#love letters to the wide web

[schizospecdreams]

The world is stressful and can be painful but it can be wonderful and light as well. It’s not one or the other, it’s both. Even if it feels like total darkness right now, the good will find you again. In some small way, very soon, you will find the good. I’m sorry you’re in pain. I’m sorry people aren’t always the best at not hurting each other. I’m sorry if you feel alone. You’re really not going to be forever. There’s a billion other people that feel alone and would give anything for a friend like you. Find the good.

I love you, sleep well, have a coffee and take a shower in the morning. Slow down. Don’t worry about anything if you can help it. You’re going to survive this.

[maeby-cursed]

hope you're doing well mae <3 much love!

moss, dearest ! i am getting my ass kicked by my uni, how are you doing ? it's been forever since i last heard from you ♡︎

[liketheletter-l]

my ask box is ALWAYS OPEN BTW!!! HIT ME W/A DRAWINF OR WRITING REQUEST, TELL ME ABT UR DAY, ETCETERA

[moonselune]

Okay 1 I’m new to your blog but I’ve read your pin post. 2 you’ve content has just kept on showing up hence why I’m here and 3 can I request BG3 ladies reaction to gn Reader who has a habit of adopting children on the streets so when they come home to Baldurs gate. Alllll of Readers kids are like “Papa/Mama!” I just can’t help but laugh at the pure Chaos that would happen

I love the idea you were just browsing the tag and I just would not stop showing up and you were just like ah ffs might as well

mwhahaha welcome to this mess

This is such a sweet request and I had so much fun writing it!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

The streets of Baldur's Gate hummed with life as you and Karlach made your way home. The closer you got, the more your heart pounded with anticipation and a touch of anxiety. You had mentioned your habit of adopting children off the streets to Karlach, but you had definitely downplayed the number.

As you rounded the corner to your home, a chorus of excited shouts erupted.

“Y/N!” A whirlwind of children of all ages, from teenagers to toddlers, rushed towards you. In an instant, you were surrounded, hugged, and pulled in every direction.

Karlach’s eyes widened with surprise, but a wide grin quickly spread across her face. “Well, I’ll be damned! Look at all these little rascals!”

One of the older kids, a lanky teen with tousled hair, pointed excitedly at Karlach. “You’re the one from the letters! The big, strong one!”

Karlach laughed heartily, dropping to her knees to be at eye level with the children. “That’s right! And you must be the ones Y/N never stops talking about.”

Chaos ensued as Karlach was bombarded with questions and challenges. She revelled in the chaos, roughhousing with the older kids, lifting the younger ones in the air, and roaring with laughter. One by one, the children warmed up to her, their initial awe giving way to delighted squeals and playful shoves.

Karlach’s enthusiasm was infectious, and soon, the entire street was filled with the sounds of joy and laughter. She wrestled with the teenagers, showing them moves and tips while effortlessly juggling the toddlers, who giggled uncontrollably.

As you watched Karlach seamlessly integrate into the lively chaos, your heart swelled with gratitude and love. She caught your eye over the heads of your children, her smile softening into something more intimate and tender.

“Hey, Y/N,” she called out, her voice warm with affection. “I think I’m gonna like it here.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara:

The walk home with Minthara was filled with a comfortable silence, the drow warrior’s presence a steady anchor beside you. You had told her about your habit of adopting children off the streets, but you hadn’t quite been upfront about the sheer number of them.

As you neared your home, the familiar sound of children’s laughter and chatter grew louder. Suddenly, a small army of kids of all ages burst from the house, their faces lighting up at the sight of you. “Y/N!” they cried, rushing towards you. Minthara’s eyes widened in surprise, her expression quickly shifting to one of mild shock as she was swept up in the chaos.

“By Lolth’s web,” she muttered, stepping slightly behind you as the children swarmed. You were surprised she hadn't leapt up on your shoulder yet and started hissing at them, but there was still time. She came close to doing so when your toddler grabbed at the end of her robes, their little fingers covered in their own drool.

But before Minthara yelled at you to get it off of her, an older child, a girl with bright eyes and a confident stance, approached Minthara, looking at her in awe. “You’re Minthara, right? The drow, the one that saved Y/N?”

Minthara blinked, momentarily taken aback. “Yes, that’s correct,” she replied, her voice cautious as she still panicked about the grubby toddler that was advancing their assault, now using her robes as a tissue.

The girl’s eyes sparkled with admiration. “Can you teach us? Please? Y/N said you are the best fighter she has ever met!”

Minthara’s initial reaction was to scowl and correct the child that she was the best fighter ever, but the earnestness in the girl’s eyes softened her. “Teach you?” she repeated, glancing at you for guidance.

You gave her an encouraging smile and to her relief, scooped up the toddler that was about to wipe something on Minthara's leg. “They’d love to learn from you, Minthara.”

Minthara hesitated but then nodded, her usual stern demeanor relaxing slightly. “Very well. I can teach you a few things.”

The older children gathered around her, their excitement palpable. Even the previous enemy toddler, wobbling on unsteady legs, looked up at her with wide, curious eyes. Minthara knelt down, her movements careful and deliberate, and began to demonstrate basic dagger holds.

As she spoke to them, her confidence grew, and the children listened intently, mimicking her movements with the sticks they had. The initial chaos had given way to a more organized form of learning, with Minthara guiding them patiently.

You watched with a smile, your heart swelling with affection and pride. When Minthara had sent them off and returned to you, she gave you a small, almost shy smile.

“This,” she said quietly, “is not what I expected.”

You chuckled, stepping closer to her. “Welcome to the family, Minthara. It’s always a bit chaotic, but there’s a lot of love here.”

She nodded, a hint of warmth in her eyes. “I can see that. And perhaps,” she added, glancing at the children who were now eagerly practicing the dagger holds she had taught, “this small army isn’t so bad after all.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

Returning to Baldur's Gate with Lae'zel by your side, you felt a mix of excitement and nerves. You had mentioned your habit of adopting children off the streets, but you hadn’t quite conveyed just how many there were. As you turned the corner to your home, a wave of voices erupted.

“Y/N!”

Suddenly, a throng of children rushed towards you. They encircled you in an instant, their arms wrapping around you, pulling you in every direction. Lae'zel’s eyes widened in surprise, her usual stern demeanor faltering.

“What is this chaos?” she demanded, her voice tight with alarm. “Where is the discipline?”

One of the teenagers tugged at your sleeve, laughing. “Who’s the scary lady?”

“Lae'zel, this is my family,” you said, turning to her, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder, “They’re just excited to see us. Relax and go play with them.”

Lae'zel looked at you, clearly puzzled. “Play? What do you mean by play?”

You smiled, crouching down to address the younger children. “Kids, I have a super important adventure for you, do you think you can handle it?"

"We're not babies Y/N of course we can!" The little children shouted at you.

"Okay, well if you think you can handle it" You said in mock disbelief "Can you teach Lae'zel how to play?”

With delighted giggles, the children took Lae'zel by the hands, leading her towards a game of tag. She stood stiffly at first, unsure of how to engage. But as the children ran around her, laughing and encouraging her to join, she began to loosen up.

One of the younger kids, a girl with pigtails, tugged on Lae'zel’s hand. “Come on, Lae'zel! It’s fun!”

Lae'zel hesitated but then nodded, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “Very well. Show me how to… play.”

You watched with a mix of amusement and affection as Lae'zel, the fierce warrior, was gradually drawn into the children’s games. Her initial panic gave way to tentative enjoyment, and soon she was running and laughing with the rest of them.

When she caught your eye across the yard, her smile was radiant. “I am still not certain about this play,” she called out, “but it is not entirely unpleasant!”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart:

Walking through Baldur’s Gate with Shadowheart, you felt a sense of anticipation. You had told her about your habit of adopting children off the streets, but you hadn’t gone into detail about the number of kids you’d taken in. As you approached your home, a joyful chorus greeted you.

“Y/N!”

A swarm of children of all ages came rushing towards you, their faces lighting up with excitement. They surrounded you in an instant, hugging you and clamoring for your attention. Shadowheart’s eyes widened in surprise, her usually composed demeanor giving way to uncertainty.

“Oh my,” she murmured, glancing at you. “This is… a lot of children.”

“Shadowheart, meet my family,” you said with a smile, you then leaned in and whispered to her, “Just go with the flow.”

She nodded, still looking a bit bewildered. One of the younger kids, a little boy with curly hair, grabbed her hand. “Come play with us, Lady Battleflower!”

Shadowheart blinked. “Lady Battleflower?”

“Yes, you’re Lady Battleflower now!” the boy declared with a giggle.

Shadowheart gave you a bemused look, but she allowed the children to lead her away. You watched as she was drawn into a tea party, the children fussing over her, placing imaginary crowns on her head and handing her tiny cups.

Later, you found her still seated at a tiny table, a group of kids around her. She was holding a teacup delicately, playing along with their game. One of your children corrected her posture, insisting that Lady Battleflower must sit with grace.

You approached with a grin, ruffling your children's hair as you walked past them towards your beloved. “Shadowheart, may I join your tea party?”

Shadowheart looked up, a slight blush on her cheeks. “Only if you address me properly,” she said, her tone playful. “Lady Battleflower demands it.”

"Oh my apologies," You laughed, taking a seat beside her. “Lady Battleflower. It’s an honor.”

As your children continued their game, you exchanged a smile with Shadowheart. She was clearly out of her element, but she was making an effort, and the children adored her for it.

Later, as you sat together, watching the children play, Shadowheart leaned close to you. “This is… different,” she admitted. “But it’s not as overwhelming as I thought.”

You squeezed her hand. “Thank you for trying, Shadowheart. It means a lot.”

She smiled, a genuine warmth in her eyes. “Anything for you, Y/N. And it's Lady Battleflower, actually, your dismissal is offensive, I require five kisses as reparation”

"Only five?" You asked as you leaned towards her, "I believe someone of your stature requires, much, much more." You pulled Shadowheart into a deep passionate kiss, forgetting that you were surrounded by kids who quite quickly made theirselves known.

"Oh my gods, I'm going to throw up!"

"Somebody gouge my eyes out, please"

"Ah! they are eating each other!"

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Oh my gods I had so much fun writing this I actually cannot express it ! Hope y'all enjoyed it ! - Seluney xox

[the-healthy-human-mind]

Within the Deep

(Extremely) Late submission for MerMay.

CWs; DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, gore, non/con, dub/con, threesome, double penetration, vaginal sex, anal sex, degradation, derogatory language, breeding kink, oviposition, male impregnation (it’s mermaid wdy expect), forced impregnation, slight passing out, squirting, idfk please tell me tags. 

Paring; Megalodon! Simon x Female! Reader x Mer! Kyle

The ocean was a damning thing. It could kill a man with a single wave, if it so wished. Your mate, Kyle, saw it as home. The place he felt most comfortable - outside of your arms, that is. You had come to love the beach, though the sand on your ass was never the best, sex by the crashing waves was always a delight. Especially when Kyle’s brown skin glistened with sweat, his brown eyes shining in the sunset, and the water around his tail helping him thrust faster into your wet heat. 

The smell of sex and salt was strong on your nose, mind numb with pleasure. His cock hitting that goey spot nestled within your warm cunt. Kyle moans unabashedly into the evening air, hips stuttering as he nears his peak, though he’d never cum before you. Lost in the sea of his eyes, you miss the stillness in the water. The seagulls flying in the opposite direction of the water. It seems Kyle misses the signs as well, as he doesn’t react until it’s too late. 

All you could see was gray. The large maw of some creature, swallowing your mate in its mouth with ease. Your scream is cut off as the monster moves closer, the last thing you see is its razor sharp teeth. And then darkness. 

—

Whatever you were laying on was jagged and hard, water pooling on your bare skin. There was something warm, wet, and heaving resting between your legs and smushed against your core. Your eyes open, staring down your body to see Kyle resting his head on your thigh, eyes locked onto your own. His eyebrows are furrowed, face scrunched in…pleasure? Kyle’s mouth opens wide, a sinful moan echoing in the cave.

You gasp as a clawed, webbed hand wraps around his throat, cutting off his air supply and making Kyle’s eyes roll back into his skull. You trace back from the hand to the muscular arm, to the gray tinted skin, to the sight of a beast. It had short blond hair, a crooked nose, and more scars than face. Its eyes were a piercing brown, unlike the beauty of Kyle’s. It smiled at you, showing a mouth full of sharp teeth. The creature from the beach.

Your eyes trail down, past the hard muscles adorning its body, since when did they have six-packs?, to its hips sitting flush with Kyle’s ass. Oh fuck. It’s- his, hips pull back before slamming back into Kyle, who mewls in response. Kyle’s rim is stretched almost painfully wide around the mystery creature's cock, though he wasn’t complaining, if his own hard cock resting on the crease of your hip was of any indication. 

The slaps of skin against skin and their tails making contact echo around the cave walls. Your heart pounds in your chest, you chest heaving and drawing the attention of the two creatures. Kyle gurgles out a string of letters, your ears unable to hear him properly, until the hand leaves his next, Kyle’s broken English clear.

“Si-mon. Har-der.”

The creature growls, hips slapping against Kyle’s ruthlessly. You bite back a scream of terror at the noise. You recognize that sound. A true horror of the sea. A monster so large it could swallow ships like they were air. A monster whose voice causes earthquakes. The Megalodon. Simon’s claws dig so deep into Kyle’s hips he draws blood, the red liquid mixing with the sea water and running down his pelvis.

You look at your mate in horror and they both let out guttural moans, sticky cum painting your thigh. For Kyle, on the other hand, whimpers and whines, squirming on the rock below. Simon seems to understand your confusion, lifting Kyle up by the shoulders. You watch his stomach bloat, expanding to accommodate the megalodons clutch. 

Simon looks pleased with himself as he releases your mate, who lays next to you, content and rubbing at his stomach. Terror seeps through your entire being when you finally see Simon’s cock- er. Plural. Two cocks hang down above his tail, too heavy to stand up. He grabs your ankle, dragging you closer to him. You scream in pain as the rock scrapes against the skin of your back. 

You shake as he licks the side of your neck, inhaling your sweet scent. Simon lets a sound out akin to a purr, rough and scratchy. He huffs against your neck as he lines up with your entrance, pushing his cocks into your tight cunt. 

“No- sto- you’re gonna-!”

Your words are cut off with a wail as he bottoms out, the pointed tips pushing on your cervix.  “Cut the cryin’.” 

He narrows his eyes when you gasp, shocked by him speaking better than your mate. Another reason why the meg was better for you. A better carer. He could give you what you needed. Keep you stuffed with his clutch. You were the perfect vessel with your soft curves. 

“Bet you like this, watching your “mate” get fucked and bred,”

You cry out when he presses against the bundle of nerves nestled deep within your warm walls. Your cunt spasms around him against your will, your body on fire. 

Simon huffs and growls as he pounds into you, your body jolting on the cave floor. Kyle makes clicking sounds next to you, whether he was trying to comfort you or this was part of his kinds’ “courting,” you weren’t sure. What you were sure of, was that Simon was going to rip you in half. Your cunt burns uncomfortably from the stretch, your slick allowing his cocks to move with ease.

You screech when Kyle brings his fingers down to your puffy clit, rubbing it in batch circles. You choke out a sob, squirting all over Kyle’s hand and Simon’s abdomen. Simon lets out a guttural roar, hips slamming against yours one last time before you feel something enter your womb, something large and heavy. 

The three of you watch as your stomach expands, inflating as Simon’s clutch attaches itself to your womb. You cry out when Kyle presses on the bump in fascination. 

“Ma-tching,”

Simon appears displeased with your reaction, lifting you off of him and away from your mate. The movement causes something to move painfully within you. He growls, shoving you down on a bed of seaweed, snapping at Kyle who clicks in response. 

You shiver as Simon stares darkly at you, uttering three words that forever change your life.

“Welcome home, mate.”

[exhaslo]

Corruption Ch9

(Villain!Miguel x F!Hero!Reader)

Ch1, Ch2, Ch3, Ch4, Ch5, Ch6, Ch7, Ch8

Warning: Minors DNI, mentions of sex, violence, blood, murder, twisted thoughts, experimentation, language, wannabe fluff, established friendship?

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Three Months, One Day until D-Day

The weather was starting to get chilly. Winter was approaching faster than Fall even began. You had to let out a small whimper in protest since your body was getting colder than it normally would. The only reason you could think of was your new Spider DNA.

Shivering in your office as you waited for the IT guy to come up and fix your heater, you decided to read your health examination overview. Miguel had handed it to you personally, wanting to make sure you knew that he did act professionally.

"Ah! If only I could remember what happened. Hopefully I didn't act too much of a goof," You whined, opening the envelope.

As you read, you were relieved that everything was fine. Your new changes didn't cause any affect to your body...at least that the blood and overall examination could pick up. Your organic webs, ability to cling to walls and now sensitivity to the cold was something that wouldn't be noticed.

You sighed sadly, knowing that this secret was going to be buried with you. Finishing the letter, you noticed Miguel's handwriting on the bottom.

'Cancel your gym membership and start eating more.'

Your cheeks started to heat up and your smile grew wide. People can say what they will about Miguel, but deep down, he was still a caring man. It was just hard to find that kind spot.

Gasping, you felt your body tense from the cold. You reached for the blanket on your couch, wrapping yourself in it.

"L-Lyla...w-when...will the I-IT guy....c-come?" You stuttered from the cold.

---------

"Sir, it seems like (Y/N) is reacting poorly to the weather." Lyla stated as Miguel worked on DNA seperation.

"How so?"

"She's asking if spiders hibernate during the winter."

Miguel stopped what he was doing. Normally, he would chuckle at such a dumb question, but not when it came to you. Rushing out of his personal lab, Miguel hurried to your office. He had to make sure that you were okay. He couldn't allow anything to happen to you.

His blood was pumping with adrenaline. All of these special changes within you that Miguel could not pick up from your blood. It was all so fascinating. It made him wonder what else you could do, but he was not going to test those theories.

Not when it could harm you.

Finally arriving at your office, Miguel grunted at the sight of Aaron checking on you. Why did the IT agent have to be him of all people? Did he not learn his lesson from last time? Whatever the case, Miguel was not one to shy away from crushing other people.

"Isn't there a job you should be doing?" Miguel tone was harsher than normal.

"(Y/N) doesn't look too good. I was going to-"

"Fix the heater in here."

Miguel's glare was prominent as he hissed out the words. What good was a love sick puppy if he couldn't even do one little thing? At least you had proven again and again to Miguel your use. You were the only one who stood by his side for so long.

"M-Miguel? D-Did I m-miss an a-appointment?" You stuttered, shaking like a leaf on your couch.

Ah, how you still concerned yourself with him. Miguel was going to enjoy twisting you into his perfect little wife. Creating the perfect humans once he, himself, becomes just like you.

"No." Miguel said simply.

Picking you up with ease, Miguel made his way out of your office. He was unable to hide his smirk as Aaron glared daggers. What good was it to be jealous if he couldn't act on it? Miguel didn't care who he had to piss off, as long as he got his way.

"M-Miguel...I-It's cold," You whispered.

"I know,"

Ignoring the looks and stares he received, Miguel continued to his office. What good were others to do? They knew better than to say anything to him. Miguel's business was his own. Besides, this should clarify that you belonged to him.

Once Miguel reached his office, he had Lyla turn the heat up. It annoyed him, but he was going to have to wait on studying your blood any further today. Miguel's focus was on your health.

Sitting on his chair, Miguel had you sit on his lap. You cozied up quick, still shivering from the cold. Miguel took this time to catch up on some paperwork he had ignored on purpose. Miguel didn't want to admit it, but this was comfortable.

"(Y/n)'s temperature is slowly rising, along with yours. Shall I cool off the room?" Lyla asked. Miguel typed away,

"No. Not until (Y/N) is back to normal." Miguel grunted before pausing, "Lyla, order (Y/N) some heat forming clothing. I can't have her collapsing like his on her way home."

"And of her apartment?"

"Have extra heaters ordered and in place of each room. They will be of use until I take her for myself."

"Yes, sir."

Miguel exhaled softly as he leaned back in his heat. You were breathing softly against his neck as you slept. This sure was better than you grinding him and talking nonsense from when you were high from his drug. This was peaceful.

However, there was the still the threat of someone daring to steal you away from him. Miguel knew that you would never betray him, but he also knew that eventually you would have a limit. Someone could give you the affection you craved and sweep you off your feet.

The thought angered Miguel.

There was already a minor threat at his door. Miguel was going to have to go above and beyond in order to keep you. He knew that eventually this would happen, but to be forced to do it so soon? It was frustrating.

With another loud sigh, Miguel had to accept his fate. This will help in the future anyway. You were his precious little test subject. Everything about you belonged to Miguel.

And he was going to show you.

---------

You whimpered a soft grunt as you started to come to. Fluttering your eyes open, you recognized the room you were in. You couldn't help but cry softly, knowing that you probably burdened Miguel once again.

"Why are you whining? I'd thought you be happy in this situation." Miguel scoffed.

You flinched and immediately fixed yourself, finding Miguel under you. Your face turned bright red as his hands gripped your waist. How did you end up in this situation again? Your heart couldn't take such embarassment.

"I-I'm so sorry! I didn't cause you too much trouble, did I?"

You were panicking. Miguel was going to be annoyed now. Ready to get off his lap, you were surprised when Miguel kept you in place. His grip was firm against your waist.

"Miguel?"

"You had me worried, (Y/n)." Miguel grumbled, his hand now against your cheek, "I thought I told you to watch your health?"

"I-I'm sorry, but...I couldn't control how cold I got."

"Why a sudden change?" Miguel hummed, stroking your cheek.

You shuddered, leaning against him. You wanted to tell Miguel the truth, but you knew the consequences. It was too dangerous to tell him. Resting your head against his hand, you simply shrugged to his question.

"Then you had that guy come and fix your heater?" His tone was cruel as Miguel grabbed your chin, pulling you closer.

"I-I just called IT...I didn't know who would come."

"Don't care. You belong to me."

You felt a shiver run down your spine towards his words. You always knew that Miguel was a possessive man. Feeling your face getting closer to his, your heart rate started to increase. Your breathing hitched as Miguel placed his lips against yours.

Was this really happening?

His lips were rough and cold. Nothing like you imagined, but you still felt like you were in cloud nine. As the two of you parted, you closed your eyes as Miguel stroked your cheek once more.

"You...are...mine." He said firmly.

"Yes, Miguel," You hummed in response.

"You will remember to do as I say, right? Do so, and I shall keep giving you these treats you enjoy so much."

"You're making me sound like a pet. Surely, you must enjoy...just a little of this too....right?" You asked, frowning slightly. Miguel raised a brow,

"I suppose I wouldn't have done it otherwise," He stroked your lips next, "You know I like what's mine to do as I please."

"I know, but I'm a person too." You huffed.

Miguel let out a soft grunt before pulling you into another kiss. His hand trailed up your back, causing you to shiver and grab onto him. Perhaps you needed to give Miguel some leniency. This was the first time you had ever seen him so affectionate. Perhaps he knew nothing of love.

Which meant that you had to teach him.

"I know," Miguel finally replied back. You smiled, enjoying the kisses he was giving you,

"Hehe, but I'll still listen to you. You're still my boss."

--------

Your boss and soon to be owner. Oh, how dangerous of a combo that was. You were too naïve to see what Miguel had planned for you. Always seeing the good in others. You were such a good girl. Miguel was enjoying this slow corruption.

"Speaking of which, because of this...I am behind on work. I need you to complete some reports for me." Miguel requested, flipping you on his lap.

His arm was still tight around you waist, refusing to let you go. Miguel wanted to keep you in his embrace a little longer. Who knows when he was going to be able to steal you from your hero life. Miguel couldn't allow you to be free and get injured.

"Miguel, I wouldn't understand these. Are you sure you want me to fill them out for you?"

"Those are the easy ones."

"Easy for you," You huffed. Miguel furrowed his brows, leaning towards your ear,

"Be a good girl and help me." He whispered, watching you turn into putty. "Your office is still a frozen-"

"Sir, Doc Ock has been taken in. Would you like to start taking his blood sample?" Lyla appeared, interrupting Miguel.

"Huh? Doc Ock? What are you planning on doing with that super villain?" You asked, shocked. Miguel chuckled lowly as he got up and sat you in his chair,

"Wasn't he the one who hurt you that one time you got caught in the action? All I plan to do is question him...and run some tests." Miguel's smile turned wicked.

Doc Ock was going to regret ever laying a tentacle on you. Miguel was going to make his debut as the new villain in the city. No one was going to ever harm you again.

"B-but he's dangerous! Even Spider-Woman had a hard time-"

"Don't you trust me?" Miguel hummed, patting your head, "I'll be fine, you should be more worried about those reports."

Leaving his office, Miguel couldn't help but chuckle. You were such a good girl for him. This was truly a splendid day.

"Lyla, inform the workers that we'll be serving octopus for lunch today."

"Yes, sir~."

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Next Chapter

(Still on small hiatus, just managed to finish Persona 3 haha)

@tojishugetiddies @miguelsfavwife @foulsharkheart @club-danger-zone @ivkygirly @jollystrawberrycycle @amber-content @weirdothatwritess @smartyren @mangoslushcrush @nyxzoldyck6 @migueloharastruelove @chaoticlovingdreamer @sukioyakio @killjoy-nightshadow @heyohalie @the-pan-liquid @bokutosprettylittlebimbo @kpopscoups17130000 @pochapo @killerwendigo @barbiecrocs @miss-galaxy-turtle @oscarissac2099 @lazy-idate @lauraolar14 @migueloharacumslut @straw-berry-ghoul @daisy-artfield @sukunash0e @undf-stuff @iamperson12280 @nightingale1011 @reader-1290 @mcmiracles @keepghostly @marlyharper @jadeloverxd

[novaursa]

The Price of Fire (13)

- Summary: In the shadows of the Red Keep, the daughter of the Mad King, Princess Y/N Targaryen, finds herself caught between duty, love, and survival. As her father’s madness deepens and political intrigue swirls, she seeks solace in a forbidden romance with her sworn protector, Ser Arthur Dayne. With King Aerys plotting to use her as a pawn and her brother Rhaegar maneuvering to shield her from their father’s grasp, Y/N must navigate a web of deceit and desire. As tensions rise, secrets ignite into fierce passion and dangerous alliances, where the wrong move could mean the end of them all.

- Paring: targ!reader/Arthur Dayne

- Note: For the rest of the parts of the story, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 8 000+

- Previous part: 12

- Next part: 14

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @lightdragonrayne @onlyrealjoy @hajmola-vs-aamchaska @alyssa-dayne

The sun was setting over the vast expanse of Dorne as you and Arthur rode toward Starfall, the ancestral seat of House Dayne. The long journey had been grueling, but the sight of the pale stone walls of the castle rising against the desert landscape brought a sense of relief. Starfall, nestled near the shores of the Torrentine, shimmered in the fading light, the Sword of the Morning’s ancestral home looking like a beacon of safety amidst the chaos you had fled.

Arthur rode beside you, his gaze sharp and focused as always, but there was a heaviness in the air between you, a shared understanding of what you had left behind and what awaited you here. His hand, warm and steady, had gripped yours tightly for much of the journey, a silent promise that he would see you through this. But even Arthur, as confident and unwavering as he had been, knew the gravity of what was to come.

As the gates of Starfall opened before you, a small party emerged from the castle to greet you. At the forefront stood Ashara Dayne, her violet eyes wide with anticipation. Her dark hair, flowing freely over her shoulders, caught the last rays of the sun, and her expression—though composed—betrayed a mix of emotions as she saw you and Arthur approaching.

She had received the letter, of course. She had known they were coming. But seeing it unfold before her eyes—the dragon princess, you, and her brother, the famed Sword of the Morning, now a man branded a traitor to the crown—was something else entirely.

Behind her, several retainers of House Dayne stood, their expressions somber but respectful. The atmosphere was heavy with the weight of what was happening. Here, even in Dorne, word had spread like a storm of King Aerys' descent into insenity, of his obsession with his daughter, and of the dark ritual that had led to the hatching of a dragon—a miracle, some whispered. But others, even here, spoke of it with a shiver of unease. The way in which the dragon had been brought into the world—the burning of men, the wildfire—it cast a shadow over what should have been a wonder.

As you and Arthur dismounted, Ashara stepped forward, her eyes flickering between you and her brother. She was beautiful, as she always had been, but there was an intensity in her gaze that spoke of understanding and concern.

“Arthur,” she said softly, her voice carrying the weight of both affection and caution. Her eyes moved to you, and she gave a respectful nod. “Princess Y/N.”

You managed a faint smile, though you could feel the tension in your chest, the exhaustion of the journey and the enormity of what you had fled catching up to you. “Lady Ashara,” you replied, your voice quieter than usual.

Ashara’s eyes softened, and she glanced at her brother again, as if searching for something in his expression. “I received your letter,” she said, her voice careful. “But seeing you both here...”

Arthur, ever composed, stepped forward. “We had no choice,” he said quietly, his voice steady but filled with an unspoken weight. “The situation in King’s Landing has grown far worse than you know.”

Ashara sighed, her eyes darkening with concern. “It is all anyone can speak of, even here in Dorne. The king’s madness... his obsession with his daughter.” She glanced at you then, her expression softening. “The birth of the dragon. It’s seen as a miracle in some corners, but...” She trailed off, and the unspoken truth lingered in the air.

“But the manner of its birth,” she continued after a moment, “has unsettled many. The burning of men with wildfire... it casts a dark shadow, even on a miracle.”

You looked away, the memories of that ritual flashing through your mind, the heat of the wildfire, the sight of the men burning, feeling fires on you skin, the scent of their flesh still resides in your soul. It was something you could never forget, a nightmare that clung to you even now.

Arthur reached for your hand again, his fingers curling around yours gently. “We’re not here for miracles,” he said softly, his voice filled with the kind of tenderness he only ever used with you. “We’re here because the king’s obsession has reached its peak. Rhaegar... Rhaegar had no choice but to take action. And now, we must protect Y/N.”

Ashara’s face tightened as she heard her brother’s words, the weight of them settling over her. “Rhaegar has started a war,” she murmured, her eyes searching Arthur’s. “And you... you’ve broken your oath to the crown.”

Arthur’s jaw clenched, but his gaze remained steady. “I’ve broken no oath that matters. My loyalty is to her, to protecting her from a fate worse than any betrayal to the crown.”

There was a long pause, the silence filled with the heavy weight of what lay ahead. Ashara, torn between her own loyalty to her brother and the reality of what this all meant, finally nodded.

“I understand,” she said softly, her voice filled with sorrow and resolve. “Come inside. We will keep you safe here, for as long as we can.”

She turned and led the way toward the gates of Starfall, her retainers following closely behind. You and Arthur exchanged a glance, and for a moment, despite everything, there was a sense of relief. You had made it to Starfall. For now, you were safe.

But as you walked through the gates and entered the shadowed halls of the ancient castle, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning.

The halls of Starfall were cool and dim, a sharp contrast to the scorching Dornish sun outside. Ashara led you and Arthur through the shadowed corridors, her movements swift and graceful, though her face was etched with worry. Arthur remained close to you, his presence a steady comfort as your steps echoed through the ancient stone halls. Starfall’s very walls seemed to carry the weight of history, of long-forgotten battles and the legacy of House Dayne.

As you walked, you couldn’t help but glance at Arthur, his jaw tight, his hand brushing against yours in quiet reassurance. But just as you were about to speak, a familiar voice broke the silence.

“Well, well,” the voice drawled, smooth and unmistakable. “The princess of dragons graces us with her presence. It’s been too long since we’ve seen that pretty face.”

You stopped, your heart skipping a beat as you turned to find Prince Oberyn Martell leaning against one of the stone pillars, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. His lips curled into a slow smile, and he stepped forward, his gaze flicking between you and Arthur with a knowing look. He was dressed as casually as ever, but the power and confidence he exuded made the air around him feel charged.

“Oberyn,” you greeted with a small, tired smile, surprised to see him here. The last time you had seen him was at the festival of the Mother in King’s Landing, when the court had tried to match his sister, Elia, with Rhaegar. It felt like a lifetime ago now. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

Oberyn’s smile widened, his eyes flicking over you, taking in your travel-worn appearance but with no less warmth. “And I wasn’t expecting to find the famed dragon princess on my doorstep, but here we are,” he said lightly, his voice teasing but not unkind. “You’ve certainly brought a bit of excitement to Dorne, though I suppose that’s no surprise for someone with dragon blood.”

You chuckled softly, despite everything, and offered a light jest, your words more out of habit than ease. “You flatter me, Prince Oberyn. Though I’m sure there’s plenty of excitement in Dorne without me.”

Oberyn’s eyes sparkled with amusement, but then his gaze shifted to Arthur, who had remained by your side, ever watchful. The prince’s expression turned more thoughtful, his smile turning into a smirk. “I must say, Arthur, you’re looking... particularly attentive,” he remarked, his tone dripping with suggestion. “And very close to the princess.”

Arthur straightened, his face calm but unreadable as always. “I’m protecting her, Oberyn,” he said, his voice steady. “That’s my duty.”

Oberyn raised an eyebrow, the smirk on his lips deepening. “Oh, I remember,” he said smoothly. “At the festival in King’s Landing, you and I spoke, and I noticed it then—the way you looked at her. The Sword of the Morning, in love with the dragon princess.” His eyes gleamed mischievously. “It seems I was right.”

Your heart skipped a beat, heat rising to your cheeks at Oberyn’s words. You glanced at Arthur, who remained composed, though there was a faint tension in his jaw. He didn’t deny it. And neither did you.

Before the moment could stretch on further, Ashara cleared her throat, giving the prince a sharp look. “Your Grace,” she said firmly. “This is not the time.”

Oberyn shrugged, though his smile remained. “Very well, Lady Ashara,” he said, though his gaze lingered on you and Arthur for a moment longer. Then, with a graceful step, he turned to face you more fully, his expression softening.

“You’re safe here, Princess,” Oberyn said, his tone turning serious. “Starfall is well-guarded, and if Aerys sends men to Dorne, we will respond. Dorne does not bow easily to the will of mad kings.”

You frowned, the weight of everything pressing down on you again. “Why are you protecting me?” you asked, the question escaping your lips before you could stop it. There was gratitude in your voice, but also confusion. “I don’t... I don’t understand why you’re taking such a risk.”

Oberyn smiled, but there was a flicker of something more in his eyes—something sharp and calculating. “I have a passion for protecting damsels in distress,” he said with a smirk, though his voice was softer now. “But more than that... it’s the right thing to do.”

He paused, his gaze thoughtful as he considered his next words. “And perhaps,” he added, his tone more deliberate, “saving you could be beneficial to Dorne in the long run. Once Rhaegar secures the throne, there will be... opportunities for future alliances. A free princess, safe and sound, could open many doors.”

You felt a pang of unease at his words, a reminder of the political games that had always surrounded you. Even now, far from King’s Landing, you were still a piece on the board—a tool for others to use.

But more than that, Oberyn’s words stirred something deeper, something painful. You shifted uncomfortably, the conflicting emotions swirling inside you. No matter how deranged Aerys had become, he was still your father. Your blood. And despite everything, despite the fear and the horrors you had witnessed, you could not shake the love you still felt for the man he once was. The father who had once held you close, who had smiled at you with genuine affection before the madness consumed him.

“I... I understand,” you said quietly, your voice faltering slightly. “But it’s still... difficult. He’s still my father, no matter what he’s become. And all of this... it still feels alien to me.”

Oberyn’s expression softened, and for a moment, the playful, teasing prince was gone, replaced by someone who understood the weight of loss, the pain of family. “I don’t envy your position, Princess,” he said quietly. “But remember, you didn’t choose this. None of this is your fault.”

Arthur’s hand found yours again, a silent comfort, and you squeezed it gently, grateful for his steady presence.

Ashara stepped forward, placing a hand on your shoulder, her expression kind. “You’re safe here,” she repeated softly. “You have people who care for you.”

You nodded, though the knot in your chest remained. The love you still carried for your father, the man he had once been, warred with the reality of what he had become. And the uncertainty of the future hung over you like a dark cloud.

But here, in Starfall, surrounded by those who had chosen to protect you, you knew you were not alone.

The journey to Dragonstone had been long and weighed down with silance, the heavy skies mirroring the burden that hung over Rhaegar’s heart. The sea winds whipped around the island fortress, carrying the salt of the Narrow Sea, but they did little to cleanse the worries from his mind. He had successfully escorted his mother, Queen Rhaella, to safety with the aid of Varys' men, ensuring she was far from the madness of King’s Landing. Yet even here, in the ancient stronghold of House Targaryen, the shadows of his father’s madness loomed.

Rhaegar stood on the terrace overlooking the stormy sea, his silver hair blowing in the wind, his violet eyes dark with the weight of the world pressing upon him. His thoughts drifted to you—to the sister he had sent away with Ser Arthur Dayne, trusting him with your life. His heart ached at the thought of you, far from him, but safer in the hands of the man he trusted most. But the weight of keeping you hidden, even from his own mother, gnawed at him.

Behind him, the door to the chamber opened quietly, and his mother, Queen Rhaella, stepped out to join him. She was pale and fragile, her face lined with worry. The toll of years spent under Aerys’ madness was clear in her eyes, though she carried herself with the dignity of a queen.

"Rhaegar," she called softly, her voice filled with concern.

Rhaegar turned to face her, his expression softening as he saw the worry etched into her face. She was his mother, the woman who had endured more than anyone should ever have to. And now, as he stood on the precipice of war, he knew the pain he was causing her—the uncertainty, the fear for her children.

"Mother," Rhaegar said gently, stepping forward to take her hands in his. "You’re safe here, at Dragonstone. No harm will come to you."

Rhaella’s eyes searched his face, and though she nodded, her worry was not so easily dismissed. "But what of you?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly. "And your sister? Where is Y/N, Rhaegar? I don’t even know where she’s been taken. How can I be at peace when I don’t know if my children are safe?"

Her words hit Rhaegar with the force of a storm. He had expected this, had known his mother would ask. But now, standing before her, he could feel the weight of his decision bearing down on him. He could not tell her where you were. He couldn’t risk it. Not with his father’s insanity growing, not with Aerys' wrath so unpredictable. If she knew, and if Aerys ever turned his wrath on Rhaella again, she might suffer because of the knowledge.

"Y/N is safe," Rhaegar said softly, his voice steady but filled with the burden of what he withheld. "She’s with Ser Arthur. He will protect her."

Rhaella’s eyes flickered with relief, but also with a trace of doubt. "Arthur is a good man," she said, her voice still soft, "but why must I be kept in the dark about where she’s been taken? What danger is she in that you can’t share with me?"

Rhaegar exhaled slowly, his heart aching for the truth he couldn’t share. "The less you know, Mother, the safer you are," he said, his tone gentle but firm. "Father’s instability... it’s growing worse. If he turns his attention to you again, if he seeks to punish you for what has happened... I can’t risk you being harmed because of knowledge you shouldn’t carry."

Rhaella’s face tightened with fear, her grip on Rhaegar’s hands tightening. "Your father..." she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. "He won’t let this go, will he? He’ll come for her. For you."

Rhaegar nodded slowly, his expression grim. "He will. But I won’t let him take her. I won’t let him destroy us."

Tears welled in Rhaella’s eyes, but she blinked them back, her fingers gripping her son’s hands as though she could anchor herself to him. "I’ve already lost so much," she said, her voice trembling. "I can’t lose you, Rhaegar. I can’t lose Y/N. I’ve lost your father, the man he once was... but not you. Not my children."

Rhaegar’s throat tightened, and he pulled his mother into a gentle embrace, holding her close as the stormy winds whipped around them. "You won’t lose us," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I swear it. I will protect Y/N, and I will do everything in my power to protect you."

They stood there for a moment, mother and son, bound by shared pain and love, both knowing that the storm that had begun in King’s Landing was only just gathering strength.

After a long silence, Rhaella pulled back slightly, searching her son’s face. "What will you do now?" she asked softly.

Rhaegar’s eyes darkened as he looked out over the sea, his thoughts already turning to the war he knew was coming. "I will prepare," he said, his voice resolute. "The North is already moving. The Riverlands will follow. Father has ignited the flames of rebellion with his madness, and there’s no turning back now."

Rhaella’s hand trembled as she reached up to touch Rhaegar’s face, her eyes filled with sorrow. "Be careful, Rhaegar," she whispered. "I know your destiny, your dreams... but be careful. You and Y/N are all I have left."

Rhaegar nodded, his heart heavy with the weight of his mother’s love and fear. "I will," he promised.

The warm air of summer clung to the open field, the sun hanging high in the sky as Rhaegar Targaryen stood, watching the approaching banners of House Baratheon. The grass swayed gently in the breeze, but there was a sense of foreboding in the air that even the heat couldn’t dispel. Across the distance, Robert Baratheon rode forward with his men, the stag on a field of gold flying proudly behind him. The meeting was inevitable, a consequence of all that had transpired.

Rhaegar stood tall, his silver hair catching the light, his violet eyes focused ahead. Though stripped of his title as Prince of Dragonstone, branded a traitor by his father, none of that concerned him as much as the accusations leveled against him—the claim that he had stolen his own sister. The gravity of those words hung over him, even as he prepared to face Robert.

The two had not met since that fateful festival in King’s Landing, when the court had tried to match Elia Martell with Rhaegar. But now, they faced each other under very different circumstances.

As Robert and his men came to a halt, Rhaegar's thoughts momentarily drifted to you. You were safely hidden with Ser Arthur Dayne, far from the madness that had engulfed the realm. But that safety had come at a price, and now the consequences were unfolding before him.

Robert dismounted, his powerful frame towering over the men who stood behind him. His face was hard, his blue eyes filled with anger and accusation. His warhammer, which had already claimed many lives in this rebellion, hung at his side, a menacing reminder of the brute force he commanded.

"Rhaegar," Robert said, his voice carrying across the field like a growl. "Last time we stood together, we were in King’s Landing. Now look at what you’ve become."

Rhaegar remained calm, his hands resting on the hilt of his sword as he met Robert’s gaze. "Much has changed since then, Robert," he replied. "But we both know why we are here today."

Robert’s expression darkened as he took a step closer. "Aye, I know exactly why," he said, his voice thick with contempt. "You’re a traitor to the crown. You’ve turned your back on your own father, and you’ve dragged the realm into chaos. You’re no prince anymore—you’re just a thief."

The accusation hit like a blow, but Rhaegar had expected it. His hand tightened slightly on the hilt of his sword, though his face remained composed.

"I’m no thief, Robert," he said firmly. "I’ve protected my sister from a king who has lost his mind. My father is no longer the man he once was. His obsession with power, his madness, has poisoned the realm. I couldn’t let him drag Y/N into that madness."

Robert’s fists clenched, his anger bubbling just beneath the surface. "And you thought it was your right to take her away?" he spat, stepping closer. "To defy the crown? You think that makes you better than Aerys?"

Rhaegar stood his ground, his eyes never leaving Robert’s. "It wasn’t about defiance—it was about doing what was right. Y/N was never meant to be used as a toy in my father’s delusions. He wanted to take her as his wife, Robert. His own daughter. I couldn’t let that happen."

Robert’s face twisted in disgust, but his rage remained unchecked. "So you decided to start a war to protect her?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You think that makes you some kind of hero? You think this rebellion is about saving your sister?"

Rhaegar’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t rise to the bait. "This isn’t about me," he said quietly. "It’s about protecting her from becoming another victim of my father’s madness. The man who sits on the Iron Throne will burn the realm to the ground if it means keeping his twisted grip on power."

Robert’s eyes narrowed, and he took another step closer, looming over Rhaegar. "You think you’re better than him? You think you can just claim her for yourself and call it protection?"

Rhaegar’s breath caught for a moment, but he forced himself to remain steady. He knew the truth of his actions—knew the purity of his intentions when it came to you. His love for you, his desire to keep you safe, had driven him to do things he never thought possible. But Robert’s insinuations cut deep.

"I love my sister," Rhaegar said, his voice low but filled with conviction. "But not in the way you think. I would die before I let Aerys destroy her, or destroy the realm. Everything I’ve done, I’ve done to protect her from a fate worse than death."

Robert scoffed, shaking his head. "You’ve already brought death, Rhaegar," he said coldly. "You’ve dragged the realm into war, and now it’s going to destroy everything you think you’re protecting."

For a moment, the only sound was the distant rustling of the wind through the grass. The tension between them was shimmering, both men knowing that the words exchanged here were only the beginning.

Robert took a step back, his face hardening once more. "This isn’t going to end well for you, Rhaegar," he said, his voice quiet but full of menace. "You’ve made your choice. Now you’ll face the consequences."

Rhaegar met Robert’s gaze, his expression resolute. "The consequences have already begun, Robert," he said. "But they won’t end with my death. They’ll end with a mad king removed from the throne."

Robert’s lip curled, and without another word, he turned and strode back toward his men, his warhammer swinging heavily at his side.

As Robert’s men mounted their horses and prepared to leave, Rhaegar remained standing in the field, the wind brushing through his hair. The meeting was over, but the battle that lay ahead was only just beginning.

The throne room was suffused with an uneasy warmth, the late summer heat mixing with the heavy dread that clung to the walls of the Red Keep. Behind the Iron Throne, Terrax lay coiled in the shadows, the massive black dragon’s slow breaths audible in the otherwise silent hall. His golden eyes, half-lidded but ever watchful, glowed faintly in the low light. The courtiers and council members stood still, their attention split between the maddened king and the restless creature behind him, each movement of the dragon a reminder of the volatile situation they faced.

King Aerys II sat upon the Iron Throne, his silver hair wild, eyes blazing with anger. His thin frame seemed to tremble with barely contained fury, and the small council could feel it in the air, crackling like the heat of a fire about to blaze out of control. Lord Owen Merryweather, his face pale and drawn, stood at the center of the storm, the weight of the king’s rage fully upon him.

“You have failed me, Merryweather!” Aerys shouted, his voice sharp and cold. “The rebellion grows stronger, my enemies multiply, and my daughter—my daughter—remains out of reach! What good are you as Hand if you cannot stop even this?”

Behind the throne, Terrax shifted, his tail scraping against the stone floor with a low, rumbling sound that sent shivers through those gathered. The dragon’s presence had always unnerved them, and now, with the king’s madness growing unchecked, it felt as though the beast was an extension of Aerys' wild temper, ready to erupt at any moment.

Merryweather swallowed, sweat beading on his forehead. “Your Grace, I—"

“Silence!” Aerys barked, cutting him off. “You were meant to serve me, to keep order in my realm. Instead, you have allowed chaos to spread! You have let my son steal away my daughter, and you have done nothing to stop it!”

The entire council stood frozen, none daring to meet the king’s gaze for fear of drawing his ire. Even the smallest glance toward Terrax could betray fear or hesitation, which Aerys would certainly seize upon. The dragon’s breathing grew heavier, and the oppressive heat in the room seemed to intensify.

“You are no longer fit to serve,” Aerys continued, his voice lowering into something more menacing. “I strip you of your title as Hand of the King. You are banished from my sight and from this court. Leave now, before I decide to deal with you more harshly.”

Merryweather, ashen-faced, bowed low and backed away from the throne, his departure marked by the soft clinking of armor and murmurs from the court. The doors closed behind him with a resounding thud, leaving the room in a stifling silence.

The king’s eyes swept over the remaining council members, his gaze wild and dangerous. His fingers gripped the arms of the Iron Throne so tightly that the sharp blades beneath his hands dug into his skin, leaving thin trails of blood. But Aerys paid no mind to the pain—his thoughts were consumed by other matters, chief among them your absence.

“Jon Connington,” Aerys called, turning his attention to the man who now stood before him. “You will be my new Hand. Bring my enemies to their knees, bring my daughter back to me, or suffer the same fate as your predecessor.”

Jon Connington, calm and composed, bowed deeply. “I will not fail you, Your Grace,” he said in a measured tone. His words were confident, but the gravity of his new role was evident. He knew the dangers that lay ahead, both from within the court and beyond its walls.

As Connington took his place, Aerys’ gaze snapped to Varys, who had been standing silently at the edge of the room. The Master of Whisperers, ever composed, offered a slight bow, his hands hidden within the folds of his robes. But Aerys was in no mood for silence or patience.

“You!” Aerys hissed, his voice sharp and filled with venom. “You claim to know every secret in this kingdom, to have spies in every corner, yet you still have not found her! Where is Y/N?”

Varys, unmoved by the king’s outburst, responded in his usual soft, unflappable manner. “Your Grace, my little birds are searching every corner of Westeros. There are whispers, but—”

“Whispers?!” Aerys’ voice rose to a fever pitch, the madness in his eyes flaring. “I do not want whispers, Varys, I want my daughter! You will find her, or I will burn every spy of yours alive! Do you hear me?”

At the mention of burning, Terrax’s tail twitched again, his golden eyes narrowing slightly. The dragon, though bonded to you and not Aerys, sensed the turmoil in the room. His presence was a constant reminder of the thin line between power and destruction that Aerys walked so carelessly.

Varys bowed his head, his voice smooth and deferential. “Your Grace, I assure you, we are close. The princess will be found, and she will be returned to you.”

Aerys stared at Varys for a long moment, his breathing heavy and erratic. “You had better,” he muttered darkly. “Or I will feed you to the flames myself.”

As Varys bowed again and stepped back, Grand Maester Pycelle, standing nearby, cleared his throat nervously, hoping to ease the king’s temper. “Your Grace,” he began cautiously, “perhaps if we—”

“Quiet, you old fool!” Aerys snapped, turning his anger on Pycelle. “I have no use for your weak counsel! We are beyond diplomacy—this is a time for fire and blood!”

At the mention of fire, Wisdom Rossart stepped forward, his lips curling into a thin smile. “Wildfire, Your Grace,” he said, his voice eager. “With wildfire, we can cleanse your enemies from the earth. Rhaegar, the traitors, all of them can be burned away.”

Aerys' expression shifted, a gleam of dark satisfaction lighting his eyes. "Yes," he murmured, as though Rossart’s words had calmed his storm. "Wildfire. I will bathe them in flames, and they will know the wrath of the dragon."

Terrax’s head lifted slightly, his golden eyes gleaming as if in acknowledgment of the words. His massive body remained coiled behind the throne, a shadow of danger that made every man in the room acutely aware of their own mortality.

Ser Gerold Hightower stood silently, as stoic as ever, but even he could feel the weight of the king’s madness pressing down upon the room. His presence, once that of a steadfast protector, now seemed to waver as he witnessed Aerys descend further into darkness.

Aerys, seemingly appeased for the moment, sat back on the Iron Throne, his bloody fingers gripping the metal as he spoke in a low, dangerous tone. “Find her,” he commanded, his voice filled with malice. “Bring Y/N back to me, or you will all burn for your failures.”

The small council exchanged brief, uneasy glances before bowing and retreating from the hall. The tension in the air was almost unbearable as they filed out, leaving Aerys alone with his twisted thoughts and the ever-watchful dragon behind him.

The doors closed with a heavy thud, and Aerys remained seated, his mind racing with thoughts of betrayal, fire, and the daughter who had been taken from him.

The night was calm at Starfall, the vast Dornish skies speckled with stars, but inside the cool stone walls, your mind was anything but still. You lay curled in Arthur’s arms, his warmth against your back a comfort, yet sleep did not bring you peace. Instead, it dragged you into darkness—a darkness that twisted and churned with an ancient and foreboding sense of doom.

In the nightmare, you stood in the heart of a desolate, frozen wasteland. The air was heavy, and the sky above you was a bruised, sickly green, swirling with strange lights that seemed to whisper as they danced across the horizon. The world around you was coated in thick layers of ice and snow, a cold so deep it seeped into your bones, making your breath come out in ragged puffs of white.

There were figures in the distance—vague shapes moving across the horizon, their forms blending with the howling winds. The cold gnawed at your skin, yet you felt something far worse in the air: a creeping sense of dread, as if something ancient and evil was stirring beneath the ice.

"The Long Night," a voice whispered, soft and mocking. "It’s coming again, princess. It’s always coming. And there’s nothing you can do to stop it."

You turned, searching for the source of the voice, but found nothing. Only the endless expanse of ice and shadows, stretching out as far as the eye could see. The winds screamed around you, carrying with them whispers—fragments of words, lost promises, broken oaths. The cold grew sharper, more painful, until it felt like knives slicing through your skin.

“You will fall.”

The voice was clearer now, slithering through the winds like a serpent’s hiss. “You cannot escape what is coming. Not even with a dragon by your side.”

Suddenly, the ground beneath your feet cracked, and with a sharp jolt, you were falling—plunging into a chasm of ice and darkness. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, but the voice followed you, laughing softly in your ears.

“Do you hear it? The dead are coming for you, princess. They always have.”

The terror rose, thick and suffocating. You could feel the icy hands of the dead clawing at you, pulling you deeper into the frozen abyss, their empty eyes staring through you, their mouths twisted into grotesque smiles. The dead were all around you now, their bodies rising from the snow, their skeletal fingers grasping for you, dragging you down.

"Look how far you’ve fallen."

The voice was taunting, gloating, as you struggled to break free, but your limbs felt heavy, useless. You couldn’t escape. The cold was everywhere now, inside you, freezing your very soul.

"There is no escape, little dragon. You belong to the darkness."

And then, piercing through the nightmare, came a sound—a deep, thunderous roar that shook the very ground beneath your feet. The dead scattered, their twisted forms retreating into the shadows as the roar echoed through the icy wasteland. The sky above cracked with a brilliant light, and in the distance, you saw him—Terrax, your dragon, his golden eyes blazing as he cut through the storm with a fury that shattered the nightmare’s grip.

With a sharp gasp, you woke, your body trembling and drenched in sweat. The darkness of the dream still clung to you, the voice’s taunts lingering in your mind like a poisoned whisper. But the warmth of the real world was there to greet you. Arthur’s arms tightened around you protectively, his voice soft in your ear.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his tone filled with concern as he held you close. “You were dreaming again.”

You turned in his embrace, your breath still ragged from the fear that lingered in your chest. Your eyes met his, and the depth of his affection and worry was clear in the moonlight that filtered through the window. Arthur’s hand gently brushed your hair away from your face, his thumb tracing soothing circles against your temple.

“I’m here,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “It’s all right. You’re safe with me.”

The warmth of his body against yours was grounding, pulling you away from the icy grip of the nightmare. You rested your forehead against his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of him, allowing his steady heartbeat to calm the storm still raging inside you.

“I saw it again,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “The Long Night... the dead...”

Arthur’s hand moved gently along your back, his touch a constant source of comfort. “It’s just a dream,” he said softly, though there was a weight in his voice, a worry that he couldn’t fully hide. “It’s not real.”

But even as he said it, you both knew that your dreams, your visions, were never just dreams. You had seen too much, felt too much for them to be dismissed so easily. The weight of your dragondreams always lingered, their warnings carried deep within your soul.

“And the voice,” you murmured, your fingers curling into his shirt. “It keeps taunting me, Arthur. It... it says things that feel too real.”

Arthur’s brow furrowed, and he held you tighter, his hand moving to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing softly across your skin. “You’re stronger than whatever that voice says,” he said, his voice filled with quiet determination. “You’re stronger than the darkness, Y/N.”

You looked up at him, your heart swelling with gratitude and love for the man who had stood by your side through all of this madness. In his eyes, you found the safety and strength that the nightmare had tried to take from you. With him, you knew you could face anything, even the shadows that haunted your dreams.

Gently, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his, a soft, lingering kiss that spoke of the bond between you. Arthur responded with tenderness, his hand resting at the small of your back, holding you close as he deepened the kiss, his affection pouring into the simple act of being with you.

When you pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm and comforting against your skin. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible in the quiet of the night. “And I will protect you from whatever comes.”

You nodded, your heart steadying in his arms, the terror of the dream fading as you found solace in his embrace. Terrax’s distant roar echoed faintly in your mind, a reminder that you were never truly alone.

As you lay back down, nestled safely against Arthur’s chest, his arms wrapped around you protectively, you knew that no matter how dark the dreams became, you had the strength to face them.

Because with Arthur—and with your dragon—you would never be lost to the darkness.

The soft light of dawn spilled through the open window of the solar, casting a warm glow on the smooth stone walls of Starfall. You sat by the window, looking out at the Torrentine River below, its waters gleaming in the early morning light. The sound of the river’s gentle rush echoed faintly, but the quiet peace of the moment did little to calm the storm that churned within you.

Ashara Dayne sat across from you, her long dark hair falling loosely over her shoulders, her violet eyes filled with understanding as she watched you. She was patient, allowing the silence to stretch as she waited for you to speak. You had asked to talk, but now that you were here, the weight of everything seemed too heavy to put into words.

Finally, you let out a breath, your voice quiet but laced with frustration. "I feel so helpless here, Ashara."

Ashara’s gaze remained steady, but she tilted her head slightly, encouraging you to continue.

“I can’t just sit here while Rhaegar fights this war alone,” you went on, your hands clenched in your lap. "He’s out there, risking everything, and I’m... I’m hiding here, waiting for it all to be over. It feels like I’m abandoning him. I can’t let him do this by himself."

Ashara's expression softened, and she leaned forward slightly, her tone gentle but firm. "You’re not abandoning him, Y/N. You’re protecting yourself, and Rhaegar wants you to be safe. That’s why he sent you here."

You shook your head, the frustration bubbling up again. "I know that’s what he wants, but it doesn’t feel right. I’m his sister—his blood. I should be out there, doing something. I should be helping him, not hiding away like some helpless... damsel."

Ashara’s lips curved into a small smile at your choice of words, but her eyes remained serious. "You’re far from helpless, and you know that."

You met her gaze, your mind racing. The nightmares had grown worse, and with each passing day, the weight of the war pressed heavier on your shoulders. Rhaegar had always been the one to protect you, the one to fight for you, but now… everything was different. Aerys’ wrath, the rebellion, the shifting loyalties across the realm—it felt like you were drowning in it all, powerless to change anything.

"I can’t let him fight for me," you murmured, almost to yourself. "Not alone."

Ashara was quiet for a moment, considering her next words. She leaned back slightly, folding her hands in her lap. "There are many ways to fight, Y/N. Not all battles are fought with swords and armor. Your presence here, alive, free—that is something Rhaegar is fighting for. He needs to know you’re safe. You being here isn’t just hiding away—it’s part of the larger plan to keep you away from your father’s madness."

Her words were logical, and you knew she was right in some ways. But it didn’t lessen the weight of your guilt, or the desire to act. "I understand that," you said quietly, "but I still need to do something."

Ashara gave you a thoughtful look, her violet eyes searching your face. "You have power, Y/N," she said softly. "More than you realize. You have your dragon, you have your lineage, and you have the strength that’s been passed down through the Targaryen line. When the time comes, you’ll know how to use that power."

You looked away, your eyes drifting back to the window. The wind stirred the curtains gently, carrying the scent of the river and the warmth of the sun. Ashara’s words lingered in your mind, but they didn’t dispel the ache in your chest, the need to do more than simply wait.

After a long silence, Ashara’s voice broke through your thoughts, her tone shifting slightly as she changed the subject. "Speaking of strength," she said, her lips curving into a knowing smile, "Arthur seems to have found something special with you."

You blinked, startled by the sudden change in topic. Turning back to her, you saw the warmth in her eyes, the subtle teasing behind her words. Your heart skipped a beat, and you felt your cheeks warm.

"Arthur..." you began, but words failed you for a moment. "Arthur has been... my anchor through all of this."

Ashara’s smile widened slightly. "I can see that. And I can see how deeply he cares for you. It’s not every day that the Sword of the Morning risks everything for a princess."

You felt a swell of affection as you thought of Arthur, his steady presence, the way he had held you through your nightmares, the way he had promised to protect you, no matter what. He had been your protector, your confidant, and now, something more.

"I don’t know what I’d do without him," you admitted softly. "He’s been there for me through everything, and... I love him."

Ashara raised an eyebrow, her smile turning playful. "Oh, you love him, do you?"

You laughed softly, feeling a bit of the tension leave your chest. "Yes, I do. It’s... it’s not something I ever expected, but it’s real."

Ashara’s gaze softened, and she leaned forward again, her voice quieter now. "Arthur is one of the finest men I’ve ever known. And he’s chosen you. That’s not something to take lightly."

You nodded, feeling the truth of her words settle in your heart. "I know. And I won’t."

There was a comfortable silence between you for a few moments, the bond between you and Ashara strengthened by shared understanding. She reached out, placing a hand on yours, her smile filled with sisterly warmth. 

"You have the strength you need, Y/N," she said softly. "And when the time comes, you’ll know what to do. But for now, let Arthur be your strength, too."

You squeezed her hand in return, the ache in your chest easing just slightly. Ashara was right—Arthur was your strength, just as much as you were his. You weren’t helpless, and you wouldn’t let Rhaegar face this war alone.

But for now, you would gather your strength, and when the time came, you would fight—however that battle would unfold.

The battlefield stretched before Rhaegar like a sea of metal and banners, the morning mist lifting to reveal the grim reality of war. The sun barely broke through the thick clouds overhead, casting a gray pallor over the land, as though the very sky was mourning what was to come. He could hear the clank of armor, the snorting of horses, and the murmur of men preparing themselves for the bloodshed that was about to unfold.

Rhaegar sat tall on his white stallion, his violet eyes scanning the ranks of his forces. His armor gleamed with silver and black, the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen emblazoned on his chest. Beside him stood the loyal bannermen of the Riverlands, the men of House Tully and their allies, their faces grim but determined. Further along the line, the northern forces were just beginning to arrive, banners of the direwolf of House Stark flapping in the wind, led by Eddard Stark’s forces marching south to support Rhaegar in defiance of King Aerys.

The wind carried the faint scent of blood and steel, and Rhaegar could feel the weight of his decisions pressing heavily upon his shoulders. His rebellion, ignited by the need to protect you and free Westeros from his father’s tyranny, had led to this moment. There was no turning back now.

Ahead, the forces of King Aerys were already arrayed on the field, their banners rippling in the wind—the crowned dragon of House Targaryen, the royal sigil of his father, flanked by the soldiers of the Crownlands and the Gold Cloaks of King’s Landing. The forces were led by those loyal to Aerys: Ser Jon Connington, now Hand of the King, and Ser Gerold Hightower, who had taken the field despite his growing unease about Aerys’ madness. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard had brought with him some of the most fearsome knights, including Ser Jonothor Darry, and those who still believed in their king’s right to rule.

The tension in the air was palpable, the calm before the storm. Rhaegar knew that the battle would be fierce, and the stakes were higher than ever. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, but his mind remained clear. This was no longer just about him or his sister. This was about the realm, about saving Westeros from the fire that Aerys threatened to unleash.

Rhaegar turned to one of his commanders, a grizzled man from the Riverlands, his face marked by years of battle. “The North has arrived to avenge its father and son,” he said, his voice low but steady. “Eddard Stark’s men will flank Aerys’ forces from the west. We hold the center and press forward when the moment comes.”

The commander nodded, his eyes flicking toward the northern banners. “The Starks have always been slow to move, but when they do, they move like a storm.”

Rhaegar gave a grim smile at that. “Then let us hope they bring the storm today.”

As he looked over the battlefield, his thoughts flickered to you—safe, for now, with Arthur Dayne at Starfall. The knowledge that you were out of Aerys’ reach gave him strength, but it also fueled the fire inside him. He couldn’t fail. He wouldn’t.

A sound like thunder broke through the murmur of the armies—horns blaring from the other side of the field. Aerys’ forces were moving. The distant figures of knights and foot soldiers began to march, their steel glinting in the dull light as they advanced. At the forefront, Rhaegar could see the royal banners, the sight of them stirring a mixture of anger and resolve within him.

Jon Connington rode at the head of the force, his armor bright, his expression set in determination. He had always been fiercely loyal to Aerys, and Rhaegar knew that Connington would fight until the last breath to uphold the king’s claim. But Rhaegar could see the uncertainty in the ranks behind him—the men who fought because they were sworn to, but perhaps not because they believed in their king.

Rhaegar glanced at his own commanders, giving a short nod. “Hold your ground until we have them where we need them.”

The battle lines were drawn, and the moment stretched out, tense and silent, before the storm of steel and blood began.

Suddenly, with a roar that seemed to shake the earth itself, the two forces collided. Men shouted, swords clashed, and the sound of steel on steel filled the air. Rhaegar spurred his horse forward, charging into the fray, his blade flashing in the sunlight as he cut down the first man who came at him.

The chaos of battle surrounded him—screams of the wounded, the clash of swords and shields, the stampede of horses as cavalry units smashed into the lines of infantry. The smell of blood was thick in the air, and Rhaegar’s heart raced as he fought, each blow driven by the knowledge that this battle could decide the fate of the realm.

He found himself facing a knight in gold-plated armor, one of Aerys’ personal guards. The knight swung his sword with a vicious cry, but Rhaegar parried the blow, his own blade flashing in retaliation. The force of the impact sent a shock through Rhaegar’s arm, but he pushed forward, his strikes precise and deadly. Within moments, the knight crumpled to the ground, his armor stained with blood.

Around him, the battle raged. The Riverlands forces, led by Lord Tully’s bannermen, were holding the line, but Aerys’ men were pressing hard. Rhaegar could see Jon Connington at the forefront, rallying his men, his sword flashing as he cut through the lines of northern soldiers who had joined the battle. Ser Gerold Hightower was there as well, his white cloak stained with blood as he fought with the cold precision of a seasoned warrior.

Amid the chaos, Rhaegar found a moment to breathe, his eyes scanning the battlefield for signs of the northern reinforcements. The men of the North were slow to move, but when they did, they came with a fury that was unmistakable. Eddard Stark’s forces, now fully engaged, were sweeping in from the west, flanking Aerys’ troops and cutting through their lines with brutal efficiency.

Rhaegar saw Eddard himself, his long sword in hand, moving through the chaos with deadly purpose. The two men’s eyes met briefly across the battlefield, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. They were fighting for the same cause, though the stakes were personal for each of them.

But the battle was far from over.

As Rhaegar drove deeper into the heart of the fight, he caught sight of Jon Connington, who had dismounted and was now fighting on foot, his face set in determination. The two men locked eyes, and Rhaegar knew that this confrontation had been inevitable.

"Traitor!" Connington roared, his voice cutting through the chaos of the battle. "You’ve brought this ruin upon the realm!"

Rhaegar spurred his horse toward him, leaping down with a fluid motion, sword in hand. "No, Jon," Rhaegar called back, his voice cold and resolute. "It is Aerys who has brought ruin. He is no longer fit to rule."

Connington’s face twisted in fury as he charged, their swords meeting with a loud, ringing clash. The force of the blow reverberated through Rhaegar’s arms, but he held his ground. The fight was brutal, a dance of steel and fury, each man driven by his own sense of duty.

"You would destroy your own blood for your selfish rebellion?" Connington spat, swinging his blade with ferocious power.

"I fight to save my sister, to save the realm!" Rhaegar countered, parrying the blow and spinning to deliver a strike of his own.

Their blades clashed again and again, the fight raging around them as the two men battled for control of the field. Connington’s strikes were wild, fueled by anger, while Rhaegar’s movements were controlled, precise, as if every swing of his sword was driven by a higher purpose.

With a final, brutal thrust, Rhaegar found an opening, his sword sliding through Connington’s armor and sending the man to his knees. The Hand of the King gasped in pain, blood seeping through his mail, but his eyes burned with defiance even as he fell.

Rhaegar stood over him, his breath heavy, his sword dripping with blood. "Aerys is done, Jon," he said quietly. "The time of his reign is over."

Connington’s eyes darkened, and with his last breath, he spat at Rhaegar’s feet, refusing to yield even in death.

As Rhaegar turned back to the battlefield, he saw that the tide was shifting. The northern forces, bolstered by the Riverlands, were cutting through Aerys’ troops. The royal banners were falling, and the lines of the Crownlands were beginning to break.

The field was slick with blood, the cries of the wounded and dying filling the air, but through the chaos, Rhaegar could see victory on the horizon.

[grassbreads]

What Tai Sui is and Why Everyone Should Read It

So if you follow me, over the past couple weeks, you've probably noticed me obsessively screenshotting and posting about a book called Tai Sui. And now that I've finished it, I'd like to try and convince y'all to give it a chance.

What Is Tai Sui?

Tai Sui is a chinese web novel—a relatively unpopular work by the very popular author Priest (author of Guardian and Sha Po Lang, among others). Unlike a lot of the most popular web novels on tumblr, it's not a danmei. It's in fact rather important to the plot and themes that there is almost entirely no romance, but I promise you, it is absolutely worth it regardless.

What is Tai Sui About?

Tai Sui is a steampunk xianxia cultivation story. For those unfamiliar with xianxia and cultivation, this is a particular genre of Chinese historical fantasy.

The official summary of Tai Sui reads as follows:

“If I had a choice, I would only want to be a little insect in the mundane dust, born in confusion, dying in mediocrity, never seeing the light of day beneath the fog of Jinping City.

Better than taking this wrong road to heaven.”

You may have noticed that this summary is not in fact really a summary. It gives you a glimpse into the story's themes, mood, and destination, but it doesn't exactly tell you what happens in it.

That's because Tai Sui is one of those works that's incredibly hard to summarize. The story is incredibly wide in scope and changes massively over its course, to the point that any summary that encapsulates the whole thing is going to feel like a spoiler. However, I can try my best to add a little detail without giving too much away.

Tai Sui is the story of Xi Ping—an obnoxious, trouble-making rich boy with no interest in cultivation—who gets unwittingly involved in a plot to resurrect the "evil god" Tai Sui. This plot pulls him into the cultivation world against his will and, over time, threatens to rewrite everything he is.

Tai Sui is the end of immortality.

Why Should You Read Tai Sui?

Tai Sui is one of the most compelling stories I have ever read. It is a love letter to the power and promise of the whole world and its many mundane people. It also has some of the best worldbuilding I have ever seen.

Tai Sui is written in omniscient perspective, and though Xi Ping is very much the main character, as the story progresses, we spend more and more time alongside characters that aren't him. By the time the novel ends, his entire continent is at stake, and we the audience know that continent and its troubles inside and out from countless angles. Everyone from the immortal demigods of the cultivation world to the most wretched, miserable paupers is given a grand sense of emphasis.

Tai Sui is a deconstruction of the cultivation genre. It establishes a magic/cultivation system and its history, lets the main character live in that system for a while, and then dives deep into that system's depths. It looks at the cultivation genre, at the idea of people who leave behind their status as mortals for greater things, and asks "How does this really work?" and "Is this how the world should be?"

Tai Sui is the story of countless people who were never supposed to be powerful coming together to make the world a better place. It's well written (and very well translated), exciting, heartbreaking, and incredibly beautiful. It's also funny as hell.

I cannot recommend this story enough.

Warnings/Caveats

As I said before, Tai Sui is a deconstruction of the cultivation genre. If you're unfamiliar with this genre, while the book is certainly readable, you are going to be thrown head first into the deep end with the tropes and terminology at play. It's absolutely worth the learning curve, but it will be kind of a lot. Maybe do some light googling about what a cultivator is before you pick it up. (Or just ask a fan. I think most of us would happily explain anything that would win a new reader).

There are portrayals of people/cultures in Tai Sui that are heavily inspired by minority cultures in real-world China, and some of these portrayals play into pretty harmful stereotypes. It's not SPL "Barbarian" or TGCF Banyue levels of racist, but it's something to be aware of and careful about. I'd really recommend reading from the perspectives of those from the cultures in question (including but not limited to the post I linked) for more about the issues I'm talking about.

Tai Sui's English translation is 930,000 words long. I believe this is a strength, since its length is what allows it such an incredible scope. It is also a fucking daunting commitment, and I acknowledge that.

Finally, while Tai Sui doesn't need too many trigger warnings, it does contain some pretty viscerally upsetting depictions of inequality and mistreatment, as well as a few instances of violence toward children. You can't uplift without first seeing what the people need uplifting from, and hooboy. They need it.

There's also some scenes that are technically rather violent, but the goriness is not presented as gore, if that makes sense. It never feels intensely or overly violent in the way some fantasy novels do.

Links

If all my gushing and propagandizing has convinced you to give it a try, you can find the original Chinese version (where you can buy chapters to support the author) on JJWXC.

The complete English translation is free on the website of E. Danglars, who does a truly incredible job with the translating.

Happy reading :).

[rabesbabe]

Blondie

Gwen Stacy x Fem!Spiderman

Summary: being Spiderman isn’t easy when you have to hide your identity from everyone you love. Especially, your girlfriend Gwen who just wants to spend time with you. But you’re too preoccupied with being the city’s savior.

A/N: Hey guyss! This is my first marvel fic which is shocking lmao But I hope you guys enjoy. No warnings on this fic but it is a lottt of fluff! (Not proofread as usual lol)

_______________________________________________

You stand in front of your locker struggling to open the lock. Your hands were full of folders and your skateboard that you weren’t even supposed to have in the halls.

Just as your folder was about to fall from your arms someone swoops in and grabs it for you. You look up to see your girlfriends teasing eyes.

“Looks like you might want this?” She says pointing to the sticker on the folder that says Ap Bio knowing you have it with her next period.

You smile at her laughing. “Why thank you.” You say sarcastically. You put the rest of the stuff you had in your locker after opening it.

“Are we still on for tonight?” Gwen says. Looking doubtful that you’ll say yes.

“Of course we are.” You smile at her and give her a quick peck.

Gwen had planned for you both to go to her favorite record store and get some coffee to study for a test you both had.

You had missed so many of your dates due to your duties as New York City’s protecter. You were running out of excuses. You loved Gwen to death but how could you tell her who you really were?

You look down at your phone that reads “7:30” in big letters. “shit, shit, shit.” You were supposed to be at Gwen’s house by now to pick her up. There was no way you had missed another date.

You got so caught up with trying to track down this guys who’s stole some lady’s purse, that it hadn’t even occurred to you that your girlfriend was waiting for you. She had to have hated you by now.

You dial her number on your phone. “Gwen?” You say as the line clicks. You hear sniffles and you could tell she was crying. “Where the hell have you been y/n.”

“I know Gwen. I’m sorry.” You grab your face and sigh. “I’ll make it up to you I promise.”

You swing over to a corner store to get Gwen her favorite candy, flowers, and a card. Not exactly enough for the amount of times you had bailed on her but a girl could try.

You swing back home and sneak in through your window. You gently set the stuff you bought down on your bed and start taking off your suit.

“Oh my fucking god!”

Your eyes go wide. You spin around and see Gwen staring at you as if she had just seen a ghost. Out of reflex you shoot webs at her mouth thinking she was gonna scream.

“I know what this looks like but you gotta understand babe. It’s not what you think.”

She try’s to say something but her eyebrow quirks up at the fact she can’t even speak. “Oh! Sorry, Sorry.”

You take the web off her mouth. “Why are you in my house Gwen?”

She looks at you as if you just asked the dumbest question ever. “Why are you spiderman y/n?!”

She looks you up and down and you’re suddenly very aware of the fact that you’re half naked in a bra with your suit hanging at your waist.

“Wait, I can explain Gwen just let me change?” You sigh motioning to the fact you’re not dressed.

“Oh.” says Gwen, visibly blushing.

“And then I guess ever since then i’ve been spider-‘man’.” You say ending your explanation on how you became spiderman.

“Does Ms. May even know?” She asks. You giggle at her words. “She’s told you to stop calling her that a million times,” She rolls her eyes at you. “Come on she’s my girlfriend’s aunt i’m not gonna be disrespectful! Now answer my question.”

You laugh again. “No she doesn’t know. I wanna tell her but…it’s kinda of hard to tell your aunt her niece is the ‘dude’ in spandex fighting crime each day.” You say avoiding her eyes.

“But I’m sorry for everything. For all the missed dates.” You get up and grab the flowers and other gifts you got for her.

She smiles and grabs the gifts you got her. “Why thank you.” She says leaning her forehead against yours. She presses her lips against yours and you smile into the kiss.

You back away from her. “Wait Gwen,” “Hm?”

“How’d you get in my house anyway?” You look at her slightly confused.

“I’ll only tell you if you promise you’ll let me come with you one day when you swing around the city.” She says smirking.

“Deal.” You smile at her.

You get up and grab her hand. “Cmon let’s go see what Aunt Mays cooking for dinner.

“Whatever you say spider-girl.” She giggles.

[ask-world-academys-host-club]

Ciao Ciao!

Feliciano Vargas here! I'd like to welcome all you lovely dolls to my wonderful Host Club!!!

We're officially open to the WORLD-WIDE WEB, ready to answer your questions and lift your spirits. Our Ask Box is open so please, drop a little letter inside and who knows! Maybe you'll be lucky enough to get a response from one of our charming hosts! The Host Club will see you then, Arrivederci!!

(Little Comic Under the Cut)

[leebrontide]

The letter I just sent to my Senator, regarding KOSA, for you to steal from if you wish.

I have voted for you many times, but please, for the love of God, do not support KOSA and discourage your colleagues from doing the same. I am a therapist and a mother and this bill will do irreparable damage to so many people. The vagueness of the wording is going to empower red state GAs to push internet companies to ban information on safe sex ed, abuse, queer issues, non-Christian religion, and discussions of race. We have seen, over these past several years, that what these bad actors will do "for the children" has nothing to do with children. This will destroy resources that vulnerable young people RELY on when the people around them can't provide it. Growing up as a young queer person in the 90s I knew kids who died because everything around them told them that even their simple middle school crushes were perverted and unspeakable. I do not want to return to that time.

Please, do not empower bigots to bully the whole world wide web so that they can isolate the children under their power from information that they deem unsuitable. Even if judges throw out the complaints, history shows that businesses will shutter this information out of fear of costly retaliation.

Please, show everyone that you are the experienced politician I have believed you to be, who knows enough to safeguard bills against bad actors.

This bill will not protect children.

[agentmarvel]

König art (top left) by @ave661 - original art here

Divider by @trashmouth-richie

Summary: König leaves a letter for you as he departs on his latest mission.

Pairing: König x Reader

Word Count: 2,000

Inspired by: Stalker's Tango by Autoheart (listen here)

MDNI - 18+

Tags: Fem!Reader, AFAB!Reader, Meet-Cute, Well... kinda, König is a stalker, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Author Has Never Played Call Of Duty, Yandere Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Obsessive Behavior, Alternative Reader, König is feral for goth girls and no one will change my mind, Barista!Reader, Non-Graphic Violence, Abuse of Google Translate tbh, Reader might be a little cuckoo too, Explicit Sexual Content, No use of y/n, No description of reader outside of outfit specifics

😈

Oh, mein Liebling, you truly have no idea how much I adore you.

I remember the day we met, don’t you? That’s right! Exactly one year ago today, in this very coffee shop. Feels like yesterday, does it not?

You were so sweet to me from the moment I walked in. I saw the concern in your eyes when I nearly hit my head on that silly little bell over the door. When I came up to the counter, your eyes widened just a little. I don’t think you quite realized just how much I tower over you. But that surprise quickly melted into a mile wide, saccharine smile.

There was such softness to your voice when you asked me what you could get started for me. I barely took a breath before you offered your recommendations. I ordered the one you seemed most excited about. The sugar buzz and little nickel and dime costs were so well worth the mirth in your eyes. You looked so excited to make it. How could I possibly say no?

You asked my name; I gave it to you. 

"König?" you repeated, scribbling it on the cup. I cannot begin to describe what that did to me, my darling, the way you said my name so sweetly. "Isn't that German for 'king'?"

The fact that you knew - oh, mein Herz sei still! - nearly had me on my knees. Do you speak German, kleines? No matter, I will teach you anything you would like. You will have plenty of time to learn.

You waited so patiently for me to nod, to tell you that was correct. I could see it in your eyes that you so desperately craved that validation. As soon as you got it, those expressive eyes of yours, even with all that dark make-up, lit up like an explosion. I could practically see the little hearts floating around your head. Your smile got so big, and I knew at that moment that you had me caught in your web.

Crafty, meine kleine Spinne, not often that I am the fly instead of the spider.

Then you turned around, that cute little skirt flaring just enough for me to see those fishnet stockings beneath. I swear, my heart skipped a beat. Jumped right out of my chest. Maybe that’s when you stole it, hmm?

Of no consequence. It is yours now.

Somehow, I do not feel you are told often enough, but mein gott, you are beautiful. The way the sunlight reflects off your pretty skin, the soft line of your jaw, every curve and dip of your body, each little freckle and scar and pore; I love everything about you. Every inch of you, head to toe, is worthy of worship. Will you let me worship you, my love?

I promise to treat you like the deity you truly are. I will gladly work my fingers down to bone to carve marble statues in your likeness, write every word you speak to me in the night sky, paint your beauty on canvas with my own blood if I have to, anything to show you how I crave being near you.

You’re all I think about, little darling. My first thought when I wake, my last thought before I sleep. It keeps getting harder to be away from you, even for something as important as my work. The frequency with which I must leave you sickens me at times. It kills me to be away from you. But I make due with your pretty pictures.

I have a few on my phone, little candids while you work or when you’re lost in your favorite show, but I keep two very special photos in the pocket of my vest - right over my heart so I always have you close.

The first one is you curled up on the bed, fast asleep. I’ve memorized every inch of your bare spine, the way your arms curl beneath your pillow, the way the satin sheets encase you with such enticing detail. I doubt you know I took the picture. It was the middle of the night during the spring, and you were so exhausted from your work day. I swear, I can still hear those precious little snores every time I look at it. 

The other, however, is exponentially less tasteful, hübsche Spinne. Similar position, on your stomach with your knee pushed out to the side, but you threw the sheets off that summer night. Too hot for your poor, perfect body. Stripped down to nothing to stave off the heatwave. If only you would have asked me to fix your air conditioner instead of waiting for your landlord.

From across the room, by aid of the moonlight through your open window, I could see that pretty little cunt. I could see how wet you were. Fuck, you were soaked for me. Sweet little hole just begging to be stuffed full. I needed a little taste, needed to touch you. So I just ran my finger through your messy lips. Nearly lost control when I licked you off the tip. I’ve never been so fucking hard in my life, never wanted anyone so badly, struggling to fight the urge to bury my face in between your thighs, to force my tongue, fingers, anything inside you. Show you how perfect you really are. 

But I stopped myself, kleines. I would never want to hurt you in any way you did not ask for. We both know you can’t take my cock without proper foreplay. Instead, I stood as close to you as I could and fucked my fist, biting down on one the t-shirts from your bedroom floor until I came.

(I’ll give that shirt back soon, love. I know it’s one of your favorites, and you’ve been looking for it for months.)

That’s the picture - my spend dripping between your cheeks, my cock dangling just inches from your pretty pussy. Almost right where it belongs, ja? I’ll let you have it all as soon as I get home to you. Don’t you worry your pretty little head, darling; soon, we’ll never be apart again.

Oh, the things we will do when I come home… We will have months worth of lost time to make up for, though I cannot say why I will be gone so long. I am sure you understand. 

We can start with movies, yes? I want you to show me all your favorites. Play me the things that make you laugh, show me what makes you cry (fuck, you are so pretty when you cry, do you know that?), teach me about the things that feed your nightmares so that I may chase them away for you. 

What next? Music? Yes, music. You have a vast taste, don’t you? I could sit with you for hours listening to your favorite playlist. I have done so on many occasions, but to hold you, to dance with you, that would be ideal. You can choose our first dance, but choose wisely, mein Schatz, because I will not forget it. May just be our first dance on our wedding day, too.

I did not get a chance to tell you before this, but do you remember that little bar we went to? The one with the live music? You did not see me there, but I saw you. I also, unfortunately, saw the boisterous little gnat that tried to cozy up to you a few times. He would not take no for an answer, would he? Kept pestering you and trying to take you home with him, but no, not you, not my venomous little spider. Mein gutes Mädchen, you shot him down so quickly so many times. You are so well-behaved, even when you do not know I am there.

He will never bother you again, I assure you. I handled the situation after you left that night with my favorite knife. Ruined a perfectly good shirt, but I kept it for you in case you ever need a reminder of the lengths to which I will go to keep you safe.

Do not worry, it’s been washed. There are just some stubborn stains that refuse to come out.

Unfortunately, I must go. I’ve re-written this letter so many times to try to make it perfect for you, but it would seem I have run out of time. It will not be long before I return to you, my darling girl. Please, take care. I will see you soon enough.

All my love,

König

P.S. I hope you enjoy this little care package I have put together for you. Take an evening to pamper yourself for me before I come home. Ich liebe dich, meine Spinne ♡

You look at the letter in your hand, black ink stamped and splattered and smeared by the key strikes of a typewriter. The envelope taunts you from the countertop, boasting your name with flourish. Your heart is racing as it lodges itself inside your throat. You try to swallow around the lump that’s formed, but it only spurs tears. 

There’s no surprise in the fact that you know exactly who sent this. He’s outrageously tall, broad shouldered, jacked as shit, and always wears a ballcap and a neoprene mask that hides the lower half of his face. You’ve only ever seen his eyes - those intense, wide blue eyes that you swear are glued to you at all times.

It’s involuntary and upon pure instinct (or perhaps morbid curiosity) that you grab the box and rip the wrapping paper off. The edges of the tape sealing the top are wrinkled enough for you to dig a nail under to peel it back, and immediately, the scent of a musky cologne hits you. It’s strangely pleasant, despite the fact that you can see something beneath the first layer of tissue paper that’s a deep red-brown. Your heart drops from your throat to the pit of your stomach as you lift the paper away.

A beige t-shirt, covered in blood stains, sits in your grasp. There’s a small tear in the collar. It smells a lot better than you’d expected, but still, a wave of nausea hits you. Gently, you hold the fabric up in front of you. A shirt that size would swallow you, reach your mid-thigh at minimum, so it’s certainly not your missing one.

Something falls from the shirt as it unfolds, a dull thud sounding off the laminate counter. It’s another box, a small one, that opens with little to no effort. Inside sits a knife with a fixed blade bearing an inscription: Ich liebe dich - I love you.

That same morbid curiosity gets the best of you, and you can’t stop yourself from looking inside the small box again. Beneath one more layer of tissue paper, you find three things: two pairs of panties you thought you had been eaten by your dryer (filthy, unwashed, and now covered in multiple questionable white stains) and another envelope. Your hands shake as you toss said panties back in the box and tear through the top of the seal. There’s cash inside, quite a lot of it. Suddenly the pampering comment makes sense.

Blankly, you place the knife box, the envelope, and the t-shirt back inside the box, folding in the flaps so nothing falls back out.

Tears sting the corners of your eyes. It’s terrifying to feel this way, and your mind is running a million miles per hour. Hundreds of thoughts are flooding your brain while thousands more sit in the recesses, but none of them will settle enough to be coherent. Why did he choose you? How long had he been watching you? How did he get into your home? Is he inside your head, too?

You’ll have to find a way to thank him for such thoughtful gifts when he comes home. Turns out your feelings for him aren’t quite as unrequited as you thought, hmm?

[mothervonmayhem]

Neon Requiem - Band Rivals Hobie x Guitarist! Reader

Based on @rexlroze and @the-kr8tor 's original ideas that just started to eat my brain.

NOTE: I don't write Hobie/Miguel--in fact--I don't write fanfiction at all. As the fandom's resident Chaos Goblin Queen!Spider-Mom writing characters half my age is a bit of a stretch for me. This has not been proofread/edited for foreign language used. All repetitive info, boring shit, and grammatical mistakes are 100% my own and brought to you by the letters ASD and the numbers 5 (as in year-old-child with aforementioned ASD) and 3 (as in hours of sleep that I get each night).

Also, written like a screenplay, so I could turn this into a proper comic coming up. Also also, get you a person who looks at you like Hobie looks at R.

ACT 1 SCENE 1 - FLASHBACK - EXT. CITY STREETS - NIGHT In a gritty, neon-lit alleyway, Young teen R is busy wheat-pasting posters for her band's upcoming gig. The posters feature a cybernetic skull (looking suspiciously like Spider-Man 2099 mask) with glowing eyes, the band's name "2099" emblazoned beneath it. As she works, Hobie appears from the shadows, a spray can in hand. He's tagging a nearby wall with a stylized anarchy symbol.

HOBIE (noticing R) Oi, what've we got 'ere? Another lost soul in the concrete jungle?

R (startled, then regaining composure) Hardly lost, mon ami. Just spreading the word about the revolution. Hobie steps closer, examining her posters.

HOBIE "2099," eh? Sounds like a proper cyberpunk outfit. You lot singing about the end of the world or sommat?

R (grinning) More like the rebirth of a new one, through science and technology. It is the brain-child of mon ami, his idea for a band... but he sings like...a cat in heat yowling from inside a Cookie Monster costume. Fun concept though. I'm going to take lead vocals.

HOBIE (intrigued) That sounds painful... but color me impressed, love... You can sing? Right? Not every day you meet a bird with brains, talent, and beauty. R rolls her eyes, but there is a hint of a blush on her cheeks, but before she can respond, the sound of police sirens fills the air.

HOBIE (grabbing R's hand) Bollocks, your dystopian future has arrived! They run through the winding alleyways, adrenaline pumping, until they finally come to a stop in a secluded courtyard.

READER (catching her breath) Merde, that was close!

HOBIE (grinning) Stick with me, love, and you'll never be bored. As they lean against the wall, laughing and trying to catch their breath, a spark of connection flickers between them.

READER (realizing) Wait, I never got your name.

HOBIE (extending his hand) Most just call me Dirty Punk, or Punk for short. He jokes, self-deprecating, he doesn’t want to tell her his name yet, it feels really personal now, like it's just Hobart, it's not that cool. It’s definitely not cool enough to tell her.

READER Punk, eh? Really? Fine, then call me R. Yeah, Punk, I can sing...

SCENE 2 - PRESENT DAY - EXT. CITY STREETS - NIGHT

In a gritty, neon-lit alleyway, READER, a French metal chick with ever-changing hair color, is struggling to wheat-paste a large poster featuring her band "NEON REQUIEM" on a high, hard-to-reach wall.

Suddenly, SPIDER PUNK (aka HOBIE BROWN), a British punk rocker and vigilante, appears hanging upside down on a web behind her.

SPIDER PUNK Need a hand, love?

Reader spins around, eyes wide with fear and surprise.

READER (stammering) Spider-Man! Je suis désolée, It… yeah.. it's exactly what it looks like.

SPIDER PUNK (waving his hand dismissively) Nah, don't sweat it, mate. I'm all for stickin' it to the man. 'Sides, that's a wicked poster you got there.

Reader relaxes, a smile spreading across her face.

READER (relieved) Merci! I thought I was busted for sure.

SPIDER PUNK (flips down from the web and lands on his feet, like a cat) Not on my watch, love. 'Ere, let me give you a boost.

Spider Punk gently wraps an arm around Reader's waist and shoots a web to the top of the wall. They ascend together, Reader grinning as they reach the perfect spot to place the poster.

As they work together to smooth out the poster, Spider Punk notices the band details: Reader, Miguel, and Gabriel. Guitar, Bass, and Drums. Miguel is handsome, long-haired, massive band-mate. Miguel back up vocals and bass he is the epitome of a metal-head.

SPIDER PUNK (chuckling at Miguel's serious metal-head expression) This bloke looks like he could use a laugh.

With a mischievous grin beneath his mask, Spider Punk uses his web shooter to draw a silly mustache on Miguel's serious face.

READER (giggling) Oh, il va être furieux! But it's too funny! My poor brother.

SPIDER PUNK (admiring their handiwork) There, now that's a proper work of art.

As they descend back to the ground, Reader turns to Spider Punk, her eyes sparkling with amusement and gratitude.

READER (sincerely) Merci beaucoup, Spider-Man. You really saved my ass tonight. You should come cheer us on at Battle of the Bands.

SPIDER PUNK (bowing dramatically) All in a night's work for your friendly neighborhood Spider Punk, love. I might be there, afterall, the Spider Punks are playing-band like that is my namesake, innit?

With a wink beneath his mask, Spider Punk shoots a web and swings off into the night, leaving Reader grinning and shaking her head in amazement.

SCENE 3 - INT. BAR - NIGHT

Later after dropping by her hostel room to change and wash up from paste, READER, aka, R is at a bar when she spots the only open spot at the bar. It's next to a 20-something nursing a pint. SPIDER PUNK, aka HOBIE BROWN aka PUNK, a British punk guitarist in his mid-20s, sits at the bar, nursing a pint. His lean, wiry frame is clad in a torn Sex Pistols shirt and tight jeans, held up by a studded belt slung low on his hips. Fishnet gloves adorn his hands, their black polished nails chipped from endless hours of guitar playing. Piercings glint in the dim light, catching the eye and hinting at his rebellious nature. He's in his civvy digs, a signature blend of 1980s anarcho-punk style that makes him look like the second-coming of Jean-Michel Basquiat, all raw talent and unfiltered edge. Lost in thought, an achingly familiar voice, something from a buried memory, suddenly catches his attention. It can't be...

READER, [loosely based on Gwen Stacy's Black Cat] a French metal chick with ever-changing hair color,  also in their mid-20s and equally skilled with a guitar, orders a drink next to him. Her effortlessly cool vibe is a result of her world travels. She is now in her full stage persona costume with all the eyeliner and leather that comes along with it.The two don't recognize each other at first.

READER (to the bartender, in a French accent) Un Jack Daniel's, s'il vous plaît.

Hobie glances at Reader, a flicker of recognition in his eyes... doesn't he know her? Battle of the Bands? Must be it, mate.

HOBIE (in a thick British accent) Blimey, that's a proper choice, innit? You 'ere for the battle of the bands, love?

READER (surprised) Oui, how did you know?

HOBIE (smirking) Just a... sense...Call it a punk's intuition, darling. I'm in the mix too, y'know.

MIGUEL O'HARA, Reader's handsome, *built* Hispanic bandmate, approaches. At 6'7" and 310lbs of pure muscle, he cuts an imposing figure. His younger brother GABRIEL, a softer, sweeter version of Miguel, follows close behind.

MIGUEL (Finds Reader and is by her side instantly, voice dripping with sarcasm and derision) R, you snuck out on practice...just to drink in this hellhole? Is that Jack? No puedo mas... Carnalita...This shit is bad for you.

READER (smiles to her bandmate, she has just arrived but she is hiding her wheat-pasting activities from the stern older band-mate) You worry too much, Miggy, mon ami. We've been practicing all week.

MIGUEL (softens) Gabri and I could have come out with you. You shouldn't go out in an unknown city alone. It's not safe for you, carnala.

HOBIE (puffs a bit, all charm, recognizing Miguel from the poster, he puts it together that R is the same girl from earlier. Hoping to impress this 'brother' of the cute girl, he offers Miguel his hand. Miguel looks him over and is unimpressed, he does not take Hobie's hand) Keeping the lady safe, mate. You can trust me. I'm one of the Spider-Punks.

GABRIEL (shoulders his brother to the side and takes Hobie's hand, gushing) We've heard of you guys, the local punk rock band, yeah? Your drummer is... gahh...Ah-Mazing! You think we could meet?

Someone's got a crush on Gwen Stacy.

MIGUEL (scoffing, stepping closer to R) You call that punk noise "rock"? Metal is where the real skill lies...Real talent is in the complexity, the technical skill. Metal pushes boundaries, takes you to new places. Punk's just three chords and an attitude.

HOBIE (visible shift in attitude, he eyes Miguel's massive frame) Never skip leg day, eh bruv?

R stifles a laugh as Miguel's face reddens with anger. Gabriel looks nervously between his brother and Hobie.

READER (trying to defuse the tension) Allez, let's save the competition for the stage, d'accord?

HOBIE (smirking, he stands, not as tall as Miguel, but nearly so) Tell you what, mate. Let's settle this on stage. We'll let the crowd decide who's got the real chops.

MIGUEL (grinning fiercely, are those...fangs?) You're on, punk. Prepare to be schooled.

READER (interjecting, her eyes sparkling with amusement) Ah, mais non, Miggy. There's art in simplicity too. Punk, metal, it's all about the energy, the message, non? Who is your drummer, she sounds enchanting.

GABRIEL (nodding) She is, she's go this...energy. Pero, R's right, Miguel.

There is a not so subtle look that passes between the brothers, an undertone of: DON'T RUIN THIS FOR ME MANO from Gabri, Miguel nearly rolls his eyes.

Music's music. Let's just focus on putting on a good show and maybe we can learn something from their band, eh?

HOBIE (winking at Reader) Aye, love. Can't wait to teach your wall of meat here a thing or two. Let's give 'em a show they won't forget...later?

READER (brightly, oblivious to the brothers' feelings) Later!

As Hobie saunters off, Miguel glares after him, his fists clenched. Gabriel places a calming hand on his brother's arm.

GABRIEL (softly) Easy, hermano. He's not worth it.

As Hobie leaves the bar, Reader shoots Miguel a disapproving look.

READER (oblivious to the brothers' feelings) Was that really necessary?

MIGUEL (shrugging) Just giving him a taste of what's to come. We're going to blow them away, R.

GABRIEL (sighing) I hope this doesn't get out of hand, their drummer is way better...I wanted to meet her.

READER (shrugs, trying to ease the tension) You will, I'll be yoru wingman, yeah? Gabri. You got this. And mano, Miguel... nothing wrong with being confident, but..just...save that aggro energy out on the stage. Come on, we're going to kick some ass!

MIGUEL (glaring at Hobie's retreating back) Don't tempt me. Let's go, carnalita, time for practice.

[dracomort]

hello! what would you say is the best draco characterisation you’ve ever read in a fic? and what have you read recently that you really liked and would read again?

also, i love everything you write :) thanks in advance!

I once saw this fanart that depicted the three main forms of Draco in Drarry and I have to say it's the most accurate thing I've ever seen lmao. My personal preference is somewhere between 'nutcase' and 'fake it till you make it' Draco. For light-hearted fics, I like those that capture the meanness of Draco's humour and his difficult personality; for serious fics I enjoy those where he truly wavers on the line of moral ambiguity.

Away Childish Things by lettered

Harry gets de-aged. Malfoy has to help him.

A great exploration of all the parts that make up the whole of Draco Malfoy.

any day now by oknowkiss

Draco Malfoy considers the circle.

I like this Draco for his moral greyness, self-preservation, internal conflict and risk aversion

Temptation on the Warfront by alizarincrims0n

Draco Malfoy is forced into hiding with the Golden Trio and dragged into their search for horcruxes. What ensues is a journey of redemption, unexpected friendships and an unwanted, turbulent romance with Harry Potter. Warnings for swearing, sexual content, and dark themes.

This is probably one of the most plausible DH-era Draco's I've ever read. The way he speaks to Hermione alone is enough to put it on this list. It's rare to find contemporary Drarry fics that are willing to commit to his nastiness and bigotry.

Such Great Heights by aideomai

Draco Malfoy, wide-eyed and pale and in a decidedly ragged shirt, was crouched next to the pile of whatever the dragon had been eating. Harry threw himself to a halt and yelled, “Merlin, how many times do I have to save your life?”

Draco's crabbiness and difficult personality here is so good. This Draco has always been a major influence for me. This line in particular is iconic:

“Due respect, sir,” Draco said, because apparently even weird romantic feelings or whatever they were weren’t enough to keep Draco from throwing Harry under the bus the moment an authority figure appeared, “I haven’t done anything. I’ve been working nearly non-stop the past few weeks - you can ask Mr Borgin—”

Lorelei in the Menagerie by BelladonnaLee

"I think my dead son is haunting the manor," says Draco when Harry runs into him in an antique book shop. Driven by yearning and suspicion, Harry offers his help and is drawn into a web of secrets and half-forgotten nightmare.

I think anything I say about this fic would be a spoiler but I really enjoy Draco's twisted grieving here. Also considering my usual character preferences, I think you'll see why I like this one so much if you read it.

Heal Thyself by astolat

"Are you going for the course?" Lovegood asked. "You have the NEWTs.”

“What course?” Draco said, then, “No, don’t be ridiculous,” when he realized she meant the notice pinned up on the board he’d been staring at: Applicants To The Introductory Mediwizard Course For The Coming Term Shall Present Themselves In The Chief Mediwizard’s Office By August 24th.

“Oh, I thought you might,” she said. “Well, goodbye.” And off she wandered again in her addled way.

Amoral, ambitious character accidentally becomes a good person in their pursuit of status/money/power is one of my favourite tropes. It's also why I like Tom Riddle Snr in In the Bleak Midwinter so much. Astolat in general writes a great Draco.

What We Pretend We Can't See by gyzym

Seven years out from the war, Harry learns the hard truth of old history: it’s never quite as far behind you as you thought.

Despite the heavy sounded summary, this is actually a crackish humour fic. Certainly an excellent example of nutcase Draco. The villain reveal at the end is 100% my favourite part I stg.

[thelastharbinger]

Tidbits of ATSV That I Enjoyed (Or Alternatively: Just Miles Being The Most Endearing Spidey Ever)

Miles patting The Spot's head after successfully webbing him (I don't see this as condescending, but rather him still engaging with the humanity of a villain like Spot) and ~very assertively~ telling/asking him not to escape.

"I'm like Robin Hood-if he gave to himself."

Miles' spidey senses going off when he arrives late to his dad's party because there's nothing more frightening than Brown parents when they're mad at you. Beware the chancla or correa!

O.k. So we all know there are different versions of the movie out there. You may already know that one of the slight differences is when Miles goes to save Inspector Singh. There's a version where you can hear Gwen's voice in the distant background yelling no! when she thinks Miles gets crushed under the rubble, and there's another where she's silent as she webs to him. Now, I have found ANOTHER version (online) where her shouting is even more at the forefront. She's practically screaming and sounds more desperate, (prolly because it's close to the same way her Peter Parker died so she's reliving trauma) and the fear in her voice is palpable. That one haunts me.

Jefferson trying to equate studying for his police exams to childbirth, which Rio quickly nips in the bud.

Ganke having a soccer poster of Son Heung Min, a famous Korean footballer who currently plays for the Premier League Tottenham Hotspur and is captain of the South Korean national team.

Miles having a Sashimi (his universe's version of Supreme, but I just like the idea that Miles loves eating sashimi. Like I know that kid has good taste in food) poster in his bedroom.

The fact that Miles kept in touch with Aunt May for long enough after the events of ITSV that he helps her move.

The Spot saying he was one of the more handsome scientists at Alchemax according to his colleagues.

Miles and Gwen having the same collectible toys, the only difference being that he keeps his in the box and she doesn't.

"Hey, don't try to wow me with big words, man," *in deep manly voice* "I do crosswords every day"- Miles after Spot points out Alchemax as "the crucible of our connection!"

Miles going, "This job is so dumb sometimes" after he tries to web Spot at the deli, but it goes through a hole and lands on his face.

"Nahhh, he seems more Dominican to me." Kinda want Miles to meet a native Dominican Spidey because that dynamic would highkey fuck hard *pun not intended*. They would repair relations between our two islands-PR&DR.

"Almost there Mami *smiley face* *cowboy* prayer hands*"

The college admissions coach at Visions Academy straight up saying, "That's your story! Now, just stick to the script..." Ma'am what???

"Calmate Mami, eso no es my fault."

"I've hit a lot of different villains with a lot of different food...I'm just trying to lighten the mood."

Miles in his angsty teen era and smart-mouthing everyone around him. Love that for him.

"He almost killed his mom as a baby, I mean, look at those shoulders." No but for real tho. Those shoulders are as wide as a truck. Kim Seokjin who??? (if you understood that reference, ily).

Miles writing a love letter to his dad in 2 cakes.

Gwen at the water tower chowing and saying how feelings make her hungry after her and Miles talked about how they can't be together cause it would end in tragedy. Like Gwen, come again?!

Also, Miles' and Gwen's talk at the Williamsburg Bank Building being lowkey the catalyst for the 2nd/3rd acts of the film. Without them both kind of silently admitting their feelings for each other, Miles probably wouldn't have chased after her the way he did. Pretty sure you know the rest.

"I bet she doesn't even speak Spanish," and Jeff going "Que barbaridad" in his very broken Spanish. Queue Rio's bombastic side eye.

Both Gwen and Miles referring to Spot as a Villain Of The Week, even though neither of them have spoken about Spot to each other.

"I was bitten by a-wouldnt you like to know? Know what I mean?" SIR. Chill. This movie is for children.

The Spot inverting himself, going from a white mass with black spots to a gaping black hole with smaller white spirals. It's giving Junji Ito.

The irony of Pavitr exclaiming, "Well that was another easy adventure for Spider-Man!" right before an incoming canon event. HIS. He was about to experience his first big loss, and his happy-go-lucky nature would've been challenged.

Miguel saying conyo! when all the Spideys start pointing at each other.

"!Cállate!" "Nosy!" Sidebar: we don't talk about Gwen's banter with bad guys enough. She's so funny!

A lot of the Peters saying hi to Gwen as she passes HQ because she is canonically the one lost love--the love interest they all would've ended up with had she not died, so they all have an affection for her.

Web-Slinger going "Giddy up!" Cause he's swinging up.

Miles offering his fresh new takes on how to deal with the Spot upon meeting Miguel, saying "He just wants to be taken seriously. Like we all do." MILES YOU BEAUTIFUL, COMPASSIONATE GOLDEN SUNFLOWER BOY I LOVE YOUUUUU.

Hobie referring to Peter B. as Humbling Reality Spider-Man, which considering how steeped in tragedy the Spidey lore is, is really saying something.

Miguel's nonono no puedo más no puedo más. His misery is very funny and delightful to me. Little bitch ass.

"You know you're the only Spider-Man who isn't funny." Yes! More Miguel slander in the next one, please! Little bitch ass.

"Snitch!"

Miles shouting out Peter's name for help whilst Miguel pins and lays into him the fact that he's an anomaly. This after he momentarily glitches back to his ITSV store-bought suit. Mimicking the way-in also the first movie-Miles shouting out Peter's name for his own rescue as Doc Ock attacks him at the research facility. Because even though he feels hurt by Peter at this point, that's still his dad mentor and he still instinctively looks to him for protection. Rip my heart out why don't you!

Gwen sneaking back into her and her dad's place just to get that printed polaroid of her and Miles, a pic she already has on her phone.

Earth-42 Miles wearing Nike while our Miles wears Jordans.

[lovecite]

Miguel O'hara- Forgetting Birthdays!

My stupid birthday 🎶 (Potential Breakup Song)

Miguel O'Hara x Y/N

SMUTT

(I'm just starting out in writing smut.  🤭 )

*********************

hehe- I had another idea of a short story while listening to to this old gem !

--------------------------------

Miguel once again forgets your birthday! Second year in a roll! That's it you are packing and leaving....But will Miguel let you is the question!?

--------------------------------

You were tired of reminding Miguel of every single thing! Reminding him of holidays. Reminding that he needed to pay for his bills. But this!! This shouldn't have been something that you needed to remind him of.

So, here you were packing up some clothes to spend the night back in your own dimension give him some time to think. As you grabbed your duffle bag ,your spider senses were going off, and placed it on the bed the door of the room opened. You held bundles of clothes in your arms tightly to your chest. You looked to the door and saw him. He was home rather early you thought you'd have enough time to "escape" and leave a tear filled letter on his pillow. His hand still on the door he gave you a look of question.

"What are you doing." The statement itself should have been a question but coming out of Miguel was spelling something else out. You looked away from him and back down to your duffle bag and placed your clothes with in it. " Well aren't my actions clear enough." You counter with a huff.

"I could see you on the monitors. You have me leaving my post for this." He scoffed. You stayed silent as you zipped up your bag and it placed it over your shoulder. "For this." You repeat back mocking him. " ¿Qué fue eso?" He responded back. (what was that?!). You let out a tired sigh and made your way to the door. It didn't help that Miguel being so lengthy and wide was blocking the door way right out of here.

If anything you could always jump out the window. "And you are headed where exactly?' He questioned. You were standing right in front of him holding his cherry red angry heated gaze. His frown lining deepening more as you didn't respond back. His eyes narrowed as he bent slightly down to your eye level. You rolled your eyes and looked away bringing your arms across your chest. "Move Miguel. " You stated. Why would you have to remind him once again what's your issue. He should know!

His fingers gripped the edge of your chin and forced you to look back to him. "Don't be coy. " He whispered. Being this close to Miguel always made your insides squirm and your bottom half grow warm. But you had to be strong. He forced you forward pulling you closer to him.

You could feel his breathe fanning over your face. "I said move Miguel or I'll make you." You stated annoyed. His lips curved into a smirk as his grip on your chin tighten slightly. "Move me? Are you sure about that." He teased. Usually this would lead to some mad love making but you had been preparing for this.

Bringing a hand up you slapped his hand off your chin and took a step back. His eyes widen slightly at the action you had made. "Miguel I am walking out that door. You will not be stopping me!" Your voiced comment bringing the silence in between the both of you.

Miguel pounced his arms out and everything ready to trap you into his embrace which you had already thought he would and dodged him quickly. You slide under his form and brought your hands up slinging some web onto him and tying a small knot at the end. You quickly turned around and tied the knot onto the bed post. He had face planted into the bed his arms between his legs. He was bent over and struggling to get out of your little trap. You could hear his muffled angered words.

"Told you I would!" You scoff as you quickly turned your back to him and made your way to the door. Almost a foot out you paused. This would be first time you had actually bested the strongest spider man. Now you would tell everyone about this! "Maybe I should take a picture." You thought a smirk craving itself on your face and turned back around your phone out ready to take a picture. A red string splat out and hit the phone out of your hand. It stuck to the wall behind you.

You winced as you looked over to Miguel. His wrists were free for one and two he was very angry. His right eyebrow was twitching uncontrollably as he sat on the bed with his legs spread slightly as he sat on his bottom. His eyes were narrowed . "Uh Miggy I can expla-"

" You have 10 seconds." He stated as he went to the edge of the bed and stood up. His expression was unreadable as he stood there moving each arm in a circular motion. "I-I'm sorry for what?" You ask quickly feeling your spider senses going off. His gaze shifted to you so quickly as he brought his arms up over his head to stretch.

"10." He stated bringing both his wrists up throwing out his red web and entrapping you. You fell forward onto the floor the weight of your duffle bag making you fall. Miguel walked towards you and squatted right in front of you. "You know I hate when people challenge me." His words ringing in your mind.

He grabbed your arm harshly dragging you away from the door way and lifted you up throwing your on the bed. You landed face first and tried to roll on your side. But Miguel already had his hands on you. You could feel his weight on you from behind. A gasp escaped your lips as you felt something rub between you ass cheeks.

"I told you if you were sure about that." He whispered into your ear. You struggled against him but he grabbed your arms and shoved you deeper into the bed. Your face nearly being buried into the bed. You could feel Miguel hands grip your hips and started to roll his hips onto your ass. You let out a muffled moan. "This will be last time you have me come down here to this ." He stated as his hands went to work sliding down your pants. He tore your underwear off with a quick flick of his wrist.

You let out a yelp as his hand gripped one for your ass cheeks and gave a squeeze. You squirmed under him at the pain. He brought an arm around your mid section and lifted you up bringing you closer to him. You watched as he grabbed some pillows and placed them under you. You could feel his tip rub accidently on your ass as he moved things around. It left wet spots from his precum . "Mi-Miguel please." You moan out. " Tell me what did I forget?" He asked as leaned over your body .

His fingers slide down your opening and moving apart your wet lips. Your body shivered slightly at the touch as he slowly pressed his tip into you. A moan left your lips as he slowly entered you. " Tell me y/n." He murmured. You hated reminding him of what he was forgot. It irritated you to no end that you needed to remind. His arms encircled your waist as he lifted you up slightly entering inside you at a rhythm. His shaft becoming harder inside of you causing your thoughts to become scrambled.

It was the gasps and moans coming from the both of you for what felt like hours. You could feel the knot in your stomach starting to unravel itself with every thrust Miguel would make. His firm grip on your hips and the way his pelvis would press onto you. You could feel his pubic hair scraping against you as he thrusted himself in you. His fingers dug into your hips as his thrusts become more erratic. " Tell me dammit!" He grunted. You let our a whine as his tip slammed into you cervix.

"Miguel , I-I..My bi-" You felt the knot come apart in your stomach as your vagina clenched painfully hard onto his shaft. Miguel let out another grunt as his pace quickened into you already sensitive opening. He lifted you up and brought you close to his chest. One arm around your waist and with his free hand he stuffed it quickly up your shirt. His whole palm engulfing your breast.

You felt him twitching inside reminding you he was at his end. "Damn." he grunted into your ear as one final thrust inside you. His palm on your breast gripped tightly as his hip stayed in place. You could feel him emptying himself into you. He pulled himself out slowly and he released his grasp on you. "H-HEY!" You yelp as you feel on your face once again into the bed. Your arms were still tied close to your body.

You rolled onto your side as you gave him an annoyed look. His full body suit slowly started to come back together as he stood there looking at his watch. His ever emotionless expression. "Um excuse me." You call out. He finally looked over to you with his half lidded gaze. "Spit it out first." He stated. Your eyes widen slightly before looking away from him. "Are you serious right now Miguel." You pouted.

"Ugh Miguel you are just so lame sometimes!! You missed her birthday!!!" You immediately sat up straight watching a Lyla stood on your bed. The small digital girl gave her a wink. " Oh by the way you went live so almost everyone and I mean everyone say all of this." She chirped before disappearing. "Live?' Miguel asked. You rolled off the bed quickly arms still tangled up close to your sides from the web and looked around for your phone. " Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh!" You spouted quickly.

"Its here." Miguel stated his expression none the less the same. There in his hand a red dot on your phone was showing. "M-Miguel point it down!! Down!" You yell out in pure embarrassment. He throw it on the bed his eyes narrowing slightly. "I still don't understand live?" He stated his arms crossing his chest. " Miguel it means we just basically showed everyone here at the spider society what your dick looks like and you sound like having sex!!" You say in horror.

"W-What do you m-" His watch went off. He pressed a button on it answering the phone. " Well O'hara if there was something I'd thought I'd never see in my life time. Is your ass-" Miguel hung up the phone quickly pressing the end button on his watch. His gaze came back to you. Again his watch went off but he hung up and one after the other his watch kept ringing. 'What a birthday." You commented with a sigh.