#that makes for an intense and pleasurable viewing experience even when the story or the pacing are uneven

[mikimeiko]

The Fall of the House of Usher | Miniseries (2023), Mike Flanagan

[zeldasnotes]

LILITH IN THE SIGNS AND HOUSES

things your placements makes me think of ❤️‍🔥

𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔩𝔦𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔰𝔢𝔰 𝔩𝔦𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔞𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔰

LILITH IN ARIES/1ST HOUSE: Sexy body, ambitious, competetive, bitchy, arrogance, provocative, sneaky, hidden insecurity, extremely intimidating, extreme drive & goal orientation, rebellious, shorter or taller than average, uncontrollable hair, cant go unnoticed, ”talking back to the teacher” kinda person, sex symbol, wanting to change your looks, plastic surgery, objectified, unapproachable, raw look, scary, a name that reminds people of Lilith like Layla, Lily, Liana.

LILITH IN TAURUS/2ND HOUSE: Materialistic, prostitution, body image issues, binge eating, self loathing, alluring smell, intense scrutiny from others, greedy, attracts extreme envy, lack of boundaries when money is involved, shoplifting, lack of moral values or extremely strong moral code, no self respect, beautiful face, sensual voice, mesmerizing, knew what stealing was at an early age, extreme hunger, never satisfied, strong reactions to what others do with their money.

LILITH IN GEMINI/3RD HOUSE: Being steps ahead of everyone else, always knowing what to say, jealousy from a siblings or jealous of a sibling, being compared to a sibling, sarcasm, mindgames, clever, dark humour, great story teller, dark thoughts, paranoia, issues during early school years, issues with people in your neighbourhood, intrusive thoughts, feeling unstable, hitting below the belt when angry, lying, issues with cousins, sharp tounge, seeing through people, conflicts with neighbours.

LILITH IN CANCER/4TH HOUSE: Having to move a lot, boobjob, generational trauma, mommy issues, a lot of conflicts in the family, controlling mother, a mom who represents lilith themes, mom talks to them about inappropriate things, being used by the mother against the father or against other family members, learning female rivalry at an early age, avoding the home, abandoned by motherfigures, extreme insights into peoples emotional world, black sheep, strong desire to become a mother or no desire at all, rejected by a motherfigure.

LILITH IN LEO/5TH HOUSE: A taste in art that others find odd or even creepy, dark art, expressing Lilly through art, custody battles, their own children turning against them, having a Lilith child, hurt inner child, a performer, creative, strong need for attention, being used in a custody battle, a born star, being shamed for how they express themselves, heartthrob, addictions, strong reactions from children, pre-school teacher, stage presence, fixated on pleasure, rebels through who they date.

LILITH IN VIRGO/6TH HOUSE: Extremely critical, not getting the recognition they deserve for their work, body shaming others or being body shamed, extremely service minded, cant say no, too giving, diets, overexercising, extreme views of what to eat/ what not to eat, pessimists, bad experiences with hospitals/hospital workers, obsession with hygiene or rejection of hygiene, madonna/whore complex, obsession with routine and control, hypochondriac, illness, strong bond to their pets, focusing on details and missing the big picture.

LILITH IN LIBRA/7TH HOUSE: Triangledrama, passive aggressive, attracting lilith dominant partners, feeling incomplete without their partner, inappropriate relationships, attracted to people with a bad reputation, super charming and persuasive, might need control over their partner, people gossiping about their relationship, attracted to bad people, ”dance with the devil”, projecting lilith onto others, infidelity, being left for someone else, wounded by their first love, wanting the bad boy/girl in town, from enemies to lovers or from lovers to enemies kind of relationships, using their beauty, likeability and charm to get ahead.

LILITH IN SCORPIO/8TH HOUSE: Powerful, scary, extreme psychological insight into others, scary intuition, vengeful, extremely private, unorthodox, constant fear of being ”caught” for no reason, issues with genitals, crazy reactions from others, fixation with death, might have been in a near death situation, old money, nepo baby, expert at getting other peoples money, elitist, afraid of loss, attacting scary curiosity from others, issues with taxes, issues with intimacy, being stalked, obsessed over, comfortable with dark subjects, vicious, subject of speculation and scrutiny, learning about ”adult” subjects way too early, intense sex appeal.

LILITH IN SAGITTARIUS/9TH HOUSE: Converting to another religion, having to convert because of their partners parents, not accepted by in laws, issues with teachers, private school, poor kid in a rich school, bullying in school, lack of optimism, afraid or traveling or love of traveling, growing up around religious extremists, strong opinions, dislike of religion or fixation with it, dropping out of school, changing schools, more drawn to the traditions of other cultures than their own, education can be a sensitive subject, being the only uneducated one in the family, cultural appropriation, revolutionary, outcasted from their own community, against tradition or wanting to keep traditions, rebellious.

LILITH IN CAPRICORN/10TH HOUSE: Gossiped about, bad girl reputation, representing Lilith, fear of failure, issues with colleagues and bosses, female rivalry, sneaky comments at the office, being fired for lilith reasons, success hungry, hot body, reminds me of the movie easy A, being shamed for how they look, complicated relationship with authority, rejected by their father, rejected by powerful people, boss, intimidates the boss, seen as a homewrecker, accused of flirting/ their behaviour percieved as flirting when just being polite, demands respect, public humiliation, secrets being made public, public scandal, seen as a player/slut.

LILITH IN AQUARIUS/11TH HOUSE: A part of the unpopular group in town, or the ”bad girl” group, associated with a group, jealous of friends or attract envy from friends, triangle drama situations with friends, ”3 girls cant hang out at the same time”, friend plotting behind their back, being hated by a group of people, dislike for the popular kids, rejected by the popular kids, only fans, attracted to unusual people, struggle to fit in, betrayal from friends, prefers to hang out with other lilith 11th house people, internet fame, leaked tapes, rebellious, might be a victim of someone with a ”keep your friends close and your enemies closer” mentality or have this mentality themselves, refusing to suck up to the popular crowd, original.

LILITH IN PISCES/12TH HOUSE: Victim mindset, good at hiding their lilith nature, supresses their lilith nature, drawn to drugs/alcohol, trauma surrounding substances, growing up around addicts, strong dislike towards addicts, popular, seen as ”eve”, socially acceptable, scary intuition, secret enemies, the one you least expect turning on you, naivite and paranoia at the same time, bending backwards to help others while not getting the same back, shame, suppressing issues and feelings instead of working on them, numbing their pain, being fooled, being lied too, people taking advantage of their helpful nature, detaching from reality, refuses to uncover their hidden nature.

© 2023 Zeldas Notes

[scretladyspider]

“Why is there a need for microlabels like demisexual or gray ace? Isn’t that just the asexuality spectrum? Why not just say you’re asexual?”

Let’s talk about the asexuality spectrum and why specificity in labels under asexuality can make a difference—

Asexuality refers to “little to no sexual attraction”. For some aces (short for asexuals), the ‘no sexual attraction’ part of that definition completely serves their needs in a queer label. This is the definition most unfamiliar with asexuality immediately think of.

And I want to be clear that that’s great! It’s a wonderful thing that there’s a word for ‘no sexual attraction’ and that we have more resources addressing this difference as a sexual orientation. Labels are tools. If you find one you like, that resonates with you, use it!

The expectation for sexual attraction is ever present. In the words of Alice Olivia Scarlett, “Love without sex is a difficult concept for society…there are still people who believe that sex is a biological need of the same importance as food and water.”

Our world demands sexual attraction — most often cisgender, heterosexual, heteroromantic attraction to the opposite gender. This expectation exists in queer spaces also, even if gender and sexual orientation are less rigid. Asexuality proudly counters that.

Celebrating differences in a world that says you shouldn’t exist is literally life saving. According to Healthline, “a 2019 study found that LGBTQ people who reported more connectedness to the LGBTQ community were less likely to report suicidal behavior.”

Returning to the definition of asexuality: there are people with no sexual attraction who are served by that part of the definition. They are the black stripe on the asexual flag. There are four stripes —black, gray, white, and purple.

That gray stripe allows for the spectrum, for those experiences that may include rare and/or conditional sexual attraction. This is the reason the definition includes “little to” in its “little to no sexual attraction”. Asexuality with an asterisk, an exception.

In 2003, AVEN founder David Jay proposed semisexual:

“If anyone wants to play a fun game, go to some queer-ass conference (called something like “transcending boundaries”) and play a game where you try to think up a term/identity for every letter of the alphabet. When you do you’ll be forced to think up new, interesting ideas like: Semisexual. It occurs to me that we’ve got a spectrum of sexual intensity, but we don’t yet have a word for those who are halfway in between asexual and full-force sexual. I’d say that this is extremely important: right now we don’t have a way to talk about people who are asexual but maybe feel like being sexual once a year, or sexual people who are just relatively uninterested and don’t know what to do about it. Thoughts?”

This lead to further discussion on asexuality being viewed as a spectrum. In 2006, AVEN forum user KSpaz coined the term “gray A” to refer to a “fuzzy” connection to asexuality. Many others related to this “fuzzy” experience and it became accepted as graysexual/gray ace:

“Alright, so don't know if this term is already around, but if not, I'm coining it now.Gray-A. Is there really a line at which point you are asexual?According to our logo there isn't. Just fuzziness.So, this thread I dedicate to our fuzzy members who may sometimes feel unsure of their asexuality/sexuality.Share your views, stories, whatever makes you think you'd like to call yourself Gray-A.I'll start:In simple terms, I have hetero attractions, can experience physical pleasure, and am indifferent (as opposed to repulsed) to the idea of having sex if it is with someone I care for (though can't imagine it for any situation without utmost trust involved). I don't get turned on and jump my boyfriend, but will respond to him in touchy ways and am pleased to do so willingly, because it does feel nice. If we never had sex, I would have no problem. But if we do some day, I probably won't mind, and may enjoy it to a degree. I call myself asexual, because I am, and because I choose my label.

In February 2006, the user sonofeazel coined the term ‘demisexual’, writing in a thread about their experiences,

…If “sexual” is for both and “asexual” is for neither, maybe we need a new term for people who only have one but not the other? I propose “demisexuals”.

In 2008, OwlSaint proposed the idea of what we now refer to as demisexual, which is when someone would only experience sexual attraction under the circumstance of a close emotional bond.

A demisexual is, in my book at least, someone who does not experience sexual attraction to people in general. I’ve yet to see a single person and think “hot” or “10 out of 10” or “I’d like to hit that”. Sex with someone rarely crosses my mind and when it does it’s usually more along the lines of “could i force myself to with…. ew no”. In that respect, I can and do identify as asexual. However, with someone I’m in love with, it’s completely different, and I might as well be a “full fledged” sexual, but only with that one person. Full fledged meaning actually desiring sex, both for the physical and emotional aspect, being attracted to that special someone, and feeling sexual arousal in terms of wanting to do something on multiple levels instead of simply the biological reflex or “ugh not again”.

Without that “little to” part of the definition of the “little to no sexual attraction” definition of asexuality, there are a lot of people who really wouldn’t have a word for what they are. Asexual would almost fit, but feel like a shrunken sweater; something’s not quite right.

When you almost belong somewhere but don’t entirely, it can feel very isolating. Like you’re not doing “you” right. This is where that specificity comes into play. It gives room for those in that gray space to breathe, a seat at the table when before there was just standing room.

In the words of blogger Siggy in 2012, a self identified gray ace,

Lots of people come to the asexual community, find lots of experiences to identify with, and are glad to finally have a word to describe themselves. But some of those people will feel that they don’t technically fit into the definition of asexual. Are these people supposed to abandon the possibility of a self-identity because of a technicality? Are they to permanently feel like outsiders to the asexual community?

“Gray-A” is a solution to these questions. A gray-A is someone who finds asexuality to be a useful idea, in the sense that it approaches a self-description, even if it does not quite fit. This allows a space where you can have an identity, fit on the ace spectrum, and feel at home in your community, without being disqualified by an arbitrary definition.

There are many, many terms under the asexuality spectrum that delve into specific experiences, some of which go into the gray area and some that do not but that still describe a very specific experience. There is an effort to put language to the unknown, to be better understood.

Even within those served by the definition of no sexual attraction, there is nuance to language discussing specific relationships to sex and sexuality. Terms that describe individual favorability towards sex, or that describe importance of tertiary attraction, for example.

This thread focused on demisexual and graysexual because they’re more widely used. But it’s worth noting these labels do not serve everyone who exists in that in between space. Here is an expanded list of asexuality spectrum labels by asexuals.net.

I personally also use “gray ace” or just “ace” if I don’t feel like explaining myself. But that’s just me. Everyone is different. Everyone is served by different pieces of language and labels. Some are served best by no labels at all. There’s no wrong way to label your aceness.

Labels are magnets on your queer fridge. You can put as many on there as you feel are right for you, and if you stop liking one, you can take it off and stick it in your magnet drawer.

And that gray area? It matters. If you belong in it, you are welcome in ace spaces. I promise.

if you liked this post you can support me on patreon this pride month 🏳️‍🌈

[exoticabl4]

How to actually stick to your habits ?

Hello, my loves. This post will be, as you've read it in the title, about how to stay committed to your habits. So without further ado, let's start.

1. Don't start off too strong.

You've got to know that your brain always wants your safety and your comfort. Your old habits provided you with both of these, even if they were unhealthy, and even if the pleasure was very short and temporary. Therefore, it is very normal that your brain will keep dwelling in your old habits and routines. So never start off too strong, otherwise it'll be very hard for you to stay committed. What I recommend doing, is to identify 8 habits that will highly benefit you, and get you closer to your goals. Instead of adding those 8 habits to your day all at once since day one, you're going to add 2 habits a week. Focus on progress, rather than perfection. At the end of your first month, you'll find yourself with 8 new habits. Give yourself the time to get used to each habit, so about a week or more (depending on how hard the habit is).

And before you come to me, I know that the average duration to implement a habit in your life is 21 days, but the goal here is not to be used to it at a 100%, the goal is to lessen the unfamiliarity, so that the brain can stop dwelling in the old habits.

2. Focus on the end-goal.

Sometimes, we tend to focus on how hard the task/habit is, rather than the end-goal that will result from the consistency of the habit. Therefore, try to remind yourself of the end-goal. My experience with this has been IMMACULATE. To focus on the end-goal, I make Pinterest boards. Personally, studying and reviewing for exams is something that I absolutely dread, so in order to get myself to enjoy it or make it more bearable, i made a Pinterest board with the lifestyle i wanna have in my early 20s. So it contains pics of my dream uni, the country i wanna be living in, the life i wanna be leading. Whenever i feel too lazy or demotivated to study or review stuff, i go back to my Pinterest board to remind myself of my end-goal. And when I tell you that each time i do this, i get the best grade of my class, and when i really put my mind into it, i get the best grade of my whole promotion.

3. Realize how simple your task is with this technique.

Many times, we don't see the habit for what it is, but rather for some kind of absolutely dreadful and unbearable task that's impossible to achieve. So what I do to simplify it, is that i write down in my notes what my most productive day would look like, and compared to the tasks that I set to myself, i start to view that as some really simple stuff. To give you an idea of how it works, I'll do what i do best : give an example.

I wanna learn Spanish, last year i was very consistent with it, but the last few months, I really procrastinated and got lazier, like, even spending my daily 15 minutes of Duolingo seemed like a torture, so i decided to use this technique. I wrote down what my ideal spanish learning session was, and it kind of looked like this :

45 minutes of Duolingo

Learning 3 new pages of vocabulary from my notebook

Using each newly learned word in a sentence

Do a conjugation lesson/ learn the conjugation of an irregular verb

Listen to a short story in Spanish, and write down new and unfamiliar vocabulary

Next to this routine, 15 minutes on Duolingo looked very simple and easy, even too little, and now it is wayy easier for me to stick to habits.

4. Always have an alternative.

You got me there, we all have our bad days, low-energy days, and it is very hard, if not impossible, to get anything done on these days. That's why you should give each of your habits an alternative. Let's say you wanted to workout an hour a day, but you came back home absolutely exhausted. Instead of the intense 1 hour workout, have a less intense and easier alternative for it, or maybe a shorter one, or you could go for a walk instead, after all, the end goal is to move your body, you do you, you know what works best for you.

That was all for today's post, hope it helped. Bye, my loves 💗

[thetravelingmaster]

Short Story: Different Stages of Awakenings

Narrator Point of View

It is always so fascinating to witness how differently each of them reacts the first time they wake up and they truly realize that their minds have been corrupted to the point that they’ve lost the ability to control their own will. 

Most of them react in predictable ways, but not all. Interestingly enough, I've discovered that all of their initial reactions fall under a few select categories that include the classic stages of grief and loss.

Not surprisingly, the most popular reaction I see is Denial. For those who are not too familiar with the kink of mind control, they wake up with the firm belief that it couldn't possibly be real. Up to that moment, nothing in their lives prepared them to experience the utter loss of control my talents create in them. They simply cannot accept their new reality. After all, what self respecting young adult would believe that brainwashing or hypnosis can render them so helpless? 

Their sense of self shrinks as they repeatedly deny the reality they see before them. Of course, that feeling stays with them for a while, but as with all my little playthings, it eventually fades and crumbles as the pleasure slowly corrupts them in a different way.

Another unsurprising reaction is Anger. 

A completely normal emotion to experience when you awaken to the realization that you've been tricked into a servitude you didn't wish for. They resist their new reality with every fiber of their bodies even if they can't break free. They curse and threaten with the most colorful of languages, but it all falls flat as they keep being compelled to obey. There is a lot of pleasure to be milked out of that intense anger as I watch it fade until their fire is finally snuffed out by their own pleasure.

I must admit, that intense resistance renders their inevitable surrender taste so much sweeter.

Bargaining is also a fairly common reaction. 

Usually, when they react in this way, it indicates a certain level of intelligence and understanding. They awaken to their new controlled reality and instead of letting their emotions take over, they calmly think things through and try to bargain their way out of their unwanted predicament. It is so entertaining to listen to what their minds come up with to try and escape their fate. The most popular offer I get is the promise to forget everything and not call the authorities on me if I would just let them leave.

I always chuckle when they do because even if they seem brighter than most, they still seem to forget that if I can take control of them so completely, I can also make them forget. Which is a much better guarantee than any promise they could give me.

One reaction I see a little less is Depression.

It is not that they accept their new situation, far from it in fact. They simply feel overwhelmed and they can’t hold back their tears when they realize how much they’ve lost. Of course, I make it my mission to show them what they’ve gained in exchange. I’ve rarely seen that emotion last for very long, especially when I take care to introduce them to the powerful pleasure they can experience under my care. Little by little, they all come to understand that as much as my control of their minds removes their will, it also enhances their pleasure to heights they couldn’t reach otherwise.

Eventually, they all reach the same stage: Acceptance.

When a subject awakens and skips all those stages and immediately accepts their new controlled reality, I’ve found that they usually fall into 2 subcategories of acceptance. The first of which is very close to depression as they calmly accept their fate and mourn the loss of their freedom. However, I’ve had the delightful surprise to come upon a few that fall in a much different type of acceptance. Those rare gems wake up and take in their surroundings with a sly smile as if they can’t believe that this isn’t a dream.

There is a unique kind of anticipatory tremor that inevitably shakes their bodies as they look at me, hope oozing from their gaze while I inform them of what was done to them. I’ve had some of them laugh out loud while others become impossibly aroused. These diamonds in the rough are powerfully entertaining, especially those that feel the need to thank me for taking them like I have. 

Eventually of course, that particular sentiment is shared to all my little playthings. Regardless of how much they resist or curse me, I make a point to show them the pleasure and freedom they can achieve once they truly give into the control I have over them. Some of them get there after just one night while others need to go through several stages before they can truly embrace the pleasure I offer.

It’s always infinitely entertaining to take a new plaything and wonder how they’ll react at their awakening. Sometimes I’m right on the money while other times, they completely surprise me. Everyone is different… Unique… That infinite mystery is definitely a big part of what I enjoy with them.

If you exclude the obvious pleasure I receive in exchange of course…

[soft-bellied-tannies]

Chubtober Day 19!

Today's Chubtober prompt is Virtual from fatguarddog's list. This is definitely an idea that I hope to expand on one day with a deeper look into the build-up between Namjinkook, especially the side stories with Vminkook roommates and their own relationships.

---

Jungkook had convinced himself to create an anonymous account and start connecting with online feeders after finding that simply viewing content just wasn’t enough for him anymore.

He thought it was the perfect way to participate in his kink consensually without physically committing.

He put his editing skills to good use, creating impressively believable morphs of his own photos. 

He had met a few men and women that he tried to connect with, but all of them were a bit too intense or demanding for his taste.

Jungkook just wanted to participate in a fun little roleplay for his own pleasure.

He never intended to even show his face, let alone build a relationship with anyone online. 

It was honestly just going to be Jungkook using his old college pictures when he was very into working out as before pictures with some pictures of himself now with a bit of editing as progress photos.

He was still a lanky guy, just without his previous muscular stature.

It was completely hypothetical for his enjoyment, rarely even eating the foods his online "feeders" suggested and never accepting the money they attempted to send for his groceries or deliveries. 

All that changed when he met Jin and Namjoon.

The couple had been dating for years, spending the past few years in a feedism dynamic until Namjoon hit his personal weight limit.

Very forthcoming with their own interests and experiences, Jungkook was overcome with his attraction for Namjoon when Jin walked them through the entire process of his partner's gain.

They were kind and encouraging, understanding and compassionate all on top of checking every single one of Jungkook’s boxes for his interests. 

They knew all the methods, tips, and boundaries.

Jin was motivated and invested in Jungkook’s progress while Namjoon gave him suggestions and guidance through his supposed big meals and growing size.

Jungkook kept telling himself to back out as he got more invested, but he couldn’t walk away from them so he continued taking random photos of himself in oversized clothes to edit more and more weight on his unchanged body. 

It all came to a frantic, desperate moment when Jin and Namjoon asked him to meet in person.

Jungkook had slipped up, telling them about his annoying new neighbors which led to a conversation about the struggles of the Seoul rental scene.

The moment the couple found out their online “feedee” lived in the same city, it seemed silly to limit their relationship to virtual means. 

Jungkook was overwhelmed and made the ridiculous decision to stuff himself silly before their first date.

He knew a few days was nowhere near enough time to even put on a pound, but Jungkook still ate and ate until he couldn’t anymore. 

The panic binge ended in nothing more than some uncomfortable bloating and indigestion - absolutely nothing to physically show for his poor decision.

His roommates, Jimin and Taehyung, had to listen to his spiral as he forced himself to eat an entire box of choco pies.

Jungkook claimed that if he ate enough to at least look bloated, their reactions may not be as bad.

Jimin told him it was a stupid decision, but if the couple truly liked him, they would understand if he explained himself.

He also scolded Jungkook for eating like that with no prep or research because he was making Jimin nauseous just by watching him push through all the food he ate in a matter of days. 

Taehyung just kept telling him to let the couple feed him for real.

He could see that Jungkook was already falling for them and wanting to give in to his interests so he needed to fully enjoy this opportunity for a fun and healthy relationship. 

With the bolstering words of his best friends and the intense hope for happiness with Jin and Namjoon, he showed up at the cafe with a stomach ache and a speech to admit his wrongdoings of basically catfishing this sweet couple into thinking he was actively gaining. 

Although Namjoon and Jin were shocked to see a skinny, cute guy show up for the date, it didn’t detour them in any way.

They had fallen for Jungkook’s sweet personality and passionate enthusiasm before any discussion of his weight was even on the table. 

Also, Jin made it quite clear that if Jungkook was consenting, they would have a fantastic time feeding Jungkook for real - tracking his gain and hitting actual goals.

With that in-person dynamic and a thriving relationship, Jungkook would certainly need new clothes sooner rather than later, but he never needed to edit his photos again.

[writtenformyeyes]

The Hulk

disclaimer: my stories are AI assisted. I make the ideas myself and several edits myself but the brunt of it is through AI.

A small silvery-white spirit drifted into view, slipping through the Hulk's ear. A shudder ran through his massive body, a subtle twitch in the otherwise immovable muscles. Now standing before the mirror, I marveled at the colossal figure reflected back at me. The Hulk's body, now mine to command, exuded power and masculinity in every inch.

"Damn, Hulk," I muttered, my voice deeper and more resonant than I'd ever heard it before, "you're even more impressive up close." Running my hands over the hard, chiseled contours of his chest, I felt the dense mass of muscle beneath my touch. "Look at these pecs," I murmured, flexing them in the mirror. "You could bounce a quarter off these bad boys." The light dusting of hair that covered my body only added to the Hulk's rugged appeal, accentuating the definition of his muscles and hinting at his primal nature. "And the hair.. man.. love it," I added, reaching up to run my fingers through it. Moving down to his arms, I couldn't help but admire their sheer size and power. "These guns," I said, flexing my newly stolen biceps and watching as they bulged impressively. "They could crush steel."

But it was when I glanced down at my thighs that I truly felt a surge of excitement. "And check out the legs," I exclaimed, admiring their sheer size. "No wonder you can leap tall buildings in a single bounce." With a mischievous grin, I turned to the side and lifted my arm, bringing it close to my face. "Let's see what you've got hiding under these pits," I said, taking a deep whiff. "Mmm, manly."

Bringing the Hulk's massive arm down, I marveled at the sheer size of his manhood, a testament to the raw power and virility of his body. Cupping his large penis and massive balls, I couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement coursing through me. "Wow," I muttered, my voice echoing with a primal intensity. "This is incredible. You're quite a beast.. or well I am now."

With trembling fingers, I explored the incredible girth and power of his manhood, every touch sending a jolt of pleasure racing through my veins. As I grasp his massive cock, I couldn't suppress the low moan that escaped my lips. It was a deep, primal sound, resonating with the raw energy that pulsed through the Hulk's body.

The sensation was overwhelming, exhilarating, as if every touch, every movement, was magnified a hundredfold in intensity. Each pulse of pleasure seemed to reverberate through my entire being, leaving me trembling with anticipation for more. "Oh fuck yes," I gasped, my voice a husky whisper. "This is what I've been craving."

As the echoes of pleasure faded away, a heavy wave of exhaustion crashed over me, the incredible strain of the magical experience finally catching up. With a deep, rumbling sigh, I collapsed onto the hard ground, the Hulk's colossal body unable to withstand the sexual pleasure any longer. A strange sensation washed over my being, as if something unseen were pulling me away from the massive form I had borrowed. With a sudden burst the silvery-white spirit that had entered through the Hulk's ear emerges from his towering cock before disappearing into the ether. With my connection severed, I managed to muster control of the Hulk's deep, resonant voice, "Well, that was quite the ride. But it's time for me to go." Who should I seek next?

[cosmicjoke]

Lestat, Tale of the Body Thief and THAT scene

Okay, well... now I see exactly what it is that’s got so many fans hating on “TotBT”, lol.  So... Lestat rapes a woman.  That’s hard to swallow, no doubt.  Really hard.  But also, it would be easy to get caught up in the act itself and ignore all the surrounding factors which lead up to it, and I don’t want to do that, because this is a very complex scenario which unfolded and ended in tragic circumstances, and obviously, it’s rich with psychological implications about Lestat and where he is at this point in the story, and where he’s going to end up. 

First, I just want to say, so nobody attacks me, I’m not making excuses for Lestat’s actions here.  What he did was wrong.  Even he acknowledges it was wrong, and makes no excuses for himself.  But I’ll also say that I believe there are several contributing factors to what Lestat does that are essential in understanding it, and while the act itself is vile and evil, it doesn’t make Lestat evil, and I want to explain why. 

Well, first, Lestat has been a vampire for more than 200 years at this point.  He’s killed... thousands of people.  And each time he kills a person as a vampire, that in itself is tantamount to a sexual act.  Sucking blood gives the same pleasure to a vampire as the act of intercourse does to a human, only infinitely more intense and satisfying.  There’s also the fact that Lestat has grown used to enjoying playing with his human victims.  He’s grown to enjoy the struggle of them fighting back before he eventually kills them.  It’s something he’s become accustomed to, as a vampire.  And in his encounter here with this woman, it’s in thinking about his experiences with drinking blood that actually gets him in the mood for sex.  He’s viewing the experience, whether he realizes it or not, through the lens of his experiences as a vampire.  So he’s already in a more aggressive mindset.

“This was good, even if her mouth was bad tasting.  Didn’t matter.  But then my mind raced ahead to blood.  Drink her blood.

Where was the pounding intensity of drawing near the victim, of the moment right before my teeth pierced the skin and the blood spilled all over my tongue? 

No, it’s not going to be that easy, or that consuming.  It’s going to be between the legs and more like a shiver, but this is some shiver, I’ll say that.

Merely thinking of the blood had heightened the passion, and I shoved her roughly down on the bed.  I wanted to finish, nothing else mattered but finishing.”

Lestat later says...

“I saw her again at the moment of my climax, fighting me, and I realized it was utterly inconceivable to her that I could have enjoyed the struggle, enjoyed her rage and her protests, enjoyed conquering her.  But in a paltry and common way, I think I had.”

It’s important to remember that when Lestat attacks human victims as a vampire, in the moment when he sinks his teeth into them, even if they’ve been struggling and fighting against him, they become enraptured, and feel the pleasure he feels as he sucks their blood.  He’s confused and taken aback by her reaction because he was thinking like a vampire, like he has been since switching into a mortal body.  She’s horrified, not enraptured.  He doesn’t understand why because he isn’t at all used to it.  When she tells him to stop, he says

““What the hell are you saying?”  I murmured.  I knew the meaning of these words, yet they didn’t make sense.”

She screams at him to stop again, and Lestat thinks

“But I couldn’t wait.  What the hell made her think this was the time to discuss such a thing, I wondered, in some vague crazed fashion.”

He’s used to approaching this sort of physical gratification as a vampire would, with the rules and boundaries of a vampire, not a human.  He’s been a human at this point for less than 12 hours.  Compare that with 210 years as a vampire, and it’s not so simple to break out of patterns of behavior.   He can no longer think like a human, in fact.

Further, Lestat, I would argue, has little conception of the limitations imposed on human’s by human law, at this point, since such laws haven’t applied to him in more than two centuries.  He hasn’t had sex in more than two centuries either, and the last time he did, it was 1780, at the latest.  The dynamics and expectations between a man and a woman back then were very, very different than they would be in 1990, and Lestat’s entire encounter with this woman is being informed by his boyhood experiences with the girls of his village back in France during the 18th century.  On top of that, Lestat was a Lord, and being a Lord, certain privileges were granted to him, certain things he would have been raised to expect for himself.  Almost certainly, this informed the way he was used to treating women in sexual situations.  Being rough, being dominant, were things he was likely raised to believe were acceptable and even expected when having sexual relations with women.  I know that’s hard to accept, but one of the worst trends of today, I think, is how we expect people from the past to have lived by the moral standards of today, as if any of us would have been any more enlightened or morally superior had we lived in their day and age.  And I know people will argue that Lestat SHOULD know better because he’s been alive for 200 + years and would be aware of the changing moral and social standards in that time.  But, again, remember, Lestat has been a vampire for all that time, not a human being.  The same moral and social standards which apply to all of us, wouldn’t and shouldn’t apply to him.  He would have no cause to even pay attention to shifting moral standards over the centuries.  There would be no point, as they would mean nothing to him, they wouldn’t have any impact or effect on his life, etc...  There’s also the fact the woman invited Lestat back to her apartment specifically to have sex with him.  She wanted to, and she plied him with wine beforehand, for over an hour, so that he was stinking drunk and couldn’t even walk on his own when she lead him back to her apartment.  So it isn’t the sort of case where Lestat just raped some random woman off the street.  This was a consensual sexual encounter which turned non-consensual.  As is often the case with Lestat, he got carried away in the moment and didn’t think.  There wasn’t any actual conscious malice behind it.

Secondly, the circumstances leading up to the rape were really, REALLY fucked up.  Lestat was... not in a good place.  He’s now in a human body, which, reading this chapter made clear, he was wholly, utterly, even tragically unprepared for.  He got completely and horrifically bamboozled by Reglan James, left penniless, without any means of getting anywhere, or even getting any food.  He’s basically in a total state of panic and completely terrified, as you would be suddenly being in the body of a weak, pitiful, and filthy mortal after spending the vast, VAST majority of your life as an extremely powerful, supernatural being.  Lestat figures out that Reglan has duped him, taken all his money, left him without any food or clothes or means of travel, left in a house with a giant hole in the wall which exposes Lestat to the winter elements, which, again, he’s wholly unprepared to deal with, and he has no way to really get help even.  Lestat is too terrified even to try and contact the other immortals he knows, because he knows how angry they’ll be at him for going through with this reckless insanity, that likely, they wouldn’t help him anyway, and may even try to punish him for it.  So he’s alone, stuck in a body he scarcely knows how to use, experiencing all the awful sensations and bodily functions of being mortal which, again, he hasn’t known at all since he was 20 years old back in 1780.  He’s scared shitless, and trying to rally himself to go out and do what he had hoped to do, which is experience what it’s like to once again be alive.  He keeps telling himself to stop being a coward, to be the hero he set out to be by taking life’s difficulties in stride and continuing on through it, no matter how bad it gets.

So that’s what he tries to do.  Even as the bleak and terrifying reality of the situation he’s gotten himself into starts to set in, he tries to rally through it with his usual hope and optimism, even convincing himself that Raglan WILL come back and give him back his body as promised, and he just has to make it through this one day as planned.  Lestat is falling back on his old methods of denial to get himself through the horror of his situation, and you absolutely have to feel for him.  It’s sad, it really is.  My heart was breaking for him through this whole, awful sequence.

And with that, the truly fascinating and revealing part of all this comes to the fore.  Lestat is, for the first time in more than 200 years, experiencing just how terrible it is to be a regular human being.  He goes through things he hasn’t had to even think about in two centuries, like relieving himself, having to purge his body after he eats and drinks, feeling the filth and dirt clinging to his skin, which is porous and absorbent in a way he isn’t at all used to, being physically frail and vulnerable in a way he hasn’t known since he was 20 years old, feeling the fear of that vulnerability, experiencing things through senses which are greatly, almost inconceivably diminished.  And that may be most crucial element of all in what ends up happening. 

Lestat went into this endeavor having built up in his mind some idealized fantasy of what being human was like.  He remembers it with the blinding sheen of nostalgia, (something we’re all guilty of) he associates it with a time in his life when he wasn’t as lonely, wasn’t as conflicted morally, when he felt he could still give meaning to his life through acts of good, instead of having to be faced with the crushing pointlessness of his life as a vampire.  So he remembers the struggles of his youth with a romanticized luster.  The winters in his home village in France are remembered with fondness and even longing.  Yet in the present, in this mortal form, he’s faced with the absolute misery of being exposed to the elements without proper protection.  He remembers the hunger and struggle for food as a heroic act, as a testament to his courage and strength as the person who would go hunting and provide food for his family, and protect his village, yet here he’s left without food and with no real way to get it, having no money, faced with sudden pangs of hunger he hasn’t felt in longer than can be conceived.  He remembers his time with Nicki, them getting drunk together and the joy and hope he felt, even when it was a struggle to survive, just from being with his first, true love and best friend.  But here he finds the wine has lost all taste and potency, the food tastes bland and disgusting.  Indeed, everything around him seems to have lost its luster, its beauty, its meaning.  And that’s really the crux of why what happens, happens, and why this is all so tragic.

Lestat didn’t at all account for how being in a mortal form again would rob the world of it’s beauty.  He underestimated profoundly the impact of losing his vamipiric abilities, both in terms of staving off physical suffering, and in terms of how his vampiric abilities enhance the world around him, allowing him to see beauty in it that a mortal being is incapable of seeing. 

His experience with the woman highlights this in the most awful way, really, because in his encounter with her, in this human form, he’s lost the ability to see and appreciate the beauty in another human being in the same way.  Ironically, in a truly tragic irony, Lestat’s vampirism is, in it’s way, what allowed him to appreciate life as much as he did. 

He’s been a vampire for so long, that he doesn’t at all remember what it’s like to be human, and how much suffering it actually entails.  He had the same optimism as a mortal as he does as a vampire, of course.  That was a trait Lestat was born with and carried over into his vampirism.  It’s part of his personality, not a result of his being a vampire.  And it could exist with him in his mortal body of so long ago because he was used to suffering.  He was conditioned to it, and could handle it, his natural hope able to carry on through it.  But Lestat isn’t at all used to that suffering any more.  The suffering of being in a fragile, needy, weak mortal body.  All of Lestat’s suffering as a vampire has been mental and emotional, based in concept and philosophy.  His body is basically godlike, basically invulnerable and perfect.  He’s forgotten what it is to suffer physically.  And he’s hit full in the face with that suffering here, and he isn’t in the least way prepared for it.  He wants desperately to revel in the sensations and experiences of being human again, as he remembered doing as a boy, but he finds it impossible, because he wasn’t at all prepared or ready for the actual hardship involved with being human.  He’s too busy suffering to enjoy anything.

So now we come back to what happens with the woman from the cafe, and what I can see are the tragic consequences of how this will likely play out with Lestat’s character in the future. 

Being thrust so suddenly back into the form of a mortal being, with senses incredibly dulled in comparison to what he’s grown used to, and plagued by the pathetic weakness and uselessness of the human form, being faced so suddenly with the merciless and brutal reality of what it is to be human, so totally unprepared and unsuspecting as he was, Lestat loses his appreciation for the beauty of humanity and the world, for the supposed sanctity of life and being alive, for the mystery and grandeur with which he saw the world through his vampiric eyes.  Everything is at once a horrible experience.  A sickening struggle and wretched disappointment.  Everything seems to Lestat, suddenly, worthless and ordinary.

With tragic irony, it’s being in the form of a human being which robs Lestat of his humanity.  Because being a vampire allowed Lestat to see things with so much clarity, so much focus, so much intensity and feeling, that the way things appear to him through mortal eyes is utterly devoid of any feeling, any beauty, any color or intensity.  Everything seems dead to him, where before it seemed completely alive.  Where before he saw things with the aesthetic value of his philosophy, now everything appears valueless. 

He keeps looking at this woman and he can’t understand why she seems so ugly to him.  She looks common and drab and unremarkable.  And he’s aware that, were he himself, were he the vampire Lestat, he would see in her great beauty and value.  He would find her noble and wonderful, the way he did the old woman at the beginning of the story.  But he can’t see this woman that way anymore, because he’s looking at her through mortal eyes.  The same way the entire world has lost its beauty to him.  Not just this woman.  Everything.  The taste of food is horrible, the taste of alcohol is disgusting, his body feels repulsive to him and hopelessly weak, the experience of sex is short lived and limited, the sense of vulnerability and fear is suffocating, the feel of the horrid, outside and ugly world being able to effect and touch him is a nightmare.

Lestat feels horrible for what he did to this woman, and I believe his wish to somehow make it up to her is genuine.  His apologies are genuine.  His shame is genuine.  But he’s also been so removed from humanity for so long, that he can no longer relate to her fear and horror of him, he can no longer understand why she reacted the way she did to what happened between them.  He hasn’t been human in more than 200 years, and being in the body of a mortal has done nothing but remind him of how inhuman he really is.  His feelings of remorse are real, but his ability to connect to her human suffering is gone.  It’s why he doesn’t realize that stopping to make a phone call to one of his agents, right in the middle of apologizing to her and promising to make it up to her with some impossible gift, is so insulting and outrageous.  He doesn’t relate to her as a human being any longer.  He no longer even really knows what it is to be human. 

“I tried to see her as if I were really Lestat.  But I couldn’t do it.  She appeared a common thing, utterly worthless, not even interesting.  I was vaguely horrified.  Had it been that way in my boyhood village?  I tried to remember those girls, those girls dead and gone for centuries, but I couldn’t see their faces.  What I remember was happiness, mischief, a great exuberance that had made me forget for intermittent periods the deprivation and hopelessness of my life.  

What did that mean in this moment?  How could this whole experience have been so unpleasant, so seemingly pointless?  Had I been myself I would have found her fascinating as an insect is fascinating; even her little rooms would have appeared quaint to me, in their worst, most uninspiring details!  Ah, the affection I always felt for all sad little mortal habitats.  But why was that so!

And she, the poor being, she would have been beautiful to me simply because she was alive!  I could not have been sullied by her had I fed on her for an hour.  As it was, I felt filthy for having been with her, and filthy for being cruel to her.  I understood her fear of disease!  I, too, felt contaminated!  But where lay the perspective of truth?”

He’s being forced to realize that there really is no going back to being a mortal man.  That he can never regain what he once was when he was mortal.  He forgot just how much lesser everything was for him as a human, how much less potent all his senses were, how much duller everything felt and tasted, how much of a struggle it was just to move and even think.  His experiences with being a vampire, his abilities as a vampire, have rendered it impossible for him to ever appreciate life in the same way as a mortal.  It isn’t that Lestat was like this when he was truly mortal.  He wasn’t a monster.  He just didn’t have anything else by which to measure his experiences back then.  Everything seemed great and wondrous to him because there was nothing better that he knew.  But having been a vampire for 200 years, what impressed and delighted and awed him as a mortal no longer is able to at all.  Everything seems dreary and colorless and meaningless to him now as he looks at it with mortal eyes.  Everything seems disgusting and pointless. 

To go on, he remembers his sexual experiences with the girls of his home village as moments of genuine happiness, as moments when he could escape the general suffering, deprivation and hopelessness of his life.  And Lestat, with this woman, tries with reckless desperation to recapture that feeling, that happiness.  But nothing is the same.  He’s drunk and cold and deeply uncomfortable and feeling repulsed by everything.  When he walks into the bedroom and finds her naked and waiting for him, he feels nothing for her.  He isn’t taken by her beauty, he isn’t interested in her, he feels none of the same exuberance that he remembers from his youth.  He’s desperate to experience something, anything, that will live up to his memory of being a mortal man, because everything up to this point has been, not just a disappointment, but a nightmare of suffering and despair.  And his experience with this woman starts out with the promise of maybe, finally being able to recapture the glittering memories of his mortality. 

“Now, this was a pleasant sensation.  I bent my head and kissed her throat.  Yes, this was nice also.  It was nothing as exciting as closing on a victim, but it was nice.  I tried to remember what it had been like two hundred years ago when I was the terror of the village girls.  Seems some farmer was always at the castle gates, cursing me and swinging his fist at me and telling me that if his daughter was with child by me, I’d have to do something about it!  It had all seemed such wonderful fun at the time.  And the girls, oh the lovely girls.”

“Suddenly her hand touched my organ, startling me, and then bringing about an immediate excitement.  I felt the organ lengthen and grow hard.  The sensation was entirely concentrated, and yet it galvanized me.  When I looked at her breasts now, and down at the small fur triangle between her legs, my organ grew even more hard.  Yes, I remember this all right; my eyes are connected to it, and nothing else matters now, hmmm, all right.  Just get her down on the bed.”

Lestat gets lost in wanting the experience, for just this one experience, to live up to his memories of being mortal. 

“But how far was this experience from what I had expected.  Oh, ye gods.  Here I was talking about thinking when I’d thought I would be enjoying!  Ah, I’d thought I would be immersed in sensations, immersed in memories, immersed in discoveries; and now all I could do was think how to hold back! 

The truth was, I’d envisioned pleasure, a variety of pleasures- eating, drinking, a woman in my bed, then a man.  But none of what I’d experienced was even vaguely pleasurable so far. 

Well, I was to blame for this shameful situation, and I could make it change.”

He approaches the problem with the same self-belief and optimism with which he approaches everything.  This idea that if he just tries hard enough, he can make it good.  Despite all evidence screaming in his face that this was a mistake and being mortal just sucks, he’s determined to make it work, convinced that the problem is just with him having a lack of courage.  And being with this woman is the first experience he’s had all night that seems like it might just do it, might just give him the experience of being mortal he was looking for.  But then, it’s anything but. 

“The whole thing seemed overwhelmingly dismal.  It filled me with despair.  The pleasure itself had been nothing!  I can’t bear this, I thought, not a moment longer.  If I could have reached James, I would have offered him another fortune, just to return at once.”

I think it’s important within the context of ALL of this to judge Lestat’s actions, rather than just the actions alone.  It’s easy to write Letat off as an irredeemable monster for what he does here, but that’s really too easy, I think, and fails to take into account the incredible complexity and nuance of why this happened, and why it has the effect on Lestat that it does.

Lestat says to her, after he realizes how he’s hurt her:

“Listen to me, ma chere, I’m so sorry.  Things simply went wrong.  I know.  I’m sorry.”

She replies by trying to slap him, and says “Get out... Get out or I’ll call the police.”

“I understand what you’re saying to me.  It’s been forever since I did it.  I was clumsy.  I was bad.”

“You’re worse than bad!”

This is really laying the foundation for Lestat sinking further into this self-image he has of his own monstrosity.  He thought he could find redemption by becoming a mortal again.  He thought he could recapture the innocence of his mortal life by switching into the body of a mortal man, that he could escape the monstrosity of what he had become.  But instead, all being in the body of a mortal has accomplished is making him feel and act more inhuman, more removed from his humanity.

And you can see where this might lead, to Lestat relinquishing his fond memories of his mortality, his dreadful and horrific experiences now making him believe he was never happy as a mortal, that he must have misremembered and that being mortal was never any good, never a joy for him.  Which, inevitably, will lead to a reinforcement of his belief that he’s always been a monster.  That he’s always been a  bad person who’s only happiness has ever come with him being a vampire, with him committing monstrous acts. He won’t realize that it isn’t that, but simply an inability to go back to what he once was because he’s been what he is for too long now.

You mix these awful experiences and realizations with Raglan James’ manipulations of him beforehand, and I can see how this is going to have a devastating impact on how Lestat sees himself in the future, and thus, how he acts.  It’s truly, truly tragic. 

[growingfeedeeinfrance]

Bonjour Porcelet!🐷 As the feedee gainer community tends to be most prominent in the Anglosphere it's always delightful to encounter those from other cultures & countries discovering the delights of feedism & making it their own! It just shows our innate desire to get fat is such a truly universal impulse for aǁ of us! But I'm curious to ask how you as a French gainer girl view your experience striving to grow fatter with all of France's differing cultural attitudes to diet body-image & cuisine?

Ouch tough question😅 [TW: fatphobia, ED, suicide] I think my story is similar to those in the anglosphere but I can still share x)

The first thing I have to talk about is fatphobia. I was put on a diet at FIVE years old. I wasn't even allowed to go to Bday parties because of the sweets.

So I came to discover feedism at the same time as I began to struggle with eating disorders. I was 10/11 years old, anorexic and already fascinated by fat girls stuffing themselves online. I used to actually have a journal were I would write every synonyms, idioms etc related to being fat, repeating them all in my head to myself before falling asleep.

My teens years were hard because I tried so hard to suppress this kink, I was so ashamed of it, and of my body. Even though I was super fit and skinny. I basically tried for 10 years to get rid of this desire, a form of self-made "therapy conversation" rooted in the shame my mother's fatphobia (and society's) had ingrained in me. I guess the fact that everything was in english online made it a bit more "distanced" and easy to deal with? But I did have the same feelings toward that one episode from the Totally Spies ;)

It was only when I was 20, that I finally opened up to my partner about my kink because I just felled so sad and lonely. I had tried making connections in the online feedism community but I always failed 😅 Along the way I realized that the french langage didn't carry as much attraction and seduction to me when it came to feedism. Like I'm sorry you all but talking to me in french about feedism stuff is just almost always "anti-sexy" 😅

It wasn't for them so I didn't start anything IRL. But after my 2nd attempt at suicide, and during the 1st pandemic lockdown, I started gaining weight (because of some medications + lockdown I guess). I just had to ask myself what I wanted in life and who I wanted to be.

So I realized I was trans (I'm enby!) and that I wanted to pursue this kink in real life as much as I could. So I slowly started to center pleasure in my food habits, and tried to let go of the shame and the guilt (still trying). I have a malformation that makes it impossible for me to stuff myself (I throw up really easily) but I still tried to gradually increase my capacity.

I still feel sad and lonely because I fear that I will never meet someone in real life to share this kink with me. In all the spheres of my life (education, friends, activism...), I'm the fat one now. Which kind of drives me crazy because I'm not even that fat?!? And I'm just like "where are the other fat people?!?"

Even in diverse, kinky and sex positive places, feedism is always new to people and most of those spaces centers thin people. (I'm not "masc" enough to go to bear places 😅). Fatphobia is really pervasive in every spaces, and it's really hard to live through. For instance, EVERY transmasc spaces will center "thin/fit" bodies as the GOAL for transition. Like I want a more masculine body but I don't want to be thin. I want to keep my boobs and have less hips to reduce the "hourglass" body I have. It's super hard (almost impossible) to find cute, masc clothes that fit me. All of the environmental groups I'm in put big importance in highly physical activities and put fitness forward all the time. There is no relaxing or enjoying our bodies. WE HAVE TO BE FIT and want it. Public transport is also hard because the seats are so tiny (same in education). And fatphobia is still intense in medical places (like I went to see a cardiologist because my mom has heart issues and she told me my heart was super healthy but I still had to lose weight. why? no idea), and in familial settings (it's just for your heath etc etc).

Gaining would be soooo much easier if society wasn't so fatphobic. I hate it so much because I still have those moments where I feel I should try to lose weight because I fear I'm becoming "too ugly" (especially as a transmasc person) and I'll end up alone. And I've decided to center the relationships I have in my life and I don't want my partners to be disgusted by my body. That's why I never share my videos/photos with them and I only post on Tumblr. Thank you all for the feedist community online, I don't know where I'll be without it.

For the cuisine, having spent some times in the US, I have to admit that France's diversity in food makes gaining all the more enjoyable. And while yes, a lot of the food is centered around thinness/healthyness, most traditional dishes are much more hearty and fattening!!! (and delicious!!) And my sweet tooth is just in looove with french pastries!!! But I admit I like my twice a week american fast food x)

I don't know if I've really answered your question, don't hesitate if you want more details about some specific aspects of my experience in France!

[lady-thorn]

The Dragon's Hoard Pt 2

Summary: Aemond surprises Ravella.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC!fem

Warnings: Smut. Fluff. ESL, please be patient.

Word count: +8k

Disclaimer: Computer and internet issues got in the way, but now everything is normal. Feedback appreciated. Another long, unedited story. It starts where part 1 left off, and it’s growing. *gulps*

Edit: In the haste to post this, I ended up not thanking you for the likes. I wasn’t expecting such a good response. 🥰

***

“Why did you stop?” Ravella inquired, sitting on the bed as soon as her husband of two hours stepped back into view.

Aemond arched a brow. “Aren’t you relieved I did?”

“Reliev—” her jaw dropped. Anger overtook her, so she flung a pillow at him. “No, I’m not relieved! I was quite enjoying being ravished and…” an idea occurred. One she shouldn’t contemplate, but now, it was impossible not to, “Do you regret marrying me?”

“What a ridiculous idea!” he scoffed. Then, the grimace disappeared, and he sat next to her, asking, “Do you think I would?”

“I don’t know. You tell me. You stopped making love to me and jumped away as I had the plague.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you, Ravella,” Aemond’s fingers traced the shape of her eyebrows. “I just needed time.”

“What for?”

“Calm down. I don’t want to rush this. It’s your first time, after all.”

“I thought you didn’t want me anymore.”

“By the gods, butterfly. Of course I want you. More than I want anything. It’s just that… you know I’ve done this before, don’t you?”

“I experienced your previous experiences first hand, husband,” she grimaced.

Aemond, however, didn’t smile — the reason why he’d keep all his teeth. “I mean, the first time I laid with a woman, it was courtesy of Aegon’s. He took me to a brothel when I was thirteen, ignorant or uncaring of my lack of preparation. I enjoyed it — not the deed itself, but my body felt good after. I don’t know if you understand me. Anyway, after that, I took to observing the married couples I knew. The women. I thought of what I could offer the lady I might marry — I was a deformed cripple—”

“Don’t say that!” she held his face between her hands. “You aren’t deformed, nor a cripple!”

“That’s how I perceived myself, Ravella,” he smiled. “How everyone perceived me, really. But as I was saying, I took to watching people with more intensity than usual. I didn’t consider myself a catch, because I had more flaws than qualities, and was a second son with no wealth of my own. The women I laid with had to be paid, or I could abuse the servants like Aegon. I considered both options beneath me; I wasn’t so hideous as to have to pay, and a tumble between the sheets with a servant would still be wrong, even if she wanted me to fuck her. So I turned my sight to Mother’s ladies, as you know. I had to find a way to make up for what I couldn’t offer, to assure my future wife I might look like a monster, but could please her.”

“Aemond,” she exhaled, shaking her head. “You’re so wrong about yourself. You’re worthier than you think, my love.”

“I’m fortunate you think so,” another fond touch to her cheek. “As I was saying, I had to learn how to give pleasure. And I believe I have, because the women I’ve been with came back for more. I developed a technique, which I’ve perfected over the years.”

Ravella didn’t like thinking of how much practice he’d had to accomplish that. “You used it on me?” she frowned, thinking back on the night all the weeks ago when they saw themselves trapped in a tent after he’d rescued her from a spurned suitor.

“No. I learned to watch women to determine what they like, and that night, it was pitch dark. What I did was more instinctual, although I used my hearing to assess your enjoyment… not that enjoyment was the point then, but I was arrogant, because I realized I wanted you for real. No, my use of everything I learned wasn’t as obvious,” he frowned, struggling to explain. “At any rate, I stopped because I remembered something — you aren’t them. I’ve done this before, but never to you. I had to stop before I shamed myself.”

“You were doing pretty well,” she rolled her eyes. “You wouldn’t have shamed yourself.” “Not true. I’d have come the moment I got my cock inside you.”

“That’s the point, isn’t it?” she spread her hands. “What would’ve been so shameful about it?”

“I wasn’t done giving you pleasure, Ravella. Please, try to pay attention.”

“Oh, I see,” she looked down. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but we must consummate our marriage, right?”

“Yes,” he conceded with a gesture of his hand.

“And the things we were doing would lead us to parenthood, right?”

“It isn’t a guarantee, but in general, yes.”

“And I was enjoying it — you noticed that, right?”

“You were, and I did.”

“And you felt bad about being done before me, which is really sweet, but… do you remember I don’t know anything about it? I mean, you’re the first man I’ve ever been with. I want to please you, too,” she got off the bed, and began pacing around. “I’ve heard several women over the years say their husbands cheat. My heart bleeds when I think of you doing that. It aches when I think I might not be enough, because inexperienced or not, I know you are. I love you!”

“So, if I had come right then and there, you wouldn’t have minded?”

“No! If, in your mind, I should like what you do so much as to climax first, then you should do it as well. And if you feel shame for doing it, then so should I!” she knelt on the floor between his legs, gripping his hands between hers. “Aemond, this isn’t a competition. You don’t have to buy my affection. I want to be with you, I don’t need to be convinced of it.”

He nodded, thoughtful. “Thank you for saying that, my love. Still, it is your first time. I can’t just sink into you… your first time shouldn’t be more painful than necessary.”

“I trust you to make it as painless as possible,” she smiled up at him. It was obvious a man with Aemond’s history would berate himself over something so simple. “I thought I’d done something wrong,” she whispered. The memory of kissing his erection under the cover of darkness was still fresh — back then, she’d been embarrassed, rebuking and calling herself names, while another part of her pointed out that, if she couldn’t see it, it’d be easy to forget.

“There isn’t anything wrong about this, Ravella. I merely thought I was being careful.”

“I don’t blame you for it, Aemond. Truly. Just don’t stop.”

“Of course. I apologize for hurting your feelings. Come here,” he said, holding her shoulders. She laughed, throwing herself against him. “What are you laughing about?”

“You touched yourself?” she asked. It was great that her hair was covering her face, because she knew it was as red as a ripe tomato.

Aemond had interrupted the kiss they were sharing as she laid nude beneath him, and paid no heed as she called out while he disappeared from view. About ten minutes later, he resurfaced, and Ravella confronted him about it.

“Yes. I had to make sure your pleasure came first—” at her incredulous look, he insisted, “You have no idea how you affect me, do you?” he didn’t give her time to answer, choosing to kiss her instead. Ravella moaned against his lips. Her frustration at his walking away aside, she was still aroused.

Next thing she knew, she was back on the mattress, with Aemond standing across from her, drinking in the sight of her. “Do you like what you see?” she teased.

“More than you imagine,” he didn’t move.

“Aemond, make love to me,” she asked, eyes half-lidded, parting her legs to show him her drenched cunt.

His eye widened, his lips parted in surprise. Then, he swallowed, and his hands flew to his hips. Ravella leaned on the mattress, raising her upper body to watch as he unfastened the belt, and… her breath caught in her throat when his cock — enormous, thick — sprung into view. It looked heavy. How he could walk carrying something like that was a mystery.

If she didn’t love him so, she’d be afraid of his manhood. As it was, the shudder running down her body was one of wanton need. She wouldn’t care if he destroyed her.

Aemond laid beside her, a hand cupping her breast. She looked down, watching as his fingers played with her flesh, tugging and rubbing until her nipple hardened. Her breathing was failing, but that was good — it showed the stupid man she was liking his caresses.

“I like it now more than I did back in the tent,” she said, tracing the contour of his face.

“But I’ve done nothing of note,” he arched a brow, smirking as she was reminded of everything he’d done last time to prevent them from freezing to death.

She explained, “I mean, it was great that night, but now I get to see you. Makes it a little more real, instead of just a very good dream.”

There were too many emotions to be read in his smile, and each one filled her with joy. Aemond didn’t have the habit of showing his vulnerability to anyone, and that he was letting her see his gratefulness, his relief, made her want to weep. She wished she had a dragon of her own, so she could fly them to a tower away from the world and keep him safe, show him he was loved. For all his reserve and cynicism, Aemond had a soft core — one he was taught to hide at an early age —, therefore, not many knew it.

Now Ravella was graced with the opportunity to know him better than anyone else, because he loved her.

He tensed, his fingers stilling, when she reached out and removed his eyepatch with the same quickness of a Dornish viper. When he made as if to get off the bed, she held his wrist and touched his chin, “Don’t hide from me, Aemond,” she asked, voice soft. “Don’t you believe I love you?”

“Yes, I believe you do,” he said after a few seconds. “But it’s ugly.”

“Nothing about you is ugly,” she rubbed his lips with her thumb. “I admit I wouldn’t like to be injured as you were, but I don’t belittle you for your scar.”

“The scar isn’t the problem,” he said, facing her. His left eye was closed, as it was the morning after her rescue.

Ravella considered it a small victory that he didn’t draw away when her thumb found his scar. “There isn’t a problem. I don’t mind. I love every part of you, even the ones that could be considered flaws. Show me.”

Rumors of his sapphire eye were rampant, but as far as Ravella knew, only the maesters and Queen Alicent had seen it — Ravella wasn’t a friend of Aemond’s, so he hadn’t shown her. To say she was curious was an understatement, but now, the only thing she cared about was easing him, earning more of his trust. Aemond wouldn’t be in peace until he saw for himself that she didn’t belittle him.

He took a shaky breath, chewing on his mouth… and finally opened his eye. Ravella sat on the bed, jaw dropped in awe at the sight of the sapphire… a deep, striking blue stone that could turn anyone blind from staring at it. “Symeon Star-Eyes,” she breathed. “It’s amazing.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You know the story. Symeon Star-Eyes was a hero,” she made him angle his head this way and that so the sapphire caught the light coming from the window and flashed.

“I know the story. I don’t know why you’re calling me that.”

“He put sapphires in his eye sockets after he lost his eyes,” she spread her arms. “He was a fighter, like you.”

Aemond blinked. “You really don’t care, do you?”

“No.”

“You do not see any of my flaws,” he exhaled, clearly overwhelmed by her reaction. “I don’t deserve you, Ravella.”

“And yet the gods are punishing you with me,” she grinned.

“Rewarding,” he corrected. “I can take the sapphire out and put the eyepatch back on, if you want.”

“I told you to not hide. I love you as you are. Eyeless, blind, with a sapphire, without a sapphire. I don’t care about your appearance, Aemond, although I do like it. The only thing that bothers me about your looks is that it’s been a source of suffering for you. That’s all.”

He seemed unsure of it, and even after he nodded, he still looked hesitant. Ravella smiled at him — she’d have to learn to be patient. Just because they were in love didn’t mean they had to act like they knew everything there was to be known about each other.

“Do you believe yourself ugly?” she asked.

He barked out some laughter. “Certainly, I don’t believe I’m a great beauty.”

“Do you think I’d be affected by you as I am if you were some monster out of a children’s story?”

“Affected how?” his brow furrowed. In response, she guided his hand to her inner thighs, wet by her juices. His fingers curled on her flesh, drawing a sigh from her. “I see,” he mumbled.

“Do you?” she smiled, staring at him through half-closed lids. “I can show you more,” she spread her legs, drawing him close. “If you can’t believe my words, then at least believe my body.”

A battle followed, because while Ravella was determined to prove her seriousness — by holding him down and ravishing him —, Aemond was trying to get her off him and take the reins, even if it was clear he was enjoying her attentions. She sighed against his lips when he was able to move her, both of them laying on their sides, chests pressed together. It should be a strange position to be in, with each one roaming their hands over the other, but they made it work. She yelped when his mouth found her breasts, and in response, she held on to his shoulders and rubbed her mound against his thigh, producing a wet, squishing noise she hadn’t heard since the night they made love in the kingswood. Though Aemond was startled by her desire, it wasn’t enough to make him stop, or to make him make her stop.

Mad with lust, burning for him, Ravella thought he was doing his best to elicit a climax from her. “I want you… now,” she said, trying to pull him on top of her.

“You aren’t ready,” he replied, stretching her with two fingers while his thumb circled her swollen clit.

“Please, Aemond. Make me yours,” she got away fast, laying on her back, arms spread and reaching for him. “Now.”

He swallowed. Slowly, he crawled to her, covering her body with his. She sighed at the sensation of his sweaty skin melding to hers, goose bumps breaking out all over her body, a… tingling pulsing in her loins, result of anticipation. She needed him. “It might hurt,” he said, pressing his cock against her to coat it in her juices.

“You won’t let it happen,” she placed a fake bite on his chin. “Though it already does — I want you so much, it hurts. Please,” she breathed out, trying to reach his mouth.

“Seven hells, woman,” he groaned, as tortured as she was.

A gasp escaped her lips when he resumed their previous position, both of them laying side by side. Only now Aemond was holding her thigh, lifting her leg up in the air to keep her spread for him. “I have the feeling this isn’t a common position,” she panted, delighted at the feeling of her walls stretching to accommodate him.

“It isn’t,” he smiled back, crashing his lips against hers, holding still. She could feel his cockhead pushing against the barrier of her maidenhead, threatening to spear right through it.

“It doesn’t hurt,” she said.

“I’ve barely grazed at your maidenhead,” he gritted out, hips moving slowly. “You are very tight.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Tight is good,” he corrected, kissing the corner of her mouth. Another jerk of his hips, and he retreated, then advanced. “Better than good, really.”

“Please, hurry up. I need you.”

“I know, my love. I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, but his fingers moved between them, to circle her clit. Forcing her eyes to open, Ravella looked at him, saw his control was close to snapping — a blank expression covered his face when she clenched around him, a spasm she could neither avoid nor control.

“If you suck my breasts, I’ll—” that fast, her nipple was in his mouth. It didn’t take more than three sucks for her to throw her chest at his face, tightening against him and moaning his name. Something stabbed deep within her, but it didn’t take Ravella’s mind off the pleasure her husband was offering, quite on the contrary — he slid in further, all but impaling her, forcing their bodies against each other.

Once she was calmer from the high, he asked, “Are you hurt?”

“No. You can continue,” she laughed, utterly sated. She was sensitive to his touch, to the point of feeling his own juices and heartbeat against her walls. “Don’t stop.”

He obeyed, without answering. Perhaps, she thought, the answer was the succession of steady, deep strokes he was giving.

And to think he was sure he’d hurt her, she thought, eyes rolling back behind closed eyelids.

Not too far from reality, she considered some minutes later, as the friction of his veins against her cunt, of his lower belly against her clit threatened to become too much. Not to the point of pain, but anticipation. Her next orgasm would be entirely different. “Aemond—”

“I know,” he mumbled, staring at her. He was as stoic and collected as usual, save for those hips and the pulsing member inside her. “I’m close, too.”

“I love you,” she said.

He shut his eyes. “I know. I love you too.”

Somehow, he was able to get closer. Larger. Harder, even. Ravella’s eyes shot open, suddenly. Whatever threads were holding her together snapped loud, and she came undone, yelling his name, fingers sinking on his skin. It happened again when he screamed, and his seed washed her insides.

When she came to, Aemond’s forehead was pressed against the swell of her breasts, and he was still inside her. But the only thing she could think of was how much she loved him, body and soul.

***

“I look like an overstuffed duck,” Ravella complained as she walked behind Aemond.

“A lovely overstuffed duck, little butterfly,” he laughed when she scowled.

He woke her up the morning after their wedding night with a searing kiss, insisting she had to accompany him to the Dragon Pit. She moaned a complaint and tried to turn away, but her annoying husband wouldn’t let her — to make things worse, he’d already requested a bath. While the servants filled the porcelain tub, an import from the Free Cities, Ravella selected what she should wear, mindful that the weather would change as the hours grew late.

A day after their wedding announcement, someone had knocked on the door to her old chambers; her maid, Rosey, opened it to find the queen and a seamstress, hired to take her measures and produce clothes fit for a dragonrider. Ravella tried to point out she wasn’t a dragonrider, but Aemond’s mother replied she was expected to ride with him. So, she kept her mouth shut and let them plan that part of her wardrobe, limiting her suggestions to colors.

While discussing the matter with his mother, Aemond had provoked Ravella, calling her the coldest person he knew, and asking Alicent to commission a lot of pieces with furs. Hence, Ravella’s current look — she had on a loose gown of heavy velvet (she was still surprised to discover loose clothes were better for retaining heat), a wool coat, and finally, a surcoat of fox fur that made her feel as if she were inside a volcano. And that was not counting her undergarments, socks and gloves. And the ear-covering bonnet, she added in thoughts. And the heavy boots, she completed. She couldn’t forget the knitted scarf, either.

Upon seeing her fully dressed for their mysterious trip, Aemond had grinned. But when she took the first step into the dining hall, walking exactly like a duck? He almost fell from his chair. Even the queen had issues controlling her laughter when she saw him choking on his drink, which he couldn’t seem to decide whether to spit or swallow. Not to mention the lemonade running out of his nose. It didn’t help that everyone else, including her grandmother and uncle, laughed out loud.

Ravella bore his mirth because… she liked seeing him happy. Aemond was so serious and contained, she didn’t care he was laughing at her. She was the first one to admit she looked ridiculous. And knowing she was the reason for that dimple-showing smirk made the embarrassment worthy.

“Where are we going?”

He looked back to ask, “Are you tired?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “Not in a bad way,” he crossed his arms, and she explained, “I think new muscles were created yesterday.”

“Are you sore?”

“Deliciously so,” she sighed. She lost count of how many times they made love. He laughed. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere we can be alone. You’ll appreciate it, don’t worry.”

“What’s in that bag?”

“You woke up curious this morning, didn’t you?” he rolled his eye. “Very well, if you insist — this is our lunch, sweet wife.”

“Lunch. So you’re taking me far away. Are you kidnapping me, dragon prince?”

“Would you start screaming if I said yes?” he smirked.

“I wouldn’t demand to be let go,” she winked. Those were the exact words she yelled until her throat was raw the day Ser Philip Montford kidnapped her. Thank the gods, Aemond had heard and, though their relationship was contentious, saved her, promising to see Ser Philip duly punished — he fulfilled his word by turning the knight to her uncle.

“Then we aren’t going to have issues, my lady,” he growled, making his best impression of a bandit. She was giggling when the door to the wheelhouse was opened and Aemond jumped out to help her. They walked into the Pit, going outside — his dragon, Vhagar, was too big to fit in the main building, so they had to cross it to a part without ceiling.

Ravella stood to the side, smiling as she watched Aemond communicate with the ancient beast in High Valyrian. She knew some basic words — “Dohaerās” meant “obey me” and “Sōvēs” meant “fly” —, but wasn’t fluent; she didn’t think a septa or maester would deign to teach her “Does this color suit me?” in the old language of the destroyed Freehold. Which was a pity, because she’d love to know what Aemond was telling Vhagar. Maybe she’d have to learn High Valyrian, after all. If they had children…

“Butterfly, come here,” her husband called, holding out a hand. She gripped his fingers, squealed when he tugged at her arm and brought her closer, palm up. She watched, stunned, as Vhagar lifted her massive body off the ground and took three steps closer, making the ground shake. Her heat surrounded Ravella as she lowered her head to take a good sniff. The dragon rumbled, her snout colliding with Ravella’s hand.

“Aemond, she’s so beautiful!” Ravella smiled. Looking at Vhagar now, she felt like she was looking at a part of Aemond’s outside his body. The bond between them wasn’t so different from the one she shared with her raven. “How do I say that in High Valyrian?”

He whispered the words in her ear, and she moved her lips, letting them roll off her tongue. Once she considered she had them right, Ravella said, “Gevie, Vagus.” Another deep rumble, followed by a sniff.

“She’s in love with you, now,” she turned her head to the side to find Aemond smiling. He was to her right, so she couldn’t see his face — but his profile showed he was pleased. “She loves you like I do.”

“How do you know that?” she arched her brows.

“She feels what I feel, butterfly. Vhagar has always favored you.”

“Is that why she snapped at me whenever I walked past?” she grinned, dragging her hands through the dragon’s scales.

“Your reeked of Dreamfyre, and she felt you were snubbing her,” he smirked. “She thinks we’re mates.”

“She thinks?”

“Yes. It isn’t rational, but Vhagar feels we are mates, the same way Vermithor and Silverwing were mates. In fact, I was telling her we’re mates now, like King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne were.”

“Oh, that’s so thoughtful, Aemond,” Ravella kissed Vhagar, her lips becoming heated.

“She wants you to lay eggs and hatch dragon babies.”

Ravella burst out laughing. “As far as we know, I could be expecting now. Would that make you happy?”

“Yes, Ravella. I want everything I can get with you as my wife,” he took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “I’ve been teaching Vhagar to protect you.”

“How so?”

“The same way you’ve taught your raven to talk,” he glowered.

“You figured it out, I see,” she laughed. A lot of people gossiped she was a warg — in fact, she was skinchanger; she bonded with ravens, instead of with wolves, but she couldn’t tell if it was because she couldn’t or merely because she’d never seen a wolf. Her father had bonded with one when he was younger, and refused to bond with another after his companion died.

“Hard not to, when it went from screeching ‘One-Eye’ to croaking ‘Toothless’ whenever it saw me,” he was so angry, it was like he was growing before her eyes.

Ravella covered her mouth with a hand, taking several steps back. Aemond followed. Their progress was stopped by Vhagar — the dragon put her head between them, clearly not liking their quarrel. “I was just teasing you,” she breathed the words out. They came wrong, mixed with laughter.

During their courtship, Aemond manifested a worry that laying his feelings bare would make people forget who he was, so they wouldn’t fear him anymore. She laughed in response, saying, “Fear not. All shall tremble in terror of Prince Aemond, the Toothless Dragon!” She’d barely had time to gather her skirts and run away, still laughing, with Aemond in hot pursuit.

His catching her and giving her a playful spanking while she squirmed on his lap had calmed him down somewhat. But it didn’t make her any less a brat, as he’d thundered the next time that she provoked him.

“I know,” there was a fire in his eye… she shivered. “Come, we have to go.”

Vhagar held still while they climbed. Ravella molded her back to Aemond’s front — the center of her legs was sorer than she’d thought, but it was manageable. Soon enough, they were flying, Aemond keeping the dragon not too high, so Ravella could see the people and animals on the ground. “Gevie, Vagus!” she screamed, delighted. Her praise seemed to satisfy the animal, for another belly-deep roar sounded, accompanied by a puff of smoke that had Aemond laughing.

Contrary to what she’d thought, it didn’t get warmer. Instead, the climate became chiller and moist. She inclined her body to peer at… the Trident? She frowned, wondering why Aemond had brought them here. Vhagar took a turn, angling left, and dived; she realized the dragon was going to land. Staring ahead, she saw a great castle, the greatest in Westeros. With its five large towers looking like the aftermath of a volcano eruption — fitting, since the stone was melted by the fire of the dragons belonging to Aemond’s ancestors… Vhagar being one of them —, Harrenhal was an offense to Ravella’s senses. “They cut down the weirwoods to build this monstrosity?!” she wailed.

“Yes. A horrible idea, I think. Still, Lord Larys was kind enough to allow me to land Vhagar here,” he said, helping her dismount. “Yes, I asked,” he winked, and led her into the cursed castle, where she changed into more comfortable clothes — hunting breeches and a chemise, her hair bound up in a braid.

While she changed, a maid came in to tell Aemond they were being waited, but he refused to tell Ravella what it was about. “This place makes every hair on my body stand up,” he confessed as they rode a huge black stallion belonging to Lord Larys.

“The old gods are judging it. They’ve been judging it since it started to be built,” her hands clenched into fists. Harrenhal was an aberration. Built on blood and slavery. The holiness of the forest violated. No wonder the Conqueror had burned it. Pity the first king of the Seven Kingdoms didn’t see to the planting of new weirwoods. “A deep cleanse is needed,” she stated.

“Put this on and don’t question me,” he said, distracting her from those thoughts.

She grimaced, but fastened the thick piece of black cloth around her head, covering her eyes. He stopped the horse and took her into his arms. Next thing she knew, her balance was precarious. Where was Aemond taking her?

He took her into his arms again, and she heard the soft crunching of sand beneath her boots. “Wait a little,” he said, and after a while, gave her permission to remove the mask. The first thing she saw was—

Weirwood.

Not one, not two; an entire forest. Her lungs failed her. She looked around. Every tree was a weirwood, carved, red sap staining the white barks. “The Isle of Faces?” she gasped.

***

“Ravella, say something,” Aemond pleaded after a long time of her struggling to breathe, silent. She didn’t have it in her to be so quiet. “If you don’t like it—”

“I love it!” she shouted, laughing, and jumping at him. He laughed, relieved, as she showered him with kisses. “Aemond, this is… dear gods! You always outdo your surprises! Thank you,” there were tears in her eyes.

“Don’t thank me for putting a smile on your face, my little butterfly,” he pinched her nose. “I was thinking we could lunch here. There are plenty of weirwoods for you to pray in front of. Shall we go further into the woods?”

“Yes, of course! Look, a murder… of crows,” she completed when his hand moved to the handle of his sword. Vhagar wasn’t the only one who’d protect her, naturally. “I wish I’d brought Onyx. Maybe he’d like to stay here with his brethren.”

“Would you let him go? It’d make you suffer.”

“Yes, but… I can’t think of anything better than being here,” she glanced at him. “Especially with you.”

He beamed. “Take this.”

She looked into the bag, then raised her head to say, “Aemond, you did think of everything!” she took a handful of grain and approached the closest tree, holding her hands out. The crows watched her, before one of them seemed to sigh and took flight. It landed on her forearm and began eating. It didn’t take long for others to follow, taking turns as her hands emptied out.

“I confess I thought of your delight. It made planning much easier,” he winked. “Maybe, in the future, we can bring our children here. This place is alive with your faith, after all.” He looked around. “And it’s really peaceful, too, although I feel like I’m being watched.”

“I’d love it,” she gripped his forearm. “May I ask a question? Why isn’t the heart tree in the Red Keep carved?”

Aemond blinked. “I don’t know. You should carve it, if that upsets you so.”

“It isn’t my tree. It belongs to your father.”

“I’ll talk to him.”

“Would you?”

He understood the meaning of her question. He couldn’t forgive his father for treating him as an afterthought. His hand flew to the scar, the argument between his parents alive in his memory… his mother defending him, his father denying him justice or comfort. Aemond, however, didn’t hate the man.

But, gods, he wanted to.

“I’d do anything for you,” he said.

“The king should’ve done it before. Even if people have forgotten the true gods—”

“The true gods?” he quirked up a brow.

“The old gods. They were here before the First Men came. And they were in Essos before Valyria found dragons.”

“Really?” he crossed his arms and leaned against a weirwood. “Tell me about it.”

“There’s a forest in the north of Essos called the Kingdom of the Ifequevron…” she began, and for a good three hours, Aemond basked in the melody of her voice, crows accompanying them as they delved further into the woods, black feathers drifting to the grass.

***

There was a strange stone table in the middle of the isle. Aemond frowned; he hadn’t seen it while Vhagar flew over the Gods’ Eye. Maybe he hadn’t paid attention, he thought, having Ravella sit down on the stone bench. He’d been so concentrated on studying her, nothing else mattered.

Her new feathered friends settled on the trees surrounding them, no longer clamoring for food. Their unflinching gazes unnerved Aemond, but Ravella didn’t seem to notice — she belonged here. As she looked around, her face bright with joy, he began setting their meal on the table. “Are there Children here?”

“I hope so,” she took a slice of bread with ham and cheese. “When I was little, my father took me searching for them. We had a weirwood, but no Children. They disappeared after the Age of Heroes,” a forlorn look on her face. “Imagine the stories they could tell.”

“Maesters say they’re just legends.”

“They are wrong. The Children were real,” she leaned forward. “There are caves in Dorne with drawings made by them. From the long night, Starfall’s maester told me. They depicted the—” she trailed off to whisper, “—Others.”

“Are you afraid, my love?”

She released the air held in her chest. “A little. Not of being here. It’s just… sometimes, I think of the old stories. You can call me silly, but to me, they are true.”

“The long night and magic?” she nodded. “I believe them, too.” At the surprised look on her face, he chuckled, hands up in conciliation. “I ride a dragon, Ravella. My dragon believes you’re my mate. My ancestors dabbled with magic — the same horrible magic that created that eyesore over there,” he pointed in Harrenhal’s direction. “Of course I believe it.”

“I wasn’t expecting this. I mean, you’re the most rational man I’ve ever met. Even my father scoffed at the stories of the long night and— what’s this?”

“Obsidian,” he put the glossy sharp shard on the table between them. “It appeared beside me as if by magic,” it was his turn to lean forward, “Do you know what the Night’s Watch of old used to wield in battle? Dragonglass,” he tilted his head, glancing at the black stone. “Also called obsidian.”

“There’s a book in our library about the Children giving the rangers a hundred pieces of obsidian during the Age of Heroes,” her fingertips trailed the smooth, sharp obsidian she held, but she was careful to not get hurt. “One of the paintings in the cave showed people dressed in black carrying obsidian weapons, but they were colorful. Most were black, though.”

“Tell me,” he asked, animated.

“—as I said, the maesters have cast suspicions on the findings, some arguing that they’re a children’s story. It doesn’t feel like it. I know it isn’t. Those paintings are real.”

“I must agree with your assessment,” he said, remembering, “I read a report a maester recently returned from the north made about the wildlings. He was sponsored by the King-Beyond-the-Wall, and says they have the habit of burning their dead. All wildlings, from all clans. There aren’t burials or sea ceremonies, just burnings. And while their dead burn, they walk away. The maester said they explained it was their tradition, but commented they looked afraid, as if the fire was going to summon something.” Aemond frowned, twirling the obsidian he was holding. “I’m disturbed by the idea the Others are still, eh, alive.”

“So am I,” she exhaled, and although her obvious distress worried him, he didn’t press. Ravella would tell him sooner or later, and he refused to add to it. “Can you do me a favor? You don’t have to say yes.”

“But you want me to,” he guessed. She nodded. “Ask away. What do you want? A piece of the moon? I’ll take Vhagar—”

“No, you silly man!” she laughed. “Sing for me.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I want a song. You have a beautiful voice.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve heard you singing Helaena’s children to sleep. Please?”

He looked away, to a spot over her right shoulder, feeling heat spread all over his skin. “There aren’t instruments here.”

“I only need your voice.”

Aemond sighed. He didn’t put it past her to announce his singing abilities in public as revenge; moreover, he couldn’t deny her anything, no matter how absurd. And if hearing him would ease her… he took a deep breath and started, shouting, “A bear there was! A bear, a bear!”

When the song came to an end, Ravella was all but rolling. She wiped the tears away and said, “I used to hate that song.”

“Every half-wit with fully functioning ears does,” he shrugged. “I hate that song, but Jaehaerys belly-rolls whenever he hears it,” a faint smile on his face as he thought of his nephew. Thank the gods Helaena’s children were so easy to love, for having their mother’s sweet nature. “So, have you spotted a child yet?”

Ravella sighed. “No. Maybe they’re shy?”

“Well, humans ran them off. It’s not a surprise if they’re mistrustful of us, although we mean them no harm.”

“Maybe next time,” she said.

“Excuse me?”

“Maybe we can see a child next time we come here.”

Aemond arched his brows. “You think there’ll be a next time?”

“Of course,” she replied, haughtily, “Before we have our first child, even. You said we’d bring them here.”

“Me and my big, stupid mouth,” he mumbled, only to burst out laughing when she slapped his shoulder. “Why are you attacking me, woman?”

“Oh, so now I’m ‘woman,’ not ‘butterfly, huh?” another slap to his shoulder. He was lucky they made noise rather than cause pain. “I’m not attacking, I’m educating you — every time you say something idiotic about yourself, I’ll beat you.”

He lowered his hands, smile dying. “Ravella, I was jesting.”

“I do not care. I’m done hearing you to belittle yourself.”

Aemond fought to pull her into his arms. When he finally had her where he wanted, he kissed the top of her head, taking a good sniff of her hair. “I don’t deserve you, little butterfly.”

“I—”

“I swear, if you belittle yourself, I’ll put you on my knees and give you a spanking,” he threatened.

“I was just going to say I wasn’t your first choice for a bride,” she raised a shoulder. Her voice was serious.

“You mean I was your first choice for a husband?”

“I never considered who I’d marry, Aemond. Just who I wouldn’t. And you weren’t part of this list.”

Her smile, the glint in her eyes, was dazzling. He didn’t have a choice but to throw his head back and laugh to the trees, to the interest of the ravens watching them. It was just as Helaena had said: Ravella was the most precious treasure he had, and Aemond would do anything in his power to keep her within his grasp, but without clipping her wings.

“Let’s go home, my love. I’m sure your grandmother and uncle would like to spend time with you.”

***

A week after their visit to the isle, Ravella walked into the training yard, where Aemond was — unsurprisingly, her uncle was there, too. She was so relieved they were getting along well.

Not only that, but they were sparring together. She opened her way through the crowd to stand on the front, grinning to herself as she observed Aemond bouncing this way and that to avoid contact with Arthur’s dull blade; her uncle explained his fighting style a few days ago, deeming it the way Aemond had found to make up for losing one eye. Although the armor he had on was heavy, he remained graceful and fast on his feet, like a feline on the hunt.

She looked to the right and saw her grandmother standing on a parapet with King Viserys and Queen Alicent. She raised her hand and waved, and they waved back. The sound of her name had her quit squinting at the three and moving to see who was addressing her.

“Prince Jacaerys,” she smiled at Aemond’s oldest nephew, praying Aemond wouldn’t see them together and lose his mind. They hated each other, and gods only knew how he’d react if he saw his nephew talking to her.

“I didn’t know you liked watching the training, my lady,” the prince said, his expression neutral.

“I don’t, really. But I take the chance of watching my uncle and husband. Besides, I want to be with Aemond,” she glanced at him. “What about you, Your Grace? Is your wedding being planned?”

“Yes. Baela and I shall marry within two moons,” he looked downright proud, and she recalled the stolen, sweet glances he shared with his cousin all the time. “You and Aemond are invited, of course.”

“Thank you, my prince. We’ll be there. Where will it take place?”

“Here in King’s Landing. Grandsire insisted.”

And the queen was loving the idea, Ravella thought, not missing her smile. “In this case, we— Aemond,” she sighed, opening her arms.

Her husband, sweat running down his face and gluing the curtain of thin silver hair on his cheeks and foreheads, hugged her. When they broke apart, he glanced between her and his nephew, asking, “What happened?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. Prince Jacaerys was merely telling me about his upcoming wedding. I told him we’ll be there.”

Aemond looked at the prince. No one who looked at them would say they were related — Aemond was tall, gaunt and had the classical looks of Old Valyria, while Prince Jacaerys was shorter, stockier and brown of hair and eyes, though both his parents looked very Valyrian, as well. Ravella knew it was because Ser Laenor Velaryon wasn’t the prince’s birth father, but it was an open secret no one spoke about. The last person who did it in public was Aegon, Aemond’s brother, when the king demanded to know who was spreading tales about the young Velaryon princes.

Ravella’s heart hurt, thinking of how Aemond witnessed his father deny him justice for the maiming he’d suffered a few minutes before and prioritize punishing whoever called his grandsons bastards.

“Of course we’ll be there, my lady. Every member of the court has been invited,” Aemond answered, cold. Looking away from his nephew, he smiled and told her, “I was thinking we could spend some days at the Park, if that should please you.”

Her mouth opened, lips moistening. Aemond’s eye closed in on them, and she saw it darkening. Unconsciously, she licked them. “I’d love that. I have something for you,” she took the thing she was hiding behind her and offered it. “I hope you like it.”

Aemond smiled, and accepted what she held, looking at it quizzically. He ripped the parchment away, letting it fall on the ground at his feet. Ravella looked around, noticing everyone was looking, more than one person craning their necks. A chorus of gasps rose in the air as, laughing, Aemond raised the double-edged staff with sharp blades up, letting anyone who wished to see it take a good look.

“When did you get this?” he asked, smiling, testing its balance on his fingers.

“When you brought me back that day. I asked Uncle Arthur to take me to the city. Do you like it?”

She gasped when, suddenly, his arm closed around her and his lips crushed hers. Someone whistled. They always did, she thought, moaning into his mouth. Her eyes opened in shock when she felt his erection pressing against her belly. “I love it,” he said, breaking the kiss and stepping away.

“What are you doing?” she squirmed when he lifted her into his arms.

“I’m going to show you how thankful I am for the present, little butterfly.”

“But, Aemond, everyone’s looking!”

“Good. They know who you belong to,” his stride didn’t falter.

“It’s daylight!”

“Perfect. I want to see you.”

“But—”

“Oh, Ravella,” he sighed. Then, a malicious smirk formed as he glanced down at her, “Let’s find a better use for that pouty little mouth, hm?”

They were close to their chambers when his sister turned the corner, saying, “Aemond, have you seen Mother—?”

“No,” he said, not stopping.

“Overlooking the training yard,” Ravella supplied, blushing at the way Helaena grinned.

“Thank you,” she walked away.

“You’re in a hurry,” she told Aemond, biting his earlobe.

“I have an erection that’s about to explode. Of course I’m in a hurry,” he grunted. “Unless you’d rather I’d lifted your skirts and bent you over for the entire court to see. That can be arranged, if you want,” his face darkened, a fire blazing in his eye.

“No, thank you.”

Rosey, her maid, was putting some clothes into the chest when they went in. “Rosey, you have no idea what you’re interrupting. Get out,” Aemond ordered, brisk.

“Do not be rude—” his kiss interrupted her.

To her surprise, in a matter of seconds, she was standing naked in front of him, his gaze roaming her body, the bulge in his breeches growing. She moaned, clenching around nothing. His breathing caught in his chest when he heard the sound. “Undo your hair,” he ordered, and she obliged.

“Undo yours,” he grinned at the order, but obeyed. She stepped forward and, keeping his head between her hands, began to kiss him. She lowered her arms slowly, caressing his muscles and undressing him. He let her take the lead, which wasn’t usual, so she took it as sign of his arousal. “I love you,” she muttered as she kissed his chest.

His fingers closed around locks of her hair, and he groaned. Ravella pushed him toward the bed. He fell sitting on the mattress, his impressive manhood standing up proud, still covered. Aemond helped her rid him of his breeches, lifting his hips up. A tortured sound escaped his mouth when hers closed around the head, and she took a greedy, deep lick. “You don’t have to,” he said, not blinking as her tongue circled him.

“I want to,” she said, licking around the head again.

She hadn’t touched him like that since the kingswood. Whenever she tried, Aemond pulled her up by the hair, saying he didn’t want to finish so soon. Apparently, he didn’t care about it anymore, because his grip on her hair was really loose. He tightened it when she threatened to choke on him. “Not so deep,” he warned, slowly letting go of her.

The precum running down the shaft didn’t help — she couldn’t take more than four inches into her mouth. But the part she could take, she made it a point of making feel good. He throbbed against the roof of her mouth, and her tongue, and for a second, she wondered if he’d finish there, as she’d finished against his tongue several times now.

No such luck, she realized some minutes later, when he held on to her hair, “I want to be inside you.”

“You’re inside me,” she blinked.

“Your cunt. Come here.”

She did, because she was aching to have him filling her. Aemond had her straddle his thighs, and embracing his hips with her legs, she was basically sitting on him. It was almost the same position they took in the kingswood, Ravella realized. “You’re going to go in deeper,” she sighed, looking down at the precum leaking through the slit on his cock.

“Do you want to stop?”

“No!”

“Then put me inside you,” he ordered against her lips, taking a bite of them.

A shudder ran through his body when her fingers closed around him. They sighed together when the head broke through her entrance, stretching her. She raised her lips a little to ease penetration, then sank down suddenly.

Aemond laid flat on his back, holding on to her hips. “Ride me,” he said, and his voice, harsh, guttural, made her shiver. But she did what he wanted, allowing him to guide her hips so he slipped in further.

She arched her back, feeling about to burst. Aemond’s eye was locked on her cunt, and he seemed to grow there. “Aemond, I—” the climax caught her unaware, and she screamed, nails raking his chest. She was unable to continue moving, so he moved them so she was lying on her back. A moan escaped her lips; she loved having him on top. It made her feel delicate and protected. Even at his mercy, she welcomed him.

He slid out to align their hips together for deeper penetration. She moaned his name nonstop, showering him with bites and kisses. His sweaty face was flushed, lips swollen, a sinful shade of red from her assault. “I want you. Give me your seed,” she said, staring into his eye.

His breathing hitched for a second, but his hips’ reaction was immediate: he planted both elbows on the mattress beside her and thrust in, hard, ripping another mind-destroying climax from her. Her cries were echoing in her ears when she felt his own explosion. The sound of her name came as if from a long distance away.

***

There was something going on, but Aemond didn’t understand what. Since the day Ser Vaemond Velaryon — Lord Corlys’ greedy younger brother — had tried to bar Rhaenyra’s bastards from inheriting Driftmark, his father became healthy again. He took part in more Small Council sessions, and sat the throne more often. This morning, he’d walked into the king’s chambers, smelling of burned wood, to find him getting ready to hear some petitions, and left, telling his mother his question could wait.

“Aemond! I was told you wanted to talk,” his father exclaimed when he entered the throne room.

The crowd parted for him, so he approached the throne, ignoring the way several people gasped and whispered behind fans and hands, as if he wouldn’t notice. After nodding to Rhaenyra and Daemon, Aemond said, “It isn’t important, Your Grace.”

“Foolishness,” Viserys scoffed. “What do you want? It’s a surprise to have you seeking me out.”

He wanted to remind his father he lived in the Red Keep, but why bother? “Why is the weirwood not carved?”

Daemon arched a brow, but Aemond wasn’t paying attention to his uncle. His father frowned. “What sort of question is that? I don’t know, the tree’s been there since before the Red Keep was built.”

Aemond shrugged. “Ravella was curious, that’s all.”

“What’s wrong?” Alicent asked. To Aemond, it looked like his mother had been crying. He frowned at her.

“Ravella was asking about the weirwood,” Rhaenyra supplied.

Alicent stared between them. “What’s wrong with it? Is it sick?”

“No, she just asked why it isn’t carved,” he explained, dragging his gaze back to his father. “Would you take issue if she carved it?”

“No. She’s welcome to. I’m surprised she hasn’t done it yet.”

“She pointed out it isn’t her weirwood.”

Viserys shrugged. “Well, I don’t mind. Let her carve it to her heart’s content.”

“Where is she?” Alicent asked with a beam, holding the cup of tea for his father. “She gave you a gift.”

“She’s resting,” he said, hiding a smirk at the blush on her face. Everybody knew what he’d carried Ravella away for. Good. “I must go to the training yard retrieve Ravella’s gift.”

“What was that, huh? A staff?” Viserys asked.

Everyone was watching him expectantly, but the only ones he could see were his family. He grinned, unrepentant. “Exactly. Ravella’s ever a jester.”

“Is there a story behind this one jest?” his mother grinned.

“Yes. I might tell you later,” he turned around, ready to leave, but stopped when he collided with someone. His face darkened as he looked down and saw Lucerys. “Nephew.”

“Uncle,” the little bastard flushed, stepping away, eyes wide as those of a rabbit’s facing a snake. “I believe this is yours.”

“Thank you,” he took the staff.

“Let me see it!” his mother asked, so he walked to the steps leading to the throne, holding it out for her. “Are you going to fight with it?”

“I’m going to practice,” he grinned. “If I excel, I might make it my weapon of choice.”

“I know nothing about weapons, but this is a beautiful one. The gems are impressive…” she caressed them, attracting his attention. Aemond hadn’t seen the onyxes sprinkling the staff, but now that Alicent mentioned them, he became aware of them. Even in the dimly lit room, he found the carving of a butterfly facing off against a miniature dragon on the blades. He bit down on his lower lip, heart beating fast. Ravella staking her claim. He thought of Helaena’s dream, in which he and Ravella were a dragon and a butterfly at odds, until the dragon finally managed to make the butterfly his hoard. Helaena hadn’t said anything about the butterfly owning the dragon, he thought, quite enjoying being possessed by his butterfly.

[turtletaubwrites]

Take Me With You

Chapter 8: I Will Do Anything For My King

THIS FIC CONTAINS DARK CONTENT. 18+ ONLY. MDNI. HEED THE TAGS.

Pairing: Buggy the Clown x Fem!Reader

Chapter Summary: Buggy enjoys his breakfast, and you find out what else he can do. Buggy opens up about his past and goals. And you want Buggy to get everything he deserves.

Word Count: 2029

Take Me With You: Masterlist

Ao3 Link

Author's Note: Non-Con is not described, but the Reader murders their unnamed abuser with Buggy's help. Reader experiences a lot of feelings of hatred and trauma. Buggy is a villain in this story, except for how caring he is toward the reader. This romance is dark y'all, with a bunch of violence and angst mixed in with their sweet love. Please heed the tags, and DO NOT read if any of these themes may be triggering for you.

Rating/Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, SA/Non-Con occurred in the past - not described during story, reader murders the abuser with Buggy's help, Reader has symptoms of trauma and dissociation, torturing and murdering an unnamed abuser, Knife Throwing, Buggy understands consent except when it comes to his captive audience of course, Consent, Knifeplay, Eventual Smut, Praise Kink, Angst, Inappropriate Use of Akuma no Mi | Devil Fruit Powers, Smut, Dark Romance, Slow Burn, Fluff and Smut, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sex, Rough Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Comeplay, Aftercare, Throat Fucking, Cunnilingus, Hair Pulling, Biting, Overstimulation, Orgasm Delay, Comeshot, Anal Play, Alcohol, Bisexuality, Accidental Exhibitionism, Face-Sitting, Choking, Dom Buggy

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Buggy’s fingers, still ungloved just for you, smoothed against your body through the blankets. 

He pressed his face against your core through the fabric, breathing deep, and you could feel wetness already waiting for him.

“You smell good enough to eat, Vicious. I don’t know if I can control myself.”

His low, sinful words breathed heat onto your covered skin and you let out a soft moan. 

“Can I please have a taste, sugar?”

His fingers pressed forcefully into your hips, his voice begging, with a just a touch of violence.

“Yes, Buggy, please,” was all you could breathe out before he ripped the blankets away. Buggy’s hands lifted you under the arms, setting you up on some pillows to make sure you had a good view of what he was about to do to you.

He straddled you, kissing and licking at every inch of your skin, sending chills up your body with soft strokes of his fingers. He made his way down, until you were twitching from the stimulation, and propped himself on his stomach before you. 

You reached out and stroked his face, tracing your fingers into his hair. You smiled with warmth in your chest at the way he melted into your touch, eyes closing with a soft sigh. 

Then his sweet look was gone as his crystal eyes faded to black. He spread your thighs wide, breathing deep again as if relishing your scent. 

His face moved closer to your core, not touching yet. You felt his next words against your folds like a growl of teasing heat. 

“Look at this feast, just for me. Can’t wait to have a bite.”

You felt your pussy clench for him, even before his touch. Your head rolled back against the pillows, but one of his hands came flying toward you. Its fingers twisted through the hair at the back of your neck, forcing you to look back at him. 

You moaned at the look in his eyes. You wanted to give Buggy the pleasure of your undivided attention while he fucked you with his mouth. 

You let that heat show, letting your mouth part and your tongue hang out slightly. You felt his hand on your thigh and the one in your hair tighten, and you cried out his name. 

You heard his raspy hum of approval before he took your clit into his mouth.  You gave a small scream at the intensity of his mouth sucking lightly at your clit, writhing your body and gripping his hair with your fingers. You tried your best to keep your desperate eyes on him, but your eyes kept rolling back and fluttering closed, until his grip on your hair would pull, just a little. 

Buggy’s tongue began swirling around your clit, and the mix of sensations he gave you was intoxicating. Sometimes he would pause his assault to press his lips and tongue against it, like the most sensuous of kisses. Then he sucked it back into his mouth with the gentlest of bites that had you screaming and clawing at his arms. His sinful laughter vibrated through you and made you shake, feeling out of control. 

Your breathing was ragged, and you knew you were already so close, but he kept pulling back, focusing on stroking your thighs with his free hand, leaving lazy kisses around your legs and those needy lips.

Aching for release, you whined almost wordlessly, using your twitching fingers to try to force his head back where you needed it. Buggy just gave a low chuckle, and used the hand fisting your hair to control your movements. 

“Told ya I was hungry, sweets. I’m gonna take my time with you.”

You whimpered at him, your fingers clenching uselessly at your sides. 

The satisfied hum he gave you made your body tighten, almost painfully.

“Fuck, Buggy! Please Captain, I need you!”

Buggy bit the inside of your thigh, softly at first, then building and clenching until you felt like you could come from the pain. Your pathetic cries kept pouring from you as Buggy loosened his grip, then pulsed with gentle and less gentle bites. 

Your body was going wild, the sensations fucking with your brain. You felt your pussy clenching, aching for him to fill it. You felt the pain from his wicked teeth, but you felt delicious pleasure rolling through you as well. 

“Mm, my little Vicious tastes so fucking good. Let me help you out, baby.”

You arched your back as the tip of Buggy’s tongue started teasing your folds, tracing up and down, avoiding that tender, sensitive spot. All you could do was watch his blown out eyes as he tortured you slowly. 

Buggy’s tongue entered you as he sunk his face into you. You could hardly feel as his tongue started exploring, tasting your pussy from the inside, because another sensation sent you screaming. 

Your eyes flew back and Buggy forced you again to watch what he could do to you. It was an impossible task to keep your eyes open for long as you saw the cause of your intense pleasure. 

As Buggy’s tongue explored inside you, seeming deeper than it should be, Buggy’s nose was massaging against your already aching clit. You lost your fucking mind at the softness of his skin, the size of it rubbing against and around it perfectly, the sweet pressure he kept shifting skillfully. 

That was enough to send you, but then Buggy’s tongue was somehow tasting and fucking against your g spot and you came absolutely undone. Your voice went hoarse from screaming, and you tore your nails down everything you could reach, leaving faint trails of blood on your skin, but leaving no scratch on Buggy’s. His deliciously menacing grip in your hair kept pulling you back over and over. The look in Buggy’s eyes while he destroyed you kept your orgasm spilling over and over again, and he licked up every drop of you. 

He finally released you, and you lay there in twitching, empty, blissfulness. Buggy lay next to you, drawing the blankets up over you both. He smoothed your hair away and kissed your temple lightly.

“Thank you for breakfast, dollface.”

You tried to laugh, but couldn’t do anything but choke and mumble some vowels. 

He laughed down at you, but when you saw his face still dripping with your pleasure, you managed to regain enough control to show him how he made you feel.

You raised your head enough to lick across his wet cheek. He smiled as you tasted yourself on his skin, but he almost pulled away as you licked your come off of his perfect nose. You couldn’t grab him, but he stopped moving as you gently hit at him with your shaking hands. 

You kissed his nose softly, letting all the pleasure he just gave you shine through your eyes. He stared, his eyes looking unsure. You kissed his mouth then and whispered into his breath. 

“I loved your nose before, Buggy, but now it might be my favorite part of you.”

You leaned back, knowing that the whisper you had wanted to sound sultry had probably come out more desperate as you continued to twitch. 

You watched him with gentle patience, and you managed to bring one of your hands to touch his arm. 

Buggy just stared down at you, and you hoped that you hadn’t pushed him too far. 

He brought his hand to trace fingers down your face.

“You’re mine forever, you know that right?”

The raspy need in his voice, coupled with the tenderness in his eyes, made your chest almost physically hurt from it all. The feelings welling up in you sent pressure into your throat and eyes, but you just gave him the most grateful and joyful smile you’d ever felt. 

“I’ll always be yours, Buggy.”

~

Lazing the day away in Buggy’s arms was the happiest you’d ever felt. He pulled you close, cuddling you, kissing you, telling you jokes. You listened to his stories, marveling at how you came to be with someone who’d lived such a flashy life. 

Laying on his chest, you looked up at the ceiling. The target board made you smile to yourself, especially after noticing how many tears and holes there were in all of the blankets and pillows. From this angle, you were able to make out some more of the doodles that hadn’t been completely destroyed by his knives. You nudged him and pointed up at one that had clearly been drawn and attacked in a few different places. 

“Hey Buggy, is that symbol a hat? What does it mean?”

You jolted as you felt Buggy’s entire body tense, his hand on your side gripping almost painfully.

He let you go and groaned, sounding exasperated. He sat up straight, sitting against the headboard. 

“I really don’t want him to take anything else of mine,” he looked down at you, hot anger in his eyes. 

You sat up, leaning toward him with concern.

“What do you mean, Buggy?”

You tried to touch his shoulder, needing to know what took your Captain so far from you so quickly.

He avoided your touch, standing and pacing almost frantically at the foot of the bed. As he began to explain, you watched his movements get more erratic, gesturing angrily with his hands. Sometimes at the board above you, and occasionally his hands would fly off even further in his rage. 

You held your breath as Buggy ranted, trying to take it all in so that you could help your Captain.

“It’s fucking Red-Haired Shanks! He always took what was mine, he always fucking betrayed me. We were supposed to be like brothers, but he stabbed me in the back. He couldn’t handle how bright my star shines, so he ruined my fucking life. But I’m going to fucking show him. We’re so close now, I’m going to steal that map to the Grand Line. I’ll find the One Piece. Then it’ll be me, I’ll be the King. Everyone will know my name. Everyone will love me. Even if I have to kill him to get it.”

Buggy stopped then, turning to you, looking almost embarrassed, but still brimming with anger. 

“I don’t even want you thinking about him. I don’t want you anywhere near him. He’s not taking anything else from me. Never!”

Buggy’s last word shot out with such force that your body jerked. You watched his eyes go wide with panic and he moved toward you. 

“It’s okay, I’m okay.”

Buggy’s eyes looked stricken as you held a hand up to stop him. You crawled toward him until you stepped off the bed. 

You reached out and cradled the sides of his face, and you could see a mix of emotions, what looked like anger, embarrassment, and pain. You felt your whole being fill with hate for the person who hurt him like this. Buggy saved you from hell, and now fills your days with heaven. Rage started to simmer in your eyes and you watched panic form in Buggy’s before you spoke. 

“I am yours, Buggy. You helped me kill my enemy, and you’ve trained me to be your Vicious freak. You gave me a new life and I will kill anyone that tries to hurt my Captain.”

Buggy’s eyes softened, and then heated as you continued.

“Let me help you, Buggy. Let me serve you. Let me kill for you. You are already my King. I will destroy every island on the Grand Line to get you your crown. Then I will force the world to bow for you.”

Buggy’s eyes burned now, his body almost shivering, but he let you keep going.

You dropped to the floor before him, and his still nude cock twitched up, already getting hard at the sight of you on your knees. 

Buggy’s eyes were like molten metal, pouring down on you. You felt these promises sinking into your bones, knowing that every single word was true. You smoothed your hands along Buggy’s hips, pressing your fingers into him as you breathed your last promise.

“I will do anything for my King.”

Likes, comments, and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you so much!

a/n: I hope you enjoyed it! Buggy is just the best to write smut for, now that I got started I'm having to wrangle myself back to the plot. 🤡

Chapter 9

Operation Olive Branch has compiled a working spreadsheet of ways to help families fleeing from the genocide in Palestine. If you enjoyed this fic, and are able, please click the link to find a list of GoFundMe's, as well as other ways to help.

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[transamorousnetwork]

A Transgender Match Exists For Every Type Of Guy. Even Bottoms.

It’s easy finding our match when we understand that our stories determine who we’re meeting. This applies whether we’re transgender or trans-attracted.

But in this post, let’s look specifically at trans-attracted men looking for a transgender partner. What I’m sharing today applies equally to transgender women looking for a partner. In short, stories create reality. And when our stories contradict what we want, we can’t get what we want, no matter how hard we try. Not until we do something about the stories we’re telling.

For example, many trans-attracted men look for transgender women who will top them. This is an extremely triggering thing for many transgender women. But not all of them.

The reason some transgender women get triggered so strongly when guys express this legitimate desire, makes sense when we understand it. Some (not all) transgender women tell extremelydisempowering stories about the penis that came with their male body. Such stories create equally extreme negative emotions. The psychological community calls these negative emotions “dysphoria”.

But all that’s happening is the woman is confronting all the stories in her head about her body AND what she knows herself to be. She’s focusing on what she doesn’t want (the penis) instead of what she wants. Doing so, she amplifies the negative experience. So uncomfortable the amplification can get, that she literally might want to cut her penis off. Or commit suicide. Or she might vomit any time she has a penis-stimulated orgasm. Like this transgender woman explains:

Self-loathing meets itself

Meanwhile, trans-attracted guys experience similar situations. His negative stories about his attraction for transgender women causes in him equally strong negative emotions. So instead of embracing what he wants and thinking about what he wants in a positive way, he will amplify his own discomfort. Do that long enough and he, too, will consider suicide.

Yet, the guy can’t deny his attraction because it is an innate part of who he is! Just as the transgender woman can’t escape the fact that she is trans. Even if she’s 100 percent deep stealth. See where this is going?

The transgender woman focuses on her hatred of her penis. The guy equally struggles with his trans attraction. At the same time, both want a relationship. So what should we expect happens? Of course, these two people will find each other because they are perfect matches, reflecting to each other their own lack of self-acceptance combined with their matching desires. It’s not rocket science!

It’s no wonder the guy’s intense negative focus causes him to express, to the trans woman, however clumsily and even insensitively, his desire to be topped or to suck a dick. He has no consideration for how the trans woman might be feeling about her penis. He’s too preoccupied. But get this: the transgender woman equally has no compassion for what the guy is going through either. For the same reason.

Both parties are oblivious to the other person’s experience. It’s no wonder a firestorm happens when these two come together. It’s no wonder neither has compassion for the other. Still, they are a perfect match! But that match is based in extreme negativity. 

How to meet that better match

Getting out of this conundrum is simple. The answer for both parties is getting out of preoccupation with negative focus/stories. Then, instead, focusing on what each party wants. Not what they don’t want. This is harder to do than to explain. But every client I work with eventually gets there.

Meanwhile, trans-attracted male bottoms, plenty of women out there LOVE their penis. For your viewing pleasure, listen to two of them talk about it themselves. Here’s the first. Here’s the second. Both are categorized on YouTube as “age restricted”. So I can’t embed them here. By the way, there are plenty of men who prefer post-op women. Men who will fuck them like they fuck cis-gender woman. There’s a match for everyone, in other words.

Everyone can enjoy anything we want. It starts with sorting out our stories, then focusing on stories supporting what we want, instead of focusing on stories about what we don’t. Do that and our lives improve dramatically. Then eventually we’ll meet our matches. No exceptions.

But if we wallow in stories about things we hate, dislike, wish weren’t true, etc., we get stuck.

Feeling stuck? Let’s get you unstuck.

[pannimanagementteam]

Sage X3 Automated Doc Distribution

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Tips On How To Spot Real Vs Fake Chanel 2 55 Bag

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