his phone away from his ear, button pressed on mute, “Sorry, but you know where I’m going with this here.” 

“Don’t be,” says Tzuyu. There’s some tension in the air, like a flare set off in the dead of the night - how her head turns slightly towards your direction, smile laced with a purpose - and she cocks her head off to the side as her manager starts to make his way out the room. “We’re not leaving yet as it is.” 

Her manager pauses, in between the open doorway. His phone is right back into his ear, nodding along to Haewon on the other end of the line, eyes lapping side to side and back between the two of you - because it’s his job, and he can’t get away from that fact regardless. 

“That’s still up in the air, you know,” he says towards you, clearly hurt by the tone you gave earlier; insulted might be one better word to put it, but he knows that you know better and you’re just acting like this out of spite. “Don’t know how long this will take, but pray that I’ll be back before we have to go.” 

Once the door closes - much like a kingdom raising up their drawbridge, a safe with all the locks in the world clicking into place - holding you and Tzuyu prisoner in this vacuum of space, this could be hell, or it might be heaven. Tzuyu clicks her tongue, gets it under the front portion of her bottom teeth, at a molar, studying you as if you’re a centerpiece or painting hung up on the room; this girl is clearly unreadable. 

“Tzu,” you call out to her, keeping the ambiance chill - whilst maintaining some form of lead in this hurricane of tension. It doesn’t also help that the sun is right at the ocean, kissing along the horizon towards the beach, a wonderful mixture of hues between orange and dark blue and purple clashing in the sky, the lights are on in the neighboring skyscrapers - a view that can serve as the last sight for someone before falling off fifty plus stories - and in the midst of all that calming pictures, she’s still looking at you. 

She leans over, dress wrinkling in all the right creases. Don’t look now, or else that’ll be the end of you, as she blinks dotingly, lashes fluttering and with that sugary tone of hers, she just says: “Yes?” 

“What gave you the compelling idea to have an entire album of a cock in your mouth. Not only that, but the fact that Sullyoon was also in on this too? Especially when she’s three years younger than you, her senior? Like what-” 

“You’re making it sound like I fucked up?” Tzuyu says, an eyebrow raised in curiosity, the innocence isn’t doing her any justice compared to the hard evidence found in her phone. “Of course I know what I was doing, and believe me, this would only speed up the process a little more.” 

“What process?” 

“To get me out there into the real world.” 

She giggles when the crease of your eyebrows knitting together comes back into the frame of your face, leaning over while she sinks back into the couch, hands fiddling with the red ribbon that was attached to her dress. The eerie sound of your name being recited from the proper pronunciation meshing into hums. She’s observing your posture, much like her normal act persists - staying quiet but acknowledging others when needed. You hate how much of a sweetheart she is at times, because it’s all a setup for a bleeding edge that eventually comes to life sooner or later. 

“I’ll keep it real,” you’re starting again, “You did fuck up. And you fucked up bad. It’ll be a miracle if this doesn’t get out, but I’m not holding my breath for you, and-” 

Tzuyu just keeps staring. With that gaze of hers, she’s still trying to get a read - from the hem of your jacket or at the peak of your ruffled hair, it might be easy to tell that in some way: she’s into you.

“Okay, in simple terms, you’ll live.” With that said, you shouldn’t be silently suffering with a potential breakout star of an actress, so you’ll hang strong against her glance. This was something that you enjoyed doing from the multiple meetings and screenings. “We could honestly set this up to be a hush money agreement with whoever managed to get these pictures in the first place -  your fault, might I add - but anyways, all of this should go away, if we play our cards right. No need for you to come forward to address the rumors, that’s why you have people like us to deal the damage. All you have to do here is just - uhm - well, be Tzuyu.” 

Tzuyu appears intrigued, finding a small crack in your impenetrable armor, a rarity at times but also is aware that it might be a minor slip-up. “Be Tzuyu? What do you mean by that?” 

You flash a look at her, but she’s one to double down, eyes squinting - she’s capitalizing on your mistake. “There’s a proper term for this,” she says, “and maybe um, pretty would be one to suffice?” 

“I’m not trying to sound afraid,” you say, calmly. “There’s two choices between right and wrong. Then there’s the respect, and also being sensible. You have to treat this career like it’s your life.” And you didn’t say professional, because that word is the last resort; a rescue rope only to be used in the most dire situations. 

“I want this life.” The admission, something nestling underneath the parts of her sentence, a slow-burning being soaking behind those soiled eyes. Tzuyu then scoots over, gets closer to you, tips her chin to further the examination. “I have what it takes to be professional. You’re just afraid to say it to my face.” 

“Welp, you caught me,” you say, knotting your fingers in between themselves just to keep yourself from doing anything rash, maybe walking out of the room to leave her alone would be the best move, instead of letting your thoughts get the best of you and pinning her body flat on the couch. “Seriously, doing things like this will only kill your chances of making it big even before you start.” 

Common sense appears to be dissipating out the clear windows. And now Tzuyu is the one who’s taking full advantage, bursting your personal bubble - the way that she shimmies her way across the cushions, so mindful of how she moves her body at every curve and nick in her limbs; you can hear your own heartbeat quickening, like you’re hiding in a locker and she’s about to tamper with the dial to get the door open - and she’s about face to you, hand ghosting the upper profiles of your chest where your shoulders are at. She’s not that tall from a height standpoint, but sitting down, she’s matching your build bit by bit. 

“It’ll happen, regardless,” says Tzuyu, face with a wide grin. “That’s why people like you are working hard to make sure that things like these don’t happen again. Especially in the long run.” 

“You’re really going all out today, are you?” You exclaim after closely assessing, holding our ground against her. “Might I add that you might also ruin Sullyoon’s career after yours is out of our hands?” 

“She’s a tough girl,” says Tzuyu, flatly, as if the prospect itself is something to laugh about. Tzuyu is a silent killer, shown in her signs of arrogance which shouldn’t be enticing to you, but they are, and in every way possible. “And like I told you, I’ll keep doing shit like this because I want to. You can hide away all you want, when it’s clear in your eyes that you want me just as bad as I want you.” 

“And what do you propose here?” 

“I’m telling you that the way you sound right now turns me on, genius.” 

It comes in a black flash, much like you staring down the hole of a double-barreled shotgun; or your head getting pushed into a tub of ice cold water. You can see the stars in her eyes, each and every one of them an alternate reality of their own between you and Tzuyu, sparkling with so much light. “Who’s saying that fucking a client was on the cards?” 

And Tzuyu chuckles at that, on cue like it's some cheeky sitcom. “Don’t get stupid with me,” she says, and she’s raining fire down from above. “Everyone already has said the same thing at least once or more.” 

Your eyes land on the clock hanging above the room, then they dart to the closed door. “He’s not gonna be back anytime soon, is he?” 

“Haewon’s office is at least five floors down, and the elevator apparently hasn’t been working all day..” 

“Some luck.” 

“I can make my own.” 

“I hope you know that this is a really bad path you’re going down to.” You’re deterring, but it's a lazy attempt at best, no point in shying away - because you’re not scared of Tzuyu, and you never were, mentioning the fact that she’s radioactive in her own rights. She’s equipped with an arsenal of tricks and quirks, but you’ve got your own brandished within that noggin of yours. A hand is on her thigh, trailing up to the hip, and she looks down to take the hint, scooting closer. “You’ve got some nerve, testing me like this, and you have no idea what you just signed up for.” 

“Do you have to be this serious?” Tzuyu’s hand finds yours, slipping up against the fine silk across the palm of your hand. “I’m one for keeping things simple here,” she’s telling you, watching your eyes as your fingers get rumpled over the fabric, venom lacing your nerves before you even realize it. It’ll get reactive really quick, but you stand your ground. “About the sex, don’t overcomplicate-” 

“Why would I overcomplicate something with the likes of you?” you’re asking her, and you watch as her hand finds the knot tied at the nape of her neck, unraveling it, where you see her bra. It’s no help that she’s sliding her dress down to her panties and thighs, the covers being unleashed with every inch opening up to the air. “We’re on track here, and I think I’m getting warmer here.” 

This is something serious, much like a public execution at the hands of her just strolling on by - people stopping in their tracks just to get a good look of that face, that body, so this might be some form of armageddon - but Tzuyu’s dress gets discarded somewhere in the office, to a corner where it won’t be seen on her until you’re fully done with her. Everything in your head is flowing like a whitewater river, a burning urge that gets beyond just the sexual aspect of it. So you’ll get your knees deep: 

“You know how long I’ve been waiting for this?” you ask, and examine. The sense of being normal and professional has long gone out the way. But oh. Oh, she knows what she wants, and you’ll have the fine luxury to give that to her, because it’s what you signed up for: twist the words and her body in every way that you see fit, to fill people in on what their crown jewel of a woman is up to. “Dreaming of that one day where someone will just tell you straight: I want to fuck you. Well Tzu, today’s your lucky day.” 

Tzuyu tenses, eyes appearing like glitter, holding your hand where it stays on the rise of her hip. “I’ve never seen you this talkative outside office hours.” 

“I converse like this on the regular.” You’ve got the experience, and the hours under your belt, you’re holding the other end of the rope in her burgeoning career - if she fucks up the next time, you’re also gone along with her, too. “Now, are you gonna keep talking, or are we going to talk business?” 

Tzuyu is so good for you, in more ways than one. It’s in her eyes, the way that she tilts her head off to the side, when you’ve pushed her up against the cushions as far as you could take her, hair spilling over to her covered breasts, keeping her gaze locked with yours when you’ve sunk to the bottom of the couch - the low light of the sunset makes way for the night sky, moonlight breaking through that captures her face, illuminating the fine mold of her cheekbones, her teeth break past her lips, and she smiles a bit like practice for the waves of flashes out on the red carpet - she relaxes, feels the lace of her panties slide off her thighs like nothing. Undeniably gorgeous, is one way to put it, she’s dirty, she’s every single thing; oh god, the staring, when you look up between her legs, mouth hanging low, chest puffed up in anticipation of the relieving pressure. 

“Many people have tried to test me, get rid of the fun in what I do with my manager and such,” Tzuyu says. “But I knew-” Her hands find yours, sliding up the sides of her outer thighs, holding them in place when you start to lean in. “You didn’t do anything about it, and I liked how you were with me, to set me right, without the changes of rules.” 

“Had it been anyone else,” you acclaim, mouth leaving hot and wet kisses across the inner portion of her thigh; she’s got a hand in your hair with no intention of letting you go. 

“You,” Tzuyu says the singular syllable, reduced to just very minimal words, much like she’s being scolded. But the confession let out is like a padlock finally breaking under the pressures of the wrench: “I’ve always wanted you. I promise and fuck- I’ll be good.” 

There’s actually no way she said- 

The words that spilled out her mouth flew over your head for a short second, a minor blowback in the swing of things - but then again, why are you playing it safe with Tzuyu in the first place? There’s no need, and you’ve got to make that apparent to her; you’ve got your hands on her long legs, spreading your hand out on the skin, she’s got a hand sliding down to her glistening pussy, but she reels back when you’ve beat her to it, and Tzuyu hisses, hiding a whine, “Baby…” 

You pause, hike her up on the couch higher, focus slinging to her face, and her dead-eyed stare slams right alongside yours. 

“Tzuyu,” you’re saying, when you’ve managed to say her name that’s caught in between your vocal folds - it’s a little rushed, no exhale behind it, and a bit tattered - but there’s her demeanor, the tightness swirling in the air between you two. She’s only a few years younger - and that alone could be worse - you’ve got the better position, the better wits of how things work, the implications - and maybe you were a pawn in her game all along, there’s really no telling. 

“Love it,” she exhales, voice tripping when you dip your mouth down to her other pair of lips, “when you say my name,” she’s needy, fingers curling to your head to satiate the sensation a bit longer. Legitimately, fuck, she might end your career, make you a martyr for the whole office to witness, and she could be the one to do all that. “Baby, your fucking mouth.” 

The gaze never wavers on her, hunting - her dainty fingers are gripping the cushions, fibers of muscle moving in ways much so she would be defending herself; she’s used to giving orders and due compliance, but knows where she stands in certain situations. She could be the primary catalyst of what’s happening right now, but you’ve got full control: a green light going off in the back of your mind. There’s no turning back now, foot to the floor, bases fully loaded. She won’t- She won’t last a week in this life by playing it by the rules. 

“Need me that bad?” You ask, face twisting devilishly. Some things in this line of work have taught you that people have to be selfish at times, and you’ll fall face-first into that. “Watch and learn, sweetheart. Don’t even think about getting your hands on me.” 

Tzuyu’s lip is caught between her upper teeth, rolls her eyes, nodding profusely - it’s gonna take more than that. You see her lidded eyes, spread her apart further, “We listening?” 

“No- touching,” she sighs. This girl is soaked - the refreshing taste of her cunt on the pad of your tongue, and you’ll keep indulging. You’ve got yourself in that open space between her legs, she’s sputtering out nonsense, pulling her thighs in to combat against your hands - “Please, just- please, do this one thing for me, I swear-” 

She’s waving the flag up high in the air, and of course you’re going to take this into account. This is someone who is going to make headlines wherever she goes, has people do things that would lead into major or second-hand embarrassment, so you lean down to her aching pussy - across the folds, and her clit, so slick for you, she’s sighing a lot more louder this time - and she’ll let you mold her into any shape you want her to be, let your tongue do the talking: “Right there, yes-” she’s relaxing into your hands and face, giving you the praise she’d never thought she’d say to you ever, like some act of contrition that will absolve her actions - wow, and you’re wondering of the lucky fucker who took the pictures of her and Sullyoon got the same luxury as you’re getting right now. “Fuck, oh honey-” 

You’re paying no mind to how her hips are wiggling across your face, desperate for a sense of friction, fighting every urge to not dig her nails into your hair and get your tongue even deeper where you can send it - but you keep her legs spread, and she could almost rip into the cushions on the couch, grip tight enough to choke- 

“Taste so good,” you mutter, off to the side of her leaking slit, listening as the chorus of Tzuyu’s moans crescendo a bit before dropping in silence. “Look at you, being so good for me.” 

“Shit, you’re gonna- you’re gonna make me-” 

Whether she’s able to tell you or not, you know it all the same. Her flawless face is so torn to the fine points - faltering in every aspect of perfection, that apex, you’re working her there, warmer, and warmer-

But you pull from the tops of her thighs, shove your nose right down to her clit. Stay right fucking here, and don’t even think about moving a muscle; sometimes there’s no need to say things verbally - but the implication stands - when Tzuyu finally lets go into the heat of your mouth. 

You can be lenient, maybe have her rest in the grace period, but there’s a schedule still drawn up on the board, and the sand in the hourglass is still seeping through the middle. “I’d like to keep this up,” you tell her, cleaning up the slick spread across your lips - that fine nectar, easy to say that you’re addicted, but that’s old news. “But must I remind you that you’ve got an image to protect at this gala you’ve got in an hour?” 

“Can- Can I have my turn now?” Tzuyu asks, sitting up on the couch now, hands fast to her backside, unlatching the clips of her bra, slides out of it like it’s nothing. You’ve got your jacket discarded on her manager’s desk, hands to the buckle. Tools are being laid out here amongst you two, and Tzuyu keeps her eyes trained on you, chest rising and falling - watching the noticeable bulge appearing in your boxers. “Please, I can help - just need your cock-” 

“Do you always like to rush these things?” You ask her - pushing her back as her arms just float in the air - she’s beautiful, gorgeous, and wanting; the notion alone would already be disregarded if it wasn’t for the sensible form of structure in your head. It’s in that dimple of hers, that sly grin, those eyes, she’s a personification of eye candy: you’ll keep staring for as long as she’d like you to. “No need to answer that, but,” and you laugh in between for a slight second, “You’re really pushy today.” 

“Please, baby.” That gaze, eyes trained up with her bit lip, she’s dangerous. “For me.” 

You don’t say anything, but with a simple nod, and her fingers are fast to the elastic. 

You also like how she’s willing to follow, to listen. She’s good with her hands, she’s been trained to handle PR questions with the flick of her wrist, programmed to take information and internalize it - she’s flawless enough to stand with the other clients, even when you’re the first to make the move in kissing her, capture her mouth with yours. It’s a bit cute when she’s caught off guard, sucking the air out of her, yielding to your touch.  She’s smiling against your lips, and that’s the laced venom you’ve been cautious of. 

The grip gets let go from the back of her head, retreating, panting, the taste of her lips mixed with yours. She helped clean off the remnants of her pussy on your tongue and she’s licking her lips again wanting more. “Give me some kind of feedback. A demand. Anything,” you command, fingers dancing along her chin when she looks up so innocently. “I think you’ll ask nicely, so prove it.” 

She doesn’t even think twice about it. “I want you,” she’s coming in and out of focus in her eyes, way past the point of no return, staring at you while she’s keeping you magnetized to her hands, slowly dragging along the skin of your cock, “to fuck me, put this cock inside my pretty little pussy, and use me to cum all over-” 

Her face does it for you, shattering right in front of your eyes, wanting smile, pupils blown - you snake your arms around her back, press her down to the couch - there’s a beauty behind the sneakiness of this, the thrill of being found out, the risks taken to take advantage of someone to your own liking, let the thrums of your heartbeat be the only thing to hear within yourself - but Tzuyu goes quiet, she’s so pliant and wet that doesn’t really need any words to come out of her, just the noises when- 

“Fuck.” 

When you slide your aching cock into her cunt, slowly, painstakingly strategic, and the feeling was too much to bear for her. 

“God-” 

You draw back and snap your hips into her - a statement made, an opening in the woven threads to rip a hole in -  you’ve got a hand quick to her parting mouth, hushing her, pinning her. “Go any louder,” you’re hissing, lowly, trying to not think about the fucking clench her cunt makes around you, “Go any louder, and you’re just asking to get caught. We can’t have that, can we?” This is something new, something absolutely obscene, hiding away in the office of her manager’s - keeping a secret that nobody should be able to tell, besides you two. “Did you realize how much of a slut you are when I saw those pictures?” 

Tzuyu’s breasts wobble on the upstrokes, bouncing along while leaking all over your length. The thought of damage control is still in play, to not have her completely ruined for the red carpet in the next hour or so - but you’ll take the secrecy, construct a fake picture to ensure that will not have anyone look a second time. Nobody will know how good Tzuyu’s wrapped around you, that hot and tight cunt, a hand now wrapped around her neck, pressing down but not too much- 

A thumb is in between her lips. “Speak up.” 

“Yes- I know, fuck, it was- a mistake.” She’s choking up the words from the hand on her throat, barely enough to produce the sounds through her vocal folds, chasing for that relief that she desperately needs - “It was stupid, but,” she’s unmoving with her reasons, fervor standing strong, it’s irking - you’ve got to fuck this attitude out of her - “That doesn’t matter, please, your cock, keep fucking, right there, that’s the spot, I’ll be good, I’ll cum for you, make you not worry about-” 

“You keep talking like this and I’ll make you shut up myself.” 

She spills a line of expletives that get mixed up with the slaps of her hips with yours, but there’s one outlier - maybe two - that captures your ears. 

“I didn’t make him cum inside me, but I’ll let you do it if you want.” 

“Yeah, not happening, babe. Not like this.”

Tzuyu mewls and whimpers when you give her one good, impaling hit inside her cunt, let your cockhead rest right beneath the womb where it aches. It doesn’t help her case when she’s shaking her head in refusal, denying. You’re chuckling as she tries to shimmy out of your grasp, the sound reverberating around the room, in relief, or awe would be a way to put it. Stepping into this office was a little bit out of your way, just popping your head in to get a quick word before going on with whatever was on the agenda - until this whirlwind of events coming from her changed all that. “Please. Can you do that? I want it, I want you, so bad. I swear, nothing bad will ever happen from me again - please, if you just-” 

Luckily, everyone’s gone from the office for today - because she’s way louder than you would’ve expected - you ram your cock inside her pussy, without any care for her begging and pleading - there’s also not ruining her appearance, but you’ll pull something out of your ass or she will to cover it up. You’ve made your mark in twisting people’s words around, shifting the angles that way you’re not the one taking up the heat. Conjuring up whatever you could that might rival a con artist’s whole life. But this is also another thing: if Tzuyu’s manager walks in right now, you could prime the whole act onto her and she’ll be gone. 

“You can keep asking, begging, offering, whatever it is that you want.” It’s hard to forget that you’re on the clock, the provisos informed, lines that were drawn up from the start; you could cut it some slack, maybe for someone like her, who really knows. “I’ll keep fucking you up as long as I like, but you’re not getting me to cum up all inside you.” She tilts her head back, and you sweep down to the column of her neck, get a mark on it, not too hard. “Want it to be easy? Just keep screaming, nobody will hear you.” 

Wishing that this moment here in the room to last forever might be a tall ask. From the exchange of hitched breaths coming out of your lips and hers, to the slaps still stable in pace, bottoming her out as her ankles finally latch onto the small of your back, holding you in place - someone could walk in the room now and know without question as to what you’re doing to her - maybe with the sea of cameras at this event later will take notice as to the damage you’ve done to- 

“Inside. Please, nobody has to know. Just us.” Fuck, this girl is testing your mental tenacity, exersizing every impluse that you’ve unleashed of every dirty thought you’ve had since working with her. She could convince you with words, the magma emitting from her voice, sounding low, goes so well in tandem with her moans. “Maybe if you keep this up, I’ll let you knock me up whenever you want, wherever you want, however you want.” 

“You- Tzuyu, you- fuck-” 

“That would be so hot, you know? To use my tight pussy as your personal cumdump - shit - even the manager won’t take up on the offer, so you’re the next one in line.” 

The defiling theory alone is very, very tempting. She’s not like this when there’s a camera or journalist waiting for a slip up to pen the story - you’re still in the driver's seat, keeping it level, thinking of some substance for guidance. You’ve been in this position before, and you’ve learned. 

So: 

“I’d be honored,” you say to her, pressing a hand down her breast, grasping, pulling your cock out to do a few measly slaps along her sensitive clit to show her you’re not playing around, “So far you’ve been convincing, but you’re still new to this. A few stupid acts early on will ruin you down the line, so watch yourself.” 

In the meetings, you remember the firm tone when asked for your personal take towards a proposed plan - coming off as abrasive because that’s how gritty this industry really is without showing it - Tzuyu’s incidents have been nothing short of interesting, talking down on her for acting like a complete dumbass - but she loves the degrading, the harsh compliments. This is something that she wants, and you’d be happy to let the media eat her up alive for it. 

“It’s gonna take a lot more than that just to sway me,” you keep going, twist the knife to where it hurts: “You’re not the first one, let me tell you that, Tzuyu. And I can assure you: you certainly won’t be the last.” Hands on her hips, and you fuck in - it doesn’t get any simpler than that. “Don’t test me with that attitude, because I’ll make you change it in an instant.” 

Her entire body is like a noose, a live wire on a bomb that’s about to reach zero - she’s gripping and convulsing around your cock, you’ve got her to be this way, “Please,” pleads Tzuyu, the utterances and vowels and consonants all collapsing like some domino effect, eyes flapping shut, and the sounds of obscenity seem to get better every passing second, “You’re gonna make me- make me fucking cum, oh god-” 

She’s got so much potential to shake the industry up, not since Sana first came around and did some damage to you. Mina was also the same, and could match up with Sana if the universe allowed it. No one is ready for what Tzuyu has to offer, no fan could scream and break down crying let alone a photoshoot capture the beauty she carries with that face of hers, and that body, every part is sculpted to immaculate perfection, the flex in her abs when you thrust down, catch the arch in her back with an arm, get your forehead with hers, the scaffolding finally losing it’s last limbs of support at the ground level, hand quick to the hard bud of her nipple-

“Cum all over this cock, Tzu,” you’re sighing, leaning down to coax her with a kiss, and she’s got a hand raked through your hair again. “Cum for me. Do it. No shying away from me this time.” 

And like you’ve observed before, the mental note much like a callback, she’s so easy to comply; it's in how your mouth works over her, cunt so slippery hot in friction with your cock sliding in with no problem whatsoever, this is everything to you - and Tzuyu’s body goes limp, holding in a noise in her lungs. It’s a high-pitched ‘fuck’ followed with a murmur of your name, muddled with ‘baby, oh my god, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-’ 

You’ll leave a mark for someone else to notice, the shade with enough bite that could be covered up with a little foundation, let her ride out the peak of her high. “Breathe, Tzuyu. There we go, nice and easy, soak up my cock with that pussy of yours. Jesus.” 

Tzuyu picks up on things fast, and she’s reduced to a various spill of words. She’s a shuddering mess, sinking her hips down to get a lasting feeling of your cock when you pull out - but she’s quick to get up, hands fast to your thighs; leaning down, a swift lick up on the underside. Her makeup is a bit battered, chest slick and light pink from all the marks you put; she hollows her cheeks, has a little bit of fun, and you start to sink. 

“Tzu.” 

She gives no response, lowering her mouth past the halfway point, eyes lidded, but weighted with intent, appalled; her cheek blows up unintentionally, lathering up your cock in her spit, and your head falls back to the crown of the seat. She’s unsure with what she’s doing, you’re tensing and untensing in the lower half, but complaining is the last thing you’ll do. 

“I’ll make it up to you,” you say, gritting your teeth when Tzuyu reaches down a spot near the base, tongue grazing at a vein, where the head of your cock is staring down the hollow of her throat, a slight clench. She could care less with the curses leaving your mouth, it just tells her she’s doing something right. “Do whatever you want, and I’ll owe you next time. Fuck-” 

It does some form of numbers in your head when her eyes lock onto yours, smiling with half a cock in her mouth, quick to shut you up. 

Her mouth is amazing - and that could be an understatement. She’s holding you at the base, where the angle of your cock is tied down between her fingers. You let her take control for a bit, try to see if she can do it herself - but you’ll play the role of guidance again, because that’s what you do, help out in ways that make her have the moment - so you lean forward, hand fast to the back of her head, and you feel her jaw go slack, muffle the choking sound coming out of her open mouth- 

“Fuck, Tzuyu,” you grit, the name alone of hers is an easy impulse to keep doing; you’ve got her hair in this makeshift ponytail, out of the way when she continues to bob her head up and down the length. It was a boring day for you anyway, but at least you’ve made it up to have the prospecting breakout actress strip her clothes down and get on her knees in her manager’s office. “Just keep- yeah, okay, there we- ugh, shit-” 

She mumbles a brief phrase of a ‘mhm’, mouth wide open, salivating, nudging your cockhead down into her throat before pulling back up for another wisp of air - her index and thumb are wrapped around the bottom of your shaft, closing her eyes as the contraction literally leaves you breathless - all the way down into her throat, holding her up with her hair as much as you can- 

Yet the sound that rips from the cavity in your chest, it’s loud enough for someone to hear down the hallway, probably someone from the floor below to pick up on the commotion too. 

Tzuyu’s mouth lets out this sobbed out sound, coughing and inhaling your cock when you cum down her throat - she can’t swallow it all, you think, but you forget her ambition at times when she holds herself, eventually pulling back - eyes glossy and full of impurity, burning irises that mimic Sana’s when she also- 

“God-” you manage to choke out, fixated on the image of Tzuyu cleaning her face up with a small stream of your cum leaking out the corner of her lip. But, you’re satisfied. You’ll let her take the credit for now.

It also doesn’t help when she’s got a finger circling her slicked lips, tilting her head when she hollows her cheeks again around her fingertip. She knows she’s hot, how dirty she can get - and she’d let you do anything and everything from the fucking on the floor to railing her on the walls, because she’s got her own center of gravity with her being, that’s just how it is. 

You can’t help when you’ve pulled her back to your space, catching her lips, since that’s the only logical thing to do with her, and she’ll accept it. “Mmph. I just- you, you-”

“Yeah?” You’re saying, face in your hands when you keep kissing her. “Something to say?” 

“My mouth- you?” 

“And what about it?” 

“Your cum. You just-” 

“I overheard Sana talk to you about her story with me the other day, figured I’d just do it anyway.” 

The tone in your voice is a clear contrast to all the filthy stuff you were telling just a few minutes ago, it’s still crotchety, but a little more lighter than usual - like everything that was a worry suddenly just washed away, and all of a sudden Tzuyu’s quick to get your neck corralled with her arms, leaning for another kiss, the hums alone are delightful, pushing hysterical a bit. 

“I hate you,” she says, a chaste peck to your cheek when you’ve got her ass on top of your forearms, carrying her. She’s laying out a few suggestions, but you’re telling her that the gala could wait, to waste more time to explore her body, more and more. ‘That’s a lie, by the way, but I’m sure you knew that.” 

Shutting her up is a viable option, but she’s right on the jump with that one ahead of you - so she kisses you, why bother putting up a fight against that?

-

The car ride on the way to the gala premiere is nothing short in terms of quiet. Some chatter is being thrown around with you and the driver, since Tzuyu’s manager also had the unfortunate task of bringing some swinger that’s already made a name for herself with the company, per instructions given by Jihyo; you remember hearing it past the open door to your office, named Kim so-and-so on the files. Maybe it was Jennie or Jiwon, or was the name beginning with a letter D? 

“I think the boss man is convinced with your lobbying,” Tzuyu says under her breath. Like you, she’s managed to clean up her appearance - scent still fresh of sex, her hair still a bit rattled, but is trying to repair as much as she can. You can’t keep your gaze off of her; how the headlights from the oncoming cars illuminate through her eyes, handing you her hair band because it doesn’t match up with the look. 

“I mean, if you already asked him what you asked me, and he still refused,” chuckling when you’re looking out the window towards the sidewalk, trailing the crowd of people lining up around the venue, “That should give you enough prose to ask me, since I was next in line.” 

Tzuyu just laughs, dipping her head down - she’s infectious, without even putting effort into trying. You’re seeing why she’s bound to be a topic once she’s put herself out there, and - sure, you could draft up a file with all of that content in a heartbeat. Needless to say, you’ll be one of the many fans. 

“It was supposed to be sarcastic commentary,” Tzuyu tuts, combing her hair over to one side - at the left shoulder, turning her back towards you with the red strands of her dress untied. She peeks over before looking away, fingers fast to knot the ends for a snug fit, pat her collarbones down before tilting down to place a small kiss on her nape. “But on a serious note: do you really think you can handle my little fiasco?” 

You notice that the cars ahead start to slow down, file in line with security personnel stationed along the street, managing traffic. A whole lot of commotion going outside with the photo area, photographers getting ready with their cameras and flashes angled toward the cars, and thank God that the windows are tinted for good reason, brows furrowing in assessing the sea of different media outlets in attendance. 

Tzuyu flows her hair forward, a last minute touch up as she takes a deep breath to calm her mind. You’re playing the stand-in role of bodyguard, checking every side of the car to make sure that things are right in place, avoiding any form of fuck up that might pop up in the next few minutes or so. 

Just when a worker from the red carpet event approaches the door, a buzz vibrates on your thigh. One check later and it’s Tzuyu’s manager. With no hesitation, you answer: 

“Yeah. Oh, okay. Okay. Right, you got it.” 

“I’m trusting you with her. Please don’t fuck this up.” 

“I won’t,” you say, in a melancholic tone to which Tzuyu smirks at. “Good luck with Dahyun? I forgot her name, but it is Dahyun, is it?” 

“Don’t push your luck here, bye.” 

Once that’s gone out of the way, you move over to wave a hand to the worker, signaling a two in your hand to let them know of the delay. After touching bases. You settle back into the backseat, watch as Tzuyu observes from the window, taking in the sight of what she’s dedicated a good portion of her life towards - to thrive in the glares of publicity, get engulfed in the growing flames of fame. She can do a whole lot more than just stand still and look pretty, and you’ll help her there along the way. 

“Still think this is a lot to handle?” You ask, peering over her shoulder, causing her to twist back around to face you. “To be fair, you were pretty nervous when we brought up the incident earlier, so I’m just checking up on you.” 

Tzuyu simply stares, again. Her face may appear blank, but her eyes and the subtle quirk at the corner of her lips tell a different tale entirely. There’s also that sly dimple too, man, she’s too good for you to the point where it’s bad. So what if people already caught wind of her story, you’ve got the contingencies, the fallback if things go south; she got herself into this mess, and you know what you signed up for. 

“They all can go to hell if it comes my way,” says Tzuyu, face falling forward, leaning for a kiss. “Where’s the risk if you don’t run into a cyclone head on?” 

When she gets forward with a hand on the door handle, opening up to reveal herself to the world, you shake your head at her, because that’s another point of discovery to add to her growing list of character: she’ll be the face of this company in record time as long as she keeps acting this way, and you wouldn’t mind staying by her side for whatever is in store. 

Right before she goes any further down the capet, she twirls around on that singular heel on the sidewalk, facing you when you scan the screaming audience, landing your eyes on Tzuyu again - in all of her beauty and elegance, you’ll keep admiring no matter how far or close you are to her. 

An outreaching hand, the simplest gesture, and she asks: “So, are you ready tonight?” 

-

a/n: @co-reborn surprise! not really lol, but this fic is slightly dedicated to them. thank you taking time to read as always <3

[twilightprince101]

I see a lot of AU's for In Stars and Time revolving around the idea of "what if X character was looping instead of Siffrin" and they are all wonderful. I adore the sight of seeing how exactly they slowly but surely break down over the course of months, maybe even years of repeating the same day and seeing how they contextualize the game's events from their perspective.

But there's one piece of all of these AU's that I wish was included a bit more: their feelings at the very, very start in regards to communication with others.

When Siffrin is told that he can tell his party about the time loop at any time, he immediately dismisses the idea because that is who he is as a person. Extremely caring for others, barely caring for himself. This is arguably the catalyst for the entire story (yes, even compared to WHY the loops started at all).

But how exactly do the other characters deal with that information around the start? How do they initially start the timeloop when told "there's nothing stopping you from asking for help?"

For example: Mirabelle. She already has a LOT on her plate since she's struggling with being "The Chosen." But I feel that being put in the time loop like this would actually be a relief for her. She is quite literally chosen by some sort of deity to try as many times as she wants. She's thankful because she really was chosen by the Change God (hahaha). So maybe at the start she would be more confident, talk with everyone and explain the full situation at the clock tower. "Yes, we did die against the King, but everything is back to how it was. If we work harder, we can make it!" But she would do that, every single time. The same conversation. And she's too wrapped up in that routine that she just focuses on reassuring everyone that things will be okay and saying the exact same words. Mirabelle's catalyst is similar to Siffrin's in that they both care for their friends, but while Siffrin helps fix everyone's problems, Mirabelle helps comfort everyone emotionally and doesn't focus on herself.

Then there's Odile. I feel she would treat the matter objectively, almost like a standard time loop protagonist. The first thing she does is tell everyone about it, finding some way to prove it ("Bonnie got X ingredients, Isabeau never made a wish at the favor tree, etc."). But after a certain point, going through all of those extra steps becomes draining. So she instead focuses on saying the right words which will get everyone else to do certain actions. "If I ask what fruits Boniface is bringing tomorrow then they'll keep that in the front of their mind, which will cause them to eat the pineapple early, eliminating the risk that Siffrin will die of their allergy." But throughout it all, she never factors her own feelings as to why the time loops are happening. That is Odile's catalyst: she is too logical and doesn't acknowledge feelings as part of the equation.

Perhaps later on in the timeloop they would do different things entirely, stop talking to others all together. But this is specifically about everyone's catalyst at the very start, their own version of "Why would you need help? You're in the position to help everyone here." It would likely take longer to happen than Siffrin's, the emotionally repressed gremlin, but the end result would still be the same. It's about self-isolation after all.

I just think it's a fun thing to think about.

[thegreymoon]

The Story of Minglan

Minglan, save me 😭

I have one more day of work tomorrow before I can take a couple of days off. I've been working 10-hour days for the past twenty days (well, 9, with a one-hour break in the middle) straight. I have so many non-work related things to do but I will probably do none of them and just sleep. I'm just so drained and counting on a c-drama to give my brain an extra boost to get me through tomorrow, though Minglan at this point in the show is probably a bad choice. The Empress Dowager and the stupid court politics just exhaust me and I'm just hoping for a miracle at this point 😭😭

***

Does anyone actually care about these random people and their manufactured drama?

We see so little of Molan and Changbai, Rulan and Hualan have dropped off the face of the Earth and instead, we are here debating if this rando raped that other rando or if he was set up over some dumbass scheme I couldn't care less about. If all this doesn't start becoming relevant with super speed, I will be very pissed off.

***

How convenient 🙄

So, was she murdered or did they pay her to kill herself?

***

OMG!

Is this the first time we've seen her with her hair down? She's so pretty!

***

Ah, so that's what we are getting at.

Honestly, I am not buying the whole contrivance. If the Emperor had simply said, "Gu Tingye, you go!" I would have been aboard at once, it would have made sense, it would have been what was expected. We really didn't need this whole mess with their army buddies. All it did was annoy me.

***

I am so looking forward to this baby because there will 100% be some drama like Madam Qin trying to smother him in his cradle or something and I need this drama to go back to being interesting ASAP.

***

LOL. LOL. LOL.

There is a reason the plot is pushing so hard to send him away right at this precise moment. Sorry, Minglan, but I am looking forward to your attempted murder.

On the bright side, at least they can't stuff him with another concubine while he's away on the pretext that his legal wife is pregnant, eh? 🤣🤣

***

Wait, where is Nanny Chang?

Why isn't she with them already?

***

Granny's back, at least.

Small comforts.

***

LMAO, drag her Minglan.

This aunt Kang is the most pointless villain on this show and it is about time Minglan stopped putting up with petty bullshit.

***

LMAO, shut up, bitch.

She has several, all of whom could eat your shitty ass for lunch and still walk away hungry.

***

What even.

Again, I ask. When does Minglan start murdering these people?

***

LMAOOOOOO 🤣🤣

Nanny Chang going out to murder people is fine by me, too!

***

LMAO, merchandise?

Is this a translation thing or do they really call it that in Chinese? Like bun in the oven?

***

LMAOOOO 🤣🤣

End her, Nanny!

***

Nanny is taking no prisoners today!

58 episodes into this drama and this is the first time I'm seeing someone openly tell a bitch to fuck off 🤣🤣

***

OH MY GOD, SHE JUST KEEPS GOING!!

***

Ah, so her true surname is Wang after all!

I keep wondering why they address her by her married surname when all the other women keep their maiden name even after they marry, including her sister.

***

LMAO, is she for real?

Bitch, Gu Tingye will skin you alive!

***

AAAAAAAAND SHE'S BACK!!

I AM LIVING FOR THIS CARNAGE!! 🔥🔥

[the-firebird69]

When it comes down to it, you're sitting there holding in there, and we're going. to take advantage of it. and you're having a little war. The storm is gonna come in. We're gonna use it as cover. like we did last time. We made big advances. We took a lot of your stuff. from here. We got a lot of solid answers. and we definitely do not want to hear from you.. You're vermin. And that's what it is. We're going to go to town on you in a moment. to take you down.

--- Today, our son got a pretty good dose. It was. about 2.5. three times. and about 1.7 4 times. And 1.32 times. The first added up to 45 minutes. The second added up to an hour and a half in the. 3rd added up. to about three hours and the third is 1.3 rad and it's adding up right now. So you're getting your **** kicked. and it's going to hurt. With him, he has a poisoning. And you do too. And the sodium dumb you think you're getting medical treatment. But he came down. from about 74%. And he's gonna be done off gas in momentarily. And he went to about 68%. and Then we'll go down to 67% in a moment. And it wasn't aware. he was exposed to such high doses. but he really didn't go that far. for that long. And you started to eat things and drink things out there. And the result is better. and we need our guys to get on it. It was nice. It will help him and he'll do better. He's going to be. in a much better mood. by tomorrow. It'll be 65% or 64. Tonight will be pretty heavy rabbit. It's raining and it doesn't go too far. It's good to have a break. Let 64% is pretty low. Even in 65% here. start healing a little and notice. some people are actually healing. and they are reducing the amount of lipoma. and A lot of them discontinued the medicine. many years ago. some of them kept doing it. and they not doing this well, but there's a few who stopped doing it. early on. No, no. And they're not doing that great. because the radiation is a bit much The clones can't handle it anymore. And There's going to be facing each other. trying to get to the Midwest. many, many times this week alone. and they will die. And BJA is going to be pushed. to go after the stashes and caches. And he will be pushed. very hard.. There's a band of weather coming. He's pretty severe, but it lasts for 15 minutes. and the water is being pushed out. It's cumulative. But right now, it rushes out It's gone in an hour. But true. The levels held higher. than would be. This poses a problem for this area. And we don't like it. but it's draining a lot faster than it used to. I need a small rapid storms. blasting the muck out. And soon it will be gone. Right now, it's gone down to about 200. in the bottom left of the night in many places. One foot 6. It makes a big difference. There's a lot of stuff going on. And his equipment needs replacing. his apartment's a piece of crap. It's too low. The people here suck. with our mental patients. The management renting the place sucks. Tonight we heard him Bello NOOOOOOO and then he dies tonight. And he's threatening our son. And Austin and said, I met him. and he didn't. So we're gonna get rid of him. He's coming up pretty soon too, Furry little guy. Now he's had arguments with this inane **** **** **** One day he said, tell your master that they're dead. He said, no. And said, can you take this place. So, the **** said it to him. No sunset. OK, am. kept on glittering anyways.

ctd

[a-secret-bolton-vampire]

The Tale of the Golden Lion Queen: Misogyny, Privilege, & Tragedy

After the success of my Greyjoy siblings essay, I wanted to write more in depth analyses of other characters and plots. This one took longer than I wanted it to, but it is finally finished. I've also decided from now on that my essays will no longer be split up into several parts, as it only serves to hinder motivation for finishing longer pieces, so from now on my essays will remain extremely long, or however long I see them fit. Todays topic is another huge one covering multiple characters and plots. At the center of it all lies our favourite horrible queen, Cersei Lannister.

I'll admit it; Cersei is one of my favourite characters. I like how complicated she is and her particular brand of villainy, and her chapters have always been a joy to me. It makes sense, then, that I write up an entire piece about her! It won't just be her though. The Tyrells will be deeply discussed, and we'll touch upon Aegon & Daenerys as well. There is more to Cersei than meets the eye, and we'll be discussing everything, from her actions in her POVs, to her close parallels with certain characters from the past, and explore what her future is in the story.

The Rightful Queen of Westeros

Tywin grew up with his father Tytos being rather ineffectual and weak. Worried about the reputation of his family, Tywin proved to be stern, and dealt with betrayal and disloyalty extremely harshly (look at the Reynes & Tarbecks!). As a result of Tywin's leadership and parenting, Cersei grew up feeling entitled, especially to the Iron Throne. Tywin planned for her to marry Rhaegar, yet Aerys II did not allow such a thing to occur. She's been resentful of that ever since, and even when she become the Queen Consort to King Robert, was not happy.

Growing up as a twin to Jaime also had Cersei deal with a lot of sexism. Jaime was allowed to do a lot of things, but Cersei was relegated to only fit a woman's role. In addition, being married off to Robert made her feel more like a brood mare than actual royalty. So Cersei's want for power isn't just out of narcissism (but oh boy is she a narcissist), but out of a desire to rise above the prejudices of women in Westeros. She felt entitled to the throne, but did not want to be left as simply "the kings husband"; she wants to sit it.

So she schemed to remove Robert, whom she loathed, using Lancel as her catspaw;

"How did you kill Robert?" "He did that himself. All we did was help. When Lancel saw that Robert was going after boar, he gave him strongwine. His favorite sour red, but fortified, three times as potent as he was used to. The great stinking fool loved it. He could have stopped swilling it down anytime he cared to, but no, he drained one skin and told Lancel to fetch another. The boar did the rest. You should have been at the feast, Tyrion. There has never been a boar so delicious. They cooked it with mushrooms and apples, and it tasted like triumph."

Wanting to get the throne out of a sense of entitlement and overcome Westerosi misogyny isn't her only motivation. Long ago, she went to see an old woods witch with her friends. And that witch, Maggy the Frog, read her future, which has stayed with Cersei ever since, which drives most of her actions in AFFC;

"I will be queen, though?" asked the younger her. "Aye." Malice gleamed in Maggy's yellow eyes. "Queen you shall be . . . until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear." "Gold shall be their crowns and gold their shrouds," she said. "And when your tears have drowned you, the valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale white throat and choke the life from you."

Cersei will lose everything to a younger more beautiful queen, all three of her children will die, and the valonqar will choke her to death. Cersei never liked Tyrion, ever since their mother died giving birth to him, so she naturally assumed that he was the valonqar. The bad parts of the prophecy did not come true until the Purple Wedding, at which point Joffrey died. Then Tyrion killed Tywin, and Cersei began a deep decline into paranoia.

I would not call Cersei stupid or dumb, she has a certain cunning, as seen with her killing of Robert. However, she is incredibly narcissistic, and at times her paranoia and anger clouds her judgement. Her arc in AFFC/ADWD, in my opinion, does a great job showing how lost she and the rest of the Lannisters are after the death of their patriarch and the king. She is now in charge, and thinks to herself that she will more than live up to the name of Tywin;

It was gloomy within the sept with the sky so grey outside. If the rain ever stopped, the sun would slant down through the hanging crystals to drape the corpse in rainbows. The Lord of Casterly Rock deserved rainbows. He had been a great man. I shall be greater, though. A thousand years from now, when the maesters write about this time, you shall be remembered only as Queen Cersei's sire.

Despite Cersei thinking about how she will live up to Tywin's legacy, she makes... let's say, very big mistakes throughout the book. Her uncle Kevan cautions that she name him Hand, or someone else from the Reach (Randyll Tarly & Mathis Rowan), but Cersei instead gives titles and positions to various people out of spite and other arbitrary reasons.

She hears Mace Tyrell wanting to put his uncle Garth the Gross on the small council as master of coin, but she doesn't trust him so she names the old, coughing, and dying Lord Gyles Rosby in that position instead. Because her mistrust of the Tyrells also extends to their bannermen, she does not trust to use the Redwyne fleet as her navy. So who does she name to the position of master of ships? Aurane Waters, bastard of Driftmark, all because he reminds her of Rhaegar... oh Cersei...

She later names the husband of her friend and lover Taena, Orton Merryweather, as the Hand of the King, after naming him lord justiciar. However, it seems clear that they were merely using her, as the moment things turned sour for Cersei, they fled the city. She even refuses to pay the debts the Iron Throne owes to the Iron Bank when an envoy visits, leading to the Iron Bank refusing to pull out any new loans until all the debt across Westeros is payed.

In addition to poor rulership, Cersei has some very strange feelings regarding wildfire;

"Lord Hallyne has assured me that his pyromancers can control the fire." The Guild of Alchemists had been brewing fresh wildfire for a fortnight. "Let all of King's Landing see the flames. It will be a lesson to our enemies." "Now you sound like Aerys."

And as Jaime says, that does sound like Aerys. More on the two later. On Tommen's wedding, when the pyromancers burn the Tower of the Hand, she has an extremely disturbing moment of euphoria;

The queen could feel the heat of those green flames. The pyromancers said that only three things burned hotter than their substance: dragonflame, the fires beneath the earth, and the summer sun. Some of the ladies gasped when the first flames appeared in the windows, licking up the outer walls like long green tongues. Others cheered, and made toasts. It is beautiful, she thought, as beautiful as Joffrey, when they laid him in my arms. No man had ever made her feel as good as she had felt when he took her nipple in his mouth to nurse.

While there is obvious shades of Aerys here that we are meant to see, there is more to her obsession with wildfire. Multiple times even before AFFC, Cersei's eyes are described like wildfire by multiple different characters;

"A thousand other women might have loved him with all their hearts. What did he do to make you hate him so?" Her eyes burned, green fire in the dusk, like the lioness that was her sigil. "The night of our wedding feast, the first time we shared a bed, he called me by your sister's name. He was on top of me, in me, stinking of wine, and he whispered Lyanna."

The queen was drinking heavily, but the wine only seemed to make her more beautiful; her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes had a bright, feverish heat to them as she looked down over the hall. Eyes of wildfire, Sansa thought.

There is something very specific about her green eyes comparison with wildfire that goes beyond parallels with Aerys or separating her and Jaime for the time being. I believe the green eyes and wildfire comparison symbolizes her rage lurking just beneath the surface, from her hatred of being with Robert, her hatred of the Starks and the Tyrells, and gender envy. Which is why Cersei specifically feels cleansed watching the wildfire burning the Tower of the Hand;

Cersei felt too alive for sleep. The wildfire was cleansing her, burning away all her rage and fear, filling her with resolve. "The flames are so pretty. I want to watch them for a while."

Yet it is double edged symbolism, as Jaime describes Cersei using wildfire too;

His sister liked to think of herself as Lord Tywin with teats, but she was wrong. Their father had been as relentless and implacable as a glacier, where Cersei was all wildfire, especially when thwarted.

This symbolism of wildfire also fits nicely with how Cersei is dealing with the deaths in her family after ASOS. Tywin, in many ways, held the Lannister family together with his iron will, but now that he is gone, Cersei is lost, uncontrollable, the way wildfire is, not to mention the horrific death of Joffrey. Add in the narcissism, and... well, you get AFFC Cersei Lannister. Someone who is holding onto their pride, trying to live up to their fathers legacy, but unable to comprehend that they are fallible and need help. Kevan even tells her as much;

"Every man needs someone he can trust. Tywin had me, and once your mother."

Cersei's paranoia prevents her from trusting anyone. She still thinks Jaime will do whatever she says and is still madly in love with her, but again, this is more or less her own narcissism coming to the surface.

Yet, there is also envy that Cersei feels towards Tywin. Tywin was never warm towards his children, only using them as political pawns to further extend House Lannisters power. Thus, in the contrast to the death of Ned, which only resolved Robb & Catelyn's quest to wage war against the Lannister, the death of Tywin left his family in tatters. Nobody is unified, because he did not rule through love. It's not hard to see how Cersei became the woman she is today. Even though Cersei says that she will even better than Tywin, it's clear that she and him had serious issues;

"I am the regent," she reminded him. "You were. Tywin did not intend that you continue in that role. He told me of his plans to send you back to the Rock and find a new husband for you." Cersei could feel her anger rising. "He spoke of such, yes. And I told him it was not my wish to wed again."

One of the best parts of Cersei's chapters is that there is a lot of examination of misogyny in Westeros. Cersei was envious of the roles Jaime had, what she was and wasn't allowed to do on account of her gender. And here, from beyond the grave, Tywin still tries to instill that onto her, through Kevan. Yet she does not want to bow to the expectations that society has placed on her, instead trying to rule in spite of that. And she is now using her father's death to try to prove to everyone that she can be powerful too.

Once again, wildfire is a good description of her. Her feeling entitled because she is Tywin's daughter and her anger at being excluded because of sexism leaves her feeling enraged when she has to deal with people who dare question her;

Cersei thought of all the King's Hands that she had known through the years: Owen Merryweather, Jon Connington, Qarlton Chelsted, Jon Arryn, Eddard Stark, her brother Tyrion. And her father, Lord Tywin Lannister, her father most of all. All of them are burning now, she told herself, savoring the thought. They are dead and burning, every one, with all their plots and schemes and betrayals. It is my day now. It is my castle and my kingdom.

This all comes crashing down spectacularly when she makes her biggest mistake of all; rearming the Faith Militant. Hoping to make a friend of the High Sparrow, she allows the Faith Militant to reform, and plots to frame Margaery for adultery, believing her to be the younger more beautiful queen, to get rid of her and thwart the prophecy. And it works... almost. Margaery is arrested along with her accused lovers, but then Cersei is also arrested, as one of the men who confessed to the "crime", Osney Kettleblack, rats her out and confesses that he slept with Cersei and was promised a lordship if he was to join the Night's Watch and kill Jon Snow.

The evidence for Margaery is admittedly weak and she is let go to await trial, but Cersei for the first time realizes that she simply can't flail about to get out of this. So she confesses to adultery, but leaves out Jaime, and her conspiring to kill Robert. With this, she is finally allowed to go, but first she must go on her walk of atonement, naked before the city, from the sept to the Red Keep. As afraid as she is, she tries her best to remain proud and tall:

"Harlot," a voice screamed. Another woman. Something flew out of the crowd. Some rotted vegetable. Brown and oozing, it sailed above her head to splash at the foot of one of the Poor Fellows. I am not afraid. I am a lioness. She walked on.

Yet, near the end, she breaks and is unable to continue without fear;

And then there was no stopping the tears. They burned down the queen's cheeks like acid. Cersei gave a sharp cry, covered her nipples with one arm, slid her other hand down to hide her slit, and began to run, shoving her way past the line of Poor Fellows, crouching as she scrambled crab-legged up the hill. Partway up she stumbled and fell, rose, then fell again ten yards farther on. The next thing she knew she was crawling, scrambling uphill on all fours like a dog as the good folks of King's Landing made way for her, laughing and jeering and applauding her.

When Cersei finally makes it to the Red Keep, she is carried away by a new mysterious member of the Kingsguard, Ser Robert Strong (all but confirmed the resurrected Ser Gregor Clegane). Starting out AFFC with her in power, and her pride and beauty intact, she ends her arc in ADWD having lost her pride, power, dignity, and beauty. She has lost the things most important to her, and Kevan plans to send her off to Casterly Rock after her trial. But when she meets Ser Robert, she only thinks this;

"If it please Your Grace, Ser Robert has taken a holy vow of silence," Qyburn said. "He has sworn that he will not speak until all of His Grace's enemies are dead and evil has been driven from the realm." Yes, thought Cersei Lannister. Oh, yes.

Drowning in a Sea of Golden Roses

Although Cersei has many, many enemies, the chief in her mind are the Tyrells. They are the second most powerful family in Westeros, nearly as rich as the Lannisters, and command many more men. As such, and with Margaery now taking her place as the Queen Consort of the Seven Kingdoms, she is worried that the Tyrells are plotting to betray her and take over Westeros. She may be paranoid, but she's not wrong in this aspect. The Tyrells are absolutely trying to take over and gain more power than the Lannisters.

First he marries Margaery off to the king (twice, two different kings), and their youngest son joins the Kingsguard. Then, Mace joins the small council, later promoted to Hand of the King by Kevan, and has his bannermen Lord Paxter Redwyne and Lord Randyll Tarly selected as lord admiral and lord justiciar, respectively. He also wants to put his uncle Garth, seneschal of Highgarden, on the council as the lord treasurer, and put his bastard sons into the gold cloaks. Later, Mace even put 100 Tyrell men into the gold cloaks, and tries to betroth his son Willas to Myrcella, objecting to her betrothal to Prince Trystane Martell.

In other words, Mace is desperately trying to practice nepotism. And it's funny to mention that, because there is also another powerful house from the Reach that used nepotism grossly to gain power in the Red Keep and plotted to betray the royal family on more than one occasion to de facto rule the Seven Kingdoms... that's right, our favourite traitors in history, House Peake! Time to open up our history books to Fire & Blood where Archmaester Gyldayn talks about the aftermath of the Dance of the Dragons and the Regency of Aegon III!

There are many parallels between the Dance and ASOIAF, and in this case, the Regency of Aegon III is essentially the Regency of Tommen I in the past. And one such regent on the Council of Regents was a rather terrible man named Lord Unwin Peake. The second Hand of the King (first being Cregan Stark) was Ser Tyland Lannister, who ruled effectively over a Council of Regents, one of seven. When he died, Unwin Peake became the new Hand, and thus begin the parallels with the Tyrells. First and foremost, however, despite having the same role as the Tyrells, Unwin himself is not at all like Mace. In fact, he is almost exactly like Randyll Tarly.

Both were noted commanders who wielded Valyrian steels swords and extremely openly misogynistic. And they deal with crime extremely harshly. Compare Unwin's treatment of various prisoners on the Feast Day of the Father Above to Randyll's treatment of outlaws at Maidenpool;

Forty thieves had their hands removed. Eight rapers were gelded, then marched naked to the riverside with their genitals hung about their necks, to be put aboard ships for the Wall. A suspected Poor Fellow who preached that the Sevent sent the Winter Fever to punish House Targaryen for incest had his tongue removed. Two pox-riddled whores were mutilated in unspeakable ways for passing the pox to dozens of men. Six servants found guilty of stealing from their masters had their noses slit; a seventh, who cut a hole in a wall to peek upon his master's daughters in their nakedness, had the offending eye plucked out as well.

And now Tarly;

"It is customary to take a finger from a thief," Lord Tarly replied in a hard voice, "but a man who steals from a sept is stealing from the gods." He turned to his captain of guards. "Seven fingers. Leave his thumbs." "Seven?" The thief paled. When the guards seized hold of him he tried to fight, but feebly, as if he were already maimed. Watching him, Brienne could not help think of Ser Jaime, and the way he'd screamed when Zollo's arakh came flashing down. The next man was a baker, accused of mixing sawdust in his flour. Lord Randyll fined him fifty silver stags. When the baker swore he did not have that much silver, his lordship declared that he could have a lash for every stag that he was short. He was followed by a haggard grey-faced whore, accused of giving the pox to four of Tarly's soldiers. "Wash out her private parts with lye and throw her in a dungeon," Tarly commanded.

And one of the men Unwin Peake put in the Red Keep, Ser Gareth Long, was an abusive master-at-arms for Aegon III, which is reminiscent of Randyll's own abuse of his son Sam;

Ser Gareth Long was a skilled swordsman but a stern taskmaster, renowned at Starpike for his harshness toward the boys he instructed. Those who did not meet his standards were made to go for days without sleep, doused in tubs of iced water, had their heads shaved, and were oft beaten.

And of course, Randyll;

A dozen masters-at-arms came and went at Horn Hill, trying to turn Samwell into the knight his father wanted. The boy was cursed and caned, slapped and starved. One man had him sleep in his chainmail to make him more martial. Another dressed him in his mother's clothing and paraded him through the bailey to shame him into valor.

Sam put a hand to his throat. He could almost feel the chain there, choking him. "My lord, the Citadel . . . they make you cut up corpses there." They make you wear a chain about your neck. If it is chains you want, come with me. For three days and three nights Sam had sobbed himself to sleep, manacled hand and foot to a wall. The chain around his throat was so tight it broke the skin, and whenever he rolled the wrong way in his sleep it would cut off his breath. "I cannot wear a chain."

Looking at the water only made him think of drowning. When he was small his lord father had tried to teach him how to swim by throwing him into the pond beneath Horn Hill. The water had gotten in his nose and in his mouth and in his lungs, and he coughed and wheezed for hours after Ser Hyle pulled him out. After that he never dared go in any deeper than his waist.

Yet, Unwin's scheming and nepotism 100% screams like that the Tyrells undergo. In some ways, King's Landing was filled with even more Peakes than Tyrells;

Having elevated Ser Marston Waters to command of the Kingsguard, Lord Peake now rpevailed upon him to confer white cloaks on two of his own kin, his nephew Ser Amaury Peake of Starpike, and his bastard brother Ser Mervyn Flowers. The City Watch was placed under the command of Ser Lucas Leygood, the son of one of the Caltrops who had died at Tumbleton. To replace the men who had died during the Winter Fever and the Moon of Madness, the Hand bestowed gold cloaks on five hundred of his own men.

Once secure in his own person, the new Hand began bringing his own supporters, kin, and friends to court, in place of men and women whose loyalty was less assured. His widowed aunt Clarice Osgrey was put in charge of Queen Jaehaera's household, supervising her maids and servants. Ser Gareth Long, master-at-arms at Starpike, was granted the same title at the Red Keep and tasked with training King Aegon for kinghthood. George Graceford, Lord of Holyhall, and Ser Victor Risley, Knight of Risley Glade, the solde surviving Caltrops aside from Lord Peake himself, were appointed Lord Confessor and King's Justice respectively. The Hand even went so far as to dismiss Septon Eustace, bringing in a younger man, Septon Bernard, to tend to the spiritual needs of the court and supervise His Grace's religious and moral instruction. Bernard too was of his blood, being descended from a younger sister of his great-grandsire.

After most certainly orchestrating the murder of Queen Jaehaera (parallels with the Tyrells poisoning Joffrey), Peake even tried to marry his daughter Myrielle to Aegon, allowing a ball to be hosted for which many women would present themselves to Aegon for marriage, where many tragedies befell them (likely the work of him, with attacks and rumours spread to discourage the women), but this failed as Aegon chose Daenaera. His uncle Gedmund was also named master of ships on the small council.

Unwin Peake quit the regency and returned to Starpike, and in 135 AC came the Secret Siege, wherein Thaddeus Rowan and numerous other members of the kings council and presence were imprisoned, and accused of helping the Rogare's to assassinate Aegon and put Viserys on the throne, while also defrauding Westerosi nobles. King Aegon, his brother Viserys, and his wife Larra, as well as others, were held up in Maegor's holdfast, not allowing Ser Marston Waters in to arrest anyone. When Aegon spoke to Thaddeus Rowan and found he was tortured into a false confession, Ser Marston decided to carry out Aegon's commands to arrest those who betrayed his trust. This debacle was most likely the work of Unwin Peake and his aunt Clarice.

It could be that if the Tyrells are brought down by Cersei (and I strongly believe they will), that some people in the Red Keep might attempt something similar against Cersei, as revenge for the Tyrells deaths. But alas, what that could be is entirely speculative. The fact that Unwin Peake's scheming for his family is reminiscent of Mace Tyrell but his personality is more like Randyll Tarly's, and that he had a very large role in the regency, might also suggest to me that Randyll Tarly could have a larger role to play later on (more later).

With Kevan and Pycelle now dead, Mace is in the perfect position to gain more power. In fact, when Pycelle was first removed from the office of Grand Maester, a Tyrell was to be chosen to replace him;

"Thankfully, wiser heads prevailed, and the Conclave accepted the fact of Pycelle's dismissal and set about choosing his successor. After giving due consideration to Maester Turquin the cordwainer's son and Maester Erreck the hedge knight's bastard, and thereby demonstrating to their own satisfaction that ability counts for more than birth in their order, the Conclave was on the verge of sending us Maester Gormon, a Tyrell of Highgarden. When I told your lord father, he acted at once."

With Pycelle dead, it's entirely possible that Gormon will be the next Grand Maester. Of course, that will make Cersei suspicious. No doubt that's exactly why Varys had Pycelle killed. With Kevan dead, Mace could try to take position as Lord Regent. If Harys Swyft's mission to the Free Cities fails, then Garth could be named the master of coin. And should Margaery try to ingratiate herself within the faith, as she could following her trial, the Tyrells could even try to make allies of the faith militant. And of course, all of this will make Cersei more and more and more uncomfortable.

But alas, what exactly the Tyrells will do and have done to them shall be saved for later. One of the most important things about the Tyrells is how they parallel and contrast with the Lannisters. As said, they both want more power, and they both are among the wealthiest, most powerful families in the realm. But that is not all. The structure of the Tyrells is both reminiscent and the opposite of the Lannister family structure. We have;

Tywin & Olenna. Tywin was the face and power of House Lannister. The power of House Tyrell lies with Olenna, in contrast to Tywin's rather poor view of women. Kevan & Mace. Maybe not much here, but as Mace follows the advice of his mother, Kevan also followed Tywin faithfully. The difference is that Mace is the face of House Tyrell, whereas Kevan was only Tywin's brother, and not trying to take Tywin's role (although he does step into that after Tywin dies). Tyrion & Willas. Tyrion is a disabled little person who spends much time reading books and is one of the wittiest of the Lannisters. Willas is disabled as well, his leg being injured after being unhorsed in a tourney by Oberyn Martell. In addition, Willas is also fond of reading books, as well as looking at the stars.

And of course, the greatest and most narratively important parallels between the two;

Jaime & Loras/Cersei & Margaery. Jaime was a hotheaded and glory seeking man who joined the Kingsguard at a young age, being involved in an incestuous relationship with Cersei. Loras is also a hotheaded glory hungry young man who joined the Kingsguard at 17, being involved in another scandalous relationship with Renly. Cersei was the queen consort, wanting to be loved by everyone and gain more power. Margaery is the current queen consort, who is loved by everyone and wants to help her family in gaining more power.

The Lannisters and Tyrells are incredible foils to one another. Tywin raised his children without love, merely using them as pawns and forcing (or trying to force) themselves into positions he wants to further his family's power without taking into consideration what they want. He rules through intimidation, not afraid to end entire bloodlines when they threaten the honour and pride of his family. The Lannisters are incredibly dysfunctional, with Cersei hating Tyrion and Tyrion directly killing his own father, and Cersei and Jaime having their own issues currently. Nobody is helping each other, it's each for themselves.

Meanwhile, the Tyrells are very close. Mace follows the advice of Olenna, and Olenna has taught Margaery the intricacies of political intrigue, and how to defend herself. They genuinely look out for one another, and all work together, not to advance themselves, but to advance their entire family. The Tyrells do not command each other, they support each other. But unlike Tywin, who was extremely stern and brutal, the Tyrells instead rely upon love and compassion to gain allies and be acclaimed by the populous. Yet even they are not above some backstabbing, they just do it more subtly than the Lannisters.

They betrayed Joffrey at the Purple Wedding by poisoning him, because Joffrey was a monster, wild and uncontrollable, and was to marry Mace's beloved daughter Margaery. They killed him in order to keep Margaery safe from a psychopathic tyrant and remove a complete wildcard that could ruin their plans, and Littlefinger helped along to cause chaos and help spirit Sansa away, letting Tyrion take the fall for it. If it benefits them in some way, the Tyrells will take advantage. They even attempted to betroth Sansa to Willas so they could hold a claim on the North, before Tywin stopped that from happening by marrying her to Tyrion.

This isn't to say that the Tyrells are that morally better than the Lannisters, they just use different techniques to cover it up. As Dontos warned Sansa;

"I tell you, these Tyrells are only Lannisters with flowers."

It is also important to note that the Tyrells are not the ones with the POVs; it's the Lannisters. Despite the Tyrells seeming more good natured and the Lannisters more greedy and narcissistic, via POV, it's the Lannisters who are the protagonists, with the Tyrells as the antagonists. This is deliberate on the part of GRRM, and to me signifies that the Lannisters have much more ahead of them in terms of plot and character development. Look at some of the other foils in the series. Jon Snow and Ramsay Snow. Jaime and Brienne. Cersei and Sansa. They play off each other to catalyze development for those characters.

One thing that escaped from the initial comparisons between the two families is that Loras and Margaery are everything Jaime and Cersei want to be. Loras is loved and cherished by boys and girls alike, seemingly the very face of chivalry and knighthood, renowned all over. Jaime is renowned for his skill, but is received only scorn and mockery as the Kingslayer and for his relationship with Cersei, seen as dishonourable and unchivalrous. Margaery is loved and respected by everyone around her, while Cersei is hated and does not get the respect she thinks she deserves from others. This also explains why Cersei is so fixated on Margaery, as she is jealous of what Margaery has.

The Tyrells are important to understand the Lannisters, and especially Cersei. They are not just the antagonists for Cersei, they represent the life and acclaim Cersei never received, the very thing she wants yet cannot have. To end this portion, we should also look at the words for both houses. House Tyrell's is growing strong. They aren't just boasting words about gaining power, they represent what the Tyrells do. They nurture each other to become capable and independent, as one would use good soil and water to grow flowers. House Lannister's is hear me roar. They use fear to establish dominance, to intimidate everyone else, as a lion might to scare off potential rivals of the pride. Like ice and fire, and so many other things, they are two sides of the same coin.

Cersei Targaryen

No, I don’t think Cersei and Jaime or Tyrion are secretly the children of Aerys. They are all Tywin’s children… instead, I’m going to look at Cersei’s parallels within the history of the story, because she has a lot, and nearly all of them are Targaryens. By looking at their parallels, we could potentially get an insight into the future of her story. One of the more obvious parallels to Cersei come from the Targaryen civil war, the Dance of the Dragons. Both it and the War of the Five Kings have so, so, so many parallels, and this is merely the tip of the iceberg.

Rhaenyra Targaryen, the lawful heir (*cough* fuck the greens *cough*) of King Viserys I, came into conflict with her half-brother Aegon II, who was crowned by his own mother Alicent Hightower after her husband died. In this case, both Rhaenyra and Alicent parallel Cersei, albeit in different ways. Alicent, like Cersei, was the elder daughter of the faithful Hand of the King, member of one of the most powerful houses in Westeros, and the queen consort to the king. And just like Cersei, Alicent crowns her own son instead of the lawful heir.

Yet it’s Rhaenyra whom Cersei is most like. She grew up anticipating to be the queen of Westeros, but not as consort to the king; as a ruler in her own right. After the death of his wife Aemma, Viserys named Rhaenyra his heir as he had no sons and did not wish for his wild brother Daemon to inherit the throne. Like Cersei, she has had numerous sex scandals, including marrying her uncle Daemon without her fathers leave not long after both their spouses died.

The biggest scandal, just as with Cersei, was Rhaenyra’s first three children. While she married Laenor Velaryon, who had the typical Valyrian features of his house and the Targaryens, their children did not have those features. Instead of silver-blonde hair and purple eyes, they had brown hair and eyes, and pug noses. Like Cersei’s children, they were illegitimate bastards whose true father was her sworn shield Ser Harwin Strong, as her husband Laenor was gay.

The illegitimacy of her children was a concern to her stepmother Alicent Hightower, as they were expected to follow her in the line of succession, leading to the crowning of Aegon II. Given that Joffrey was a bastard of incest between Cersei and Jaime, not Robert’s son, this made Stannis the lawful heir to the throne, and thus he entered into the fray in the War of the Five Kings. As if that wasn’t enough, Rhaenyra named her youngest son Joffrey. Like Cersei, Rhaenyra also grew gradually more paranoid with the death of each of her illegitimate sons.

Even in personality they are said to be similar. Rhaenyra and Cersei are both stubborn and quick to anger, never forgetting a slight. The prophecy that Cersei received has stated that all three of her children will die, and in the end, all three of Rhaenyra’s children with Harwin Strong also die. Rhaenyra is also caught by Aegon II when she is forced to flee King’s Landing and returns to her seat at Dragonstone. There, her brother kills her by feeding her to his dragon. As stated with the valonqar, one of Cersei’s brothers might end up killing her as well.

Cersei also has some not subtle parallels with Aerys II. Both are paranoid, have a strange love of wildfire, and surrounded themselves with incompetent councillors who benefited off her coruption. They have some of the same wishes too. In The World of Ice & Fire, we learn;

In 265 AC, offended by "the stink of King's Landing," he spoke of building a "white city" entirely of marble on the south bank of the Blackwater Rush.

Then, Cersei from early in A Feast for Crows;

"Even if Tyrion were still hiding in the castle, he won't be in the Tower of the Hand. We've reduced it to a shell." "Would that we could do the same to the rest of this foul castle," said Cersei. "After the war I mean to build a new palace beyond the river." She had dreamed of it the night before last, a magnificent white castle surrounded by woods and gardens, long leagues from the stinks and noise of King's Landing.

When Cersei blows up the Tower of the Hand with wildfire on Tommen and Margaery’s wedding, she says it will be a lesson to their enemies. Jaime, having served as the Kingsguard of King Aerys, right away sees the parallel;

"Now you sound like Aerys."

Cersei has a very hard time holding onto the throne throughout AFFC, and unambiguously acts a lot like the Mad King. However, the idea that Cersei is “becoming the Mad Queen” or going to blow up King’s Landing with wildfire doesn’t strike me as entirely likely. That she will use wildfire for something huge is not in doubt, but it’s so obviously telegraphed that it feels like a misdirection to compare her to Aerys. As does the idea Jaime kills her to prevent her from destroying the entire city, as it’s too neat. In addition, Cersei isn’t even close to the levels of psychosis and paranoia that Aerys was. She is paranoid, but has not yet had a psychotic break, and I don’t anticipate she will. But we’ll address that later.

In my opinion, however, there are two Targaryens whom Cersei best parallels. Visenya, like Cersei, was the oldest of three children, and (one of two) queen consort to the king. After her nephew King Aenys died, Visenya skipped over his son Aegon the Uncrowned in the line of succession, instead installing her own son Maegor as the king on the Iron Throne. While Cersei did this because she wanted to be in power, Visenya did this because she felt that Aenys was too weak and Maegor just aggressive enough to deal with the threats that plagued his entire reign.

Visenya also was rumoured to practice black magic, as did one of Maegor’s many wives, Tyanna of Pentos. While Cersei herself doesn’t, her ally Qyburn does, using necromancy to bring the Mountain back from the dead. Cersei of course does not have dragons, but she also consults with the pyromancers, who use spells to create wildfire. More about the magical aspects of Cersei’s storyline to come in a moment. But now it’s time to turn to her true parallel; Visenya’s son, Maegor the Cruel.

During the reign of Aenys, his marriage between his children Rhaena and Aegon caused a stir amongst the faith of the Seven, and the Faith Militant rose up in rebellion. Maegor began his reign by agreeing to fight in a trial by seven against the Warrior’s Sons, emerging victorious, albeit slightly dead. When he woke from his coma, Maegor burned the Sept of Remembrance on Balerion, then waged war against the Faith Militant for the entirety of his reign. Maegor outlawed the Faith Militant, and when nobles defied his royal summons, he and Visenya burnt down all their castles.

Inversely, Cersei rearms the Faith Militant, trying to at first use them as allies to use them for her own ends. However, this fails terribly, and Cersei herself gets imprisoned by them. After her walk of shame, Cersei views them with extreme contempt, and is definitely going to wage war on them. Unlike Maegor who hated the Faith Militant from the very beginning (and some very problematic ideas about having superior blood), Cersei grows to despise them and view them as her enemies rather than right away.

Maegor also parallels Ser Gregor Clegane. Maegor was the younger between him and Aenys, while Gregor was the oldest between him and Sandor. Maegor lived only to fight and kill, being a formidable opponent in battle and in most certain terms a sadist. Gregor similarly loves killing and fighting, being one of the strongest people in Westeros, and an absolute sadist. Even their names sound similar; Maegor and Gregor. They both also fought in a trial by battle (albeit Maegor’s was a trial by seven) and were severely wounded, then brought back via mysterious means.

Gregor was poisoned by Oberyn Martell and slowly died horribly, in spite of the maesters efforts, but Qyburn used necromancy to bring him back from the dead, supposedly stronger than he had ever been in life. Meanwhile, with Maegor;

For twenty-seven days Maegor Targaryen lingered at the point of death, whilst maesters treated him with potions and poultices and septons prayed above his bed.

On the twenty-eighth day after the Trial of Seven, a ship arrived from Pentos upon the evening tide, carrying two women and six hundred sellswords. Alys of House Harroway, Maegor Targaryen’s second wide, had returned to Westeros . . . but not alone. With her sailed another woman, a pale raven-haired beauty known only as Tyanna of the Tower. Some said the woman was Maegor’s concubine. Others named her Lady Alys’s paramour. The natural daughter of a Pentoshi magister, Tyanna was a tavern dancer who had risen to be a courtesan. She was rumored to be a poisoner and sorceress as well. Many queer tales were told about her . . . yet as son as she arrived, Queen Visenya dismissed her son’s maesters and septons and gave Maegor over to Tyanna’s care. The next morning the king awoke, rising with the sun.

Qyburn himself has more parallels with Tyanna later on. But both were brought back via magic after nearly dying in a trial. Cersei is not a martial person, but her new champion Ser Robert Strong definitely is. Maegor is an amalgamation of Cersei and the Mountain. Cersei will most likely have the commands and actions of Maegor, but the physical violence Maegor is known for will be done by the Mountain, following her orders.

The supernatural aspect of both Maegor and Cersei cannot be ignored. Cersei is sometimes thought to be not involved with the supernatural aspect of the story, but she is. Extremely. The supernatural is deeply rooted in Cersei’s story, from the prophecy Maggy the Frog gave her, to the necromancy and experiments conducted by Qyburn, and the wildfire. Cersei herself is not a sorceress, but she allows the use of sorcery and dark magic within the Red Keep, just as Maegor did.

Tyanna, like Qyburn long after her, also served as (unofficially) the master of whisperers for Maegor. She also served as a torturer, torturing Prince Viserys when Queen Dowager Alyssa and her children Jaehaerys and Alysanne fled, and later torturing Alys Harroway after convincing Maegor that she had been unfaithful to him. Maegor also had all of House Harroway extinguished, and all of Alys’s alleged lovers tortured to death as well (into a false confession). Tyanna herself was to be tortured by Maegor when his other wife Jeyne Westerling gave birth to a stillborn monstrosity and died. Tyanna confessed to causing the stillbirths, and Maegor cut her heart out and fed it to his dogs.

Thus far, we’ve only seen Cersei have Qyburn torture the Blue Bard into making a false confession of the infidelity of Margaery Tyrell. What Tyanna and Maegor did together could be extremely dark foreshadowing for what Cersei and Qyburn might do later. It’s also worth noting that the roles are switched with them; Maegor was the king, and Tyanna a witch. But here it is a woman, Cersei, who is in charge, and Qyburn, a man, who is practicing the dark magic. We will no doubt continue to see Qyburn conducting more depraved and monstrous dark magic under Cersei in TWOW.

Despite the very obvious parallels with Aerys, I think that it’s Maegor whom Cersei truly follows in the footsteps of. For many reasons that I’ll get into near the end, Cersei isn’t going to become the Mad Queen, or become Aerys III. She will become Maegor II, Cersei the Cruel. And her wrath will be terrible to behold.

Tywin's Legacy (Wherein I Talk at Great Length About Jaime Lannister)

The legacy of our forebearers is a very prominent, recurring theme in the series. The Stark children and how they act can be traced back to what their father Ned experienced and how he raised them. Theon & Asha Greyjoy react differently and do different things, but both stem from the decisions and sins of their father’s past. The Lannisters are another outstanding example of this, and Tywin’s legacy will be the defining trait of the story of House Lannister in the main series. We’ve already discussed Cersei and her struggles, wanting to grow up to be even greater than Tywin, but also being resentful of him and the misogyny of the world she lives in.

But no discussion about Cersei can happen without talking about Jaime, Tyrion, & Tywin. All three siblings journeys parallel and connect with one another, and are tied back to Tywin, the old lion of the family. Tywin was the oldest of five children; Kevan, Genna, Tygett, & Gerion, all children to Lord Tytos Lannister. Tytos was a weak ruler, who loaned money to people who never repaid him, allowed people to mock him at court, and whose bannermen often ignored his orders. The power of House Lannister was declining while those of other Houses (chiefly the Reynes & Tarbecks) grew under his misrule.

Even as a child, Tywin objected to many of his fathers decisions, and the weakening of their House and poor leadership of Tytos was a massive blow to Tywin. This would inspire the type of leadership that Tywin stuck to, where he was implacable, ruthless, and sought to gain power to uphold House Lannisters prestige and reputation. Before his father died, when the Reynes & Tarbecks renounced their fealty to House Lannister, Tywin lead an army and completely demolished both houses, reducing their castles to ruins and killing every last member of them, which earned him a fearsome reputation.

When Tytos died, Tywin forced his mistress on a walk of atonement through Lannisport (just like Cersei) and banished her from the Westerlands, as he thought sleeping with someone low born was an insult to the pride of his family. He also sought to use his family to gain more power and respect by having Cersei marry Prince Rhaegar, but this was rejected by King Aerys. He later had Cersei marry King Robert after the rebellion, finally making her the queen of the realm. Yet his obsession with making his family respected and strong led to a whole host of issues with his children. He never taught them what to do, he told them what they would do for the honour of House Lannister.

He used his children as political pawns and was not close with any of them. Despite Jaime being in the Kingsguard, Tywin was in denial and wanted him to renounce his white cloak to be Lord of Casterly Rock. He wanted Cersei to remarry against her wishes simply because he wanted a new alliance and his daughter was useful for making babies. And Tyrion… well, we know all about how Tywin felt about Tyrion, but that will come a little later. Tywin ruled through authority and fear, and after his death he left behind a broken, dysfunctional family that is slowly breaking apart.

Tywin often pushes his own wishes for his children onto them, blind to their own true feelings and the truth of the world around him. Yet Tywin was a man who also was extremely conflicted internally, and the person who best exemplifies that is Tyrion. He hates Tyrion for his disability and for “killing” Joanna when he was born, taking every opportunity to belittle him; having Jaime lie to him about Tysha, having Tysha gang raped in front of Tyrion, undoing his marriage, forcing him to be put in charge of the sewers of Casterly Rock for this 16th nameday. Yet despite everything, Tyrion represents something Tywin refuses to acknowledge or see; he is a mirror to himself.

Tywin hates Tyrion’s “twisted” appearance and his sleeping around with lowborn women. One could say that Tywin’s true self was ugly and twisted (although it’s a little uncomfortable to use Tyrion’s disability in that light). Although not confirmed yet, there are very strong hints that Tywin’s hatred of Tyrion & Tysha, and later Tyrion & Shae, is him projecting his self hatred for doing exactly the same thing as his father. Shae was not in Tywin’s bed for no reason. And GRRM says that there is something more to this that will be revealed later, in an interview after season 4 finished airing;

Right, and there’s also the surprise at Tywin’s hypocrisy when he finds her in his bed. Did Tywin know she was a prostitute [in the book version that’s not clear]? Or did he just not care? Oh, I think Tywin knew about Shae. He probably figured out she was the same camp-follower that he expressly said “you will not bring that whore to court,” and that Tyrion defied him again and did bring that whore to court. As to precisely what happened here, that’s something I don’t really want to talk about because there’s still aspects of it I haven’t revealed that will be revealed in later books. But the role of Varys in all of this is also something to be considered.

There is also a tunnel that leads to Chataya’s brothel that was built for a certain Hand;

"The tunnel was dug for another King's Hand, whose honor would not allow him to enter such a house openly. Chataya has closely guarded the knowledge of its existence."

GRRM has also been very tight-lipped about who the Hand was. But given that a revelation is to come from Shae being in Tywin’s bed, and this conspicuousness about the tunnel for a Hand, this tunnel was almost certainly built by Tywin. It fits with the overall theme of Tywin and House Lannister; a house whose reputation is built off being prestigious, proud, and noble, but underneath the shiny gold is an empty vessel. It’s all fake, covering up the truth of Casterly Rock. Tyrion is the only one who truly exemplifies what Tywin wanted in his family, yet he is the one Tywin hates the most. In Jaime’s dream sequence in his last chapter in AFFC, he is visited by his mother Joanna, who says;

"We all dream of things we cannot have. Tywin dreamed that his son would be a great knight, that his daughter would be a queen. He dreamed they would be so strong and brave and beautiful that no one would ever laugh at them." "I am a knight," he told her, "and Cersei is a queen."

Jaime misses the point; he is hated by the world because he killed the king he was sworn to protect, who fucked his own sister and produced three bastards with her, a dishonourable knight. Cersei is similarly hated for the same treason. Tywin’s dream legacy never came true, and he was blind to the fact it never would.

Jaime, just like Cersei, tries to live up to his father’s legacy, despite that not being what he truly wants. At first, when he leaves King’s Landing for the Riverlands, he refuses to wear the golden hand Tywin had made for him, but later decides;

When the invitation came down from the castle for him to sup with Lady Hayford's castellan, Jaime took Ser Ilyn with him, along with Ser Addam Marbrand, Ser Bonifer Hasty, Red Ronnet Connington, Strongboar, and a dozen other knights and lordlings. "I suppose I ought to wear the hand," he said to Peck before making his ascent. The lad fetched it straightaway. The hand was wrought of gold, very lifelike, with inlaid nails of mother-of-pearl, its fingers and thumb half closed so as to slip around a goblet's stem. I cannot fight, but I can drink, Jaime reflected as the lad was tightening the straps that bound it to his stump.

His aunt Genna even tells him that he’s not Tywin’s heir, that Tyrion is;

"Jaime," she said, tugging on his ear, "sweetling, I have known you since you were a babe at Joanna's breast. You smile like Gerion and fight like Tyg, and there's some of Kevan in you, else you would not wear that cloak . . . but Tyrion is Tywin's son, not you. I said so once to your father's face, and he would not speak to me for half a year. Men are such thundering great fools. Even the sort who come along once in a thousand years."

Determined to prove himself Tywin’s true son, he confronts a captive Edmure to yield Riverrun, and when he doesn’t;

Must you make me say the words? Pia was standing by the flap of the tent with her arms full of clothes. His squires were listening as well, and the singer. Let them hear, Jaime thought. Let the world hear. It makes no matter. He forced himself to smile, "You've seen our numbers, Edmure. You've seen the ladders, the towers, the trebuchets, the rams. If I speak the command, my coz will bridge your moat and break your gate. Hundreds will die, most of them your own. Your former bannermen will make up the first wave of attackers, so you'll start your day by killing the fathers and brothers of men who died for you at the Twins. The second wave will be Freys, I have no lack of those. My westermen will follow when your archers are short of arrows and your knights so weary they can hardly lift their blades. When the castle falls, all those inside will be put to the sword. Your herds will be butchered, your godswood will be felled, your keeps and towers will burn. I'll pull your walls down, and divert the Tumblestone over the ruins. By the time I'm done no man will ever know that a castle once stood here." Jaime got to his feet. "Your wife may whelp before that. You'll want your child, I expect. I'll send him to you when he's born. With a trebuchet."

Redemption is a major part of Jaime’s story, but it is not a straightforward redemption. GRRM instead describes it more an exploration of what redemption means, if it can be made, not giving a solid answer on whether it is possible;

One of the things I wanted to explore with Jaime, and with so many of the characters, is the whole issue of redemption. When can we be redeemed? Is redemption even possible? I don’t have an answer. But when do we forgive people? You see it all around in our society, in constant debates. Should we forgive Michael Vick? I have friends who are dog-lovers who will never forgive Michael Vick. Michael Vick has served years in prison; he’s apologized. Has he apologized sufficiently?

And throughout AFFC, I do not see Jaime as someone who is making huge strides in his redemption, that he has truly become a good person. I see someone who is seriously struggling with that and his own identity. Jaime deciding to wear the golden hand is not a sign he has moved on, it’s regression back to his old state, of a fake hand made of gold;

“Men shall name you Goldenhand from this day forth, my lord," the armorer had assured him the first time he'd fitted it onto Jaime's wrist. He was wrong. I shall be the Kingslayer till I die.

Jaime is also obsessed with Cersei cheating on him. The quote from Tyrion “she’s been fucking Lancel and Osmund Kettleblack and Moon Boy for all I know” comes up a fuck ton in Jaime’s chapters in AFFC, and again in ADWD. The amount of times he’s thought about it makes it clear to me that he’s not over Cersei yet. He is angry, disappointed, and feeling betrayed, but the way he’s obsessing over it seems to me he is not quite over her yet.

Jaime has changed somewhat, for sure, but it’s not quite to the degree that some of the fandom has thought. He does want to keep Catelyn's oath of not taking up arms against Stark or Tully ever again, but he prioritizes his duties to the Iron Throne before anything else;

I​​f the Blackfish would not listen, he would have no choice but to break the vow he'd made to Catelyn Stark. The vow he'd sworn his king came first.

Jaime seems to be trying his hardest to live up to the expectations of a true knight of the Kingsguard;

"My place is with the king, my lady."

"Whatever we do needs to be done quickly," he told Ser Daven. "My place is back at King's Landing, with the king."

"My place is with the king. I shall not stay here long."

Yet he also wants to be closer to Tommen and Myrcella. Not as a knight of the Kingsguard, but as their father. He even talks to Tommen at Tywin’s wake. His thoughts also show he wants to tell the truth of their parentage;

Once he found the Blackfish, he would be free to return to King's Landing, where he belonged. My place is with my king. With my son. Would Tommen want to know that? The truth could cost the boy his throne. Would you sooner have a father or a chair, lad? Jaime wished he knew the answer. He does like stamping papers with his seal. The boy might not even believe him, to be sure. Cersei would say it was a lie. My sweet sister, the deceiver. He would need to find some way to winkle Tommen from her clutches before the boy became another Joffrey. And whilst at that, he should find the lad a new small council too.

Past time this was ended, thought Jaime Lannister. With Riverrun now safely in Lannister hands, Raventree was the remnant of the Young Wolf's short-lived kingdom. Once it yielded, his work along the Trident would be done, and he would be free to return to King's Landing. To the king, he told himself, but another part of him whispered, to Cersei. He would have to face her, he supposed. Assuming the High Septon had not put her to death by the time he got back to the city.

He thought of Myrcella. I will need to tell her too. The Dornishmen might not like that. Doran Martell had betrothed her to his son in the belief that she was Robert's blood. Knots and tangles, Jaime thought, wishing he could cut through all of it with one swift stroke of his sword.

So Jaime is very much in the mindset to return to King’s Landing. However, there is one thing that complicates this; Brienne.

Brienne has lured him away towards Stoneheart, and the two have now been missing for over a month. Lady Stoneheart is another enormous topic that would make this bloated essay even more bloated if I talked about it today, but one thing to consider going into this is that despite Jaime’s want to be more honourable and keep his vows, he is still doing it all for himself. All the Lannisters have an air of superiority and narcissism, and it’d be remiss to not mention that Jaime also falls victim to that. He doesn’t show regret over his attempted murder of Bran, or of his own involvement in starting a devastating war. He even calls his own children “Cersei’s three treasons” as if he wasn’t a part of it. As noted, he still has a long way to go in his redemption.

Jaime is someone who obviously cares heavily about what people think of him, and he is worried about his legacy. Yet because he doesn’t do serious self reflection on his previous actions or apologize, him doing good deeds ultimately is to make himself feel better, rather than make up for the wrongs he’s done;

No Wodes appeared, nor any of their smallfolk, though some outlaws had taken shelter in the root cellar beneath the second brother's keep. One of them wore the ruins of a crimson cloak, but Jaime hanged him with the rest. It felt good. This was justice. Make a habit of it, Lannister, and one day men might call you Goldenhand after all. Goldenhand the Just.

Here Jaime is daydreaming about what people will call him in the future, hoping it will be positive and glorious. This doesn’t sound like someone who is doing this to be better to people, it sounds like someone doing it for themselves and wanting to be validated. Jaime has some legitimate reasons to have validation, but ultimately this process is more about himself, and he cannot do any significant change to himself until he starts to look back on what he has done in the past instead of merely looking at himself.

This fits in with Lady Stoneheart because it could (and almost certainly will) have massive implications for his arc going forward. He is about to be put on trial for something he didn’t do, and encounter a woman he thought dead who now wants him dead despite trying to keep to the vow he swore to her. There is also Brienne’s betrayal to take into consideration; Brienne, who prides herself on being a true knight, swearing her vows and taking them to the grave, someone Jaime looks up to as a reflection of who he wants to be. And yet she is lying to him, luring him into a trap meant to be his death.

How will Jaime react to see the person he most views as honourable and chivalrous, a symbol of who he wishes he was, lying to him, bringing him to a revenant who wants him dead for something he had no involvement in? Could this be the beginning of serious self-reflection? Or is this going to muddy his own view of who Brienne is, who he is and wishes to be, and bring him back into the arms of Cersei? It’s very hard to see how this will change him, which is why I’m leaving it unanswered here, other than I think he will return to King’s Landing eventually (who he’ll be by then is up for debate). Hot take, I know, but I hope to get into why he will when I inevitably write about Stoneheart, and this essay is about Cersei.

Speaking of, more than anything, we should also look at Jaime’s arc and compare it to that of Cersei. Things changing for him after he loses the most important thing to him; his sword hand. It kickstarts a massive character arc that is only just beginning. Meanwhile, Cersei has lost her pride, respect, and now her beauty, the most important things to her. This to me strongly suggests that Cersei’s story is far, far from over, and that this is merely a catalyst for long term character development. This doesn’t mean she will be going through the same exploration of redemption that Jaime does, but she will be changing into someone different, and if she were dying off quickly, this would be pointless.

I anticipate that Cersei will be more calculating and subtle and effective at playing the game of thrones, now that she has learned that what she did before wasn't working. The Cersei we see in the epilogue I anticipate to be the Cersei we see going forward. Even in this moment I think she's being genuine;

"The Wall, if they admit their guilt. If they deny it, they can face Ser Robert. Such men should never have been raised so high." Cersei lowered her head. "I … I misjudged them." "You misjudged a good many men, it seems."

Both these siblings are going through their own arcs, which are heavily intertwined with each other, going on parallel journeys, their own losses, their own developments. They are both very important characters for the future, and there is a reason why GRRM has written them in both as POVs.

The Reign of Cersei the Cruel

Boomeranging back from Jaime in the Riverlands to our protagonist today, Cersei in King’s Landing, what is next for our queen? Cersei is in a much different place at the end of ADWD then at the beginning of AFFC;

“Whatever Cersei may have done, she is still a daughter of the Rock, of mine own blood. I will not let her die a traitor's death, but I have made sure to draw her fangs. All her guards have been dismissed and replaced with my own men. In place of her former ladies-in-waiting, she will henceforth be attended by a septa and three novices selected by the High Septon. She is to have no further voice in the governance of the realm, nor in Tommen's education. I mean to return her to Casterly Rock after the trial and see that she remains there. Let that suffice."

We’ll look back at the septas in a moment. By the end of the epilogue, Kevan & Pycelle are dead, because Kevan was too competent and Varys needs to destabilize the realm and allow Aegon to gain more and more support;

"I thought the crossbow fitting. You shared so much with Lord Tywin, why not that? Your niece will think the Tyrells had you murdered, mayhaps with the connivance of the Imp. The Tyrells will suspect her. Someone somewhere will find a way to blame the Dornishmen. Doubt, division, and mistrust will eat the very ground beneath your boy king, whilst Aegon raises his banner above Storm's End and the lords of the realm gather round him."

This epilogue is merely a taste of what is to come in TWOW. I believe Varys is right about what happens next; Cersei will suspect the Tyrells & Tyrion, & the Tyrells will suspect her. This will slowly weaken the fragile Lannister-Tyrell alliance, especially since Mace was promised that Cersei would return to Casterly Rock.

The killing of Pycelle only further cements the distrust. Despite being a Lannister sycophant, he was also a very long serving grand maester, and has much and more knowledge that could be useful should Cersei decide to start following his advice. In addition, think back to ASOS, when after Tyrion has Pycelle removed from the small council, Tywin puts him back. The reason is stated by Varys;

“Thankfully, wiser heads prevailed, and the Conclave accepted the fact of Pycelle's dismissal and set about choosing his successor. After giving due consideration to Maester Turquin the cordwainer's son and Maester Erreck the hedge knight's bastard, and thereby demonstrating to their own satisfaction that ability counts for more than birth in their order, the Conclave was on the verge of sending us Maester Gormon, a Tyrell of Highgarden. When I told your lord father, he acted at once."

Here we see Varys skillfully playing the game. With Pycelle now dead, there is no choice but to replace Pycelle, and there is a good chance that he is replaced with Maester Gormon. With another Tyrell on the small council, it creates even more division and mistrust between the two factions, and makes Cersei even more convinced that the Tyrells are behind the assassinations.

As for who will be regent after Kevan’s death, Mace Tyrell would be glad to take the office. This all depends on when the issue of the regent is settled, but I think the ultimate goal for Varys is to have Cersei back in charge; she may be more subtle, more aware, but she’s not going to be liked much more. As I believe, this means that Cersei would win her trial. In fact, I don’t see either Margaery or Cersei losing their trials. For starters, the High Sparrow is using Tommen as a proxy king to legitimize his power, and by making Cersei and Margaery guilty, it would mean Tommen’s legitimacy dismissed, no longer making him king, no longer legitimizing the High Sparrow’s power, and destroy the Tyrell alliance. Given the Tyrells have brought a shit ton of men, the High Sparrow has to be smart enough to realize that making her guilty would merely guarantee his destruction.

Even disregarding that, it’s unlikely both will be found guilty anyways. Cersei has a resurrected Gregor Clegane as her champion in a trial by combat, and there’s no doubt he’ll win that. As for his opponent, I don’t believe it will be anyone of significance. The point is Cersei wins and also shows off Ser Robert Strong to the world as a threat to what happens to those who challenge her. As for Margaery, although she has chosen a traditional trial by septons and septas, the evidence against her is weak;

"Randyll Tarly insisted. He was the first to reach King's Landing when this storm broke, and he brought his army with him. The Tyrell girls will still be tried, but the case against them is weak, His High Holiness admits. All of the men named as the queen's lovers have denied the accusation or recanted, save for your maimed singer, who appears to be half-mad. So the High Septon handed the girls over to Tarly's custody and Lord Randyll swore a holy oath to deliver them for trial when the time comes."

We also know from two sample chapters for TWOW that this is likely the case. Harys Swyft was sent to secure a loan from the Iron Bank in the epilogue and appears in Mercy;

"How long do you think we'll be here?" "Longer than you'd like," the old man replied. "If he goes back without the gold the queen will have his head.”

This sure sounds like something Cersei would do if Harys fails. Granted, this chapter was originally written for ADWD, for a 5-year time skip, so it may be subject to change, so it’s unknown. In the epilogue we learn that Mace Tyrell will not return to Storm’s End until Margaery’s innocence is proven;

"He cannot take Storm's End. Not if he were Aegon the Conqueror. And if he does, what of it? Stannis holds it now. Let the castle pass from one pretender to another, why should that trouble us? I shall recapture it after my daughter's innocence is proved."

Arianne II, when Arianne arrives at Griffin’s Roost;

“A ship will have the princess there in half a day or less. There is an army descending on Storm’s End from King’s Landing. You will want to be safe inside the walls before the battle.”

Later it is clarified that it is Mace Tyrell marching on Storm’s End. Thus, Margaery’s innocence is proven. With Mace leaving King’s Landing, that would indeed put Cersei back in charge. In addition to dealing with the Tyrells and the Faith, there is yet another party coming to King’s Landing; the Dornish, specifically Nymeria Sand, Oberyn’s bastard daughter. Another daughter is also coming, Tyene, but she will be undercover as a septa in the Great Sept of Baelor to learn more about the High Sparrow. Nymeria is to sit on the small council and act as a voice and spy for Dorne. Cersei at first invited Prince Doran with his son Trystane to King’s Landing, all in a ploy to get Trystane killed, freeing Myrcella of her betrothal, and frame it on Tyrion;

“This invitation Cersei sent us is a ruse. Trystane is never meant to reach King's Landing. On the road back, somewhere in the kingswood, Ser Balon's party will be attacked by outlaws, and my son will die. I am asked to court only so that I may witness this attack with my own eyes and thereby absolve the queen of any blame. Oh, and these outlaws? They will be shouting, 'Halfman, Halfman,' as they attack. Ser Balon may even catch a quick glimpse of the Imp, though no one else will."

Since Doran is aware of this, he leaves Trystane at Sunspear and has Nymeria be looked after by a strong escort, while Ser Balon hunts Darkstar in Dorne;

Nym and Tyene may have reached King’s Landing by now, she mused, as she settled down crosslegged by the mouth of the cave to watch the rain fall. If not they ought to be there soon. Three hundred seasoned spears had gone with them, over the Boneway, past the ruins of Summerhall, and up the kingsroad. If the Lannisters had tried to spring their little trap, Lady Nym would have seen that it ended in disaster. Nor would the murderers have found their prey. Prince Trystane had remained safely back at Sunspear, after a tearful parting from Princess Myrcella.

There’s no way Cersei’s plot will be successful, and seeing Nymeria in King’s Landing safe without Trystane might once again show her that what she was doing before was not working very well. Also of note is that the Tyrells hate the Dornish, since Willas was crippled by Oberyn in a joust, and Kevan has yet to tell Mace that Nymeria is coming;

The seventh voice would be the Dornishwoman now escorting Myrcella home. The Lady Nym. But no lady, if even half of what Qyburn reports is true. A bastard daughter of the Red Viper, near as notorious as her father and intent on claiming the council seat that Prince Oberyn himself had occupied so briefly. Ser Kevan had not yet seen fit to inform Mace Tyrell of her coming. The Hand, he knew, would not be pleased.

And now that Kevan was killed before he could inform Mace, this means Mace might be caught off guard when she arrives and not let her in. But given that it’d be a narrative waste for Nymeria and Tyene to never enter King’s Landing and do important things there, they likely will be let in, possibly at the behest of Cersei wanting to use Nym to her advantage to weaken the Tyrells. As for what they will do themselves, that is best left to ponder when I talk about Dorne at a later date, but we’ll get to some of what might happen.

With all of this in mind, where does Cersei go from here? She won’t be able to do what she has done before. Not only do I think she’ll have learned that herself, but she can’t. The High Sparrow has a septa and three novices looking after Cersei to ensure that she remain faithful and complacent;

The meal was served by three novices, well-scrubbed girls of good birth between the ages of twelve and sixteen. In their soft white woolens, each seemed more innocent and unworldly than the last, yet the High Septon had insisted that no girl spend more than seven days in the queen's service, lest Cersei corrupt her. They tended the queen's wardrobe, drew her bath, poured her wine, changed her bedclothes of a morning. One shared the queen's bed every night, to ascertain she had no other company; the other two slept in an adjoining chamber with the septa who looked over them.

Looked at closely by agents of the High Sparrow, Cersei is restricted in what she can do now. The septas are also very important when one considers Tyene. She is an expert at poisons, and it is very possible for her to take up the position of the septa looking after Cersei if she gets close to the High Sparrow, using it to get close to poison someone. Someone, perhaps, like King Tommen? He’s on the list of people Nymeria would like to kill, along with Cersei herself and Jaime. Tommen is definitely dying as Maggy’s prophecy explicitly states so, and if anything will bring her back to the depths of her paranoia and cruelty, it’s the prophecy coming more and more true.

It should also be of interest to see Myrcella and Cersei interacting again. They’ve been far apart, and Myrcella seemed to enjoy being in Dorne. She is also nothing like her mother;

It was true. Tommen was a good-hearted little man who always tried his best, but the last time Ser Arys saw him he had been weeping on the quay. Myrcella never shed a tear, though it was she who was leaving hearth and home to seal an alliance with her maidenhood. The truth was, the princess was braver than her brother, and brighter and more confident as well. Her wits were quicker, her courtesies more polished. Nothing ever daunted her, not even Joffrey.

Because of this, I think it’d be interesting if unlike Tommen, who is timid and cowers to his mothers demands, and Joffrey who was simply too cruel to control, that Cersei has trouble with Myrcella, who enjoyed her time in Dorne and is unafraid to express her opinions and objections. It could also be useful showing her embodying traits that Cersei herself wish she had, and act as a foil for her mother, symbolising the type of queen Cersei wants to be.

What possible moves could Cersei make at this point to strengthen herself? There is one option, one she thoroughly rejected at first, but could end up making anyways. When Kevan refuses the Handship after Cersei refuses to leave King’s Landing, and Jaime refuses the title as well, Kevan gives her advice;

“If you will not yield the regency to me, name me your castellan for Casterly Rock and make either Mathis Rowan or Randyll Tarly the Hand of the King." Tyrell bannermen, both of them. The suggestion left her speechless. Is he bought? she wondered. Has he taken Tyrell gold to betray House Lannister? "Mathis Rowan is sensible, prudent, well liked," her uncle went on, oblivious. "Randyll Tarly is the finest soldier in the realm. A poor Hand for peacetime, but with Tywin dead there's no better man to finish this war. Lord Tyrell cannot take offense if you choose one of his own bannermen as Hand. Both Tarly and Rowan are able men . . . and loyal. Name either one, and you make him yours. You strengthen yourself and weaken Highgarden, yet Mace will likely thank you for it." He gave a shrug. "That is my counsel, take it or no. You may make Moon Boy your Hand for all I care. My brother is dead, woman. I am going to take him home."

If Cersei can be put aside, Ser Kevan may agree to serve as Tommen's Hand. And if not, well, the Seven Kingdoms did not lack for able men. Forley Prester would make a good choice, or Roland Crakehall. If someone other than a westerman was needed to appease the Tyrells, there was always Mathis Rowan . . . or even Petyr Baelish. Littlefinger was as amiable as he was clever, but too lowborn to threaten any of the great lords, with no swords of his own. The perfect Hand.

Randyll Tarly left the hall with his liege lord, their green-cloaked spearmen right behind them. Tarly is the real danger, Ser Kevan reflected as he watched their departure. A narrow man, but iron-willed and shrewd, and as good a soldier as the Reach could boast. But how do I win him to our side?

With Mathis Rowan at Storm’s End, this leaves Randyll Tarly as a reasonable option for the Handship or even Lord Regent, if Cersei isn’t put back in charge immediately after Kevan’s death. As contradictory as it seems for Cersei to suddenly appoint a Tyrell bannerman to a higher position, she doesn’t have much of a choice. She either makes a move or she doesn’t. She might remember Kevan’s suggestion to her and take it, using Randyll for her own ends. Do also remember Unwin Peake during the Regency of Aegon III, his similarities with Mace Tyrell and Randyll Tarly, and the fact he was named Hand of the King and Lord Protector.

As for the Tyrells, once Margaery is acquitted, I believe she’ll try to befriend the High Sparrow and the Faith Militant. This is what the Tyrells do best; befriend people and help them while strengthening themselves. With the High Sparrow gaining more and more power, instead of making him an enemy, Margaery will support him and the Faith Militant. There’s also the possibility that Tommen & Myrcella befriend the High Sparrow, to the chagrin of Cersei. If the Tyrells try to make allies of the Faith, that will make for another great back and forth between Cersei and Margaery when it comes to scheming.

The High Sparrow will of course continue to gain power. There used to be chapters of the Warrior’s Sons in Gulltown, Lannisport, Stoney Sept, and Oldtown. Using the Iron Throne as a proxy to legitimize his power, I think he’s going to want to spread his ideology across Westeros, and having cities reopen chapters of a holy army he can control sounds like one way to make himself more powerful. Even if the High Sparrow dies, his revolution won’t, and it will continue to be a problem. The author says as much;

Q: Religion increasing as focus in series? GRRM: The religious revival of Westeros will continue to grow in series.

There is also an unresolved plotline within the Lannister-Tyrell feud that I feel will 100% be brought to the forefront somehow in TWOW; Cersei thinks Tyrion was involved with poisoning Joffrey, but it was actually the Tyrells who poisoned him. The fact she doesn’t know this seems significant, and it seems like it’s merely a matter of time she finds out. The only issue is how she will find out. Only a select few people know the truth, including; Littlefinger, Sansa, Olenna, & Margaery.

Margaery is only included because since she and Joffrey were sharing the chalice, it seems reckless not to let her know that it would be used to hide the poison later on. Littlefinger would not want his involvement known, as it would severely damage his reputation. Olenna & Margaery would 100% not want to let it be known unless they wanted Cersei to kill them all. Surprisingly, Sansa might be the best one to reveal the truth. If her cover is blown in the Vale, she knows that the Tyrells were involved. She could reveal the Tyrells were behind it while leaving Littlefinger out of it (either at his behest or to use him at a later time) to get Cersei to focus her rage on the Tyrells, who are in her immediate range, while Sansa is far away and uses Cersei’s immediate anger as a distraction.

This is speculative, but the Lannister-Tyrell alliance is not going to last much longer, and Joffrey’s death coming back into the plot seems entirely reasonable. Cersei's reaction might even mirror that of Maegor, once more. When Alys Harroway was accused of adultery, he had her and her entire family killed, marching on Harrenhal and Harroway’s Town to utterly rip them out root and stem, handing the prizes over to someone loyal to him. The Tyrells, like the Lannisters with the Red Wedding, broke guest right by killing Joffrey, and it would be thematically poignant to show the Tyrells, who are merely better looking Lannisters (from a PR standpoint), being punished for something people don’t believe they could’ve done, despite being well liked.

Although using the show as a basis for a theory is frowned upon, and not always the most reliable, perhaps what the show portrayed wasn’t too far off from the truth. The Lannisters taking Highgarden, all their wealth, and putting an end to the rule of the Tyrells. Do keep in mind the house words of the Lannisters again; hear me roar. If Cersei finds out, she’s going to want to punish their family to the fullest extent, and not hold back. It’s also quite likely that she’s going to deal with the Faith Militant similarly, thanks to Ser Robert Strong at her side. In the show Cersei blew up the Great Sept of Baelor with wildfire, killing all her enemies in a single swoop. However, the wildfire under the sept in the books has been found and removed, and D&D have implied it to be their own creation, a way to end Cersei’s struggle with the Faith & Margaery quickly.

Although it may not be blown up with wildfire, the Faith Militant are going to get wrecked. This last line from Cersei’s ADWD chapter;

"If it please Your Grace, Ser Robert has taken a holy vow of silence," Qyburn said. "He has sworn that he will not speak until all of His Grace's enemies are dead and evil has been driven from the realm." Yes, thought Cersei Lannister. Oh, yes.

Looking at Maegor, her best parallel, any sort of massacre at the Great Sept of Baelor will be her Sept of Remembrance moment. The massacre will inflame the common people against her and lead to a larger war against the Faith Militant, just as Maegor did when he burned the Sept of Remembrance. Even if things get worse for her, I don’t see her going back to Casterly Rock anymore. It’d make her walk of shame ultimately meaningless if nothing changes and she returns to her home as she wanted to before. She’s resolved to rule, and she won’t give up what she considers her birthright. She either stays in King’s Landing and lives, or stays there and dies. There’s little chance she’s dying in TWOW either. In GRRM’s own words;

And the rest of what GRRM says here is a huge part of Cersei’s story arc. She is trying to overcome the misogyny of Westeros so she can be in power. Many people in the stories are writing her off and using them for her own ends, thinking she's not capable of doing much. It'd be fitting for her to rise above that, in her own way.

The Lannister Complex

To close off this essay, we will finally look at the major cornerstone of Cersei’s story, the driving force behind many of her actions in the series. As a child, Cersei went with two friends; Melara Hetherspoon & Jeyne Farman, to visit a witch known as Maggy the Frog, who could read their futures. In that tent, after taking Cersei’s blood, she allowed Cersei to ask three questions;

"When will I wed the prince?" she asked. "Never. You will wed the king."

As Cersei thinks to herself, she thought this would mean that Aerys would die and Rhaegar would become king. Instead, as she and the audience knows now, this was her marriage to Robert. Rather straightforward.

"I will be queen, though?" asked the younger her. "Aye." Malice gleamed in Maggy's yellow eyes. "Queen you shall be . . . until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear."

Here is where we enter into territory that is entirely uncharted. Cersei seems to believe Margaery is the younger, more beautiful queen to cast her down and take all that she holds dear. She is younger, she is very beautiful, and she takes her position as queen consort, and is everything she wishes she was. However, the phrasing of “cast you down” and “taking all that you hold dear” sounds like something far more serious. What exactly does it mean taking all that she holds dear? Her prestige, her beauty?

There could be an argument made for Margaery ultimately being the younger more beautiful queen; metaphorically, she has everything that Cersei has now lost thanks to her walk of shame. However, Cersei is also obsessed with having the Iron Throne, believing it to be her birthright, as she does with Casterly Rock. Would Margaery ever rule the Iron Throne, or take Casterly Rock? I find this unlikely. So who else could it be? Sansa is another suggestion, and now doubt when Sansa was betrothed to Joffrey she thought she would be the queen from Maggy’s prophecy. If she actually does anything with her marriage to Tyrion, then perhaps Sansa will take Casterly Rock in a way.

The problem with this is that Sansa’s story is gravitating northwards, not southwards. I don’t think she’ll end up with Tyrion regardless, but this is a conversation for another day. She also doesn’t really want the Iron Throne either. If, as I speculated above, Myrcella becomes a foil for Cersei and they have friction, she could also be the younger more beautiful queen, but given how all her children are to die I doubt she will cast her own mother down. Another option is Arianne Martell, whom many have theorized will marry Aegon to secure a Dornish alliance with House Targaryen. Her marriage could lead to the events that lead to Aegon taking the Iron Throne, but I also have issues with this. For starters, I don’t believe Arianne is going to be content simply being a consort. Again, when I write about Aegon and Dorne, I’ll further explain it there.

Secondly, it wouldn’t be Arianne actually casting Cersei down, it would be Aegon. If you view it as metaphorical, then perhaps it just means that Arianne sets her eventual downfall in motion. However, I think that ignores a huge part of Cersei’s plotline; specifically her struggle between making her way in a misogynistic society while also dealing with heavy internalized misogyny herself. It’s more thematically fitting for her downfall to come from a woman herself, not a woman who helps a man. A woman who wields power on her own without the help of anyone else. In my mind, this leaves one queen to be the strongest candidate to replace Cersei; Daenerys.

The two have many, many parallels, and deliberately so. In fact, GRRM has spoken many times about their similarities;

​​Cersei and Daenerys are intended as parallel characters –each exploring a different approach to how a woman would rule in a male dominated, medieval-inspired fantasy world.

While discussing how he writes his female characters, he also mentioned that splitting the books as he did this time meant we didn’t get the parallel between how Danaerys and Cersei both approach the task of leadership, which is a bit of a shame.

And that one of the things he regrets losing from the POV split is that he was doing point and counterpoint with the Dany and Cersei scenes–showing how each was ruling in their turn.

It’s obvious to see the similarities; two women who were taught the Iron Throne belonged to them/their family and it is their destiny to get it back, ruling on their own, making their way through a heavily sexist society. But as the first quote indicates, they have two different types of leadership styles. Cersei is a classical narcissist, believing people serve her and she deserves all the power and peoples respect out of entitlement. Everything she does in King’s Landing is to serve herself. When Daenerys rules Meereen, everything she does is to serve the people at the expense of her own feelings. She doesn’t want to leave Meereen as she did Astapor so she stays behind to ensure stability.

She doesn’t want to have thousands die in war with enemies at every corner, so she agrees to a peace to stop the terrorist attacks from the Sons of the Harpy. She even puts aside an offer of marriage from Dorne in Westeros in order to ensure peace in Meereen. She sacrifices her desire to go to Westeros, her identity as a Targaryen, even her own body to ensure that Meereen successfully remains a free city. In addition, Cersei deals with heavy internalized misogyny, looking down upon her own gender while also feeling extremely alienated by the patriarchy. Dany deals with this very differently, and often tells people “I am only a young girl” while providing facts that show she is more than just a young girl.

Despite these differences, there are very distinct parallels and similarities between the two in their journeys; when Daenerys lost Drogo’s khalasar, then Drogo himself, she walked into the pyre and emerged unharmed, naked, her hair burned off, now with three newly hatched dragons in her arms. Filled with resolve, yet at her lowest after losing everything she cared about. Now compare this to Cersei’s walk of atonement. She is stripped naked, has her hair cut off, and is forced to walk through the city to “atone for her sins”. Having lost her beauty, any respect she ever had beforehand, she comes to the Red Keep, being carried by a resurrected Mountain, a vehicle for violence and power, a sort of inverse to Dany’s dragons.

In many works of fiction, a woman losing/having her hair cut off is used to signify a symbolic change in their lives, and as Daenerys is more focused and resolved in who she is, Cersei is as well. Cersei’s end in ADWD also parallels Dany’s end. Cersei is carried off to safety by her new protector into the Red Keep, while Daenerys is found by a khalasar that split from Drogo’s khalasar led by Khal Jhaqo, one of his bloodriders being Mago, whom Daenerys despises, her fate as yet unknown. The parallels between the two I anticipate to continue growing in TWOW, as they go on similar journeys of becoming more powerful and capable after reaching a low point.

The point is, with these two being so closely mirrored, it makes perfect sense for the younger more beautiful queen to be Daenerys. Not only does she actually want the Iron Throne and King’s Landing, Tyrion is looking to join her cause, and wants Casterly Rock as well. With that, Daenerys would take everything she holds dear. For those reasons, I strongly believe Dany is the queen in the prophecy, and it makes for a fitting end for Cersei. But that wasn’t everything;

She still had one more question due her, one more glimpse into her life to come. "Will the king and I have children?" she asked. "Oh, aye. Six-and-ten for him, and three for you." That made no sense to Cersei. Her thumb was throbbing where she'd cut it, and her blood was dripping on the carpet. How could that be? she wanted to ask, but she was done with her questions. The old woman was not done with her, however. "Gold shall be their crowns and gold their shrouds," she said. "And when your tears have drowned you, the valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale white throat and choke the life from you."

This is the most important part of the prophecy. Maggy says that Cersei will have three children (Joffrey, Tommen, Myrcella), all bastards with Jaime, while Robert has 16 bastards. We have thus far only accounted for around 5, so it will be interesting to see if anymore bastards of Robert’s pop up in the story.

Their crowns being gold can mean two things; one is that they will all be kings/queens and wear the crown as befits their status, the other is that the “crown” is their hair and they’ll have the same golden hair as her. However, given that this is about what will happen in the future, I’m inclined to believe that all three, including Myrcella, will be crowned as rulers of the Seven Kingdoms (#GirlBoss). However, shrouds are cloths used in ceremonial burials for the deceased, and as thus, this means that Cersei’s children will all die before her. This is essentially all well known, but this is establishing for the real mystery; the valonqar.

One thing to get out of the way; there are a lot of theories that say that because Valyrian is genderless (which it isn’t), valonqar can mean “little sister”, but there are two glaring problems with this. One is the fact we are told it means “little brother”, and the other is that Maggy explicitly states “the valonqar shall wrap his hands around your throat”. So we can safely discount any theories that it’s Arya or some other woman, it’s a man who kills her. The mystery being which man. Cersei believes it to be Tyrion, as she resents him greatly. The fandom consensus seems to be that it’s actually Jaime, who is technically her little brother since he was born right after her, and the two are growing more distant.

There are a multitude of other theories as well, that posit it could be Euron, Victarion, or even Tommen. Again, the wording here is very specific, as it doesn’t state a valonqar, but the valonqar. The only valonqar. And given this is in relation to her children, and given that her story arc is heavily tied to the relationships between her own family, the valonqar is almost certainly someone in her family. So this leaves me three options; Jaime, Tyrion, or Tommen. Tommen can be discounted for several reasons; for one, the valonqar will kill her after all her children die and she is drowning in her tears from grief. There is always Qyburn who can resurrect Tommen and Tommen kills Cersei, but I fail to see the narrative and emotional logic behind this.

A very strong contender for the role of valonqar is Jaime. Besides the obvious, the two have been drifting apart recently (although as I’ve stated I think they’re going to interact again), and it would add to the tragedy of Cersei’s death coming from the person she loved the most in the world. However, Jaime only has one hand, the other not useful in choking a woman’s neck. A possibility is that Jaime chokes Cersei with the golden Hand of the King chain as Tyrion did with Shae. There is, admittedly, foreshadowing for Jaime at some point taking up a Hand of the King role, and there is the song that Symon Silver Tongue made to blackmail Tyrion. “Hands of gold are always cold, but a woman’s hands are warm”. This was foreshadowing for Tyrion’s murder of Shae, but could also apply to Jaime, if he is Hand of the King, strangling Cersei with the chain of office that was bestowed upon him.

Yet, despite how this does make a poetic amount of sense, I have some caveats to Jaime being the valonqar. If he is the valonqar, then he’s not going to kill Cersei to save someone else or put her out of her misery. Strangling someone to death is not something you do if you want to put someone out of their misery or save someone quickly. That implies an intense level of hatred, something deeply personal, and takes effort to do. Jaime could certainly develop that hatred towards Cersei, but there is someone who already has; Tyrion. I know, Tyrion Lannister, the man Cersei believes is the valonqar, might be the valonqar all along. It seems almost too on the nose, too predictable. I can explain.

A common reaction to Cersei’s actions is that she is intensely paranoid and accuses people of things they aren’t doing. She definitely does that, but in the big picture, she isn’t wrong. She may not be a competent person and not command much respect because of that, but the misogyny of everyone else is still a factor in why she’s not taken seriously. She worries that Tyrion is hiding in the walls. Tyrion isn’t hiding there, but Varys and his little birds absolutely are. She worries that the Tyrells are plotting against her, and she is 1000% right here! She is worried that Tyrion is plotting to kill her and he is! For all the flack she gets about being delusional and paranoid, her concerns are very real, and a constant source of dread for her.

With this in mind, I have an alternate interpretation of the valonqar and what it means. It’s not a secret that ASOIAF is literally filled to the brim with many references and allusions to Shakespearean and Greek tragedies. The prophecy that Maggy the Frog gives Cersei reminds me of a very specific Greek tragedy; that of Oedipus Rex, by Sophocles. The eponymous character is received a prophecy that states he will kill his father and marry his mother, and he desperately tries to search for his fathers murderer. When he learns the truth, his mother/wife hangs herself and Oedipus gouges his eyes out in grief. The prophecy the Oracle gives to Oedipus itself leads to the events that fulfill the prophecy; it’s all a self-fulfilling prophecy.

The prophecy Maggy hands Cersei is also a self-fulfilling prophecy, to an extent. And everything she believes to be a danger to her is legitimately a danger to her. Her children will die, a queen will oust her, Tyrion wants to kill her. Maggy’s prophecy is fundamentally straightforward, unlike the prophecies that Daenerys receives, which makes it unique. There isn’t much of a mystery here, because the mystery isn’t the point. The point is how the prophecy and it slowly coming true changes Cersei and effects her. So we might have to possibly contend with the idea that the valonqar is actually Tyrion. If we look again at Maggy’s wording, it’s very specific in calling the little brother the “valonqar”. It’s a High Valyrian word, so why was it used in the first place? If Maggy wanted to say little brother, she easily could have just said “your little brother is gonna kill you”.

There really isn’t a good answer for why Jaime would be called the valonqar, he isn’t associated with anything related to High Valyrian. Tyrion, however, is. The only time someone other than Cersei, who is unaware of the prophecy, uses valonqar, it is in relation to Tyrion;

"Your Grace," the Tyroshi murmured, bowing low, "I see you are as lovely as the tales. Even beyond the narrow sea we have heard of your great beauty, and the grief that tears your gentle heart. No man can restore your brave young son to you, but it is my hope I can at least offer you some balm for your pain." He laid his hand upon his chest. "I bring you justice. I bring you the head of your valonqar."

It seems this is a saying in the Free Cities (or perhaps just Tyrosh), many of which do speak their own form of Valyrian. And recently, Tyrion has been traveling through the Free Cities. A counter to this argument is that Tyrion has not encountered anyone use it thus far, but why would he? There’s no reason anyone would use that for him in a place he’s as unfamiliar with as people are with him. It could admittedly be a stretch, but I think it does add to the evidence that Tyrion is the valonqar.

Which brings us to the end of all this. Cersei’s arc explores women’s place in society, narcissism, entitlement, power, and fate. What does Cersei’s story ultimately mean in the long run? The prophecy is heavily tied to what I believe is the central theme, which is all about Cersei herself. It’s always been about her, what will happen to her, and getting what she deserves. Visiting Maggy was her trying to prove to herself (and her friends) that what she believed about herself, being queen, ruling, was the truth. Instead, she was told that all her children would die, someone else would take everything remaining from her, and the brother she so despises eventually takes her life.

Cersei is terrified of the prophecy coming true, and fights to prevent that, and to keep herself in power. But she is no more entitled to the Iron Throne or queenship than anyone else. Her own actions lead to her own downfall that was prophesied many years before, and no matter how proud of hard she fights, she cannot change that. She won’t ever live the life she wants, and she can’t avoid the inevitability that her time in the spotlight will eventually run out, and it will be because of herself.

Next up; something about mummers, suns, and dragons, or something... or just Dorne & Young Griff.

[matsmurdock]

obligatory sick fic

Hi again, today I come to you with a sick fic!

You can also find this fic on my ao3 <3 Enjoy!

Words: 1051

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Female reader

credits for the picture: murdocklovebot on twitter

The first thing you felt when you woke up was how gross and clammy you felt. It was apparently early morning, your alarm hadn’t even rung yet, so you were annoyed by that too. You moaned when you tried to turn around to face Matt but realized your entire body ached, the sheet was sticking to you body and you felt cold because of the dry sweat. You saw Matt starting to wake up but couldn’t keep your eyes open because of how tired you were.

“Good morning” Matt said, leaning in to kiss your forehead, that made you moan again because it felt like your body would break just from the featherlight kiss. “God, you’re burning up sweetheart” Matt whispered.

“No, I’m cold” you mumbled in the cover.

“I think you might be running a fever, you’re very sticky” Matt said brushing your hair out of your face. “I’m going to get you some water and Tylenol.” You mumbled a thank you as he got up and left to go fetch you a glass of water in the kitchen.

You felt as though your brain was trying to escape through the front of your face with how much it was aching. You reached for your phone to look at the time and groaned when you saw that it was nearly time for you to get up and start working, you tried sitting up in bed, but felt what little energy you had drain out of you. You heard Matt coming back from the kitchen, and went to get up from the side of the bed when you heard him exclaim his disagreement.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked coming towards you, “You shouldn’t be moving right now.” He laid the glass of water of the side table and pushed you back down on the bed. Everything started spinning, so you welcomed the comfort of the bed under you.

“I have work soon.”

“I’ll send them an e-mail or something, you’re not getting up until your fever’s down”, he said, reaching for the glass and helping you take your Tylenol pill.

“I’ll be fine, this is going to help thank you.” He shook his head. “I’ll take a vitamin tablet too and I’ll be alright in no time I think I’m just tired but I’ll be fine Matty.”

“Either you’re staying in bed or I’m calling Claire”, he threatened.

“I haven’t seen her in a long time, maybe we’ll drink coffee together and make you look like a clown because I’m just having a slow morning.”

“I think you caught Peter’s flu, and you saw how sick he was” Matt said, rubbing his finger up and down your arm. “I don’t want you to be that sick if we can avoid it.”

“It won’t be that bad” you tried, but knew it wouldn’t work. “Maybe I can just work from the bed.”

“You’re not going to work at all, you need to sleep this off.” Matt said. “I’m going to call Foggy and tell him I’ll be working on my cases from home.”

“You don’t have to stay home for me, I can manage.”

“I don’t trust you to take care of yourself, actually.” And ouch, that kind of hurt but you knew he wasn’t wrong. “Y/n, please let me take care of you today. If you feel better tomorrow, then we’ll see about work.”

You thought about it and how anxious it made you to miss work. You had never missed work; you even went to work on a sprained ankle one day to spare yourself the stress and trouble it would entail. Part of the reason why you never missed work was because you knew your boss was a hardass when it came to sick days. But to be fair, it was probably irresponsible to work when you were this sick. The room wouldn’t stop spinning, so you didn’t even know how you’d manage to write emails all day long. You could try for a half day, but you knew Matt would sooner call your boss and let them know how he felt about this than let you do it. You sighed. “Okay, yeah, let me just send an email.”

“I can do it for you.”

“Matt, please.”

“I’ll get you your laptop but then you’re going back to sleep.”

He went back to the living room to get your laptop from the little desk area you’d arranged for yourself after Matt once again forced you to, because you didn’t want him to think you were taking over his own space. He’d shut that shit down so fast you didn’t even have time to blink before he moved some of his stuff over to make room for yours. He got you your laptop, you sent an apologetic email to you HR telling them you had the flu and would be up and at it again tomorrow, but until then you were on forced bed rest. You were so tired that you couldn’t find it in yourself to feel bad about it for now, only thinking about the nap you were going to take as soon as you were done with this. You closed your laptop again and put it on your side table. You put your head back on your pillow and wrapped yourself in the duvet cover. Matt kissed your forehead before going to fill up your glass again. A whine escaped your lips without your consent when he made to leave, he stopped in his tracks.

“Do you need something, what’s wrong?” he asked, a frown between his eyebrows.

“Can you stay with me for now?” you asked, feeling shy suddenly. This was humiliating. You hated being sick because it made you feel and act like a helpless child. “I’m cold and I’m sleepy” you continued, feeling small and keeping your eyes closed to not face Matt’s judging face.

“Oh sweetheart,” you heard him say, and you opened your eyes again. He was coming to sit next to you, his hand coming to brush your hair. “Of course I’ll stay with you.” You thanked you and took his hand to hold it. You turned a little to face him, still holding his hand and before you knew it you were drifting of to sleep.

Thank you for reading, hope you liked it!!

[wa-kaizen]

Messages from your passed one | INTUITIVE

You can think of your spirit guides, mom, dad, friend, lover, crush, stranger, baby/child, anyone. It's about who is important to you. Just keep in mind that this is intuitive and a general reading. 🖤

services

1# 2# 3#

4# 5# 6#

꒰ welcome  ꒱ؘ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

— have fun!

pile one ༊*·˚

₍₍...₎₎ ꒰ ❛ before read ❜ ꒱

I don't think most of you have had a bad goodbye with this person, but you could be feeling guilty or sad, thinking that they hate you. You need to know that they will never hate you.

₍₍...₎₎ ꒰ ❛ the message ❜ ꒱

" Hi, It's me again, I have been talking to you quite a lot actually. I just don't know if you have heard. Can you please stop crying? I am not mad, and I am always next to you. I know you think I am, but I am not. I sit at the side of your bed stroking your back and comforting you. So, I am here, please stop crying. Break out of your shell please. It's hard, but start little by little. Depression isn't easy to deal with right? So just try washing a cup today, and dusting off your shelves tomorrow. Even if you don't want to do it, you have to. There is way too much good things waiting for you for you to be depressed like this. Don't waste them. Don't chase them. Just allow yourself to feel but try to heal even if you can't see them yet. I believe in you, so please believe in yourself too. There is nothing in your way that could stop you. You are protected. I am sorry, you must have expected me to say more, but there is not much to say. I just want you to get better. Please get better. "

₍₍...₎₎ ꒰ ❛ notes ❜ ꒱

I do feel like their spirit - or what you believe in - is with you everyday, if not 24/7. I don't think they are mad at you, but they do worry about your well being. They really having a hard time from moving on because they do not like to see you be in despair.

pile two ༊*·˚

₍₍...₎₎ ꒰ ❛ before read ❜ ꒱

For some of you, this is definitely a motherly figure. Someone that you might not like, yet still miss. Most of you might have a child, or pet. They want you to know that they are looking after them and they love this baby of yours very much. Not adding this to the message bc this is really a small part of the group.

₍₍...₎₎ ꒰ ❛ the message ❜ ꒱

" Hah! Guess where I am! I did make it to Heaven/Jannah! You owe me one, so just wait until we meet again. Jokes aside, I do miss you, we might not have a lot of common, or you might remember bitterly now, but I do love you. I see where you are and what have you become. I am very proud of you. You are doing great, keep going forward. You have a beautiful family you found for yourself. You fit in just right, your love language have also improved. You have came far. Don't worry so much, they love you as well. You have became much more stronger, and healthier at expressing your feelings. Yes, they are still hard but you have improved. Despite all we went through, I still love you a lot. You don't have to feel the same way. I understand if you don't. Forgiveness is a privilege not many experience, and you aren't obligated to give it to anyone. Please remember that yeah? These days you seem to forget. Don't give more than what you are able to give. Don't drain yourself out. Just be yourselves, unapologetically. It will be fine. I promise. "

₍₍...₎₎ ꒰ ❛ notes ❜ ꒱

I do believe this person died loving you and thinking about you.

pile three ༊*·˚

₍₍...₎₎ ꒰ ❛ before read ❜ ꒱

There is something about Koi fishes. I don't know what about them, but I have felt a strong pull to mention this to you. I am sorry to tell you this also, but this person died being scared.

₍₍...₎₎ ꒰ ❛ the message ❜ ꒱

" I am scared. Not for me, but for you. Why don't you ever show anyone your feelings, why are you trying to suppress them? Don't do that. That's dangerous. I don't like it. It's scaring me. Please stop trying to look strong, it's okay to feel things. You are a human. Please allow yourself to feel things. It will hurt more if you don't turn to someone. Anyone. There is someone out there who will understand you. There is nothing shameful about the way you feel.. just please don't do this. Don't damage yourself. You mean so much to me. I can see you having a nice and bright future as well. You will be very happy and find someone you can share life with beautifully as well. All those ideas? All those plans? They are great. But please actually try to do them. "

₍₍...₎₎ ꒰ ❛ notes ❜ ꒱

This person is quite sad seeing you damage yourself, almost as if they are crying? Treat this however you would like.

pile four ༊*·˚

₍₍...₎₎ ꒰ ❛ before read ❜ ꒱

This person is very peaceful and playful! For a lot of you, the [blank] is 'papa'

₍₍...₎₎ ꒰ ❛ the message ❜ ꒱

" Hey! Ya still onto politics? You used to be hardcore about it. Probably not anymore though. You seem happier, that is. It's so nice to see you like this, with that big smile on your face, enjoying life. This is what [blank] would have wanted too. For you to smile, dance, live, drink, find love, just live life. Just be you! Just be you. No one else anymore alright? Please buy that pretty red dress/shirt you wanted. It looks beautiful on you, if you take a picture, I will be there with you. You probably won't see me though, but I will be there. I am there. I am always there. Taking pictures with you is fun, I just wish you would know that I am there too. I miss you, I miss you a lot. To tell you the truth, I don't know how things will be after this. I am scared, even though I am here, as a spirit, I don't know a lot. I can only hope we will meet again, laugh a lot and become friends. Gosh, I miss when we used to just sit around for hours and talk and talk to no end until we couldn't breath from laughter. I love you so much, you can't imagine. I sometimes look down on you and see you enjoy life. It puts a smile on my face. Watching you sleep too. Haha, don't worry, not in a creepy way. I'll just hold your hand and protect your dreams. No more nightmares. I will have to say goodbye now, but I love you a lot. I do my angel. Rest well, take care of yourself. I miss you, see you in our dreams. "

₍₍...₎₎ ꒰ ❛ notes ❜ ꒱

If you ever manage to communicate with them, please hug them, or reassure them. They miss you so much they could cry.

pile five ༊*·˚

₍₍...₎₎ ꒰ ❛ before read ❜ ꒱

This person is maybe someone who suddenly passed away? Possibly to an illness.

₍₍...₎₎ ꒰ ❛ the message ❜ ꒱

" Hey, my messages will personally be strong. I hope that's not a problem, please don't be mad at me. I know it hurts that I disappeared suddenly, but please move on. You are allowed to, you are allowed to have negative feelings, but don't let those weight you down and pull you back. Please allow yourself to live again. Blossom like the flowers in spring, get to your full potential. Please. I love you, start taking care of your health again. I love you a lot, let's meet again. This time, I will be better. "

₍₍...₎₎ ꒰ ❛ notes ❜ ꒱

This person does have a heavy guilt and fear to them. They feel like as if you are mad because they did something wrong, they are really scared to talk to you incase you incase they cause problems to you again? Please pick another pile as well if you want to, because this is very short.

pile six ༊*·˚

₍₍...₎₎ ꒰ ❛ before read ❜ ꒱

I feel like since the last meeting of you two, this person has changed as much as they possibly could.

₍₍...₎₎ ꒰ ❛ the message ❜ ꒱

" Hi. Long time no see right? I would like to to start out with apologising. You didn't deserve all those things that I have done to you. Though, I hope you can listen to me with an open heart, because I would like to tell you something. Please think of yourself from time to time alright? I feel like you surrounded yourself with a lot of toxicity and you cannot see it yet. I want you to please do some inner work and see things for what they are. Take care of yourself, [name]. Those people are not who you think they are, I am not someone you want to trust, I understand that, but I am telling the truth, I just want to protect you. Don't doubt me. I just want good for you alright? I saw your highs and lows both. I like you better when you are true to yourself. I want to see you happy. You are my everything. You got this. You can control your life, don't think you can't. You are able to. You are the best. You have to know that, I know you ro know that. Don't deny yourself from happiness. You are not overreacting. Take that step no matter how big or small. It's for the better. Start living for yourself, not for the person others want you to be, okay? "

₍₍...₎₎ ꒰ ❛ notes ❜ ꒱

I heard the name 'Tanya'. Also, this person's voice was rather weak, kept fading in and out. So they must be a weaker spirit.

꒰ thank you for reading ꒱

[raggaraddy]

Hey 💖 can I request a Mafia Jungkook where the reader actually says something that hurts him - so much so that he is not able to talk to her for a while and almost ignores her and she is trying to make it up to him ? He does not cave at the beginning but then he can’t resist anymore. (A bit angsty and soft I Hope that does work somehow 😅) I was just wondering how a scenario like that would play out with a yandere character.

Love you, have a great day! 💕💕

More Than Too Much.

A/n: Thank you for the request liefje! Angsty and soft definitely worked for this. I hope you like it!

If anyone wants to request, you can here.

Trigger warning: Emotional abuse, panic attack, violence, manipulation

Mafia! Jungkook Yandere! Jungkook

It hurts more than you can describe. Panic has been overwhelming you more and more in the past months, and each time it's coming more rapidly giving you less rest in between to mend yourself back together. Leaving you with the sensation of drowning on dry land.

In the closet among the shoes and hanging clothes, Jungkook follows you into your hiding space. His eyes are soft and wide, looking at you like you're made of porcelain and might shatter if he were to only breathe wrong.

"Y/n," Jungkook coos. Kneeling near the door he allows space to remain between the two of you.

Each time your emotions swell you can not tolerate how urgent everything feels. It's as if your heart and soul are on fire, slowly burning away and turning to ash, while you are trapped motionless in a world that is doing the same. The next day, however, a cruel rationale and clarity are all that remain. And you are left with the self-induced shame of everything you said, everything you did, and all of the horrid things you had thought.

This is how you will feel tomorrow. In your head you know that's the case. You know you should stay silent because this feeling will pass and allowing yourself to act on it will only lead to regret, but seeing him, hearing the tender manner in which he speaks your name, you break.

You don't want his sympathies anymore. This is all his fault. He is the one who ripped your life away. Who changes in the blink of an eye and makes you unstable and consumed with fear. You want him to suffer as you do! You want every measurable inch of your pain to be lifted and to burden him instead, so he can understand what he does to you.

"Y/n. How can I help?" Jungkook leans forward with his arm outstretched. You reject him, bunching the heels of your palms into your eyes, shaking your head as you lean back from him. Retreating into the wall.

You just want to hurt him.

"You don't have to pretend anymore Jungkook." You whisper, a patchwork of words crafting into something whole. Something horrible.

There has been a thought you have had often. Something that you knew was so unbelievably cruel that the very first time it crossed your mind you immediately dismissed it. Feeling inhumane to have even let the words flit through your head. But as months passed and the torment continued, the thoughts festered. The words became clearer.

And now the fissure was erupting.

"Stop pretending that you're not just like your Father." You're watching him, your quietly spoken words draining the emotion from his face. "Everyone knows that you are. I hear your people talking, some of them even say you're worse than he was."

He never speaks about his parents. And the only time he ever did share it was something done in confidence when he was raw and vulnerable and broken.

"They all hate you. Just like they hated him." Your voice is starting to firm up. A cold satisfaction creeping up your spine as you witness his shock. "They're going to replace you. And then they're going to kill you, just like you killed your parents. Maybe they'll take your head off in the same way."

"Stop," Jungkook can only gape. Looking distressed and pale as his darkest fears pour out of the mouth of the only person he has ever loved.

"Why? You know it's true."

"Y/n. Don't do this. Please." His voice wavers.

"Don't do this? That's funny. I've said those words to you so many times and you've never listened." You scoff with venom. His pain is making you feel powerful, making you feel in control for once.

But it's not enough. You're hurting him, but it's still not enough.

"Maybe you're like this because of what your parents did to you." You smile coldly. Your eyes harbouring malicious intent. "But I need you to know Jungkook, that every time they hurt you, all the horrible things you told me they did to you; you deserved every bit of it. I really, really hope you know that."

He looks as if a knife had been plunged into his chest. And that is exactly how you felt as you wielded those words. As if you were piercing his heart.

Standing up, he is unable to look at you. His head angled towards the ground, trying his best to hide the glassiness in his eyes. "Let me know if there is anything I can do for you," he restates so very quietly. Fleeing from you before you can do any further damage.

Just as you predicted you spent the night feeling justified and victorious at having wounded Jungkook. As you woke the next day, though, you felt nothing but a dark, deep, dense sense of guilt. An overwhelming salience making you feel horrible for once again letting yourself be overcome by self-pity and despondency, and mostly, you are filled with regret for the hateful things you said to Jungkook.

You know the brutal history of his family and you know that it is nothing you should have ever used in an attempt to hurt him. No matter who he is or what he has done, capitalizing on his trauma like that was barbaric and wrong.

But now that it was spoken you didn't know what to say. You want to say sorry, but once you've said I'm glad your family abused you, sorry just doesn't really cut it.

On previous occasions when you had had a breakdown, the following day Jungkook would be especially caring and comforting. He would make it his mission to ensure you felt loved, secure, and reassured. Nearly allowing you to overlook how monstrous he could be.

On this occasion, however, Jungkook was scarcely seen by you. He was still polite and sweet, kissing you good morning, asking you if you wanted coffee, but you could feel the devastation done. His interactions were all surface level. There was a disconnect between the two of you like there had only ever been when you were first locked in this house.

And like how you were back then, it was as if Jungkook was scared to be in your presence. Constantly finding excuses to be elsewhere in the house. Cutting your conversations short. Avoiding getting close to you in any way. Seeming to retreat at every opportunity.

His aversion to you lasted for days, on the verge of weeks, and your subtle methods of reparations for the damage were well and truly cast aside. Until you could no longer stand it. 

It was a strange feeling knowing that he was avoiding you. In brief moments where you would try to absolve yourself of remorse, you toyed with the idea that this dynamic should make you feel powerful. But you were unable to trick yourself into believing that. You didn't feel strong, you felt hollow and heartbroken.

You know he isn't perfect, you are fully aware of how far from perfect he is, but you're also aware that there are different sides to him. While you can't give yourself permission to forgive him, you understand that there are reasons why he is the way he is. And those reasons are why he needs you. Why you're supposed to be a source of comfort and reassurance for him. You're not meant to be just another person in this world that he needs to guard against, who would use his weaknesses against him. 

And you know you have to fix what you've broken for your sake and his.

"Jungkook," you call, knocking on his office door. Normally you're wise enough to avoid this part of the house. 50% of the time when Jungkook is in his study it means he's involved with work and has become an entirely different person. But right now that's the person you needed. 

"Jungkook," you knock again, a little louder. A little more determined. 

"What?" His muffled voice is rough.

Every bone in your body is instinctually crying out to run. Telling you not to touch the hot stove. Not to poke the angry bear. Or play with the venomous snake. But you've tried to resolve this with the kind gentle parts of Jungkook. You've apologised and talked to him a dozen times in hopes of repairing what harm you did, but that part of him is too skilled at ignoring his unwanted emotions. He has closed up. He's told you he's not angry, that he forgives you and understands. But day to day nothing is changing. 

Even if this could possibly be the worst idea you have ever had, you need to get him to truthfully express himself. You need him to get angry and honest.  

In response to his irritated call back you abruptly enter the room. His questioning glare as you approach his desk is enough to confirm your assumptions of danger. 

"Jungkook," You try to shore up your voice and deliver your statement with confidence. "we need to talk."

"Are you thick?" He gestures to his desktop. He's in a video call. His computer screens are filled with several other members of his crew.

Seeing them, your heart pounds and your mouth dries. No matter how you've prepared yourself, the possible explosive repercussions are impossible to be calm for. The only small solace you can reasure yourself with is the fact that Jungkook's video and sound are off. If other people had seen you interrupt him, if he thought you had embarrassed him... you can't imagine what he might do to you.

"Who the fuck do you think you are, that you can just demand my time?"

You're sure he can see the tremor in your hands, the nervousness on your face, the fear in your eyes. But you refuse to let yourself back down. The fury you've instigated is considerable anyway. There are going to be consequences in any case. You just can't come away empty-handed now.

"I wanted to say that I'm sorry. For what I did. Saying such cruel things was completely uncalled for and I know-." 

His energy gets intense and icy. The veins swell up and down his forearms as his fists curls on the desk. 

"Get out, now." He says in a hushed, flat tone, cutting you off. Looking ready to demolish you. 

Shaking your head, you fight every inch of common sense that is screaming out for you to retreat, and instead, you stand firm. Your breath outwardly shuddering.

He bounds from his seat, kicking the chair back so ferociously that it smacks the wall and topples over. Heavily pounding on the desk as he stares you down. 

"Get out now!" He bellows.

The hairs on the back of your arms stand as if electricity is passing through you. But again you shake your head. Feeling such a terrible tremble that you are unaware if your movements are coming across as smooth at all.

"No. I'm not going anywhere until we fix this." You squeak, no power backing your words.  

Storming around the side of his desk Jungkook bashes into you, shoving and barreling you out of the room. Forcing you into the hallway. He is so consumed by his own actions that you are able to surprise him, using his own momentum and a deeply entangled grip on his shirt you drag him out of the room with you. Remaining relentlessly firm as he charges forward, ramming your back into the bannister. 

"I am about 2 seconds from throwing you over this railing," he digs his knuckles into your chest, leaning you back over the 2nd-floor balcony. "Keep pushing baby, and we'll see who's the first to get pushed too far."

"I know I hurt you." You whisper, watching his eyes go wide. You can't be sure if it's from what you've said or because you're still not backing down, even when you both know how very real his threat is. "What I said- I don't believe it. I promise. And I promise I'll never bring it up again."

"Shut up," Jungkook growls through bared teeth, his fingers bunching in your shirt. 

"I don't want you to fear me or avoid me like you did your parents. And I don't want you to worry about looking weak or exposed around me, like you do with your men," Partly from the hurt in your heart as you recant the way you used his weakest parts to harm him, and partly out of fear, you begin to cry.

"I said shut up!" His hand wraps around your throat, constricting tightly as he continues to hold you back.

A white glare and black spots quickly fill your sight, his coiled fingers stopping you from inhaling. But still, you hold to him as tightly as you can. Not willing to let go, physically or metaphorically.

"I-love-" you wheeze out all that you can. No air left in your lungs. Your sight blackening.

For a moment you feel your knees collapse, and instinctually you jar them to catch yourself. Hands holding you up as you teeter. Your breath quickly returned to normal. Your vision spinning for a moment as you regain clarity.

Stretching your eyes wide, you are trying to take an account of him. To assess his state and the hazard.

He is hunched over. His bind is so embedded in your loose hanging shirt that his knuckles are whitening. His teeth creaking from how tightly they are clenched. Tears silently peaking out of his tensely shut eyes rolling in waves down his cheeks.

He is trying with everything he has to restrain his emotion and yet, he isn't strong enough.

Watching him endure such grief, seeing him experiencing such raw emotion, your walls buckle and a floodgate of tears flows from you also.

Bit by bit his legs give way and he drops to his knees. His face is buried in the bunched up material of your top as if he is hiding.

Wanting to comfort him, protect him, reassure him, and beg for his forgiveness all at once, you wrap your arms around his head. Holding him close to you. Cradling him. Supporting his weight from further collapse. Feeling the wet from his tears soaking through to your skin.

"I love you, Jungkook. I'm so so sorry." You weep.

Your words said in kindness bring forth an audible sob from deep in his chest. His own thoughts fueling the melancholy and ardent unease within him.

"I promise, I will never ever say that again. I'll never hurt you again."

"Stop-" he croaks. His arms wrap around you, dragging you closer and firmer to him until he draws you down to the floor with him. "You don't have to say sorry. You should- I shouldn't- I know I- I-" he stutters.

Worse than ever your heart is breaking. This is the harm, the danger, the insanity, that comes with having fallen in love with Jungkook.

You know him so well that you know what he is thinking. What he is trying to say from only hearing his tone and the broken portions of what he is trying to articulate. And right now you understand, finally, that his aversion to you is based on hurt and trauma, but mostly out of guilt for how truthful he feels your accusations were.

He has been avoiding you, not because he was afraid of you, but because he was afraid of what he feels a deep need to do. To apologise.

But you know he can't do that. He can't apologise to you. You know he can't admit guilt or blame. To do so would crack his self-made facade so entirely. It would contradict his merciless, unrelenting side, and it would confront his gentle, compassionate half, making him acknowledge everything he tries to repress. To apologise and give weight to those feelings would ruin him. But you can feel it- feel that he wants to. You can feel everything he needs to say and all the things he wishes he could repent for.

And for you, for now, that is enough.

So while it may not be everything you need your heart sings in elation as you hear the words that you know will mend your divide and bring back warmth and tenderness to your relationship.

"I forgive you," he whispers.

[shootybangbang]

Can i request an Arthur/sadistic female reader please？i really want to see him all messed up because of...you know🥺

(btw, pls check out the requester's art. her arthur content is 😩👌)

[Oneshot]: In which you still don't know how to tie an overhand knot

[Rating]: Explicit

[Note]: this is so fucking horny that i feel i have to apologize in advance. unedited and a little rough around the edges, feel free to point out errors or give criticism

———

“Huh,” you muse aloud. “Looks like the gallery’s putting up a new exhibition this weekend.”

With one hand, you spread the newspaper across the bed and skip to page three. With the other, you continue to stroke Arthur’s cock, twisting your wrist a little to smooth your palm against its dripping tip. The man himself groans as you touch him, and the frame of his body trembles beneath where you’ve straddled yourself over his thighs.

His breaths are quickening again. “Please,” Arthur rasps, his voice hoarse with exertion and desperation alike. You indulge him with another slow, teasing pump of your fist as you continue to pick through the St Denis Tribune, humming thoughtfully as you peruse the newspaper’s Arts and Entertainment section.

“I’m beggin’ you, girl.” He sounds as though he’s teetering on the very edge of agony and ecstasy, and venturing perilously close to the latter. “C’mon. Please.”

“Looks like it’s mostly Impressionists this time. Let’s see here… a selection of Seurats and Monets… a couple Renoirs… oh, some Degas too?” With a mild expression that belies the depth of torture you’ve been putting him through, you slow your hand to a stop. He makes a choked, unhappy noise in the back of his throat that you heartily ignore. “That’s pretty bold of them, considering the reception they gave that Chatenay fellow you told me about.”

Growling, Arthur starts fumbling with the (admittedly badly tied) restraints securing his arms behind his back, twisting his wrists in an attempt to find a loose end.

“Easy there.” You run the pad of your thumb along the ridge delineating the head of his cock, slicking against the precum beaded at its tip. “I’ll give you what you want soon enough.”

“Been hearin’ you say that for almost half an hour now,” he replies, glaring. “You enjoyin’ yourself?”

“Immensely.”

“Better savor it while you can, because I promise you — I’m gonna remember this the next time I get you beneath me.”

You laugh. “Oh yeah? What‘re you gonna do then?”

“Untie me and I’ll show you,” he says.

“No,” you reply with a beatific smile.

He narrows his eyes and lowers his voice to something smooth and dangerous: the sort of tone you’ve known him to use for threats he actually intends to follow through on. “When it’s my turn,” he says. “I ain’t gonna tie you up. Won’t need to. Because with you, all I need is my hands.”

A shiver runs down your spine. The man’s wrists may be bound, but you’re still very much at his mercy. In all actuality, your authority here amounts to only a length of rope and his own good humor.

You let out a soft, involuntary whimper at the very thought of it.

“Gonna pin you down when I fuck you,” he continues. He’s smirking now, clearly enjoying the demonstrable effect his words have on you. “Lay you down on your stomach and keep you under me, where you belong.”

You’re half-tempted to loose the rope and let him do just that. Instead, you grab the hem of your shift with both hands and pull the garment over your head in a single fluid motion. It’s 1899, after all. High time for a woman to take charge of her own pleasure.

The dim glow of the oil lamp bathes your bare skin in a wash of gold and amber as you settle yourself against him, pressing the wet line of your slit along the length of his cock. “Go on,” you tell him. “What else?”

Arthur swallows hard and licks his lips, then draws in a sharp intake of breath as you roll your hips forward — just a brief stir of movement, but more than enough to make him twitch beneath you. “Drive you to the brink the same way you’re doin’ to me now,” he says weakly. “Take my time with you, nice and slow. Make you really beg for it.”

“Mm-hmm.” Another roll of your hips, this time with just enough pressure to grant him a touch of warmth.

Finally, he breaks. And it’s truly a sight to behold: Arthur Morgan, a man who you’d thought would break your spine like a toothpick the first time you’d met, openly begging for the simple privilege of being allowed between your thighs.

“God, please,” he groans. “You can’t do this to me. Can’t let me feel how wet you are and just leave me like this.”

“Of course I can.” You relent. “But I won’t. So be a good boy and stay still for me, alright?”

His cock weighs heavy in your hand as you guide him between your thighs. Arthur lets out a harsh gasp and instinctively thrusts upwards — but you immediately withdraw, and he finds nothing but the cruel emptiness of absence waiting to receive him.

“Thought I told you to stay still,” you repeat sternly.

He nods with the frantic desperation of a badly-trained dog begging for a meal. Hungry and eager, but standing to attention with as much obedience he can muster. Which isn’t much, even on the best of days, but he is trying. And for that, he deserves something in return.

You take him in slowly, both out of principle and necessity. Just a taste of him first, then the gradual descent, a long and drawn out consumption that he has barely the means to endure.

His gaze still hasn’t left you. There is an intensity in it that once might have frightened you, an azure bright as broken glass and twice as sharp. The purity of emotion in them strikes you to the bone, makes your throat tighten and your dominance waver — there is a depth of devotion there that borders on the absolute.

When you move against him, he squeezes his eyes shut against the sheer force of sensation that floods through. Arthur makes a low, pained noise in the back of his throat and confesses, “I ain’t gonna last long.”

You lean forward and kiss him, then start a slow, rocking motion with your hips that spurs him to whimper your name against your lips, a small cry of warning before you feel the first twitches of his cock. Arthur bucks up once, twice, then shudders beneath you as his seed pulses deep, blooms hot and slick inside your core.

“Goddammit,” he hisses. “Didn’t think I’d— ah, fuck…”

You ride on, grinding through the last, weakening throbs of his orgasm and until he lets out a final, heavy sigh. Arthur regards you with loose-limbed exhaustion, lolling his head against your pillows as he flashes you a drained, weary grin. “Alright,” he says. “Untie me and get up here so I can—”

“No need,” you say brightly, then lift your hips in a brief mockery of release before sheathing him again and sending him reeling into oversensitivity.

Arthur’s eyes roll back in his head. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he gasps, wincing. “What’re you—”

“Too much?”

“Didn’t say that,” he says. His jaw is clenched tight and his voice is faint, but the look on his face is one of stubborn determination.

You test him with another slow, sinuous slide of your hips. This time, he meets you with a shallow thrust of his own. He’s breathing hard, each exhale shivery with exertion. “Keep goin’,” he urges. “I can take it.”

The added lubrication of his come eases the friction of him, soothes the inevitable ache of penetration. You settle for an unhurried, leisurely rhythm that allows you to fully appreciate the slickness of each stroke, the accompanying warmth of his seed still spread through your core.

Arthur’s gaze darts downwards to the base of his shaft, where the drip of his come has begun to pool. “Beautiful,” he murmurs. “Just beautiful.”

He snakes his right arm free from his bonds and abruptly flips you onto your back with a well-timed shove.

“What— how did you…?”

“Sweetheart,” Arthur says, his voice warm and affectionately condescending. “You still can’t tie an overhand knot for shit.”

“But I double-checked this time!”

“Not very well, apparently.” He hitches your thighs around his waist and cages you in beneath him, then lowers his mouth to the slope of your neck. A brief, gentle nip — not hard enough to hurt, but more than enough to convey his renewed authority. “God, but you’re a greedy little thing, ain’t you?” he growls against your skin. “Just one load of my spend ain’t enough?”

“Thought you’d appreciate the challenge, since you’re always so— oh, shit,” you gasp, clutching at his shoulders when he drives himself downwards with a sharp, savage thrust.

“Go on.” Arthur says. He’s panting now, his dark blond hair slicked against his forehead with sweat. “Weren’t you sayin’ somethin’ about me?”

You let out an indecipherable whine that bears only a passing resemblance to human language.

“My poor girl,” he murmurs, low and tender. Arthur cups the side of your face against his palm and traces his thumb over your cheekbone, then presses a chaste kiss to your brow. “Can’t even talk right when I’m fucking her proper.”

He’ll no doubt be insufferably smug about this later, but you can’t quite bring yourself to care, distracted as you are by the view of him rutting against you, his shaft still streaked with his previous release. He’s fucking his own come back into me, you think to yourself, and that thought alone blinds out all else and leaves you blank with pleasure.

Arthur takes you hard and fast. Far rougher than his usual handling, which can sometimes be almost excruciatingly cautious. He kisses you clumsily, then lowers his mouth to the junction of your neck and shoulder, sucking and biting until the first, faint traces of tomorrow’s bruises begin to darken.

And with this, it’s not long before the first delirious ripples of your own orgasm begin to crest.

Every muscle drawn and tensed, dissolving into an inward ache of arousal that spurs you to grip him tight and whimper, eyelids fluttering as you struggle to keep his face in view. With a fierce satisfaction, you savor the sudden weakness in his expression when he feels you contract against him, then his harsh groan and the stutter of his hips as he follows, spilling what seed he has left.

Arthur keeps himself hilted until the very last shivers of exhilaration fade, then pulls away with a reluctance usually reserved for long farewells. The overflow of his come is thick and heavy as it drips from between your thighs, and the look on his face as he beholds it is one of tired appreciation.

Then he flops onto his side, totally spent. “You’re a real demon,” he sighs. “You know that?”

“A real demon would go for round three,” you reply faintly, staring dreamy-eyed up at the ceiling.

Arthur groans at the mere suggestion of it. “I think that’d actually kill me.”

When you curl up against him, he automatically throws an arm over your side, the action at this point an instinct secondary only to breathing, and brushes his mouth over the back of your neck.

As you ebb towards sleep, you murmur as an afterthought, “Didn’t you say you were gonna make me beg?”

He lets out a weary chuckle. “Well,” he says, “There’s always tomorrow.”

[cafeacademic]

omg congrats on your milestone!!!! here’s to many more *clink clink*,,, anyways i loVED YOUR ‘off the record’ with fox, and i’m a s1ut for him sOOO maybe prompt 31? f/gn!reader is cool!!

Fox sluts unite I love that man so much. here is some pure smut for our man because he deserves some time off and a bunch of smooches. hope you enjoy my lovely thank you for all your support <33

also i saw that you were working on a new fox thing as well very excited for that👀👀

On Background

click above for AO3 link

Pairing: Fox x Reader

Rating: Explicit (You know the drill)

Warnings: PiV sex, oral sex (m receiving), orgasm denial, teasing, semi-public sex, some objectification of reader (but it's pretty tame)

Word Count: 2.2k

When Fox stumbled into your apartment one night, the first thing he saw was you slamming the door to your closet closed.

“You alright, princess?” he asked warily. He rolled his neck as he removed his bucket, trying to ease some of the tension of the day.

“Yep!” you said a little too eagerly. Fox closed the gap between the two of you, lifting your chin with his forefinger. You looked up at him innocently.

“What are you hiding?” he teased. Leaning into his touch, you smirked.

“Oh, just work stuff. Wouldn’t want to bore you,” you said. Fox narrowed his eyes but didn’t press you further. “Are you working the Chancellor’s speech tomorrow?”

“Don’t remind me,” Fox groaned. The Chancellor’s annual speech was never a fun night for the Guard; they often had to arrive early to help set up, listening to Palpatine fuss for several hours before the actual main event. If that wasn’t already draining, they often had to hear faux praise from the various elites that attended the event, though they knew that most considered them less than human. Sensing that Fox was getting lost in his thoughts, you reached up to plant a kiss on the tip of his nose.

“I’ll make sure to stop by then,” you said, snuggling into his hold. Fox rested his chin on the top of your head, enjoying the feeling of being held.

~~~

The next day, Fox was running around, trying to ensure that everything was set up for the Chancellor’s speech, at least security-wise. In between pretending to listen to the demands of Palpatine and downing cups of caf from the break room, he would respond to the silly comms you would send him. On typical days, you would complain about your coworkers or send him pictures of cute lothcats you saw on the holonet. Today, however, your messages were suspiciously short.

“Miss you xoxo,” your last message read. That had been nearly two hours ago, and Fox hadn’t heard from you since. It was probably for the best, considering how much work he had to do, but it still hurt a bit.

“Are you stopping by?” he tapped out a message to you. A few minutes later, his commlink buzzed.

“Something came up. Have to take the time to get ready for a work thing tonight,” you replied. Normally, Fox would have sulked at the fact that you couldn’t visit, but he was instead intrigued by the fact that you had followed up your message with a photo attachment.

He nearly dropped the comm when he opened the picture. You were laid out on your bed, crisp white blouse unbuttoned and falling off your shoulder. A thin, lacy bra covered your chest, the material a perfect Corrie Guard red. At the very bottom of the photo, Fox could see that your skirt was hiked up over your hips, allowing just a glimpse of the matching panties.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he typed back. He could imagine you smirking down at your comm as you tapped out a response, the image only making his half-hard cock press even tighter against his codpiece. A soft buzz alerted him to your response.

“Is it a good look? I’ve been told that we’re supposed to dress nicely for the Chancellor’s speech. Wouldn’t want to make a poor impression on my first time covering the event,”

Fox nearly groaned out loud; there would be no way he could concentrate if you were going to be at the speech tonight. All he would be able to think about would be how badly he needed to see you in the pretty lingerie you were wearing.

“You better behave tonight,” Fox responded. It was only a few seconds before your reply came.

“But where’s the fun in that, Commander?”

This time, Fox did groan out loud.

By two minutes into the Chancellor’s speech, Fox was already bored out of his mind. Instead of being on alert for attempted assassinations as Palpatine had requested, his eyes were scanning the crowd for you. The general comm chatter from his brothers had become a background hum as he searched for your telltale white blouse.

When he finally found you, he was almost embarrassed that he hadn’t noticed you sooner. You were sitting in the press box near the front, near enough that you could pick up all the details of the speech but out of the way enough that the Chancellor couldn’t see you. As if you could feel his gaze, your eyes immediately snapped to Fox’s visor. You bit your lip teasingly as you toyed with the top button of your blouse. Fox straightened his posture, hoping to convey as much warning as he could with just his body language. You either didn’t notice or didn’t care; likely the latter, seeing as you popped the button with ease and pulled your neckline open slightly, revealing just the top of the lace covering your breasts.

“Hey Fox, you see that girl in the press pit?” Thire’s voice cut through the comm chatter that Fox had blocked out. Thire’s comment, however, snapped him right back to his senses.

“What about her?” Fox snapped back a little too defensively.

“She’s cute, isn’t she? Keeps toying with the hem of her skirt,” Thire commented. Fox bit his tongue to keep from snapping at his brother.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t mind tearing that skirt off of her!” Hound added with a snort. Thire hummed in agreement. Before Fox could start yelling at his brothers, Thorn cut into the conversation.

“Hey, vod? I think that’s the Commander’s girl,” he said warily. Thorn was the only one Fox had confided in about his newfound relationship, and that was mostly because he had heard the two of you going at it in Fox’s office. A number of curses poured over the comm, and Fox smirked at the panicked apologies his brothers gave.

Turning his attention back to you, Fox noted that the second button on your blouse had also come undone. The crimson lace was now peeking prominently through your neckline, and you had a smirk plastered on your face. With a wink, you spread your legs in your chair slightly, allowing Fox a glimpse of your panties.

Faking an important message, Fox pulled out his comm and quickly tapped out a warning: “Keep that up and you’re not going to like your punishment,”

You checked your comm and responded quickly, still smirking. “Aww, can’t handle a little teasing?”

Fox growled quietly under his helmet. Just as he was about to type out a message back, he was roused from his thoughts by thunderous applause, signaling that the Chancellor had finished speaking. Mentally, Fox made a note to thank Palpatine for keeping it short this year. As soon as he was off the stage, he sent you a quick message. “My office. Now.”

You were already sitting on his desk when Fox entered his office, swinging your legs innocently.

“Fucking finally! I’ve been trying to get you alone all night!” you said, hopping off the desk and reaching for your lover. Before you could get to him, however, Fox scooped you up in his arms and pressed your back against the wall.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” he growled, voice still modulated by his helmet. You smirked up at him.

“What, you didn’t like my little show? I got all dressed up for you and everything!” you pouted, reaching to take off Fox’s helmet. His hand shot out and gripped your wrist before you could touch him.

“No way, sweetheart,” he said, grinding against you. “You’re not getting away with teasing me that easily,”

Holding you steady against the wall with his hips, he ripped your shirt in two, the remaining buttons flying around the room. He could still feel the heat of your breasts, even through his gloves. You squealed as he pinched your nipple through your bra, admiring how the bud peaked through the red lace. In the back of his mind, Fox worried that he was being too rough with you, that you might not like how he was touching you. His worries were calmed, however, when he saw the absolutely delighted look on your face as you squirmed out of his grasp and sank to your knees.

“Can I please suck your cock, Commander?” you batted your eyelashes. Fox nodded and you launched for his codpiece, getting the armor off in record time. You grinned devilishly at him as you pulled his cock out of his blacks, the tip already flushed a rosy brown and a bead of precum leaking from the tip. When you licked teasingly up the throbbing vein on the underside of his cock, Fox reached out to roughly tangle his fingers in your hair.

“Don’t tease. You’re in enough trouble as it is,” he warned. You obliged, taking him all the way down your throat in one motion. Fox swore loudly, trying to keep from bucking into your mouth. You worked what you couldn’t reach with your hand, twisting your wrist to spread the saliva that was slicking his cock. When Fox’s grip on your hair tightened, you pulled off of him with a pop.

“Was that what you wanted, sir?” you teased. Before Fox could scold you, his words caught in his chest as you began pumping him again, this time slowly working down him with your mouth. The modulated groans of the clone above you made you rub your thighs together for some sort of relief. When you thought he was distracted enough by your tongue, you slid a hand down between your legs.

“Oh, sweetheart. You just keep testing me, don’t you?” Fox growled, tugging you off of his cock by the hair. You looked down sheepishly, not having expected to get caught. Fox quickly discarded his helmet before yanking you back to your feet.

“‘M sorry, sir,” you said. Fox looked like he was going to fall victim to your puppy dog eyes, but he shook his head and adjusted you so he could have access to your clothed cunt. With two fingers, he slid the scrap of fabric to the side, inhaling sharply when he noticed how wet you were.

“Does putting on a show like that get you this wet?” Fox said, lining himself up with your entrance. “You know all my brothers could see you?”

“Really-- fuck!” your words were interrupted by the stretch of Fox sliding into you with one movement. Normally, you would’ve been upset that he didn’t touch you first, but you were so turned on that he slid in with little resistance.

“They were all drooling over you, sweetheart,” Fox said through gritted teeth as he fucked you. The slight jealousy he felt was obvious not just in his voice, but in the rough way he was fucking you, almost as if he was worried you’d disappear out from under him. You grabbed his chin and kissed him passionately.

“Mhmm, but you’re the only one who gets to fuck me, Commander,” you said when you pulled away from the kiss. “I’m all yours, Fox,”

That seemed to unlock something in Fox’s head, because he began fucking you with even more force, trying to get as deep inside you as he could with every thrust. He began to mouth at your collarbone, teeth grazing over the sensitive skin.

“Fuck, that’s right. Mine,” he repeated into your neck. You scrambled for purchase on the plastoid armor he was still wearing as he ruined you, moans pouring out of you too loudly for the only semi-private office. Neither of you seemed to care, though.

“Fuck, Fox, I wanna come,” you whined, shivering from when his groin rubbed against your clit with a well-angled thrust. Fox seemed to contemplate for a moment before grinning into your collarbone.

“No,”

“What do you mean no? Shit, Fox!” you cried out. Fox’s thrusts were getting sloppy, and you knew he was close.

“I mean no. I’m gonna fill up this pussy, and then we’re going to go home, and if you’re good, maybe I’ll let you come then,” Fox said, voice shaking slightly.

“Shit, you can’t be serious. Come on, I’m so close,” you said breathlessly as Fox’s hips snapped into yours with such force that you slid up the wall you were pressed against.

“Maybe you should’ve thought about that before teasing me all night,” Fox growled, breathing heavily. You whined in protest, but he had made up his mind. “Fuck, you’re all mine. I’m the only one who should get to see you like this,”

“All yours, Fox. Only yours,” you moaned, and that sent Fox over the edge. He bit down harshly on your shoulder to muffle his loud groan as he emptied himself inside you. Fox slumped against the wall, leaning into your body, and you pressed gentle kisses to his temple as he recovered.

“You know, I love you and everything, but I need you to get me home so you can fuck me properly,” you said, the serene smile on your face in sharp contrast to how needy you felt. Fox pulled back, leaving one last kiss on the tip of your nose.

“Are you ever going to learn to behave?” he said with mock exasperation.

“No, you like me better this way,” you teased back, making yourself presentable before pulling a lovestruck Fox out of his office, the two of you too enamored with each other to register the catcalls from the other guardsmen.

[no-droids]

Ch 17 was so, so, so good (thank you!!) 🥺 i am still processing. ((Edit: this turned into an essay so i Am Very Sorry in advance, there is a tldr at the end though))

First of all. We get to see Din going through it the same way sweet girl was a couple chapters ago and I love it! She’s been so clear from the start that she doesn’t want to run away from him and now Din’s getting to the point where he doesn’t want to chase her anymore because he just wants her to be physically there with him again. The second night of comms while she’s camped out at the orphanage?? “I thought this was going to be alright, but I hate it.” ??????????? i am a Puddle of Emotions no one look at me 😭

And then the way he’s so unsure about whether she hasnt begun to reconsider wanting to keep up with his bounty-hunter life now that she’s finally gotten a break if being forced to outrun a mandalorian can be really even be called a break for the first time in a year?? And he can SEE all the places she’s stopped to talk to people on this planet (his comment about the number of times the blond guy turned around to talk to her in the line? 🥺.) Din knows she’s enjoying these small encounters with people, getting to interact with a new planet and learn new things as she’s making her way through each place, and since they’re only talking at night he gets to think about it literally all day long as he follows her trail and tries to figure out what her plan is. This is truly an exercise in Din thinking nonstop about sweet girl (which ofc he does already, but like, thinking critically about what she thinks/wants/does/needs and why) and I feel like that’s causing him to slowly start to second guess himself in terms of where he would put himself on sweet girl’s list of priorities. And I wonder how much of this he’s actually considering for the first time? because it’s always him who leaves and comes back when he gets jobs — this is the first time that sweet girl has left him instead of the other way around. Sweet girl has had tons of time to think about these things, whereas Din hasn’t really had to... because it’s not the one who leaves who feels the absence most, it’s the one who’s left behind (even if just temporarily).

I can just picture Din’s increasing doubts as the chase keeps going, whether he’s worth putting up with his lifestyle and whether sweet girl wouldn’t rather have a life like the people he sees in the footprints around hers? because he knows her, knows she likes soft beds and meeting people and fresh fruit and beautiful scenery, which are all things that living on the razor crest can’t always provide except for the last one bc Din Djarin IS beautiful scenery let’s be clear and just. the ANGST. I cannot. ( a n d meanwhile sweet girl is having a breakdown thinking he wants to STOP looking and LEAVE her? As if)

So when she shuts down his tentative doubts about it on the second night she’s at the orphanage and Din starts asking questions about favorite animals and flowers and things?? 🥺🥺🥺🥺 I lost it. Din is mirroring the love and care he receives from sweet girl (and learning to tap into those emotions as he does) and I am just in awe of both his character development from ch 1 to here and your ability to show that gradual shift in your writing.

Tl;dr thank you very much for this latest chapter! I will continue to be a soft emotional little puddle for the foreseeable future, or at least until I can figure out to scrape myself off the floor and function like a human being who has not just read rough day ch 17 and promptly dissolved as a direct result🌻

okay

okay first of all ma’am/sir/friend, please do not put tl;dr’s on a fucking MASTERFUL DISSECTION LIKE THAT like I genuinely hope people read every word of what you have written because you’re so spot on about everything that I was almost taken aback JEJFJJDJFJF

I would like to say, and I need to do this in list form because you have presented so many beautiful points that I’d like to address them one by one,

1.) Din Djarin is used to being alone. Full stop. Like even with sweet girl helping out with the baby and agreeing to stay on the ship while he goes and grabs quarry, he’s gone for weeks sometimes. He is used to being by himself, to fending for himself, protecting himself, patching himself up, EVERYTHING by himself. He is the most independent self-sufficient driven bounty hunter Karga has on the payroll and he’s reliable, which is why Karga would give him four pucks at a time. Giving anyone else four pucks would mean that if they happened to die during their hunts, then more than one puck would be lost and that’s money down the drain. Din doesn’t die, he always comes back with all four bodies and he’s fucking quick about it. Him telling sweet girl “I thought this was gonna be alright” is apt, because he’s been able to exist without her and do good work while he knows she’s safe on the Crest. In fact, the only time he EVER didn’t do good work is when a) she was attacked on the Crest on Corellia, or b) when he desperately wanted to get back to her as quick as possible and he pushed himself too hard and put himself in danger (aka frozen on Hoth scene). And actually c) when he stole Grogu back from the empire and had Karga and the guild on his ass about it. Those were the only times Din had trouble doing his job. The only times he stopped looking and gave up. “I thought this was going to be alright, but I hate it” means that YES ABSOLUTELY DIN DJARIN DOES NOT LIKE STAYING PUT WHILE SHE LEAVES, even though he’s okay with going out and doing his job when she stays. Even though he’s still hunting, it’s like the roles have been reversed. She’s understanding his side, and he’s understanding her side. It’s been 4 days and he hates it, so imagine weeks or months of that. Not being able to move or chase after her either, just hanging out on the crest with Grogu and waiting to see if she’ll be able to make it back. Which

2.) makes it hurt just a lil more in that wonderful delicious angsty way when he actually asks if she wants this life. On Naboo, he didn’t know where she went or where the kid was—he didn’t know if they were in danger, if she was safe. He said he’d rip the galaxy apart to find her if she ever disappeared like that again. But... she’d be safe on Sanctuary II. This is different, and just like you said, he’s had multiple days where all he did was try to think like her. Get in her head, predict her. Understand her more than he’s ever attempted to do before, in a NECESSARY capacity, like he would a bounty he’s hunting. Din Djarin is used to being alone. He’s used to being silent and that’s how connections are severed before they can even be established. His only practice at empathy was through his job, a job that he is very very good at, but it was never enough to get him to stop looking. He would never be able to empathize enough to ask if the bounty wanted him to stop looking for them. Even with the baby, he turned him in at first and then let the guilt eat him alive before going back to save him. So, if you couple that with his true connection to sweet girl, the natural empathy he has for her and the kid (him immediately following her after he accidentally snapped at her on the Crest and apologizing) and Din is now TRULY beginning to understand her on a level he’s never experienced with another person

3.) BUT!!! Even though he “needed to ask” (meaning he understood enough to know that asking the question was necessary) he started out the entire conversation by admitting he doesn’t think he could do it. Before ever telling her what specifically he doesn’t think he could do, he already knows this about himself and says it flat out. I don’t think I could. Even if you asked me to, even if you said you’d be happier if I did, even if you told me right now that it’s what you wanted, I don’t think I could ever stop looking. And a lot of the turmoil he experiences is because of that. I make you sleep on the floor. I teach you to fight when you just want to look at waterfalls. I do all these things that you’d never willingly do yourself, and I’m a bad person BECAUSE I still want you to always be here with me in spite of all that.

4.) Meanwhile sweet girl just has no fucking clue all this is happening and it seems to come out of nowhere, all she knows is that he’s been in the city when he should’ve caught up to her days ago. She’s out experiencing things and meeting new people and yet she always comes back to Din and the baby and how much they should be here with her. She tries to come up with clever ways to outthink him but she also offers to give her coordinates to him practically every single night. Her wanting to be with him so bad but trying to hold out (“ask me again tomorrow”) while Din is also wanting to be with her so bad and also trying to hold out (“find her again tomorrow”) 🥺

So yeah basically in conclusion I love them together and they’re so different but they make each other somehow both stronger and softer in so many ways and yeah u mighta heard of DD/LG u kinky fucks but lemme present to u DD/SG

[navegandoaciegas]

Hay(wire)

Kinktober 1/31 : quickie, face fucking, facial.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: smut, explicit language, unprotected vaginal sex, sex in a barn, oral sex, facial, set after the events of CA:TWS.

Yeah, I actually did it 💀

A/N: day 1 of @itgetsdarksometimes35 spooky challenge + Kinktober.

Bucky despises you.

He loathes how his heart rate picks up whenever he sees you, or how the pit in his stomach grows larger when he doesn't. He can’t stand the way the other farmers talk about you and look at you, but mostly he hates how you bite your lips and clench your thighs when he catches you staring, the tangy scent that floods his senses when he’s close to you, and how you never question why an American veteran would be picking hayballs in the Romanian countryside.

He hates your kindness, the way you hang onto his every word when he describes the night sky, your stained hands and the flowers you weave in your hair, your nipples showing through your white t-shirts, his blood draining from his brain and shooting straight to his cock just looking at you.

You bring out the beast, the soldat lingering inside some recess in his mind, the side of him that wants to own you, and ruin you for everyone else.

You bother him, talking and being nice. Smiling. Cracking jokes. Eating your lunch with him when the other boys are too afraid to approach him. Filling the silence with your stories while he munches on buni’s sarmalele and merely grunts in acknowledgement. Bringing him water when he sweats buckets under the sweltering sun. Shamelessly flirting like you find him attractive.

As if a pretty girl like you could ever want him, he thinks, with the stench of horse shit clinging to his skin and oozing out of his pores.

He scoffs at himself, and stacks another hayball, willing himself to forget all about you.

-

You know he hears your steps on the cobblestones before you enter the barn where he’s stacking hay in neat piles, like he always does before going to bed.

“You can continue this tomorrow, I’m sure buni won’t mind if you take a break.” you quip, closing the door and leaning on the wooden stall.

You eye his tanned skin, reddened by the scorching August sun, the strain on his sweaty long sleeved t-shirt that clings to his bulging biceps, the outline of his back muscles as his chest heaves.

There’s something animalistic about him, something that makes your stomach churn and your pussy tingle. When his t-shirt trails up, you can’t help but observe the hard planes of his abs and the coarse, black hair that trail them.

“I’m doing what she pays me for, and so should you.”

He dismisses you with a curt nod as he keeps lifting the hay and stacking it away for the winter.

By that time, you’ll both be long gone, so you might as well make the most of what you have.

“I’m done picking plums, if you must know.” you state, an unimpressed look making its way on your face. “You work twelve hours everyday, and you won’t drink her țuică or smoke the cigarettes she gives the other boys.” you say, approaching him slowly until you’re standing in front of him, so close you can see the darkness in his eyes and smell his pungent sweat, “She worries about you, you know.”

Your eyes stray from his, traveling down to his plump lips. He swallows thickly and inhales a sharp breath.

“I worry too.” you continue, stalking closer.

His manly, musky scent is intoxicating, and you feel short of breath, heat and slick pooling in your panties.

“Always working, never having any fun. Life must be very lonely for you.”

There’s static energy, or maybe magic, between you two.

“My life’s just fine.”

He’s gruff as always, but you hear his voice waver when his eyes drop to your own lips, and he finds them parted, and so inviting.

You shrug, feeling your skin crawl with anticipation, want, need. “I know, I’m just saying, I could make it less… lonely.”

You see him cave. You know he wants you, and he’s never exactly subtle about it. But when your hand reaches for his left arm, the spell shatters, the air gets sucked out of the little barn, and the growl that he lets out terrifies you and excites you at the same time.

“Stay the fuck away from me.” he snarls, snatching his arm away from you. He looms over you, rage burning behind his steel blue eyes. “Or-”

He interrupts himself, taking a step back and restraining whatever wild instinct is clouding his judgement. The veins on his neck swell up, and the smirk on your lips and your tangy smell only add to his irritation.

You know you shouldn’t prod. You know he could crack your skull in half without breaking a sweat.

But you’ve also seen him bathed in spring’s pollen, cooing at newborn chicks and patting their feathers, whispering soft words in a language you don’t speak. You’ve seen him kissed by the summer’s sunrise, leaning his head on uică Dan’s horse while petting his mane, and humming to mătușă Ana’s cow while milking her.

You’ve seen him sneak outside your room every morning for the past two months to leave wildflowers on your doorstep, and you know he’s the one who carries you to your bed when you fall asleep on the deck chairs outside, after stargazing together for hours, and pecks a lingering kiss on your forehead, whispering to you, his sweet girl, to sleep tight.

So no, you’re not afraid, and very turned on.

“Or what, big guy? What are you going to do?”

Jaw clenched, fists so tight his knuckles are white, nostrils flared. He closes his eyes, heaves a heavy sigh and mutters a ‘fuck that’ under his breath, and in a blur he’s on you.

But he’s not hitting you, no.

Just like you predicted, he goes haywire, feral, his mouth is on yours, his tongue prods your lips, his hands roam everywhere, tangling your hair and kneading the flesh of your ass.

He bites your bottom lip, and you taste metal on your tongue. A moan escapes you when one of his thick thighs comes between your own, and your core rubs against the rough material of his jeans.

“Took you long enough.” you tease him when he allows you to catch your breath.

He’s sweaty, rough, his clothes soiled by the ground he spends his days working on, and you find that you don’t care, that you want him to dirty you and ruin you in this barn, with hay poking your skin and cicadas screaming outside.

You’re staring at each other, panting, eyes swallowed by darkness.

He doesn’t answer, never speaks much anyways. He’s on you again, his hand on your throat, and it doesn’t hurt but it’s tight enough to make its threatening presence known.

Your walls flutter around nothing.

The other hand, splayed on your back, guides you as you grind yourself on his thigh. It’s been two months of sexual tension, and it’s about to explode.

You reach for his t-shirt, eager to feel his skin against yours, but he stops you, and the look in his eyes, hard yet pleading, is enough to make the protest die in your throat.

Your own shirt is discarded, maybe shred to pieces. His touch is bruising and desperate as he explores your body like it’s his last day on Earth.

He nips and sucks your skin, surely leaving dark marks behind, rolling and pinching your nipples between his fingers, swirling his tongue around them until you’re pushing him off of you.

“I need you.” you moan, shrieking when his teeth bite down on your shoulder.

Pain is a bucket of cold water on your burning skin, a contrast to the pleasure he brings you, and yet it doesn’t diminish it, but amplify it until his teeth on your flesh are all you want.

He lets himself fall on the hay, dragging you down with him. It irks you, pokes you, and quite frankly, it doesn’t smell like roses.

But it will do.

He hooks his fingers around the waistband of your leggings and hastly drags them down to your knees, not even bothering to get rid of them.

When he pulls on your hair and spins you around, it’s not romantic. When he forces you face down, ass up, it’s not pretty. When he spits on his hand and roughly shoves two fingers inside you, making you wince, it’s not soft and caring.

“I’ll take care of you later, need to be inside you now, doll. I’ve wanted you since the day I first saw you.” he murmurs.

You hear him fumble with his belt as he keeps rubbing your clit and pumping his calloused fingers in and out of you. “It’s been so long.” he adds, as an afterthought, while he strokes his cock and gets himself ready for you.

The hay scratches your cheeks, and you feel his intense presence as he kneels behind you, ready to take you like an animal in heat.

“Please.” you whine, wiggling your hips and brushing against him, “I need you to fuck me now, James.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice, and lines himself up with your entrance, teasing your folds and smearing your arousal on his tip. You feel him prod your tight hole and you brace yourself for the pain, but when he breaches you, your walls stretch perfectly around him, accomodating him, and all you feel is a dull burn that soon gives way to pleasure.

Moaning at the fullness of his heavy weight inside you, you try to bounce on him, but his hands on your hips halt your movement. He's as rough as you expected him to be, and the coil in your core is unbearable.

“Fuck, you’re so damn tight.” he groans, picking up a faster pace, slamming in and out of you. “Made for me, so good.”

He pulls on your hair, and the pain shoots straight to your cunt, making your walls clench on him.

Arching your back you meet his harsh thrusts, feeling his cock hitting that spot inside you, the one that makes the pressure build impossibly fast every time he bumps against it.

It’s all too much and not enough, and when he tugs on your hair again, your eyes roll to the back of your head.

You don’t feel the hay scratching you anymore.

“Fuck me harder.” you plead with tears streaming down your face, revelling in the lewd squelching sounds of your pussy and the slapping ones of his balls hitting your folds.

He never talks, and he won’t start now, you realize. You don’t care though, because all you can think about is his other hand snaking between your legs and furiously rubbing circles around your swollen clit.

You mewl when he snaps his hips and his tip hits your cervix. “I wanna hear those sweet noises pretty girl, wanna hear you fall apart on my cock, only for me.”

He brings you high, and higher, and the pressure grows more and more, until the knot unravels.

“Cum on my cock, fuck, cum all over me sweet girl. I missed this so much.”

When the dam breaks, you feel months of sexual tension release, and the tight coil inside your belly snaps. Your limbs jerk as a hot surge of electricity assails you, and you gush all over his cock, feeling your pussy constrict him in a vice.

He rides your aftershock, pummeling inside you while icy cold claws your every nerve ending. You’re drooling out of your mouth as a man you barely know brutally fucks you like a beast, but in the hazy state you’re in, you couldn’t care any less.

“I’m close.” he gnarls, tightening the hold on your hips, “Where can I-?

“On my face.” You turn and peek over your shoulder just in time to see the shock in his eyes. “I like it that way.” And I’m not on birth control.

When his thrusts become sloppier and his breathing erratic, he pulls out of you and stands. You turn around on your knees and face his thick cock, half wondering how he could make it fit inside your cunt.

“Open those pretty lips of yours babydoll, I want to fuck your mouth too.”

You comply, parting your lips. He shoves himself inside you, clutching your hair and neck as he fucks your mouth relentlessly, hitting the back of your throat and making you gag.

You can’t breathe anymore, but he keeps going, moving your head along his length. You taste him on your mouth, heady and salty, feeling every vein and ridge of him.

You look up, and seeing him all disheveled, hair sticking out everywhere and red faced, lights the fire in your pussy again.

Your hand finds its way between your folds while he holds you down until your nose rubs against the coarse hair on his pubic bones and his balls slap against your chin.

Quickly, he slides out of you, and pumps his cock once, twice. He cums on your face with a moan, painting your lips, cheeks and the tip of your nose with his white hot spurt.

When you open your eyes again, you find him staring at you already, with the most expressive look you’ve ever seen him wear and something akin to a smile dancing on his lips.

“God, doll. I didn’t even know I could do that.” he confesses, all doe eyed. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect, babygirl. I’m gonna keep fucking that tight pussy of yours all summer.”

You let out a giggle when he hoists you over his shoulder and the hay that’s stuck to your clothes flies everywhere.

“Gonna fuck you until you’re sore, until you’re sobbing and you beg me to stop. Fill you up over and over again. Make this pussy all mine. No more other farm boys, you hear me?”

He keeps his word that night, and you keep yours all August long, and you know neither of you want this summer to ever end.

—-

Day 1 of Kintober done. Join my taglist if you want to be tagged in more :) (link on my blog)

Please leave some feedback :)

[chil2de]

Hi!! if possible can i please request yuuta having a girlfriend that’s his childhood friend? (So like instead of rika it’s y/n and she doesn’t die) that loves to dote on him cause that boy needs some love. Thank you!! <3

PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE THIS MADE ME SO SOFT!!!!! ohmygod!!!! growing up with yuuta would be THE best onshdhfsh thank you sososos much anon this was such a pleasure to write! i don’t know why but the “and she doesn’t die” had me screaming LMFAOOOO

enjoy! no warnings, just old fashioned cute fluff and heart wrenching moments! thank you for giving me the opportunity to write for the best boy mwaaah you deserve eternal happiness! hope no insects bite you during these warm months <3

“okkotsu!” you cried out, feminine and shrill voice ringing in the air. the cicadas chirped melodiously, calling out their delightful songs in the spring air.

the young boy staggered around, losing his balance from spinning too fast. his fragile hands reached out, pulling in small grabby motions towards your innocent and joyous face.

you were always so optimistic, even when you were younger. yuuta could only huff and wail as his caretaker hauled him away from the playground, gesturing it was time for him to come home. thick and messy tears spilled out the corners of his eyes which hadn’t yet endured countless sleep devoid nights.

he was so far away, but that was okay because you knew you’d see him the very next day.

“okkotsu! promise to play with me again tomorrow!” you cupped your hands, exclaiming as much as your little lungs could endure. yuuta could see the tears heavy in your gaze, but even then, you prevailed. you grinned, all for him.

ever since the very start. till ‘death do us apart.

-

“okkotsu! come oooon, don’t cry, okay? (y/n)’s got your back! see, see?! look! they don’t bite!” you braved a smirk on your features, beckoning the shy and introverted young man over. his face looked uncertain and his lips wobbled as though he could crack at any moment. he took a few cautious steps, maintaining his distance between you and the furry animal on the floor.

“r-really? it won’t bite?” he coughed, reaching his unstable fingertips out.

“eh?! that’s the first time you’ve spoken to me! your voice is so nice! it’s so cool! hey! can i hear it again? pleaaaase? i know you’re shy but i’d really like to hear it! hey, okkotsu, say my name? pretty please?”

“um- i, uh.. it’s okay.. you can call me yuuta.”

-

“yuuta! you’re going to be late for your first day of junior high! i totally told you to wake up on time too!” you stood with your hands rested firmly on your hips, face stern and tone impatient.

“sorry! sorry- it’s um, my hair. i don’t know how to style it.” he admitted, albeit sheepishly by trailing the last few words off into a murmur. you only gave him a sigh before kneeling down behind him, propping yourself up to take a look at his hair in the reflection of the mirror.

“how on earth are you so tall already? we eat the same food, you know. slouch over a little.” you pinched his cheeks before glossing over his hair.

when you ran your fingertips through his hair, you felt butterflies and anxiety rock your stomach.

that’s never been there before.

you’ve touched yuuta countless times, whether that was accidentally hitting him, holding his hand to cross the street…

so why was it different?

you could feel yuuta’s body tense up and run rigid underneath your touch.

that definitely wasn’t there before.

“relax. it’s me.” you cooed quietly, roughing up his hair into different styles.

“like this? looks like you just woke up, sorta, but i think it’s cute.”

yuuta’s heart rate skyrocketed through the roof and his breath hitched.

“cute?” he reiterated, chewing out the phrase like he’d never heard it before in his life.

“hm? yeah-“

you caught his gaze in the mirror, eyes half lidded and attention averted. the tips of his ears were tainted a deep red with small flicks of blush painting his cheeks.

“eh?! nononono- not like that i’m- i just think it suits you, you know? oh, crap, would you look at the time? okay we gotta go and leave!” you clambered out of his bedroom, thudding the door shut behind you.

yuuta only gawked at you with bewilderment, lips slightly parted and fingertips outstretched in his failed attempt to stop you.

he turned to himself in the mirror, studying his features before running one hand through his jet black locks.

“cute, huh?” he muttered, avoiding his own judgemental gaze.

-

the bittersweet part about growing up with a childhood friend is change.

for all the time that you’d spent with yuuta, you didn’t realise that your relationship with him was something to not take for granted.

especially with those around you who would kill for what you two have.

you’d always get mundane questions from high school girls who thought they could have a shot with him, “what’s his type?” “do you think he likes me?”

meanwhile you only played along with their charades, laughing inwardly when he was actually extremely introverted.

“so? what’s the deal with you and okkotsu-san? you guys dating?”

“no. we’re just friends.”

“seriously? you guys are always glued at the hip. you know he has a picture of you in his locker, right?”

“yeah? so do i. it doesn’t mean anything.”

“it’s kind of a shame, he’s such a nice young man.. gone to waste like that..”

“what’s gone to waste?” yuuta inquired with an indifferent tone, plopping down beside you with his bento box. the classmate sat opposite you only gave him a phony cheerful temperament, twirling her index finger around her hair.

“oh! okkotsu-senpai! we were just talking about you! how was your da-“

“please leave.”

you could only gape at him in your peripherals, sputtering on your sandwich as you watched the life drain from your classmate at his monotony. yuuta didn’t spare you or the girl a glance as he worked to unpack his lunch, hell the guy even murmured a small itadakimasu as if nothing happened.

“wh- okkotsu senpai?”

“listen.” he let out a deep sigh before proceeding.

“whatever shot you thought you had with me? it’s gone out the window. don’t disrespect (y/n) in front of me like that again.”

“you’re making us uncomfortable, so get up and go.” he motioned with his chopsticks, giving her a dead gaze towards another table.

the girl scoffed, mouth hung wide open as she picked up her bag and stormed out of sight.

whilst your face was as blank as a stone, internally, you were only screaming in the depths of piping hot hell visible from the sun itself.

baby girl? that was when you noticed how fucking fine of a man yuuta grew up to be.

“that was seriously nerve wracking.. my stomach hurts so bad right now” yuuta coughed through a bite of his sandwich, refusing to meet your gaze.

you slapped his back, because, holy shit??? awe painted your face like you just witnessed your own child talking or walking for the first time.

“what the shit? yuuta? are you kidding?”

“oh, huh? did i overdo it or something?“

“no?! are you kidding? that was fucking awesome! i swear! this is why i love you-“

oh.

uh oh.

oh no.

yuuta let out a shrill squeak unbeknownst to any human being able to produce such a volume. it was a cross between a floorboard creaking, a mouse sniffing and him choking on his food. the poor boy had to excuse himself to the bathroom, hacking and sniffling in an ugly fit of coughs from the food that got caught in his windpipe.

your blood rushed to your head, veins lit ablaze, bones rattling as you could hear the chatter pound and drill into your skull, scoring you deep and down into your bones.

“did she just say she loves him?”

“i totally knew they were going out!”

“i can’t believe it…”

“do you think he’ll reject her?”

it replayed over, and over, and over. what a fucking fool you felt. did he even feel the same?

that’s why i love you.

i love you.

i love you.

a blob of black clouded your vision and you could hear the glass breaking.

yuuta sat himself back down, excusing himself.

you could hear nothing but the tune of his heartbeat. or was it yours? it sounded too heavy to belong in either of your bodies.

his voice came as a wobble because of his anxiety, but this was the one thing in his life he’d be absolutely certain of.

“that’s okay. i love you too.”

-

“yuuta? you okay? you’ve been spacing out for at least five minutes. something on your mind?” you lightly shake your boyfriend, grip reassuring but firm. it takes a couple of seconds for his gaze to gloss over as he returns back to reality.

“sorry. was just thinking about our childhood, that’s all.” his voice comes out deep and masculine. it doesn’t have that tremor as it used to before, like he’d break down at any minute.

you can say with absolute certainty as you stare up your entire 5’10 boyfriend that he’s matured well.

his hand snakes around to your waist, pulling you into him for comfort.

some ways better than others, you suppose.

“can we stay home today?” he hums, resting his chin on top of your head,

“same as ever, yuuta, aren’t you? it’s fine, i’ll tell nobara my period’s making me act up. she’ll understand-“

“hm? you’re not due for another week though, right?”

you crease your eyebrows as you type out an apology to nobara for cancelling plans, glancing up at yuuta curiously.

“how the heck do you know that?”

“i’m not supposed to? i’d always count your cycle so i wouldn’t irritate you on the wrong day. besides, don’t you think it was too convenient for you to always find snacks in your locker when it rolled around?”

“those snacks were you?! oh my god! i was trying to figure that out for forever!”

“i know. i remember you ranting to me about it.”

“you just sat there?! yuuta! you’re so cheeky sometimes, i swear!”

“only for you.” he chimes, peppering a soft kiss onto your head. you smile against him, though unfortunately pry out of his familiar and welcoming touch.

“i’m gonna step out for a second tho, ‘kay? i think that’s itadori at the door with my chocolate and painkillers” you snort, giving yuuta a bold wink as you put on your best act, keeling over and clutching at your abdomen as though you’re on death’s door.

“you’re awful.” yuuta chuckles, slumping down onto the sofa to hear the events unfold right in front of him.

you clear your throat and slouch your shoulders as you pry the apartment door open.

“(y/n)-senpai! i came as fast as i could and i brought you some of your favourite sna- oh, okkotsu-senpai! hello!”

“hi there.” he leans his head back, giving itadori a small wave.

“i won’t interrupt you guys so get well soon! and fast! cause i wanna hang out with you! bye!”

you cradle the necessities itadori brought whilst gleaming at yuuta with a wicked grin plastered on your face from ear to ear.

“you want anything?” you cock an eyebrow, showing him the arrangement of snacks.

it’s not the answer you were expecting, but it definitely wasn’t unwelcome. it made you feel warm inside, like eating warm and soothing soup on a cold winter’s day. this, for you, was okkotsu yuuta at his best, stripped clean and vulnerable.

you’re the only one who he can relax around, act like the world is carefree. like he’s young again, prancing around in that dingy colourful playground he met you at.

“i want you to kiss me.”

[silversatoru]

Hello! I wanted to request for a chubby reader x Levi oneshot. I feel like there aren’t many stories that have chubby readers ): As for the storyline, I’m not sure if it falls in the angst or hurt/comfort category. It would be the reader feeling insecure about themselves because they have a harder time training than the others (them blaming it on their own weight) and seeing how everyone is much thinner than them, they start avoiding food. To not make it look suspicious, they’d go into the kitchen alone and put the food away along with the left overs. The reader would act normal with Levi and he doesn’t suspect anything at first. Later on, the reader would push themselves harder to the point where they’d train on their own whenever they had to chance so they can lose weight and improve their training. At this point, Levi starts noticing the reader looking paler than usual and the slight difference in their weight. One day during training, the reader ends up fainting from exhaustion and dehydration. They wake up on Levis’s bed with him looking over them. He asks what happened and the reader lies by saying they didn’t drink enough water. Levi calls it bs and ask if they think he’s stupid and goes on to tell them about how they noticed the reader sneaking off into the kitchen with a plate and coming out without it. He didn’t think anything of it at first, but he started putting the pieces together. They end up telling Levi the truth, the way they feel towards themself and how they don’t like the fact that they’re bigger than Levi. He comforts the reader and lets them know that they’re an idiot for thinking that way, etc. Thank you! I’m so sorry if it sounds so cheesy!

hello dear!! i dont think your idea was cheesy at all, i love it actually. these kind of issues live very close to my heart, so writing about them is always really fun for me. that being said,, this fic definitely got very dark and very real, and i would advise everyone to read the warnings before deciding to read this <33

empty

levi ackerman x gn!reader

synopsis: levi catches you skipping meals and does what he can to help

tags/warnings: eating disorder, skipping meals, hurt/comfort, but it does have a happy ending! 

word count: 2.2k 

Throbbing headaches and hollow, gnawing pains in your stomach — they’ve quickly become your new normal. You see everything through a hazy fog these days, nothing feels real and everything hurts but it’s worth it — that’s what you keep saying to yourself. You’re tired of lacking the same agility, momentum, and grace that your thinner counterparts have. 

Your weight was always something that ate away at the back of your head, but joining the scout regiment multiplied it tenfold. You were constantly working twice as hard as your fellow scouts, and it seemed like it was never enough. Everyone around you was not only ridiculously athletic, but so fucking thin. You didn’t hate your comrades for their bodies and the way they were born, but you made up for it by inflicting all of the hate onto yourself.

You wonder if anyone notices your zombie eyes or the abnormal paleness to your face — god, you hope they don’t. The last thing you want to do is have to confront your feelings and admit what you’ve been doing lately. Every night you shamefully sneak back into the kitchen and pour your plate of food into the large pot of leftovers. You pick at food here and there when your friends are watching, but behind closed doors you haven’t eaten much of anything lately. Your body is running on empty, and it’s only a matter of time before it fully catches up to you. 

You hear your last name echo from across the training fields, slowly turning around to see an angry captain sulking towards you. His face was twisted into an unpleasant grimace, his eyebrows knitted together into what almost looked like concern. 

“I’m excusing you from the remainder of training, leave,” his words were flat, but there was a subtle emotional edge. 

“Sorry, what?” you gave him a confused look — Captain Levi never excused anyone from training, not unless they were practically on their deathbed. 

“Go home, and eat a big dinner tonight, your energy has been less than adequate lately,” his face softened slightly, “I expect you to be back to normal by tomorrow. Your skills and abilities are needed here, so go get some rest and be better tomorrow, yeah?”

“But, I-,” you stammered, trying to come up with some kind of valid excuse. 

“That’s an order, cadet”. 

His words surprised you, and before you could even rack your brain for an appropriate way to respond, he was turned on his heels and walking away. You swallowed thickly, your throat dry and stuffed full with anxiety. 

Reluctantly, you followed his orders and made your way back to the Scout’s base early. You grabbed a stack of fresh clothing from your room before heading to the showers and scrubbing yourself free of all the sweat and grime from training. You were careful to avoid mirrors when you navigated bathrooms, and tonight was no exception, your eyes glued to the tiled floor. After showering, you hesitantly walked to the kitchen, preparing a plate of food and bringing it back to your room.

That food stared you in the eyes for hours, taunting you and teasing you and making intense nausea creep up your spine.  Tears were stinging the backs of your eyes and your lungs were shaking with heavy, anxiety-filled breaths. You couldn't do it, and you were overwhelmed with shame and guilt. If you couldn’t do it for Levi, you were hopeless that you’d be able to do it for anyone, never mind for yourself. 

After making countless pitiful attempts to take a bite of your untouched meal, you decided it was going back into the leftover pot — just like everything else. The other scouts should have returned and been sleeping by now anyway, you’d just silently creep down the hallway, dump the food, and creep back, no harm no foul. 

Except for that a certain short, dark-haired captain was standing at the end of the hallway — you didn't notice him, but he certainly noticed you. A boiling anger rippled up inside him as he felt an overwhelming disappointment in your actions. He’d been suspecting this kind of behavior for a while now, but watching you tip-toe down the hall and into the kitchen with an uneaten plate of food confirmed all of his suspicions. 

You could barely crawl out of bed the next morning, your ribs aching and your head pounding with a dull pain. You grasped at your tall dresser, catching your balance as you dangerously swayed back and forth for a few seconds. After regaining consciousness and stability you carefully changed into your uniform, having to stop and take breaks every few seconds because you were running out of breath. Your body felt utterly devoid of any kind of energy, and you wondered — when was the last time I actually ate something? 

It was far enough back that you couldn’t quite remember, maybe a few days at this point, you really weren’t sure anymore. You’d have to suck it up for training though, because the last thing you wanted was to be confronted by the captain again. 

You chugged back a full glass of water before lacing up your boots and throwing on a convincing facade. People don’t seem to notice something is wrong as long as you're smiling, laughing, and going along with what they say — it’s easy enough to fly under the radar of your fellow scouts. 

Levi’s radar is a little sharper though, and he keeps a close eye on you from the second you walk up to the training grounds. He’s disappointed in your hand to hand combat — it’s sloppy, slow, predictable. Your hands look shaky too, and maybe it's the light playing tricks on him but it looks like the color is draining from your face. 

Things are feeling deplorable on your side — you can barely stand anymore, never mind throw punches or avoid the oncoming attacks. Your vision was starting to tunnel, foggy black surrounding your periphery as you began to lose feeling in your fingertips. You tried desperately to cling onto whatever semblance of consciousness you had left, but failed miserably, your body collapsing to the hard earth beneath you. 

The soft glow of warm candles illuminated the walls around you when you finally woke up from the earlier incident. This wasn’t your room, where the hell were you? You uncomfortably shifted to the side and flinched when you saw your captain sitting in a chair in front of you. His arms were crossed and one of his legs was propped on top of the other, an icey look in his eyes.

“What happened today?” His words were very short and his tone was flooded with irritation — he didn’t even give you a chance to take in your surroundings.

“Ah- I didn’t sleep well last night,” you lied, “And maybe I haven’t been drinking enough water or something”. 

“I’m offended that you think I would fall for such a pitiful lie,” He clicked his tongue off the roof of his mouth, “I saw you sneak into the kitchen last night, how long have you been doing that?” 

Your eyes grew wide with anxiety, your heart abruptly dropping to the floor — you made sure to go extra late last night, why the hell was he still up?

You stayed quiet for a moment, pondering over how honest you should be with Levi right now. The two of you had always been a little closer than he was with the other scouts, but unfortunately there was no room for things like love in this world. You also assumed that maybe he never reciprocated your feelings because of your weight — but that was just more toxic fuel to the fire blossoming in your head. 

“Pretty long,” you sighed, ultimately deciding to be fully honest with him, because knowing Levi, he’d continue to see right through your lies anyway. 

“I figured,” He grumbled, uncrossing his legs and leaning back into his chair, “Why?” 

“Everyone around me is thin, I stick out. And, I’m not as agile or flexible as the other scouts either. I just thought that maybe...,” you bit down hard on your bottom lip, rolling onto your back so you wouldn’t have to look at him, “I thought my weight bothered you too, and also that I’d be more useful to the scouts if I was skinnier”. 

“You think I’d like you better if you were dead?” Levi was leaning closer now, heat boiling in his eyes, “Because that’s where you’re headed right now. If you truly think you’ll be more helpful to the scouts when you’re six feet under, you’re delusional. And who the hell gave you the idea that your weight bothered me?”

His harsh words were cold slap in the face, your eyes burning and threatening to spill over with tears. You didn’t want to die, not really, you just didn’t want to hate yourself anymore. 

“No one! I don’t know, I just thought, maybe because I was bigger than you-,” You continued to stammer over your words, tears beginning to leak down your cheeks. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he waved you off, not wanting to push the issue further, “You’re wrong, and I’m hurt that you’d even think that. I’ve never once thought that you were anything other than the way you should be”.

“I’m sorry,” your voice was weak and shaky, but your heart was pounding against your chest at his words. 

“I’m not the person you should be apologizing to, that’s something you owe to yourself” he shook his head and stood up to retrieve two small bowls of food from a nearby table, “I brought you something to eat”.

You watched him intently, pondering over his words about apologizing to yourself.

“It’s only a bowl of soup, so you can start small, yeah?” He offered one of the bowls to you, which you hesitantly took into your hands as you sat up. 

He sat down again across from you again, leaning back and taking a sip of broth from his bowl. You were grateful that he was here, that he was eating with you — it made things a little easier. You grasped the spoon in your hands and scooped up some brothy vegetables before lifting them into your mouth. 

“Good, finish the bowl,” nodded at you, giving you a reassuring look and lifting his own bowl to his lips again. 

The two of you ate in silence until you were finished, and then he sat the bowls back on his nightstand before finding a seat next to you on his bed. 

“Stay here tonight,” he stared at you with his signature tired eyes, but there were hints of concern laced through them now, “We’ll have breakfast together in the morning”. 

“Okay,” you gave him a weak nod, trying desperately to bottle up your growing emotions, but they were becoming too much to bear. 

Small sobs began to rack through your body, your chest tightening and your stomach lurching with anxiety. You were experiencing so many feelings tonight — eating for the first time in days and being here with Levi, it was overwhelming to say the least. 

You could barely see the captain through your blurry vision, but you could feel his arms maneuver themselves around you and pull you against his chest. You stayed like that for a while, Levi’s arms delicately holding you in place while quiet sobs worked their way out of your lips. 

“You’ve dug yourself into a deep hole, I won’t lie to you,” you heard him let out a tired sigh, “And it’s gonna take time and effort for you to dig your way out, but you’ll get there. We’ll start by having breakfast and dinner together every night, how does that sound? Just you and me, no one else has to watch”. 

You nuzzled a tiny nod into his chest, your tears finally running dry. It was a terrifying thought, eating normal again, but you were starting to feel hopeful that you might actually be able to do it. 

And so the two of you met every morning and every evening for your scheduled meals, and day by day things began to get easier. You even found yourself staying over in Levi’s room after dinner and into the morning for breakfast sometimes. Spending so much time together was definitely pushing the two of you to address the feelings you’d been hiding for so long. 

But not everything was perfect, it would be irrational to think it would be. You still have bad nights, where eating is so hard you break down into tears, and where you want nothing more than to rid yourself of the food in your system. It’s a draining process, but Levi works hard to make sure you stay on track with your progress. 

It’s slow, but eventually your face starts to glow again, your skin gets smooth and soft, and the aching pains in your body start to fade. Your war with your body is far from over, but you’re doing what you can, and you’re healing yourself one day at a time.

thank u for reading this, and now i would like to give you a gentle reminder to do something nice for your body today. eating disorders and mental illnesses are huge mountains to climb over, but taking things one day at a time makes it a little easier. try and eat a meal today (even if it’s small), go to sleep early and get some rest, take a shower and rub lotion all over your legs so they feel nice against your blankets when you lay in bed. baby steps are better than no steps at all, so be patient with yourself. n go drink some water, ur body loves that shit

[goldenraeofsun]

A/b/o + celebrities and/or coffee shop 👀

Thanks so much for the prompt, Julesy, and I'm so sorry for the long wait! Part II should be up in the next few days, but hopefully this beginning 7k will satisfy for the time being 😘

Castiel is elbow-deep in suds when Jo plunks a medium to-go cup on the edge of the sink. “Thank you?” he says, bemused.

“It’s not for you, doofus,” Jo says, rolling her eyes. “There’s a customer out back,” she jerks her head towards the service exit that leads to the alley where they dump their trash and Ruby takes her furtive smoke breaks. “I need you to take this to him.”

“Out back?” Castiel repeats dubiously, craning his neck to catch sight of their on-site baker, Benny, who is busy kneading focaccia dough for tomorrow’s sandwiches. Benny, full of southern politeness, doesn’t give any indication he’s eavesdropping.

Jo gives Castiel a short nod, her alpha scent flaring with irritation. “I’d take it out there myself, but he always talks my ear off, and Kevin still can’t draw a latte art that doesn’t look like a dick, so…”

Castiel frowns but nods, and Jo’s expression eases once she doesn't hear a challenge to her request. Still, he has to ask, “But why doesn’t he order at the counter like a normal customer?”

Jo takes a step back towards the door. “You’ll see. Just… don’t make a big deal of it.”

“A big deal of what?” Castiel calls to her, but she’s already disappeared out to the front of the cafe.

Castiel sighs and wipes his hands on a dish towel. He picks up the drink, sniffing curiously.

He nearly gags at the strong aroma of brown sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, and apples all on top of espresso and milk. They definitely don’t serve that on the menu. Admittedly, Castiel hasn’t memorized the list of hot drinks they serve at Hunter’s Cafe, but this is an assault on anyone with a nose. He’s been their busboy and dishwasher for six months since his second year as a graduate student began, and Jo has only let him mind the counter three times, all as far from peak time as she could get.

But a job is a job. Holding the drink, he shoulders open the back door.

“Hey - oh, you’re not Jo,” a familiar voice says.

Castiel stops dead in his tracks because, despite the sunglasses, the baseball hat, and hunched shoulders, Dean Winchester is unmistakable.

Away from the limelight, Dean apparently favors soft-looking flannels over worn tee shirts and jeans. In one hand, he holds a half depleted sheaf of french fries. Stunned, Castiel doesn't immediately hand over the reason for his appearance.

“Whatever, is that mine?” Dean demands, zeroing in on Castiel’s cup.

Still beyond speech, Castiel dumbly hands the affront to coffee over.

After a muttered thanks, Dean takes a long drink. “Christ, this tastes even better than normal.”

Castiel inhales a surreptitious breath. It’s not every day one gets to catch the scent of Hollywood’s omega darling.

Not that anyone would know Dean's secondary gender just by looking at him. Dean stands a few inches taller than the average male omega - he has nearly an inch of height on Castiel, and Castiel is the dictionary definition of standard alpha physique.

While Castiel might not be Dean’s most knowledgeable fan, he hasn’t been living under a rock for the past five years. It was all over the papers when Dean was cast in his first alpha role. Dean wasn’t the first omega actor to do so, but he was certainly the most prominent. Castiel’s sister, Anna, an actual fan, spent a memorable dinner ranting about how all the prejudiced reporters on the press tour. Apparently they only asked Dean about the diet and exercise routine that transform into a “real” alpha, while, in the next round, his alpha castmates fielded questions about their characters’ moral code and complex development.

But, in the alley behind Hunter’s Café, Castiel’s nose is completely overwhelmed by the fryers of the fast food restaurant next door, the set of dumpsters directly to his right, and the almost offensively apple coffee Dean is currently drinking like his life depends on it. Dean could smell like old gym socks for all Castiel can tell.

“Where’s Jo?” Dean asks once he resurfaces. He jams a few fries in his mouth. Before he's finished chewing, he sucks down some more latte in an unholy taste combination.

“Busy,” Castiel replies. “We have a new hire, and so far Kevin can only draw genitalia on lattes instead of flowers.”

Dean guffaws, nearly inhaling his drink. Swearing unrepentantly, he takes his sunglasses off and rubs at his temple with his free hand. “Christ, I’m too hungover to laugh like that.” He squints over at Castiek before sliding the sunglasses back on his face.

Castiel stares. “If you’re hungover, why are you here at -” he checks his watch “-seven in the morning?”

Dean slurps at his fruity latte before he answers. “Got a meeting at nine. This,” he says, brandishing his mostly empty cup, “and a large fries are the cure.” His hands occupied, Dean ducks his head to fish a single fry out and holds it like a cigarette between his lips.

“That sounds disgusting,” Castiel says, aghast.

Dean inches the rest of the fry into his mouth. “Don't knock it ‘til you try it,” he says with a wink.

Cas blushes.

“Hey,” Dean says, a new thought coming to him, “What’s your name?”

Taken aback by the question, he answers, “Castiel.”

Dean mouths his name once, his brow furrowing at the new syllables. With a small shrug of capitulation he says, “Well, Cas, thanks for the drink.” He toasts him one before tipping the cup all the way back, draining it.

“You’re welcome, Dean.”

Dean grins. “I couldn't tell if you recognized me or not.”

“I did,” Castiel says, clearly unnecessarily.

Amused, Dean throws him a long, considering look. “You’ve got one hell of a poker face.” He unceremoniously shovels the rest of the fries in his mouth and balls up the wrapper. He tosses it with practiced ease into the waiting dumpster.

“Thank you?” Cas says, nonplussed.

“Thank you,” Dean says, pushing his sunglasses up his nose. “You’re the one who saved my hide.” He sidles forward and shoves a bill into Castiel’s slack hand. Without another word, he takes off out of the alley and onto the street.

Once he’s out of sight, Castiel unclenches his hand. Dean tipped him ten dollars.

* * *

“How is this even more pungent than last time?” Castiel demands, nose wrinkling as he sets a now clean muffin tin back on the shelf. It’s been a week since he met Dean Winchester, and hadn’t gotten so much as a whiff of apple pie since then.

He is alone with Jo in the kitchen, since Benny’s early morning shift ends at eleven.

“I added a caramel drizzle,” Jo says, her scent rising with her self-satisfaction.

Castiel stares at her in horror. “Why on earth would you do that?”

“’Cause I’m trying to see what his limit is, and so far - nothing,” Jo says, shrugging. “Get to it. He’s real grouchy if you make him wait too long.”

“And why aren’t you taking it to him?” Castiel says, eyebrows rising. “Kevin’s moved onto multiple hearts now. Admittedly, his first one looked like a labia, but he’s gotten much better.”

“But Ruby didn’t show up, so we’re short staffed,” Jo says shortly. Outside, Kevin yells something indistinguishable though the kitchen door, and Jo winces.

Castiel takes the latte.

Just like last time, Dean is waiting, wearing a different flannel but the same jeans with the hole above the left knee. He abandoned the sunglasses, since the clouds overhead cast the whole alley in shade. They’re hanging from the vee of his shirt collar, pulling the fabric down a tempting extra inch.

Unfortunately, the fast food restaurant next door must have just taken out the trash last night, since the alley reeks of stale bread and rotting fish patties.

Castiel lets the door slam behind him, unable to hold back his corresponding smile as Dean lights up as he sees him.

“Thank god,” Dean says as he reaches for the latte. “I was starting to think Jo was gonna stiff me.”

“We’re short staffed at the moment,” Castiel says apologetically, “so you got me again.”

Dean eyes him over the lid of his cup. “Not a downside from where I’m standin’,” he drawls.

Castiel has no idea how to respond to that, so he doesn’t. Dean can’t mean it like Castiel thinks he does. He’s an actor, feeding people lines is the dictionary definition of his job. Instead Castiel asks, “No french fries this time?” because he’s not nearly ready to leave yet.

“Already ate ’em, while I was waiting,” Dean says dismissively.

Castiel shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry.”

“No harm, no foul,” Dean says with a little grin. “I got my caffeine fix eventually, and that’s what I really care about.”

“You look remarkably more put together than last time,” Castiel says as he leans against the doorway, watching Dean sip at his drink.

“Didn’t drink as much,” Dean says with a grin. He tips back his cup and takes a long pull. “Fries can only get you halfway there. Christ, that’s the stuff.”

Castiel can’t help but make a face. The latte smells horrendous; it can’t taste that much better.

“What?” Dean asks, eyes narrowing.

Castiel probably shouldn’t tell Dean what is exactly on his mind. Castiel has found very few people appreciate his default brand of honesty - Hunter’s Café customers, especially. But Dean isn’t technically his customer - he’s Jo’s - and Castiel has reached the point in his life where he doesn’t need to hang onto people who don’t like him and vice versa. Dean isn’t even providing extra publicity for the establishment, since he’s getting serviced in the alley behind the kitchen.

Technically, Castiel needs a celebrity acquaintance as much as he needs a free bag of cat food (he doesn’t have a cat).

But he does like having one.

A celebrity acquaintance, that is. Cats are inherently suspicious.

Reluctantly, Castiel says, “I can’t imagine that latte tastes very good.”

To his surprise, instead of demanding Jo bring him his coffee from now on, Dean laughs. “Not a fan of apple pie?”

“Not in my coffee.”

Dean takes an obnoxiously loud slurp. “I think it’s delicious.”

“I think your taste buds must be severely incapacitated.”

Dean waggles the near empty cup in front of Castiel’s face in what must be an enticing manner to someone with no sense of smell or taste. “Wanna try?”

Castiel valiantly holds back his recoil. “No, thank you.”

But Dean’s genial expression doesn’t waver. “‘M feeling pretty much human again, so it’s up for grabs.”

“I’d sooner lick the dumpster,” Castiel blurts before he can filter himself.

Dean whistles, rocking back on his heels. “Harsh.”

Castiel sighs. Honesty was a mistake. He mutters, embarrassed, “I’m just not a very big fan of sweets.”

“No?”

“I’ve been living with my cousin while in graduate school at Columbia,” he explains, his tone apologetic for his earlier comment, “and he has a horrendous sweet tooth. I don’t think he’s ever seen a carrot that wasn’t in a cake first.”

A wide grin splits Dean’s face. He laughs.

What Castiel wouldn’t give to scent Dean’s joy for himself. “He would probably love that latte,” Castiel continues wryly.

“Probably,” Dean agrees. He taps his fingers against the sides of the cup as he asks, “So you’re in school? For what?”

“Do you really want to know?” Castiel asks seriously. He’s had too many conversations with strangers and casual friends who have asked the exact same question and regretted asking it almost immediately.

Dean ducks his head. “I don’t know any graduate students, and I,” he breaks off, his cheeks going pink, “I never went to college, so I have no idea what it means.” He sucks on the dregs of his latte, gaze dropping to the vicinity of Castiel’s knees.

“Oh,” Castiel says, feeling lighter. “In that case, I’m studying ethnomusicology.”

Dean’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “Are you fucking with me? That doesn’t sound real.”

“It’s a legitimate area of study,” Castiel assures him. “I research music as it pertains to culture and diverse elements of social life. Ethnomusicology focuses not only on the music itself, but music as a social process, as a medium for humans to relate to each other. In short, it examines how music functions in a particular society.”

To Castiel’s surprise, Dean doesn’t get the glazed-over look most people do when he explains his field of study. “So what kind of music are you talking about?”

Now it’s Castiel’s turn to flush. His colleagues, while they respect his academic reputation, have nearly all looked down on his chosen object of study. “One of the main tenets of ethnomusicology is a global perspective on music-”

“What, like Tibetan throat-singing?” Dean interrupts. At Castiels’ stare, he explains quickly, “Sammy had a phase.”

Castiel chuckles. “Yes, I do know a professor at Cornell who is studying just that. But my focus is much closer to home. I study,” he inhales a small breath, “tribute bands.”

Dean’s mouth twitches. “What.”

“Tribute bands offer a fascinating definition of the nature of performance, the difference between authenticity and identity,” Castiel says, already on the defensive. He can already hear his voice trying to fall into his usual academic patterns, and tries to rein himself in, “and historical consciousness in popular music. Here -” He pulls out his phone.

Dean listens in complete silence to Yellow Dubmarine’s cover of I Want You.

“Anyway,” Castiel coughs, embarrassed he made Dean sit through all that, “I also teach Rock and Roll from the 1950s to 1980s. There is a great deal of crossover with my specialty since most tribute bands recreate acts from the 60s to the 80s.”

“Dude,” Dean says in a rush, “if you think that makes you less interesting, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Castiel blinks.

“What bands are we talkin’ about?” he asks eagerly. “More Beatles? The Stones? The Who?”

Castiel nods. “I’m hoping to go to a Lez Zeppelin concert next month.”

“Led Zeppelin?”

“Lez,” Castiel says, emphasizing the ‘z’, “an all-female Led Zeppelin tribute band.”

Dean frowns. “They have a gimmick?”

Castiel shakes his head. “They’re completely sincere, I assure you.” He smiles wryly. “I interviewed Misstallica for a paper I’m writing on diverse, for lack of a better word, musicians in the tribute world, and they felt right at home with the long hair and tight pants. I’ve never met people who more adore the songs they perform.”

“Huh,” Dean says, rubbing his chin.

“Except maybe Air-O-Smith,” Castiel adds, “an American all-omega tribute band of Aerosmith.”

Dean’s eyes widen to the size of dinner plates.

“My favorite all-omega tribute band, though, is Omega You Eight One Two,” Castiel muses, “a Van Halen cover band.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Dean says faintly.

“Their lead guitarist, as you can imagine, is phenomenal.”

Dean shakes his head, his expression going slack. “Wait, seriously? That’s a thing? All omega acts?”

“Of course,” Castiel says. “That’s one of the most compelling aspects of tribute bands, when they flip the traditional male-alpha dynamic of the original, and how they translate that into their own act while keeping the whole performance authentic to the creators. It’s a fascinating process to watch and study.”

“I bet,” Dean says fervently. “Hey, d’you think-”

The back door opens before Dean can finish his sentence.

Jo pokes her head out, looking askance at the pair of them. “Are you still out here?” She glares at Dean. “Stop complaining about your diet, and let Castiel come back to work.”

Castiel’s mouth purses. “You’re on a diet?”

“Not on cheat day,” Dean tells him, lifting his empty cup. He turns to Jo. “And I wasn’t complaining at all. Cas was actually telling me about tribute bands.”

“Really?” Jo asks, her nose wrinkling.

Dean tosses his trash in the dumpsters. “They sound awesome.”

“I like them,” Castiel says lamely, off-footed now the conversation is clearly wrapping up.

Jo rolls her eyes, alpha irritation practically radiating off her. “Good for you.”

“Alright, well, I’ll let you deal with Joanna Beth on your own,” Dean says as he pulls out his wallet and hands Castiel a folded bill. He gives a mocking salute as he takes a step back, “Good luck, dude.”

“Thank you?”

“Come on, fanboy,” Jo growls once Dean’s disappeared from view, “back to work.”

* * *

“Can’t you take it?” Castiel asks, his tone verging on pleading, as Jo follows him back into the kitchen. It’s too early in the morning for another meeting, closer to first time Castiel met Dean at seven am compared to their last meeting at a little before eleven.

This past weekend, Castiel went down a spiral of Dean Winchester content. He read up on all of Dean’s recent projects, scanned headlines about rumors of his next film - some action thriller that Castiel presumes is the reason for Dean’s diet, and watched interview after interview. Dean on Stephen Colbert. Dean on Good Morning America. Dean on some very confusing show where they forced him to eat spicy chicken wings, which just seemed like an exercise in pepper-based sadism.

Castiel didn’t really understand the Saturday Night Live skit where Dean played one half of a demon-hunting brother duo, but the live studio audience laughed uproariously at multiple points.

Jo all but slams Dean’s latte on the ledge above the sink. “You know the health inspector is here. I can’t let Ruby near the guy, and you know how Kevin gets around figures of authority.”

Castiel sets down his tub of dirty dishes. “He nearly peed himself when he had to tell you he dropped a tray of scones over the floor last week,” he says flatly.

“Exactly,” Jo says. “Benny is busy,” she says, tipping her head to where Benny is adding more flour to a huge bowl.

“Cheers, darlin’.”

She turns back to Castiel. “So, you’re it today, champ.”

“Great,” Castiel grumbles.

“What?” Jo asks, her hands on her hips. “You seemed to get along with Dean. I actually didn’t know you could talk that much before I sent you back there.”

Castiel carefully transfers the dirty plates to the sink. “Getting along with him isn’t the problem,” he says darkly.

“Getting along with him too well is the issue?” Jo asks, her eyebrows rising.

Castiel scowls at her observation. Her emotional intuition is what makes her an excellent café manager, so he can hardly fault her for that. He doesn’t respond to her question.

“Take it to him,” Jo says, her tone softening. “He likes you.”

Castiel raises his head to stare at her. “How do you know that?”

Jo pulls her phone from her back pocket and waves it in his face. “We talk,” she says. “How do you think he orders every time? He’s not getting those lattes for free, not after I spent so much time getting them exactly right.”

Castiel can’t hold back his grimace. The latte still smells awful, like a vat of boiled candied apples.

“Look,” Jo says, lowering her voice, “Dean’s famous, sure, but he’s actually a very private person. He runs his mouth to anyone who’ll listen, but he never really says anything important. So he doesn’t really connect with a lot of people. If he says he likes you, I’m gonna say that’s a good thing - if you tell him I said this, I’ll kick your ass - and make you his designated errand boy.”

Castiel bites his lip. “But I don’t -”

“Dude, don’t make me pull the boss card,” Jo says, just the barest hint of threat in her words.

“Fine.” Castiel snatches the latte off the counter. “But I want a raise.”

“You can get a free sandwich.”

Castiel glares daggers as he shoulders open the back door.

But the alley is empty.

Castiel breathes through his mouth as he steps out. The overflowing dumpsters carry the odor of moldering cheese and more rancid fish, and the fryers next door are still going strong. He doesn’t find Dean lurking behind the trash for some strange reason, and he’s about to head back in and dump Dean’s latte down the sink when a shout makes him turn around.

“Hey, Cas!” Dean calls, jogging in from the brightly lit street.

“Hello, Dean.” He hands over the latte.

“Thanks - sorry.” Dean rubs the back of his neck with his other hand. “Some fans caught me sneaking in here, and wanted a selfie.”

“Oh,” Castiel says for lack of anything better to say.

Dean tips back his cup, his expression falling into pure bliss. “Christ, that’s so much better when I’m not hungover.”

Castiel stares. “You’re drinking that with all your capacities intact?”

“Ain’t no better way to enjoy pie,” Dean says, grinning widely.

Castiel rolls his eyes. “That’s not pie.”

“It’s as close as I’m gonna get at eight in the morning on a Thursday,” Dean says with a shrug.

Silence falls between them, and Castiel can’t help glancing over Dean’s shoulder, tentatively scanning for the people who caught his attention earlier. Plenty more would have approached Dean if he didn’t have Jo’s latte waiting for him; Castiel would bet his job on it.

Dean is a celebrity.

Castiel is a grad student who can’t even afford to support a guinea pig on his stipend and café salary.

After a long beat, Dean asks, a touch hesitantly, “So, what’ve you been up to?”

Stalking you on the internet.

“Nothing,” Castiel lies. At the slight fall in Dean’s expression, he adds, “I cleaned my kitchen over the weekend.”

Dean chuckles. “You’re a weird dude, you know that?”

Hurt, Castiel takes a step back. Jo probably needs him for… something.

“Not in a bad way!” Dean says quickly. “Shit,” he swears under his breath, “please don’t stop giving me coffee.”

Castiel hesitates. “Why is it weird that I cleaned my kitchen?” He frowns. “I suppose you employ someone to do that for you.”

Dean seesaws his free hand back and forth as he sips at his latte. “Not always,” he lowers his voice, “I actually like cleaning - it helps me relax and shit. There’s nothing like blasting some tunes and scrubbing out that stain on the counter that’s been annoying you forever.”

Castiel lowers his voice too. “Is this a secret?”

Dean grimaces. “Not really. But, you know, it’s one of those omega things.”

Castiel doesn’t know. Well, he knows it is a stereotypical omega trait to like housework, but he has no idea why Dean would whisper it in a back alley like he’s confessing to defrauding an elderly relative. “And that is bad because…?”

Dean takes a long pull from his cup. “I don’t want to hammer the omega thing home too hard, alright?”

“But you are an omega,” Castiel says, feeling a little stupid for saying it out loud.

“Yeah,” Dean sighs, “but if I lean into it, I’ll stop getting alpha roles.”

“You only want to play alphas?” Castiel asks curiously.

Dean’s mouth twists. “They’re the better parts. Omegas are always the damsels in distress or get killed off first for the plot.”

“I’m sure not all films are like that,” Castiel says. God knows, Anna made him sit through enough films with an omega protagonist that did not fit the typical romantic comedy restrictions.

“Most.”

“The last movie I saw,” Castiel says, hesitant because Dean must know more about this than him, “my sister recommended it, it had an omega lead who led a team of paranormal investigators. A sort of horror-comedy.”

Dean’s face loses some of its hostility. Almost intrigued, he asks gruffly, “D’you know who wrote it?”

“Not off the top of my head.” Castiel pulls out his phone to look it up. He reads aloud, “Ghostfacers, directed by Ed Zeddmore, written by Harry Spangler. Starred Maggie Zeddmore and Alan Corbett.” He pauses, trying to remember the details. “I think they both were omegas. I’m sure there are more films like Ghostfacers out there for you to make.”

Dean sips at his latte. “A few. None with big enough names attached to really get on my radar.”

“Well, if you signed on, wouldn’t there be a big name attached?”

“Yeah,” Dean says in a tone that clearly conveys he’s thought of this possibility before. He runs a hand through his hair. “It’s just - what if I take one of these roles, and it gets all this attention just ’cause I’m in it, and it flops?”

Castiel tilts his head. “That would hardly be your fault. Most failed films are hardly the work of one person. Usually, it’s a combination of a bad story, bad production, and bad acting.” He levels Dean an appraising look. “Right off the bat, you control two of those elements - pick a good script and act as well as you always have.”

Dean blinks. “You’ve seen my stuff?”

Castiel’s brow furrows. “I thought I already said I knew who you were?”

“Yeah, but,” Dean says, his voice petering off with embarrassment, “that didn’t mean you liked my movies.”

“The majority of America liked your last movie, Dean,” Castiel says dryly. “Either that, or you have a very hardworking and wealthy mother who poured a hundred million dollars into ticket sales.”

“I mean, Mom’s a fan, but not that big of a fan,” Dean says, chuckling. “I’m pretty sure she’d rather get a twenty-minute call from yours truly than sit through a two-hour flick with my name on the poster.”

Castiel hands over his phone. “Here,” he says, tilting it so Dean can see the summary of Ghostfacers.

Dean brightens as he reads through it. “The Alpha dies first?”

“He thought he could deal with the ghost on his own.”

“Typical alpha macho,” Dean snorts. His head snaps up as he gives the phone back. “No offense.”

“No offense taken,” Castiel says easily. “With my lifestyle, posturing is a waste of time. I’ve long ago resigned myself to not being the primary breadwinner in any future household.”

“Really?”

Castiel throws him a look. “I’m in academia, Dean. Tenure is hardly a guarantee. Even so, there isn’t a wealth of money out there for ethnomusicology grants.”

Dean tips his head in acknowledgement. “It’s awful big of you.”

“Just logical,” Castiel says evenly. “It shrinks my dating pool considerably, but I’d rather do what I love than compromise that much for any potential partner.”

Dean inhales a deep breath, his eyes unfathomable. “I get that.”

“If it means I can’t afford to mate a house-omega, I’ll just have to keep cleaning my kitchen myself,” Castiel finishes with a shrug.

Dean grins. “I mean, if you spot me a six pack and don’t tell my trainer about it, I’ll clean your kitchen.”

Castiel turns bright red. He can’t bring himself to respond to that offer, so he changes the subject.

* * *

Castiel doesn’t even bother pretending to protest as Jo barges into the kitchen, the telltale scent of sugary apples wafting around her like a palpable shield. Castiel already set himself for heartbreak where Dean Winchester is concerned. He might as well take advantage of every interaction he has left.

He went to sleep late last night, watching one of Dean’s earlier movies. He was slimmer and younger, but he still shone with his signature charisma and talent. For the first time since Castiel started the morning shift at Hunter’s Café, he snoozed his alarm.

Hurrying through his morning routine, Castiel couldn’t help resenting Dean just a little. If only Dean hadn’t chosen a profession where his literal job is to be whatever his audience wants him to be.

As Castiel pushes open the door, Dean is waiting outside. Dark sunglasses shield his green eyes, and a violet bruise blooms over his left eyebrow. As the door slams shut behind Castiel, Dean winces. His left hand holds a half-empty paper container of french fries.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says. “You don’t look good.”

“Tell me about it,” Dean says darkly. “Gimme.”

Castiel pauses. “Did your hangover eliminate your manners?”

Dean flushes bright red. “No,” he mutters. “Sorry, Cas. I just feel like shit.”

“You look like shit,” Castiel says frankly as he hands it over.

“Thanks,” Deans says, his voice sour as old lemons. “I told Charlie tequila shots before Monopoly was a bad idea, but did anyone listen to me?” He gestures to his face. “Next thing I know, Jo’s throwing Charlie’s bag of DnD dice at my head.”

“You got that playing Monopoly? Wait, Jo did this to you?” he demands, gesturing to the cafe behind him. “Jo Harvelle?”

Dean just glares over the rim of his coffee cup. “Yeah, Katniss got me good.”

“God, why?”

One corner of Dean’s mouth lifts in a distinctly smug smirk. “’Cause she was going bankrupt, and she had to sell her last property to me.”

“So this was because of Monopoly,” Castiel says dubiously. In his experience, a board game has never led to actual violence.

Dean shrugs. “Game nights get intense. Why do you think I’m always bangin’ down your door the morning after?”

Castiel can’t believe it. “You’ve been getting this drunk at a game night? Every time?”

“So what?” Dean shoves four french fries in his mouth. “Whaddya think I was doin’?”

“Partying?” he suggests.

Dean snorts. “Maybe six years ago when I was doing B-level flicks and trying to meet as many people as I could. Now I have a back-to-back shooting schedule and hangovers if I don’t pace myself.”

Castiel watches Dean polish off his fries at a truly impressive and horrifying speed. He can’t help asking, “Why was Jo at your game night?”

“’Cause she’s a menace who knows how to pick locks?” Dean heaves a weighty sigh. “I’ve known Jo since we were kids. She and her mom - who started Hunter’s Café - were my neighbors.”

“I had no idea.”

Dean gestures to the alley with a wry hand. “Jo likes to keep it under wraps.”

“I see why Jo keeps making those drinks for you,” Castiel says, nodding at the half-finished latte in Dean’s hand.

“You didn’t make it?” Dean says, and does he sound almost disappointed?

Castiel shakes his head. “Jo is keeping the recipe close to the chest.”

“Probably worried everyone’ll want one if they get the taste.” Dean tips the cup back.

Castiel can’t help his noise of disgust. At Dean’s sharp look, he says aloud, “She’s probably worried everyone will never come back if they try it.”

Dean’s laugh cuts off with a wince. He raises a hand to his head. “Christ, last night was a mistake.”

Castiel surreptitiously scents the air for a better gauge of how discomfited Dean really is, but, as always, all he gets is trash and fryer oil. “How are you doing? Apart from the injury, headache, and general hangover-related malaise.”

“Oh, apart from that?” Dean echoes mockingly, but his words lack any heat. He crams a few fries into his mouth. “I asked my agent to send me a few more scripts with omega roles,” he mutters.

Castiel smiles. “That’s great.”

Dean hums his agreement. “Hopefully, she’ll pick out a decent one, and I can get something set up for after Two for the Show wraps.”

“Is Two for the Show the reason for your diet?”

Dean huffs. “Yeah. I have a bunch of shirtless scenes, so that means three months with the diet coach from hell.”

Castiel makes a noise of sympathy. After a moment, he asks, “Is it worth it?”

Dean chews a fry, scowling between bites. “Not really,” he says in a low voice. “Sammy’s the farmers market maniac in the family.” Wistfully, he continues, “Give me a good cheeseburger deluxe every day for the rest of my life with a side of pie, and I’ll die a happy man.”

“I didn’t think apple pie came as a side.”

“Not for you, maybe,” Dean says with an obnoxiously loud slurp of his latte.

Castiel doesn’t bother holding back his smile.

Dean sighs, rubbing his temple with the heel of his hand. “It’s just like, I don’t look like a traditional omega, so I figured I might as well try for the alpha roles.” He swallows. “’S a win-win situation. I look the part and the characters are better - what’s the downside?”

Castiel cocks his head. “Other than your restricted diet and inadvisable levels of drinking?”

A humorless smile pulls at Dean's mouth. “Not pullin’ the punches this morning, huh?”

Castiel colors, his face heating with shame. “I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep well.” An inadequate excuse, but it’s not like he can tell Dean the real reason for his more uncharitable thoughts.

Castiel has never been one to lean into his alpha instincts. Possessiveness, aggression, arrogance - Castiel has had his (mostly regrettable) moments, but they hardly define his character. But over these past few weeks, he’s had to repeatedly tell himself that he can’t solve Dean’s problems. Dean is a wildly successful adult with millions of fans, while Castiel can’t even handle Hunter Cafe's front counter during the morning rush.

Dean would hardly welcome a nobody little alpha telling him to just… do what he wants and damn the consequences because he deserves to be happy with his life and his work.

Dean plucks out the rest of his fries and balls the wrapper against his hip. He lobs it in the dumpster. “No, I get it. I’m complaining about things that most people would kill to have.” He glances towards the mouth of the alley, his mouth set in a thin line.

But before Dean can leave, Castiel says quickly, “That’s not the way I see it. Your specific frustrations aren’t universal, but hardly anyone’s are. Society is inherently unfair, and it’s understandable to be angry about it.”

God knows Castiel railed enough about the unfairness of Dean Winchester to Gabriel enough over the past few weeks.

Even now, hungover and bruised, Dean is beautiful.

Castiel steels himself. “And, for what it’s worth, I don’t think not looking like a typical omega is a bad thing.”

Dean turns to him in surprise, and Castiel would give up that free sandwich Jo offered him to be able to scent what exactly Dean is feeling. But, after a second that stretches into an eternity, all Dean gives him is a quiet, “Thanks, Cas.”

Castiel nods, chastised by Dean’s reaction. “I should get back to work,” he says awkwardly.

Dean mutters something that might be a swear underneath his breath. Raising his voice, he says, his tone apologetic, “’Course. Sorry for keeping you.”

Castiel shakes his head. “It’s alright. I,” he pauses, “always enjoy talking to you.”

Dean’s mouth lifts into a small smile, and it’s like the sun rising through the early morning fog. “You too, man.”

* * *

After his next shift, Castiel asks Jo to show him how to make Dean’s apple pie latte.

Castiel’s first attempt is a disaster. He burns the espresso and adds too much nutmeg. Jo makes him try it anyway, as a non-monetary payment for her time. As Castiel gags, a smirking Jo dumps the bitter, weirdly savory mess down the sink.

“Passable,” Jo declares at Castiel’s second try. “You need more of the apple concentrate, though.”

“It’ll be too strong,” Castiel protests even as he shakes more powder in and gives it a stir. He hands it back to Jo for evaluation.

“You could barely taste it!” Jo says. She raises it to her lips. “Mm, that’s the stuff.”

“It is?” Castiel asks hopefully.

Jo nods and pushes the cup towards him. “That’s what it’s supposed to taste like.”

Castiel frowns as the overly sweet apples hit his tongue. He can barely taste the coffee underneath all the other layers.

“Trust me,” Jo says, flipping her hair behind her shoulder as she sets Castiel up for a third cup. “Your scent’s getting in the way, but it tastes exactly like an apple pie.”

“My scent?” Castiel echoes, baffled.

Jo throws him a look as she pushes a clean coffee cup into his hands. “Yeah, you already smell, I dunno, crisp but sweet? A little like apples. Makes you think the latte dials it up to eleven when it’s more like a nine for everyone else.”

Castiel hadn’t thought to put those pieces together, but it makes an astonishing amount of sense.

He brings his last apple pie latte home to Gabriel, and his cousin makes him write down, step by step, how to make it. In between actual licks into the cup to get the dregs, Gabriel swears to visit him at Hunter’s Café more often.

When Jo next ducks her head into the kitchen to tell Castiel that Dean will swing by in fifteen minutes, Castiel gets to work. He awkwardly sidles behind the front counter and maneuvers around Ruby and Kevin, nearly knocking Kevin’s elbow as Kevin attempts some elaborate leaf pattern.

Castiel draws a rudimentary apple on top of Dean’s latte, and if it looks more like a misshapen mango, nobody will see it but Dean.

For the first time, Castiel heads out to wait for Dean at the mouth of the alley.

Dean doesn’t keep him in suspense for long. He makes his way down the street, shoulders hunched, and head bowed. Gaze fixed on the dirty sidewalk, Dean doesn’t make eye contact with anyone as he turns the corner.

Dean isn’t even wearing sunglasses or a hat to hide his face, but everyone walks straight past him.

It’s the most riveting performance Castiel has ever seen.

A few steps away, Dean catches sight of him, and it’s like some magic switch is flipped on, and he is Dean Winchester again.

Smiling brightly, he jogs the rest of the distance and follows Castiel as he slinks further back into the alley. Dean wrinkles his nose as they get closer to the dumpsters and the smell of an entire rancid fast food menu hits him. “Hey, Cas,” he says as he takes his latte. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” Castiel says, tipping his head.

Dean stares down oddly at the demented pear and takes a sip. Face going slack with a bliss Castiel doesn’t even need to smell, Dean groans.

Castiel freezes and sends up a silent prayer of thanks for the apron covering his lower half over his pants. “It’s good?” he tries futilely because Dean is clearly beyond speech.

Dean just gives him a thumbs up as he lowers the cup. He licks his lips, chasing the taste, and Castiel has seen pornography less graphic.

“I might have to tip Jo this time too,” Dean says, staring at the latte in his hand in wonder.

Castiel coughs. “I - I made this one, actually.”

Dean chokes on his next mouthful. “Are you serious?”

Castiel nods because if he opens his mouth he’s not sure what exactly will come out. Probably something highly embarrassing.

“This is the best one I’ve ever had,” Dean swears.

Castiel’s whole body heats with the force of his blush. “Thank you. I asked Jo how to make it, since it seems like I’ve taken over your delivery duties.”

Dean grins. “You’re a lot more fun than Jo,” he says lightly, “so I’m not complainin’.”

Castiel didn’t think he could get any redder, but here he is.

After an awkward beat, Dean says, “I think I found my next movie.”

“Really?”

Dean shrugs, but his eyes glimmer with anticipation. “It’s a World War II biopic about an omega who sneaks into the army, disguises himself as an alpha, and rescues a unit trapped behind enemy lines.” He taps his fingers against the side of his half-empty cup. “A little on the nose, but the script is good.”

“It sounds very promising,” Castiel agrees.

“Their biggest problem was the budget - historical pics aren’t cheap. But they think if I sign on early, they can leverage my name with the studio.” He smiles shyly. “Get the movie done right.”

“That’s fantastic,” Castiel says, a delightful warmth filling his chest - still a pale reflection of Dean’s excitement.

“Thanks to you.”

Castiel’s eyes widen in surprise. “Me?”

Dean throws him a funny look. “Yeah, you. You told me to get my head outta my ass and movies I actually like doing-”

“Not in so many words-” Castiel interjects, alarmed.

“’Cause the whole point of doing these stupid macho alpha flicks was so I could get the clout and money to do the stuff I actually liked,” Dean continues. “And I kept thinking, can’t do it yet, not there yet, until some rando tells me, fuck yeah you can.”

“I definitely didn’t say that-”

“It was implied,” Dean says blithely, waving off his protests. “So I figured, if this dude who doesn’t know me from Adam-”

“I’ve seen several of your films.”

“- tells me to go for it - it being something I’d thought of doing for years - is there any real reason why I shouldn’t?”

Castiel just stares at him, stunned.

Dean beams. “I’ve got a meeting with the director next week.”

“That’s wonderful,” Castiel says sincerely.

“Anyway, yeah, it’s partially thanks to you,” Dean says, tipping his latte in Castiel’s direction. “I also want to talk about romantic B-plot since I think it’s stupid.” He shakes his head, scoffing. “True mates, bullshit.”

“You think true mates are bullshit?”

As far as Castiel saw online, Dean’s never spoken on the record about true mates or any mates at all. Entertainment news sources reported rumors about him and a one-named alpha singer, Amara, early in his career, which he denounced thoroughly. A few months later, someone published revealing photos of him and an older alpha actor, Fergus Crowley. When asked about it, Dean refused to give details.

Dean makes a face. After a pause, he says, “My parents said they were true mates, but it wasn’t… pretty. No Hollywood romance between them.”

“I’m sorry.”

“’S fine,” Dean says in a tone that clearly says it isn’t. “Whenever Dad took off for a few days, I’d get to watch as many movies as I wanted, and - well, the rest is history.”

“I don’t know anyone who’s found their true mate,” Castiel says. His parents had a cold, distant marriage. A few times over the years, he wasn’t sure his mother even liked his father’s scent. Anna happily mated another omega last year, and Gabriel avoids all romantic entanglements like the black plague.

Castiel’s dating history can best be described as dismal. During his last visit to his pediatrician, his doctor called him a “late bloomer” which Castiel eventually realized just meant socially awkward. In the decade since, Castiel’s slept with a grand total of three people. And, to his supreme regret, none of them managed to bring his rusty people skills up to par.

But, in college, Castiel found music and his calling. And all his faults didn’t matter nearly as much.

In the crowd of a concert, people are so far outside the ordinary conditions of life, and so conscious of the fact, that they free themselves from individual concerns and devote themselves wholly to the collective. All their fury, their joy, their hunger for what they can’t have, is sublimated into the music.

Castiel has never felt more connected to humanity than in the middle of a crowd.

Truthfully, none of his past relationships ever measured up. None of his past partners ever managed to get Castiel out of his own head - not like the music.

Castiel shakes his head ruefully. “I wouldn’t know what to do with a true mate even if I had one.”

“Have a lot of super sappy sex with the lights on?” Dean offers, laughing.

Castiel frowns. “I wasn’t aware that kind of intercourse was restricted to true mates. I’ve done that in the past since I've always shared an emotional connection with the people I've slept with.”

“Oh,” Dean says, reddening. “Were you mated? Jo didn’t say.”

Inordinately pleased that Dean had asked Jo about him, Castiel shakes his head. “No, I’ve never been mated.”

Dean drains his latte. Swallowing, he says, “Me neither.” He throws the cup in the open dumpster and turns back to Castiel. “I haven’t dated in a while, actually,” he says in a low voice. “Couldn’t risk being seen with an alpha and remind everyone of what I’m not.”

Castiel narrows his eyes. “Surely people can’t be that close-minded.”

“’Course they can. Most are,” Dean says, his voice full of assurance.

Castiel’s mouth twists. “That sounds like a negativity bias to me.”

“Huh?”

“Negative information sticks with us longer and more strongly than any positive counterpart,” Castiel says with a shrug. “It’s something I always keep in mind when reading my course reviews after the semester is over.”

“So," Dean says, eyes dancing, "you can take the nerd out of the classroom, but you can’t take the classroom out of the nerd, huh?”

Castiel smiles wryly. “Trust me, I’ve tried.”

Dean laughs. “Look,” he starts, his expression turning a fraction more serious. “I might be fucking up a good thing here, but do you want to go to a Lez Zeppelin show next week?”

Castiel’s mouth falls open as Dean reaches out and pulls out his phone to show him a ticket confirmation email.

“It’s no big if you don’t want to,” Dean says awkwardly into the silence.

“I - I do,” Castiel says, stumbling over the words. “You do?”

“Uh,” Dean throws him a bemused look, “Yeah? I bought the tickets, dude.”

“I’m just surprised,” Castiel says honestly.

Dean stares at him. “This is seriously comin’ out of nowhere for you?”

“A little,” Castiel says defensively.

“Seriously?”

Castiel shrugs helplessly. “You’re … you. You’re famous. Why would you ask me?”

“Because I like you?” Dean says, nonplussed. “You’re nice in a way a lot of the alphas I know aren’t, and,” he breaks off, reddening, “you said you didn’t mind that I didn’t fit in with other omegas, looks-wise-”

“I don’t,” Castiel interrupts. “I think you’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

Dean gapes. “Did you seriously -” he breaks off, apparently unable to voice the rest of his thought. His face turns an impressive shade of crimson.

Castiel shoves his hands in his pockets. “Should I not have said that?” he asks, brow furrowing. This can’t be the first time Dean has been complimented on his looks. As Castiel understands, good looks are one of the main precursors to acceptance in Hollywood.

“No - I mean, maybe - never mind,” Dean fumbles, more out of sorts than Castiel has ever seen him. “It’s that nobody just out and says that, even to me.”

“I just did.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Dean says, but he’s smiling. “You should look in the mirror sometime, though.” He winks, and Castiel’s brain nearly fritzes out. “So that’s a yes?”

Castiel nods, an all-encompassing warmth filling his chest and exploding out to the tips of his fingers and toes. “I’d love to.”

“It’s a date.”

Read Part II here!

[cuziloveyou7]

Festering feelings

Pairing: Bokuto Kōtarō x gn!reader

Wordcount: 1.7k

Warnings: angst, mentions of depression, anxiety and panic attacks. Also kind of mentioning eating disorder?

A/n: I know I said I don't like angst and stuff, but since I'm a walking angst piece right now... here ya go! I did it! Someone help me out bc idk how to do tw! If I missed something please tell me! Also please bare in mind that this is my first real fic after not having written anything for 7 years.

This is not proof read, I made this around 1.30am bc I had an idea.......

It was slow, very slow, yet very fast. The first thing that happened was just build up tension. You were mad, frustrated. You needed to vent but didn't want to bother anyone. You would usually confide in Bokuto but he was so busy. The Olympics were coming up and he was training so hard. Each time he came home he was even more tired than the day before and the day before that. So you just did what you always do, suck it up and keep your mouth shut.

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You were slipping. You felt it gradually happening. Not like the times before, when for the most part you didn't know what was happening. No this time you knew.

A week. That's all you could handle. Slipping up here and there, mentioning tiny details to your best friends. Until eventually you just wanted to scream on top of your lungs on the highest building you could find at that moment. Luckily one of your friends caught on and asked you out for a walk around the park.

The two of you talked for hours. Finally getting it off your chest. It felt like such a relief. You felt like the situation was under control again. Nothing wrong. A false alarm? Or maybe just in time before the damage was out of anyone control.

Another week passed. You absorbed yourself in work, house duties and watched some episodes of your favourite anime. You cherished the little time you could spend with Bokuto and loved the stories he would tell you about the team. Your best friend also checked in on you, because they were still worried about you even though you brushed them off saying all was well.

But that nasty tiny feeling inside you was still there. A little unconscious, but festering each day, oh so slowly.

It started with getting tired more often. You blamed it on work. But even on your days off, you would wake up feeling exhausted. You would be so drained even when you did nothing but watch TV or play games to pass the time.

The next thing that happened made you more aware of your situation. Your friend asked you to go out for a walk again. You guys talked, gave an update on what was bothering you but switched the topic to an update about your friend's life. While they were telling you about their life you noticed you weren't exactly paying attention. Your mind wandering off to nowhere, zoning out of the conversation. You felt bad. Your friend had been there for you, listening to all your problems and yet here you were not really paying attention to them.

The same goes for Bokuto. He would come home, ask you how your day was and continue with telling you about his. As much as you loved his stories about the antics of Hinata and Kageyama or the other players, you actually couldn't be bothered in the least. Responding with a 'really?', 'Oh yeah...', 'that's nice'.

Next came closing yourself off. You just wanted everything to get over with. Counting the minutes down for when you could finally go home from work and curl yourself in a blanket on the couch. When Bokuto came home you would usually be "too absorbed" in whatever was playing on the TV or you would already be in bed, blaming it on work or just being tired.

You started losing interest in all the things you liked. You couldn't occupy yourself anymore. The days became longer and longer. You started losing your appetite. Only eating when your body basically screamed for nutrition and even then you would sometimes ignore your own body's scream for food.

At some point, you were just so done. Not caring to force a smile on your face anymore. Plain up ignoring your friends when they texted you. And when Bokuto would come home. The lights would already be out and you would lay in bed with the covers over your head and your back facing him.

Usually, Bokuto picks up very fast on your moods and emotions. Having gone through his well famous emo modes when he was younger. The two of you were always open and honest with your feelings and emotion towards each other. It was something you guys as a couple prided yourselves on.

It was also something you especially needed. Having gone through horrible panic attacks, anxiety and depression. Talking yourself down was/is also something your very good at. And Bokuto picked up on that very quickly when you just started dating.

To some Bokuto seems very carefree and not aware of his surroundings. But in actuality, he's very emotionally intelligent. So he struck up a conversation you would've never guessed you'd have on one of your many dates. Bokuto eased you into it, told you about his emo modes and made you comfortable enough to let you open up about your experiences. This actually helped you go past the blockade that was stopping you from making this relationship official.

But with Bokuto training for the upcoming Olympics and him being away from home more often than not, it was easier to go unnoticed for him and easier for you to slip and fall into a deeper depression.

After weeks of walking around like a zombie, you finally broke down. You had a day off. When you woke up Bokuto was already gone. He texted you later that day saying he would sleep at the training centre because training would go on longer than normal.

It had been a beautiful day, the weather was nice, the sun had been shining, the warmth of summer started to peek through. It would have made you giddy had it not been for the nasty pest growing bigger and bigger inside you. When dusk came you felt it bubbling up. You tried really hard to ignore it. Tried to soothe it with some episodes of your comfort anime. Tried to pick yourself up and pamper yourself with some extra steps in your skincare routine but it was all in vain. Once you stepped inside your shared bedroom you felt the tears trickling down your face. Through your tears you searched for your earbuds, plugging them in and searching for the best sad songs playlist you could find. Shutting off the lights as you lay down in the middle of the bed.

At first, you just lay there, looking up at the ceiling, silent tears streaming down your temple, past your ears into your hair. You felt the tears slowly make their way past your scalp until they finally touched the soft pillow behind your head. You turned your head getting uncomfortable from the feeling of your tears. The pillow your head lay on smelled like him, it's smelled like everything you loved, comforted, his favourite shower gel, a hint of sweat, it smelled like warm sunbeams on an early summer morning, it smelled nice. This made you break down in sobs, which became louder the longer you went on. You stuffed your face in his pillow, threw the covers around you, trying to silence your sobs and screams. They were too loud for you, agonising pain shot through you. You felt alone. Spiralling deeper into a dark hole that was your mind.

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When Bokuto stepped inside your shared apartment he tried to be as silent as he could. The lights were out, a sign that you would probably be asleep already. While trying to get his shoes off Bokuto debated whether or not he should wake you up. He noticed you being unusually tired and sleeping earlier than you normally would. He looked at the clock hanging on the wall, 9.04 pm. A soft smile crossed his features. Maybe he was a bit selfish but he decided to wake you and tell you about his surprise day off coach gave the team. Shuffling around in the dark apartment trying not to bump into any furniture he neared the bedroom door.

The smile Bokuto had on his face disappeared in an instance. His heart dropped when he heard your muffled sobs. You sounded tired. As if you had been crying for a while now. Bokuto rested his head against the door, gripping the handle until his knuckles turned white. How could he not have noticed it before? Sure he was busy, but he always noticed when you started feeling down. Was he not paying attention to you? Had he been too absorbed in his own world? Why didn't you tell him anything? You guys told each other everything. What got you down like this so bad you wouldn't open up to anyone, not even him. But most of all, he was angry, angry at himself for letting it get this far.

But right now that wasn't important. What's most important is you. Without further hesitation Bokuto softly opened the door and stepped towards the bundled up form on the bed.

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You felt a cold rush of the air when your blankets lifted up from you. Goosebumps made their way onto your skin. But it wasn't long before you felt a comfortable warmth surround you. Nothing like the suffocating warmth from your blankets. Two strong arms held your body. You didn't have to look up to see who the arms belonged to.

No words were spoken between the two of you. You started sobbing a little louder again until you felt the soft vibrations of Bokuto humming. Taking your earbuds out you looked up at the man 'Kou..' you sniffle softly, but before you could continue Bokuto laid your head back on his chest and started petting your head 'It's okay now. I'm here. Let's just stay like this okay? We'll talk tomorrow' he gave your head a soft kiss before continuing humming again.

Tired from all the crying combined with the soft vibrations coming from Bokuto humming you closed your eyes. Your worries drifted away, tomorrow was another day. You would tell Bokuto everything. But for now, you felt content, safe in his arms. The bad feelings slowly subsiding for at this moment, he was your light, he was the warmth you were desperately searching for, he is your home.