#so i just get snappy and mean and i hate it but idk what to even do

[lesbiansaaviik]

Can I be beautifully honest with you guys? I hate 91 Whiskey and So Says the Sword

[apocalypticdemon]

.

[itz-mfkn-de]

\\ALWAYS YOU//. M.R

warnings— OOC MATTHEO, Im a sucker for toxic boys but I made him extra sweet in his one idk why, uhhh not many tbh, cussing, kissing, smoking, that’s all I think.

summary— Mattheo was your best friend, always had been, but was the title of ‘friend’ enough?

-my first work for Mattheo! I will eventually get a master list going once I get more comfertable posting on here. This is a repost of one of my works on wattpad, just with some tweaks bc that work was olldddd-

You sat against mattheos 𝐛𝐞𝐝, 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 out of his dorm window.

"You know, some times, I'm worried for you. You just stare at things, it's weird." He snickered  as he took a drag from his cigarette.

You looked at him and scoffed, "Sometimes I'm worried about your lungs, you're bound to get some type of problem with all that's smoking you do." You half-joked, glancing at him.

He rolled his eyes, tilting his head up and blew the smoke out of his mouth.

"Seriously Mattheo, that stuff is absolute horse-shit for your body." You stated, accompanying your words with a sharp glare.

"I don't do it that often, just when I'm stressed." He muttered, taking his feet off of his desk and turning his body to face you.

"What happened to the whole 'I don't give a fuck about anything or anybody but myself' thing?" You said, mocking him to the best of your abilities.

"First of all I don't fucking sound like that," he laughed and squinted at you "second, just stressed about life, nothing in particular." 

You softly chuckled at his reaction. His eyes broke from yours, looking at some papers on his desk. Your eyes, however, never left his frame. You could stare at him for eternity, everything about his face seemed so perfect, almost as if it were meant to be admired.

You soon realized your staring and quickly averted your gaze towards the window again.

"You gonna go to the Yule ball this year?" You broke the silence, you knew Mattheo hated those things, he hated having to be around a shit ton of people and act like he enjoyed their company.

"Probably not." His demeanor changed, his tone became short, almost snappy.

"Oh, I'm probably just gonna go with Becca." You mumbled, knowing that if no guy was to ask you, Becca had your back.

"Hm." He nearly laughed at your remark.

"What? What's so funny?" You asked, looking back at him, his back still facing you.

"Just surprised you aren't going with a random slytherin guy or something." He answered, but the way he had said it has a strange undertone that you weren't sure how to feel about.

"Well I mean I don't know, I haven't been asked yet." You stated truthfully.

"Ah, I see." He murmured, soon after taking another drag of his cigarette.

You felt tension building in the room, suffocating tension. You weighed your options out, but you decided it would be better to give Mattheo some space, for what you were unsure of.

"Well, Becca and Emma told me they wanted to go dress shopping earlier so I think I'm gonna head over there so we can solidify our plans." You announced while picking up your books and putting them in your bag. 

"Bye Mattheo." You said while walking out of his dorm, expecting a response.

You shut the door when you got nothing, you mind raced with the possibilities on what could've caused mattheos strange behavior.

Maybe he'd just had an off day? No that couldnt have been it, he was fine moments before his attitude took a turn. 

Perhaps he was just having mood swings, you wouldn't be surprised with all the trash he puts in his body.

You stuck with that story and walked back to your dorm, which was on the other side of the slytherin tower. 

You reached it, setting your things down, then quickly turned around and nearly raced to your friends dorm.

The second you reached it, You waisted no time to jump on her bed, causing her to jump. 

"Yes, of course you can come into my room unannounced and lay on my bed." Becca said sarcastically. She had been digging through her closet in an attempt to find a dress. 

"Sorry, I just need to vent." You said while propping yourself up on your elbows.

"Go ahead." She sighed and laid her body weight 

"Okay so, there's this guy. He's like my best friend, but.."

She raised her eyes brows, signaling you to continue.

"But I want us to be more, or atleast I see him as more than a friend. I just feel like no matter how hard I try I can't get him to open up, he just.. won't."  You groaned.

"And everytime I get this sliver of hope that I've made progress, he just completely shuts down, leaving me in the dark confused and a little bit heartbroken!" You borderline screamed, your face shoved into her mattress.

"Okay, uh, let's calm down. If he's not showing any signs of being interested maybe you should just, move on- well attempt to at least." Becca stated ,rubbing your back.

You shut your eyes, truly taking in your friends words.  “hey Yknow what will make you feel better?” She nearly jumped with excitement. “Going to look for a dress in town.”

You knew she only had good intentions but the words kept echoing through your head. The thought of keeping Mattheo as a friend hurt, but it seemed to be all you could do at this point without ruining your friendship.

Maybe she was right.

Maybe you needed to accept Mattheo 

was just a friend.

-

All you could think about was the Yule ball. Over the next few weeks the days flew by, the anticipation growing larger with each one passing.

Of course you had been asked by some sweet guy from the Ravenclaw house, and, taking Becca's advice, you said yes.

There was nothing wrong with him, he just..he wasn't him.

You had decided to get ready alone, slipping into a beautiful green dress you and Becca had picked out. You finished your hair and makeup, looking into your vanity mirror.

You felt beautiful.

You smiled softly at how well you had dolled yourself up.

Glancing up at the clock, you rushed out of your dorm room, realizing it was the time you and your date had agreed to meet at the entrance by. 

You walked gracefully through the halls, a large smile adorning your face. Your heels tapped softly against the ground. You neared the entrance, your breath becoming shallow from the nerves. 

Then you saw Becca, she was wearing a beautiful Maroon dress. She looked absolutely breath taking.

"Hey!— oh my gosh." Becca looked at you, her jaw dropping. 

"You look stunning! Like some type of goddess...." She said barely above a whisper.

"Becca! Stop, you can't be talking, I forgot how to breathe the moment I saw you." You hugged her.

You were about to continue praising her and her beauty, but before you could comment you heard someone call your name.

"Y/n..wow.." he said, just loud enough for you to hear.

You turned around to see your date, who was wearing a very clean red and black suit. 

"Oh my gosh hi! Sorry for being a tad late, I lost track of time while getting ready!" You made your way next to your date, not before Becca gave you a sly smile and a push, leaving to go with her specimen she had chose for the night 

"It's okay.., you look amazing." He had said, taking your arm into his. He began to lead you into the ballroom.

"Thank you, I must say, you cleaned up nice." You smiled sweetly at him.

You and him entered the large room full of people, everything was elegant and royal, not a single speck of dust on anything.

You looked around the large room as your date led you down the stairs, you couldn't lie, you felt like a princess. The beautiful architecture of the room, complimented by your stunning dress, felt like something straight out of a fairy tale.

Once you had made it to the bottom of the staircase, you excused yourself away from your date in an attempt to go find Becca again. 

You stumbled past groups of people, many of them were couples having a romantic moment. 

You tried your best not to run into anybody, you dodged dancing bodies and nearly jogged across the dance floor.

You almost missed him.

You almost walked right by him.

You almost could've saved yourself the heartbreak.

But no you saw it—him with some random Hufflepuff girl. 

The way he whispered in her ear, the way she giggled a little too sweetly, everything. 

It all made you wanna cry—or throw up, which one that would be you weren't quite sure about yet. 

"Y/n?" Theodore came beside you and patted your back.

"Theo-Theodore, I thought Mattheo wasn't coming to the dance?" You struggled to get your words out as your eyes darted between the scene before you and Theodore. 

"Oh—uh yeah, he wasn't gonna originally, but some girl asked him and I guess he took a liking to her because usually he just brushes everyone off." Theo answered.

"Oh, I see, I just came to say hello. I'll be on my way now." Before Theodore could argue with your strange behavior you turned your back and walked as quickly as you could back to were your date was. 

You abandoned the idea of going to find Becca, you couldn't accidentally run into Mattheo and his.. friend again.

Instead you decided that distracting yourself with your date would be the best thing for your heart at the moment.

"Hey, sorry , I just saw a friend and got distracted." You said, out of breath.

"Oh. Don't even sweat it, I'm just glad you didn't run away and not come back." He joked, dragging you towards the dance floor. You couldn't help but laugh at his bubbly personality. It was a nice change of speed.

"I hope you like to dance." His hands fell onto your hips, yours made their way to his shoulders.

"I actually hate it." You smiled at him. 

"How unfortunate." Your smile grew when he matched your energy. You nearly forgot what you had seen a couple moments ago.

But alas, you didn't.

You could feel your chest tightening up, the tears bordering you waterline. Just thinking about him touching that girl in any way made you want to breakdown.

"Ex.—excuse me." You tried to excuse yourself as politely as you could. 

You didn't want your date too see you like this, vulnerable, heartbroken.

You urgently walked towards any door in your line of sight. When you finally found one, you ran through it. 

You just couldn't escape him, no matter how hard you tried. He was at every single corner you turned.

You nearly groaned when you saw him propped up over the balcony, smoking of course. 

He hasn't seemed to notice you, still looking out at the stars. 

You couldn't do it anymore, you couldn't spend one more fucking second acting like you weren't in love with him. 

The sad part was you'd rather be his friend than him hate you and be nothing at all. As long as he thought about you, you'd be okay. 

That's what you had been telling yourself, but you couldn't hold onto that lie anymore. 

"Mattheo." You croaked out behind him.

His head shot to the side, looking you dead in the eyes. 

"Angel… what're you doing out here."  He looked back out to the stars, unable to make eye contact. 

"I can't do it anymore."  You said shakily.

He turned his full body around this time, his eyes a dark brown. He blew the smoke out of his mouth, the wind pushing it in the opposite direction.

"I can't keep pretending I don't feel this way.., do you know how hard it was to watch you talk to that girl?" You nearly cried out.

"All the girls you fuck with and then bring them to shit like this, I cant keep lying to myself —wishing that it was me instead of her."

You were on the brink of gasping for air, your head pounded. You couldn't believe you had suppressed these emotions for so long. Every single time you went to Mattheo's dorm, you could barely restrain yourself from kissing him. 

Before you could continue on with your speech 

Mattheo had forced you against the wall. 

His lips met yours in a harsh collision. In an almost immediate reaction, your body responded to his actions, kissing him back with just as much need and hurry.

"You don't get to fucking do that."  He pulled back from your lips, still making sure to keep his face mere inches from yours.

"Every single day, I'd sit there and watch you talk to this new guy, I couldn't do shit about it— I wouldn't let myself do shit about it."

“I knew you deserved so much better than some lousy asshole like me, angel.” His hand held a firm grip on your hips, his other still had its place on the stone wall. 

"It took everything in me not to punch that fucker in the face when I saw him look at you, but I knew you wouldn't want that." You melted beneath his gaze.

His kisses trailed down your jawline.

"During second year, when I went to the dance, I saw you there with Draco, I nearly killed him right after. I couldn't bear to see you with anyone other than myself.. so I wouldn't go, I knew I wouldn't be able to handle it so I never went to another ball again." He gently caressed your cheek with his thumb.

"Until this year." He mumbled softly in between the kisses he was leaving on your neck.

He brought his face back up to yours, his eyes stormy and clouded with something darker than just simple need.

"What'd he say to you? What did he call you?" Mattheo asked with a dark shimmer in his eyes, one you were hoping was just from the moon.

You swallowed harshly, you hadn't realized how dry your mouth truly was. 

"He just said I looked nice—" 

"Nice? You look fucking ravishing. I've never met a girl as beautiful as you, never once in my life seen a girl who could compare anywhere near you...That's why I call you angel you know...,because even if an angel walked by, my eyes would still be glued on you."

His gentle voice tickled your ears, and your cheeks warmed up beneath him.

"You are my angel."

He kissed you again, only this time it was more gentle. His lips held no rush, they were soft and comforting. 

You were the one to pull back this time, smiling sweetly up at him. He pulled you from against the wall, leaving the two of you in the center of the balcony, under the sparkling stars.

"I can't believe we've been friends all these years, and neither of us made a move."

He spun you around under the moon light, the beautiful sky knocking the breath out of you.

"Hey matty..?”You whispered once he had began to hold you in his arms gently.

"Yes angel?" He matched your tone, the sweet nickname you gave him made his chest tighten up.

"I love you." You closed your eyes, shutting them slowly.

"I love you... I always thought I'd never be the type to say that so freely, guess I just needed to meet the right person." He swayed the two of you lightly, finding a rhythm in the midnight winds. 

"Of course it's you... 

It's always been you."

[bluesidez]

HEY POOKS. Could you write a DBF!Miguel x dancer!reader. He just loves to watch her dance in competitions and recitals and helps her practice her routine by counting out 8’s for her <333

( maybe he can give reader a reward for doing so well but idk 🤭 )

[Rehearsal]

lab tester: Anonymous Participant (Hi @snails-doodles22) 🩻

summary: Miguel keeps you grounded as you prepare for a dance competition. 

content warning: age gap (abeg she’s 21+), secret relationship, fluff, like two suggestive?? lowkey explicit scenes so MINORS BEWARE, a few thoughts of frustration/failure but nothing serious just the thoughts of an artist

word count: 1.9k, halfway proofread

a/n: Hi hi!! This one was really a challenge for me!! and Idk if I’ll write DBF again ngl Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy it! I leaned more on the age gap aspect of the relationship and pulled from how I felt when practicing for my own recitals/competitions 🤠! (I get extremely snappy and mean lol)

A Grand Adage (as best as I, not a professional ballerina but I practiced for 3 years, can explain) is a slower dance move where you stretch your leg to the front, side, and back without losing your balance. You also have to switch legs…I think. It looks like it takes a LOT of core strength, especially without a partner.

I don’t think I mention it in the story, but I’m imagining this Miguel to have salt and pepper hair, but like, in its early stages. So only a few strands of gray. 

“Damn it.”

The music started to sound more and more jaded as you failed another Grand Adage after powering through the more fast-paced part of your routine. 

You don’t know why you had the bright idea to add the most pain-inducing ballet moves to your contemporary piece, but you were starting to hate yourself for it. It was supposed to represent a crash and burn of rushing perfection which was ironic because you were feeling those emotions tenfold.

“You’re not going to get it if you keep trying to force it like that.” You heard Miguel from across the room and the music finally stopped. “It’s a pause between those last two counts. You know this, chiquita.”

You huffed out a chuckle as you got up, “Knowing and doing are two different things. I know what’s coming, which is why I keep anticipating it and messing it up.”

“The studio is all yours for a few more hours,” Miguel sighed. “Take a breath and try it again.”

“That’s so easy for you to say. You’re not the one busting your ass,” you mumbled as you got back into your starting position. 

Miguel crossed his arms, head leaning on the wall above the barre, “You want to say that again?”

You dropped your arms and stared at him, face blank. 

After a minute or so of you going silent, he unfolded his arms and beckoned you towards him. 

You dragged your feet to get to him, hands hugging yourself. 

“I know you want this to be perfect, but snapping at me isn’t going to help that.” His hands made their way to the back of your thighs, rubbing up and down the tightened muscles. 

“I’m sorry, I just-” you rubbed your eyes with your palms. “The competition is so soon and I keep fucking the routine up.”

“And you’ve also done it perfectly countless other times. You’ve got this! I know you do. I’ve seen how much work you’ve put into dancing and that’s not going to change.”

“But Miguel-”

“But nothing. I’ve seen how you become a new person on the stage. You demand the attention of your audience in a way that your peers can’t. You’re captivating and alluring so I’m not going to sit here and let you think otherwise.”

You look at him with a face that says “I know you’re right, but I don’t want you to be,” and just fall onto his lap, wallowing in his arms while you breathe in his cologne. 

He nuzzled you on the head, hands patting at your ass, hands warm and firm through your tights, “Now can you try again for me?”

“Can I have a kiss?” you say, lips rivaling a rubber duckie. 

He chuckles at you but obliges, heart too soft when it comes to you. 

You get up with new ambition, taking a deep breath as you stride back to the middle of the room. 

“I’m going to count out loud for you this time, is that ok?”

“Yeah,” you reply, arms molding into a sharp form. 

When the music starts this time, you hone in on Miguel’s voice, taking leaps and turns with his timbre. Your heart thumps all the same, but your brain isn’t as loud. 

As the Grand Adage comes again, Miguel’s voice stays calm, never wavering. You tighten your core and lift your leg high, hands framed beautifully and foot pointed sharp as you hold your arms above your head. As you bring your leg back down to begin to turn, your heart almost stops when your body remains stable and strong. You can’t believe it but try to keep the piece's emotion steady. 

You switch legs without trouble, eyes catching Miguel watching your form in the mirror. His face is serious but you can’t hear that in his voice, making you feel fuzzy. You keep up the pace, repeating the same move but gearing up to do an Illusion.

Like a flash, you bring your leg down and bend your body, foot spinning swiftly to perform the trick. Your heartbeat is roaring in your ears as you move through the rest of the routine, mind too excited from your success to completely portray the ending emotions of dance. 

Once you finish, you’re quick to get out of your position, face lit up as you turn to Miguel. When you run to him, you’re screaming with glee. He only stumbles a bit when you jump in his arms, body wrapped around him like a koala. 

“Miguel! Did’ya see it? Oh my god, I can’t believe it,” you laughed as he spun you around.

“I told you you could do it, amor. You just needed to get out of your head.”

“Ok ok, three more times and I think I’ll be ready to leave.”

“Well let’s get busy, chiquita. We’ve got work to do.”

You run through the routine again and again, becoming more confident each time. After every successful routine, Miguel’s praises get more and more loving. First a deep hug, then a few pecks to the lips, then a makeout session that has you squirming for more. 

“Is your dad picking you up today?” he said, lips on your neck.

You turn your nose up at the mention of him, “No, I took the bus.”

“Could have asked me to drop you off.”

“You were at work, Miggy. Didn’t want to bother you.”

“You’re never a bother,” he stopped to move his forehead to yours. “You can come over tonight. You need to relax after all of this hard work.”

“And what do I tell my dad when he asks where I am?” your eyes pan from his eyes to his lips, fingers reaching up to go through his hair. 

“Tell him you’re at a girlfriend’s house.”

You twist your mouth to the side, pretending to think.

“How are you planning to relax me?”

“A hot bath.”

You snickered, knowing better than to believe that was all he was planning to do, but taking his word for it. 

Hours later when you were laid on your back, hands gripping the sheets below you and Miguel holding your legs up as he stroked deep inside, your suspicions were confirmed. Your skin was soft from the bath and your muscles were like jelly after he spent an hour massaging every tight muscle out of you. The room was full of him, his smell surrounding you, and the noises of him attending to your every need. With every cry of his name, he brought you closer to the horizon. 

On the day of your competition, you didn’t even look at Miguel before you went on, nerves too bad. If he gave you a pep talk, internally, you would be appreciative, but externally, you might tell him to leave you the fuck alone. 

Knowing how you get, he supported you in the best way he could by sending you messages and a light breakfast in the morning. 

“Break a leg, chiquita”

“Not literally of course”

“I’ll be waiting for you once it’s over”

“With a surprise :)”

It was enough to fill you with anticipation, ready to give it all on the floor.

Once your number was called, you went to the center and got into position. The crowd was dark enough to feel like it was just you in the room, but your heart knew otherwise with how fast it was beating. 

When the music starts, it’s like Miguel’s voice is a soundtrack playing through your memory. You can’t see him, but you can feel him in the crowd cheering you on. Your feet move across the floor, body tightening and relaxing when needed. Your face wears a frustrated expression, portraying the sentiment of everything falling out of control. Your leaps and turns come one after another moving your form across the stage. 

The Grand Adage comes to you like lightning, you don’t even notice you’re doing it until it happens. The muscle memory takes over and you transition to the Illusion like it's nothing. Your mind wanders as you go through to the end of the routine, finishing strongly with your pose on the floor.

The cheers of the audience are what bring you back to reality. A feeling of relief washes over you as you stand and bow, smiling brightly. 

Standing with the other dancers from your category, you don’t expect the judges to call your name for first place, so when they all turn to look at you, you feel like you might have walked out in your underwear by accident. 

It isn’t until you’re handed a bouquet of flowers and a trophy that it dawns on you that your hard work has paid off. The check was no measly amount of money either. 

Looking out to the crowd, you can see Miguel standing up with his hands cupped over his mouth as he yells. Your family is standing next to him cheering as well. You wave at them, jumping up and down in excitement. Only you can see the wink Miguel gives you. 

When you meet them out in the lobby, you have to stop yourself from keeping your attention on Miguel. 

“You did amazing, honey,” your dad says, squeezing the life out of you. “That flip thing? I don’t know how you did it, but wow!”

“It’s called an Illusion,” Miguel shakes his head. “Keep up.”

“What are you, her coach or something?”

“C’mon you guys,” your mom fusses. “Don’t start bickering in the building. At least wait until we get dinner.”

“‘M gonna ride with Miguel,” you say to them. 

Knowing how much you like his car, your parents think nothing of it and walk out to their own car. 

Once they’re out the door, he turns and gives you a deep kiss, “You did such a good job. I’m so proud of you.”

“I just remembered what you said. Kept it in the back of my mind while I performed.”

He smiled and wrapped his hands around your waist, “Yeah?”

You nod and bring his lips to yours again. 

“Where’s my surprise?”

“Always so impatient.”

“You wouldn’t like me any other way.”

“Tienes rázon,” Miguel chuckled. 

Miguel brings a sparkly gift bag to your attention, placing it in your hands. You reach into the bag, tissue paper falling to the floor. You pull out an envelope and a long velvet box. 

You open the box, eyes glittering when you see the necklace inside. 

“Miguel, this is adorable!” 

“Here,” he takes the necklace out of the box. “Let me help you put it on.”

You turn and focus your attention on the envelope, fingers sliding under the sealed flap. 

Your breath halts when you pull the tickets out.

“To Paris?”

You turn to him once your necklace is latched together, eyes teary from happiness.

“You’ve been doing so amazing, I wanted to treat you to an amazing trip.”

“How much did this cost?”

“Nothing that you should worry your head about.”

You crowd his space, kissing his face all over, “Thank you so much, Miguel.”

“Of course. Anything for my girl.”

“I don’t want to go out to dinner now,” you sigh dramatically.

“Yeah? You know we can’t bail, though.”

“Not even if I give my thanks to you in the car?”

Miguel bit the inside of his cheek, watching you grin at him. He’s really way too soft when it comes to you. 

“Vamos.”

As always, like, reblog, and COMMENT. Let me know how you guys feel! 🩵

[lucimaaie]

ellie as spiderwoman hcs ✧.* au

a/n- honestly was just an excuse for me to watch spiderman again and i took it, kind of switch between would’ve and did idk babes im just having fun atp

she'd have lost her mom at a young age and been placed with joel, who she never gets along with at first, thinking he's just a bil ol meanie who wanted an extra check every month.

that was until he showed he cared, not through hugs and affection in the traditional sense, but making sure she did her homework, picking her up everyday, getting her out of her room, checking on her when she'd been too quiet. "you okay, kiddo?" and "i heard talking helps." he'd say as he leaned on the door frame. eventually, she couldn't help but love him.

absolutely a nerd. though, when she got teased, she didn't exactly back down as expected which landed her in the detention a few times and some talking-to's. but she won and defended herself. no one could be mad at her for that. still, she was smart. she was going to be an astronaut after all. though that dream died in middle school.

high school came and she tried to straighten up. no more fighting bullies, even if they deserved it. she was better than that. she would get an internship, the internship that would line everything up, get her a scholarship so she could study aerospace engineering, get rich and get joel out of the old house on a patch of land with however many sheep he wanted. the same internship that got her bitten by a radioactive spider and shooting webs out her wrists.

words could not describe how much she worried joel when she woke up the day after, crushing her alarm clock, breaking the sink, the shower rack, everything. she skipped that day, hanging out on the rooftop of the house while joel was away stuck between having a panic attack from the sensory overload and telling someone, anyone. she decided on testing them out which earned her quite a few bruises joel luckily chalked up to another fight. "we gotta talk about this fighting thing sometime." she'd roll her eyes, saying something snarky before limping up the stairs. "say what you want but i win," "i heard that!"

also sidebar: ellie as a new yorker...whew. honestly ellie as anything- anyway.

hours or research ensue on cross-species genetics, spiderbites, different types of spiders, everything that made her feel disgusting. she slammed her laptop closed, crushing the poor thing.

it felt like there were a million things to do with her newfound powers but the only two on her mind was impress dina and swing from the rooftops. c’mon, she was 16 with the powers of a freaking spider. who said saving people would the first thing on her mind? she felt powerful, even weirder than she already felt but still powerful.

it was terrible, watching joel get more and more disappointed in her as she got distracted. “i’m a good kid! i just got distracted, gimmie a break.” “i have given you plenty. more than i should’ve. and that’s on me. that's my mistake to make you think that coming home late and fighting and blowing me off is okay.”

“i can't help how i turned out! don't blame me for being a shitty dad.” she yelled before slamming the door and stalking off into who knows where. she didn't even mean it, she was just stressed, she never meant any of it. hours later, she’d wish those words never came out her mouth.

she'd hoped she was having some cruel nightmare when she saw joel laid out on the pavement. "some help me! c-call an ambulance. don't just fucking stand there-" her voice was raw as she screamed out. "c'mon, don't die on me. y-you can't. i'm sorry? is that what you wanna hear? i'm sorry."

she hated the looks of pity, everyone's soft voices. people who never once talked to her suddenly caring. it was all fake. they didn't know her and they sure and hell didn't know joel.

she became another person for a while. quieter, more closed off. sometimes snappy. laser focused on finding the low-life took joel from her. that's when she started wearing the mask. the basic concept of it anyway and it caught on with the people, more than she imagined. ellie scoffed at the name spider-woman at first, thinking it was ridiculous. she wasn't some circus performer, she was just trying to find the killer.

dina as her mj, reaching out to her after joel’s death, inviting her over for dinner, talking to her in class, all of it. it wasn’t the same disingenuous pity she hated, she could feel she cared. so she allowed her feelings to fester. being with her actually helped. it was one more thing to balance with school and the internship and her mission, but it was more person in her life. she needed that.

one day ellie went running towards the trouble. not because joel's killer was there or cause of some adrenaline rush, but because she needed to do something. to not be helpless for once. she wasn't helpless. she hadn't felt completely in control of her body as she webbed a whole bridge back together and pulled cars back onto the surface, but in the end it was a like a high. it still ached to see kids running to their parents and everyone running to their families, but they were all safe. she did that. and that felt better than getting revenge and letting it suck the life out of her. so she'd wear the spandex and the mask and go by the stupid name. only cause it meant something now.

thank you for reading!

[bucknastysbabe]

Ser Criston is OC Princess (Rhaenyra’s younger sister) sworn protector & is in love with her but he knows he shouldn’t but he can’t help being obsessed and Rhaenyra hates it because it’s her little sister & so one night she asks Ser Criston to sneak out for a walk and they kiss & get caught by Rhaenyra idk

Hi yes I totally got carried away bc Criston has me in a chokehold rn. I hope you enjoy, I love the obsessed aspects. I also got to explore the other indications in F&B that insinuated Cole rejected Rhaenyra. Thanks for the ask🥰🥰 I don’t usually do OC’s but since it’s a Targ I mean I can only leave so much up to interpretation! But it was fun and diff

Rating: Mature

Tags: Forbidden love, unreliable narrator, Criston’s POV, oc-ish Princess reader, Sorry I made Rhae a bitch ugh, Criston’s snappy ass, Alicent is his bestie, masturbation, fantasies, dark Criston, virgin reader, clit orgasm, open ending, angst and pining galore, Religious Guilt, Harwin doing his best okay?, character study-ish, obsessive/possessive Criston

Word count: About 6k

@aemonds-holy-milk @aemonddtargaryen

Lucerra Targaryen, called Cerra, was oft said to be the spitting image of the late Queen Aemma. She retained more of her father’s demeanor, none of the resolute strength of Aemma and the fiery nature of young Rhaenyra. The fire that had entranced Criston once. He was told all of Cerra’s quirks when they made him her sworn shield.

He so much did not glance Rhaenyra’s way now, the burly Ser Harwin towering over the heir. They shared a kiss once, Criston ran, their close bond was severed. He knew down deep she coveted her uncle. It burned him, but he did his duty. The duty hanging around his shoulders like a lead weight— just cloaked in white wool. Criston found himself bewitched again.

The sweet Cerra, her gentle innocence and piousness. Something unmarred, not yet tainted by the world. The knight wondered if she was the maiden reborn, sent to test him. He prayed and prayed and confessed repeatedly to get rid of the wicked sin in his heart. Usually after touching himself.

Criston had always been weak when it came to the fairer sex. He’d fall madly in love like a boy and his first fuck. Just no fucking, more of the merest scrap of appreciation and touch had him by the vulnerable throat.

He coveted the young princess badly. Sometimes she would grab his palm when frightened, or on a walk to the Sept. Criston felt disgusting wondering how that soft hand would feel around his cock, the pale flesh clashing against ruddy. Cerra didn’t know, couldn’t know how weak he was.

Rhaenyra obviously knew of the metaphorical chink in the armor. She was becoming increasingly nosy of her sister’s doings as of late. He sourly thought to himself, ‘spoiled cunt couldn’t have me, of course she’ll make sure I part from her sweet sister.’ He frowned in annoyance at the elder’s recent interruption.

He’d merely helped her up to reach a flower in a tall bush. Certainly didn’t expect chaste Cerra to be so…close. She had wrapped her arms around his neck, startling him as she sighed, “You’re too kind Ser Criston, my white knight. What would I do without you?” She didn’t mean anything licentious, the Princess never did. Once a lordling flirted and she blushed to her ears and called for Criston to escort her away.

He preened about that for days. He’d heard the idiot boy scoff, “Stupid Dornish mutt.” Criston grinned and leaned toward the shorter lad, keeping his voice low. The princess shouldn’t hear such filth. He hissed, “This mutt would be glad to cave your fucking skull in with a Morningstar. Don’t come near the Princess ever again.” That was that. Back to his original thought.

At the moment Criston couldn’t help but sink into her soft gesture, pale white waves and lavender eyes gazing up as she laid her head on his chest. The brunette laid a chaste hand on her waist, but the moony look on his face was likely brighter than the Hightower’s beacon.

“My lady is kinder, no need to praise your sworn shield, merely doing my duty Princess.”

His cock was full to bursting at her sweet scent and wide eyes, framed by pretty lashes. Cerra closed those lavender orbs and inhaled gently, relaxing in the center of the Godswood. Criston’s hand thumbed little circles into her waist, feeling the princess relax more, leaning into his stronger frame, lips subtly parting.

“Cole! This is an unseemly position to be seen in with my sister if Larys’ spies are about,” Rhaenyra called with a smile and cocked head. Lucerra stepped back with a gasp, flush flooding her cheeks. She stammered, “R-Rhaenyra, no no, I w-was simply.”

“Simply what?”

Criston cooled his expression to state, “The princess was expressing her gratitude for me. Nothing more.”

Lucerra nodded, gesturing to the knight, cheeks still flaming and eyes downcast. She certainly wasn’t acting as if this was innocent. Rhaenyra narrowed her eyes and stepped forward to grab her sister’s hand. Casting a glare toward him she hissed, “I need her for the afternoon, you can wait outside the door.”

He stiffly nodded, anger flaring up in his chest so violently Criston feared he would yell at the heir. Instead he murmured, “Yes princess.” From a distance he trailed the two blondes, aggravated as all Seven Hells. Rhaenyra never paid attention to Cerra, especially since having her first babe. Damned bitch. Where was her loyal whore Harwin?

Waiting outside Rhaenyra’s chambers, Criston thought over her precious sister’s actions. He wondered what it would be like to touch her more. Graze over her sensitive neck, breasts, lower belly. She’d probably squeal if he suckled on a pretty tit. He inhaled sharply, catching himself on a low moan. Repentance would be in order soon.

Maybe he was being punished now— waiting outside like a mangy dog.

For hours.

Cerra came back out with a strange look, apologizing, “Sorry Ser Criston, that went longer than expected, I didn’t think my sister would want that much of the day. Shall we head to supper?”

He nodded, extending an arm forward. The princess was quiet, eyes flicking toward him a couple of times. Criston asked, “Yes princess?” Lucerra stopped on a dime and faced him, face close to tears. She warbled, “You’re not mad are you? I- I can’t deny family. Rhaenyra actually uh- helped. I was acting imprudent in the Godswood, I apologize for being wanton and brazen Ser.”

Oh. Criston blinked a couple of times. She was expressing more than mere affection? He wiped away her tear with a gloved hand, sighing, “No princess, I could never be mad at you, what’s in the past is in the past. You are anything but wanton, the picture of the maiden to me. Don’t let her scare you.”

She smiled, tipping forward on her feet some, eyes entrapping Cole easily. Then he was engulfed into a hug again. What had brought in this madness? He couldn’t complain, yet.

She breathed, “Oh, oh I was so worried you’d be mad. We should go to the sept tomorrow, yes?” The knight’s lips quirked up as he replied, “That sounds splendid my Princess, we shall go in the morn. Now let’s get you to dinner?”

She grabbed his hand again, practically skipping, chattering now about her time with ‘big sister’. Criston listened, he always did, but he needed to go jack his cock before going mad. Then wallow in guilt about it all night at the edge of Cerra’s room. She preferred him taking watch from inside her quarters. Such a frightened little lamb.

Wallow in guilt did he. While the princess slept in her grand bed, Criston couldn’t help but replay the shame in his head. As soon as he’d escorted her to dinner, he went to his quarters and stripped down heavy armor and pants. The man shuddered at the sensation of cool air hitting his achingly flushed cock.

He pictured the pristine Targaryen underneath his tanned body, writhing with pleasure. Criston spat on his hand and worked his prick, panting softly. Cerra’s doe eyes would be teary, overwhelmed with the pleasures of the flesh. She’d whine while he’d pump into her virgin cunt, “Oh, Criston, oh gods! Don’t stop!” The knight gasped and shuddered at the thought, groaning as he spilled all over his hand.

He blinked again, running a hand through his hair. Lucerra was awake, hair shining like silver under the moonlight. She spoke in a soft rasp, “Ser Cole, are you still here?” He laughed at her silly question, replying, “As always, can’t trade me out like the Cargylls.”

“Oh, good,” she pulled the covers off the bed and stretched, white nightgown pulling in the right wrong places, “I had a horrid dream. I can’t possibly go back to sleep yet.”

Criston frowned at her admission— it pained his heart to have her upset. He questioned, “A bad dream? What was it about?” She stepped onto the cold marble floor, shivering, shrugging on a thicker robe hung nearby. His eyes followed her smaller form come closer, curling up in a plush chair adjacent to his position. She wiped a hand across her face, still groggy.

“I can hardly remember now. I was alone, so alone, not even my dragon was around. I k-kept calling out for someone, probably you,” she pulled the robe tighter, “I don’t know. Maybe it was the wine.”

Cerra’s lips were drawn tight, brows pulled together. Criston wanted to pull the pretty girl onto his lap, she was still shivery. He thought of a decent response, something comforting. The knight settled on, “It was obviously a dream, I’d never desert you my Princess. That big white beast wouldn’t either.”

Her lips curled up to let out a tinkling laugh— making Criston’s sick heart skip a beat. Cerra replied, “Cloudwing is not a beast! She’s a good girl.” The brunette chuckled along with the Targaryen, smiling helplessly, such a lovesick dumb dog was he.

A beat of silence grew over them, heavy with something. The earlier revelation of Lucerra behaving with romantic intentions still lay undiscussed. Criston suggested gently, “You will catch a cold if you do not get back under the covers, princess. You won’t be alone, I swore an oath.”

One he would break if she just asked. He couldn’t decide whether he wanted that truly or not. He’d gotten quite far being the son of a common born steward.

She bit her lower lip and shrugged, “I’d much rather sit with you Ser Criston. I’ll be okay as long as I keep my feet off the dreadful stone.”

“Lucerra, please, shall I pick you up then? You need sleep, the Sept remember?”

Her gaze locked onto the white knight’s intensely. Lucerra fidgeted with her robe, the damn air growing heavier. Criston found it hard to think when she was being so confusing. She finally spoke, a meek whisper, “Yes, that would be nice, thank you.”

Lifting the blonde was easy, her squeak and grasp onto his shoulders adorable. Criston had to bat away more thoughts about how simple she was to handle. He laid her down gently, taking the coat she shrugged off. Lucerra grabbed onto his hand with a fervent tightness as he turned back to his chair.

“Please, don’t leave me so alone, I don’t care what Rhaenyra says. Just keep me warm?”

Her pretty face was achingly raw, open, eyes tinged with fear. Criston swallowed heavily. He was weak. He couldn’t run away this time. Didn’t want to run away, bask in the sweet sin. Maybe it was meant to be. Maybe it was a test from the seven.

“Criston?”

“Yes, just, just- give me a second to get my armor off.”

Now he was shivery with want, warring with trepidation. Ridding his body of armor was horribly slow. The awkward clank of each piece coming off. Each heavy noise reminded him what he was potentially giving up. Soon Criston remained in simple breeches and a linen shirt. Lucerra pulled back the covers and smiled nervously.

He climbed onto the soft bed, pulling the blankets back over their frames. Unsure of what came next, Criston simply laid on his back and gazed at her. Lucerra murmured, “Must you be the pious one now?” He raised an amused brow at the bold comment.

“What’s that supposed to mean princess?”

She frowned and nestled into his side, wrapping an arm around him and tucking soft hair into the crook of shoulder and jaw. Criston exhaled sharply, unused to such intimate touch after donning the white cloak. He reached over to grab her leg, pulling it snug across his lower belly, thankfully out of the way of his swelling prick.

Cerra gasped against his neck, giggling, “Good, now I don’t feel like a concubine.”

“Concubine? Pfft. You’re white as snow compared to my cloak,” he replied.

“It’ll be our secret, I’d fear I would perish without my white knight. I swear it upon my heart.”

He couldn’t respond, lest it be something out of control. Instead he rubbed her back and knee, squeezing once in agreement with Cerra’s statement. Soon she fell asleep, softly puffing against his neck. Criston joined soon after, utterly content and warm.

The simple action of cuddling up couldn’t slake the thirst that grew within him for the lovely princess. They had remained chaste and he arose early every morn to get dressed and step back outside the wooden door. Lucerra would seek out touches in secret, holding pinkies with him, laying her head on an armored shoulder in the Godswood.

She would share smiles with the knight across the throne room, Rhaenyra’s calculating look upon the utterly obvious pair. Criston knew one could see into his bleeding heart if they looked into his eyes. The way Princess Lucerra grew tighter and tighter into his side around the keep, lavender eyes sparkling aroused many curious onlookers.

Rumors began to swirl. Criston reluctantly stood outside her chambers a couple nights a week. One night he encountered a poorly prying Harwin Strong. The fellow knight had made one too many passes and he called out, “Get your big ass over here!” He didn’t mind Harwin, but did mind being spied on.

The hand’s son looked sullen as he walked up to Criston, flicking down a dark hood. He gave a sheepish smile, apologizing, “Uh, you know, the girls want what they want.” Criston crossed his arms and deadpanned, “Your girl wants me expelled from King’s Landing on account of rumors”

Harwin gave him a look, disgusting pity lacing his features. Criston reiterated, “The girl remains pure, she looks to me as a protector, you know how easily frightened the princess has always been.” Somehow he felt like a liar. Still her pretty lips and cunt remained untouched.

“Sure Cole. Just be careful, you know what the punishment is of breaking your oath.”

Criston’s temper flared to life, taunting Harwin with a fake smile, “You be careful too now, two Valyrians making some beautiful brown haired babes is a bit strange no?”

Harwin shoved him into the door with a snarl. Breakbones’ power at full force knocked the wind out of Criston, but he wheezed a laugh. He was no better than him— just another lovesick fool. Strong rumbled, “Keep your damn mouth shut and I’ll stay on my side, but I know you got the princess primed for your dirty lowborn cock.”

Criston didn’t want to get his face pummeled in. The raucous already probably woke his sweetling. He gave another smarmy look and hummed, “Noted, Strong.” That earned the knight another shove and the burly man stomped off to lick the bitch’s teats.

The door opened behind Criston, a bewildered Lucerra in her robe. She questioned, “W-what was that? Are you alright Ser Criston? Come in, please.”

His dark eyes scanned down the hallway once more before stepping inside, sighing as she enveloped him into a warm embrace. Criston spoke lowly, “Big sister had sent her own shield to spy on me. We should be more careful.”

Lucerra frowned, lips setting into a pout. She murmured, “We’ve done nothing horrid. Yes, unseemly, but I’m intact. Turn around, let me get off this dreaded armor.” Criston appreciated her desire to learn how to discard his Kingsguard armor— although he averted guilty eyes from the way the Targaryen would carefully hang his cloak, like it still meant something.

As they laid together, she complained into his neck, lithe fingers playing with his inky hair, “You’re right, we should be more courtly, take more precaution. Of all of my sister’s misgivings, why does she care?”

Criston played dumb, it’s what he was anyway. Lied again and said he had no clue why Rhaenyra took such a deep distaste to the pair’s relationship. He sighed, “It will work out, more careful, yes. C’mon, to sleep, sorry about the noise.”

Another night in her arms was a blessing to Criston. He would be reluctantly busy the next day. The king needed a whole retainer for his appearance in public at the Dragonpit. It was the anniversary of Aegon’s landing. Luckily the princess would be in his peripheral. Along with the conniving heir and her other eyes.

It was a banal affair, King Viserys smiling and waving to the crowds. Queen Alicent held her youngest child, Daeron. Rhaenyra and Laenor were surrounded by her bastard brood, holding her own babe Joffrey. Named after that flimsy knight who Laenor was fucking. Poor sap died in the city under strange circumstances, likely Daemon’s doings.

Criston met eyes with Harwin, vaguely disguising a sneer. He ignored the brute and turned his vision back to the crowds, the smallfolk staying relatively easy. Lucerra stood next to her elder sister, holding Lucerys, her namesake. Her smile was gorgeous, a couple of boys cheered for her, throwing a flower.

After the public spectacle, the princess gave a shy smile to Criston on his horse, cheeks rosy pink before the door was slammed shut by the cunt Daemon. He raised a brow and hopped onto the front of the wheelhouse, offhandedly commenting, “Cunt struck and you haven’t even defiled my niece, Ser Crispin.”

The Dornishman clenched his jaw so hard he feared it may crack a tooth. He rode ahead, staying silent, Daemon didn’t forget a slight and surely hadn’t forgot when Criston embarrassed the rogue prince in tournament. Pompous ass.

More annoying feast and merriment kept the knight from his pretty girl. Lords and ladies filled the grand dining hall, dancing to and fro. He stayed put against a column, watching her. Lucerra wasn’t much of a dancer, but she let the old Sea Snake guide her around some turns.

A body sidled next to him, a familiar face and scent. The Queen herself, Alicent smiled softly up at him. She stated, “You’re distracted Ser Criston.” He sighed in return, “I’m sure you’re quite aware of the rumors. Seven cursed my weak heart.”

“Lucerra’s harmless,” Alicent glared toward the non-green side of the table, “It’s her lying sister, you remained truthful. I’ve been trying to stifle the rumors. Have you stayed chaste? I hope you have on account of your neck, my dear Knight.”

Criston leaned down to murmur, “Agonizingly so. I fear I’ve been bewitched yet again. Harwin Strong was sniffing around the other night.”

Her lips turned to a foul grimace at the mention. Alicent hissed, “The realm’s delight is carting around her bastards like trueborns and she’s deadset on potentially ruining her sister’s reputation to get at you.”

“Always been selfish, hasn’t she,” Criston laughed.

Alicent smirked, placing both of her hands over the knight’s. The green queen spoke plainly, “Please be careful dear heart. You’re a valuable asset to our proud dynasty.” The long-suffering redhead disappeared into the throng of people, ever an ally for him.

Back to scanning the surroundings. Daemon was spinning with Rhaenyra, likely talking horseshit in High Valyrian. He scanned for Lucerra, finding her cornered by the tables with a noble clad in the colors of House Darklyn, known bootlickers.

His chest tightened with jealousy. Criston seethed to himself, chanting internally, ‘I will not make a scene, I will not make a scene.’ The Darklyn lad was too close for his liking. It suddenly felt too hot under his heavy armor. He was close to the brink, gripping the pommel of his sword until his knuckles whitened.

Lucerra seemed uncomfortable, face uneasy and body stiffening. The Darklyn fuck was leaning into her space, lips undoubtedly spewing disgusting things a lady shouldn’t hear. The princess gasped at something he said and turned away, getting yanked back towards the man.

That was enough.

Criston stormed forward, shoving through the nobility, snarling in anger. He yanked the uncouth prick by the collar and dragged him far away from his princess. Parts of the crowd stopped to stare, Rhaenyra perking up to look. The princess blushed and excused herself, quickly finding another dance partner in the more palatable form of Tyland Lannister.

“What are you doing? I have done nothing to the King!,” the black haired teen spat. Criston continued to haul the boy past the columns to a quieter place, anger clouding any sort of judgement. He shoved the noble bitch against an alcove, gauntlet pressed against twitching neck.

Darklyn gasped and writhed for air, eyes wide with fear. Criston hissed, “The Kingsguard protects the family and the king. You should know better than to touch the princess like that. I ought to gut you, throw you onto the spikes of Maegor’s Holdfast and watch you rot.”

The stinking reek of piss filled Criston’s nostrils. He looked down in disgust, muttering, “Weakling piss-ant. Don’t dare come near her-,” his threat was unfinished as he was whirled to face Lord Commander Westerling. His face was hard and eyes flinty— obviously disappointed.

“Come Cole, we need to have a word.”

The walk was quiet and unsettling, only the clank of their gear and footsteps sounding off as they reached the quieter area of Maegor’s Holdfast. Criston apologized immediately, “My temper Ser, I apologize, he was manhandling the Princess.”

Harrold Westerling shook his head with a resigned sigh. He rumbled, “You’ve already toed the line Ser Cole. I don’t want to have a capable fighter like you dismissed or facing the black, gelded at that.”

Criston’s roiling emotions died down into a despairing state— his chest fluttering with fear. He nodded and held his head down in obeisance. Westerling continued, “You must take a step back. You’re of the most elite of elite men, a big step from your beginnings. Princess Lucerra is an enchanting girl, I know this is hard, but as soon as you took the oath— this is your life. You must cease all feelings for the girl or request to be transferred to another.”

Criston fought back the warble in his voice. He wanted to rip his cloak off and shout his love, make someone understand. He swore, “I know Lord Commander, I know. I have never defiled the girl, I would never. This is my calling and I’m shirking it. I’ll think about requesting an exchange.”

Harrold clapped him on the shoulder and regarded him with kinder eyes, “Good. I was struck too once. I had many princesses to tend to with Jaehaerys and Alysanne’s litter of dragons. Just, please, pray on it and keep it in line Ser Cole.”

“Yes sir.”

He sulked about, Harrold ordering him to his chambers until the was called to his usual watch over his Lucerra. Criston hoped she was alright. He guiltily turned dark eyes onto his shrine of the seven. The small flail and beaded necklace awaited. He had been ignoring the faith, so entrenched in sin Criston could hardly bare to look at the Mother’s cold face.

He prayed and prayed to the mother for relief of his twisted desire, depraved lust, uncontrollable need to consume a sparkling untainted virgin. Then to the warrior to ease his temper, make Criston a calm knight, not blinded by rage so he may protect accordingly. Down the list he went until the dead skull relief of the Stranger awaited.

“If I fail, take me into your arms and punish me accordingly,” he whispered, a couple tears leaking onto his armor, shining by the candles. He would confess another time and receive his penance. Bloodletting seemed fit. Flagellation made him think clear, the pain taking away sickness in mind and body.

A sharp knocking snapped Criston out of his religious wallowing. He called out, “I’m coming.” The door opened to the queen and Ser Rickard Thorne. They both were cloaked and Alicent’s doe eyes looked worried. The younger knight questioned, “What? What is it?”

Alicent shushed him and murmured, “Our dear Lucerra and…the heir,” she spat the word like it was bile on her tongue, “Had some intense words after the feast. Ser Thorne escorted Cerra to her chambers.”

Thorne’s gravelly voice was low, “It was quiet and I checked in as she was in quite the state. She’s not in her chambers and the servant’s passage was left slightly ajar.”

Alicent frowned, “I know she’s upset and frightened. I would rather you find her. No one knows of this. I doubt she would leave the keep but gods forbid. We checked underneath the keep and Thorne most of the passageways. I will keep this at utmost secrecy, dear Criston.”

He nodded, quickly gathering his gear and a dark cloak to cover the white of his garb. While fastening his belt he quickly thanked the pair, “I will find her now. Thank you my queen, Ser Thorne. You may rest now. She will be returned.”

He chastely kissed the queens ring, patting his fellow knight on the shoulder and strode forward, urgency at his tail. Criston was fearful, dreadfully so. What did Rhaenyra do? He bit his lip, worked his jaw, making his rounds around the shadows of the outer courtyard. The goldcloaks were obviously not doing their job, playing cards up in a tower.

He worried she finally broke the princess, told Lucerra of the past. She would be heartbroken. He sped his pace, deciding to check the Godswood. Somewhere she would still feel safe. He knew Cerra wouldn’t run anywhere outside the walls, she’d have a fainting spell.

Speeding up he decided to take a turn and clamber up the wall into the Godswood. He must not be seen. Especially after tonight’s mishap. Swinging a leg over the thick red stone, Criston shimmied down and landed with a dull thud. The clouds covered the moon— making it dreadfully dark. Lucerra must truly be upset. He swallowed down a tightening throat. He needed to be the protector, not a weeping craven.

He scanned around the dark trees and arches to the left. It seemed empty. He moved forward, keeping to the brush, listening. Closer towards the heart tree he heard the familiar little hitching of breath. His Cerra. The fear of what came next shivered his spine.

Criston called gently, “Princess, Princess, is that you?”

He slowly approached, holding out a hand like he was soothing a skittish foal. He could barely see her, just the white of hair and a shadow of a figure. He took another step, stopping when she wept, “No Ser Cole, go away, I wish to be alone.”

All of his fears had come true. She’d turned against him. He shook his head. No. This wouldn’t do. The knight would change her mind. Lucerra Targaryen needed him, not Ser Cole, not the loyal dog, just Criston Cole of Blackhaven’s marches.

“Ser, please, I cannot bear this,” Cerra warbled.

He came to her side, kneeling, swallowing another agonized noise when she turned from him. Criston begged, “Sweetling, what’s the matter, why are you distraught? It pains me.” She sobbed, hands wrenching into a now-dirtied dress.

The brunette engulfed her tinier frame into a tight grip, her back plastered to his. Much like they slept many a night. She fought and tried to wrench free, crying, “No! Let go! I’m just a replacement for her! I always come second! Ser Cole!”

He held tighter, exploding, “I love you!”

Her writhing stopped, eyes turning to him, confusion on fine features. Criston swore, “Bythe Seven and my oath, I love you more than anything Lucerra.” She shook her head, confused, “No, no you don’t, Rhaenyra told me why y-you became my shield.”

He hissed, “No, she lied, she lied lied lied! I kissed her yes, but I ran, I knew it was bad. I was an idiot— she merely wanted a fill in for Daemon. I swear it to be true,” he continued in a softer voice, “I never thought I would love so strongly and deeply as I do with you, it’s more than lust. I would worship you until my last breath, chaste forever.”

Lucerra bawled again, curling into him, soft thighs straddling his own as she wept. He held her and shushed and coddled, praising the perfect maiden’s presence. He dumbly reiterated, “Never, never has anyone taken my heart like you have.” Her bejeweled hands gripped into his cloak.

Her face was dangerously close to his, sweet scent filling the knight’s nose. She whispered in a rasp, “Do you mean it? You love me? I love you, it nearly broke me to hear Rhaenyra tell me.” Criston frowned, pressing his forehead to her own. He murmured, “I was dumb, I bolted after it was initiated. I didn’t tell you, b-because, I didn’t want to lose you princess.”

She placed a hand over his rapidly beating heart and said, “I believe you. I forgive you.”

Criston was so relieved he didn’t realize the tear leaking down his cheek, kissed away by impossibly soft lips. She whispered fervently, “Kiss me Criston. Kiss me like you love me, like you said.” He carefully caressed her jaw, peering into those adoring orbs.

He closed the gap, lips finally meeting, the Princess sighing into him. She clung to his chest still, passively letting Criston take the reins. He chastely shared tender pecks, letting Cerra get into a rhythm.

Her lips opened as the kisses got more desperate, boiling tension rising. She whimpered when Criston lapped into her mouth, moaning himself. She tasted like sweet wine and cinnamon, opening for him beautifully. Cerra wrapped her arms around his neck, thin fingers gripping his long locks. He moaned again, lashes fluttering. All guilt was out the window when in the embrace of this goddess.

He tilted her head to intertwine their tongues, Lucerra shivering helplessly, whining his name. She was shy, better for Criston to take her warm mouth. The princess plastered herself tight to his body, breasts pushed up from the movement.

He’d be good. He will not stain her maidenhead, as much as the dark part of him sought to claim every inch of her. The brunette slid his hands down her waist, squeezing soft hips. She mewled again, feverishly smacking her lips against him. Criston felt her overwhelmed trembling, eyes teary just like he fantasized.

She pulled away with a string of drool, panting, “I- Criston- it aches.” His cock jumped at what the implication of that was. He pressed little kisses down her jaw and neck, basking in her cute noises. He purred, “What aches Princess? I shan’t dare to hurt your heart again.”

She blushed so heavily he could see it even in the pitch of the night. Criston smiled gently, breathing hotly against her ear, “You can tell me, sweet love.” The princess shivered again, hips bucking fruitlessly against his garb.

“Y-you know. M-my,” she looked away, “My flower.”

The dog in Criston grinned at that, the innocent little thing. He hummed, “Have you soaked your linens Lucerra? I don’t have to breach your maidenhead to pleasure my sweet girl. Would you like that?”

She practically sobbed, “Please, my knight, Criston. Our little secret.”

“Always,” he said, taking off his gloves and Cerra’s trembling hands undoing the heavy gauntlets. He slid warm palms up her plush thighs, so soft yet strong from dragon riding. She desperately sought his lips to cover an indecent sound.

One greedy hand spread open a thigh, the other swiping thick fingers through her slick cunt, dragging upward to graze her swollen bud. The princess shrieked into his swollen lips, Criston doing his best to cover the noise.

He offered his free hand up, half-groaning, “Suckle on my fingers sweet girl, can’t have you waking half the keep up.” Lucerra shyly opened her swollen lips to let Criston’s calloused fingers in. He pressed slightly on her tongue, earning a cute little garbled whine.

“Now be good my love, I’ll make you feel better, always will,” he promised. Gathering more wetness seeping from her cunt, Criston circled his fingers around that bud, teasingly thumbing too, dragging the roughened digit against her tender untouched flesh.

She seized and cried around his fingers, drooling and sniffling. Criston cooed, “Mm, feels good Cerra? Made for me, swear it, keep singing for me.” He picked up the speed of his fingers, circling and pinching to make her squeal and writhe on his lap.

Soon the princess was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, unable to stop crying and shaking, thighs trembling. Criston suddenly realized his cock was throbbing and twitching, ready to fill his garments like a green boy.

He desperately rambled, “C’mon my love, let it go, let the pleasure take you, I’m so close, together yes? Kiss me, yes, yes!” They gnashed teeth and noses against each other, no finesse in these last moments, the little death.

She gushed over his fingers first, Criston swallowing her suprisingly quiet keen. His belly tightened, balls drawing up, whining out of his nose at the ecstasy. Cumming absolutely untouched, so intense and powerful. They continued to sloppily kiss, stop to pant, kiss some more until the climax passed.

Criston withdrew his hands from her cunt, wiping them on his cloak. The princess was sapped of energy, head tucked under his scruffy jaw. She murmured, “I think I saw the stars.” He smiled, the giddiness of cumming warping his senses, “Mhm, me too sweetheart. But we need to get you back to your quarters.”

He carried her, sharing more intimate pecks and nuzzling in the darkness, all the way back to her quarters. Ser Thorne seemed to sigh in relief before taking in their debauched state and quickly leaving the scene. Criston placed her down and looked around once more before pressing her into the door, taking her bee-stung lips.

“I love you, I love you,” she sighed.

“I love you more, my princess,” Criston praised.

“Do you listen sister? What will they think when they find your maidenhead shredded?,” Rhaenyra stepped out of the gloom. The bitch took a servant’s route. Lucerra’s face reddened in anger, “Like yours was? Good thing Laenor prefers the company of his pretty squires.”

Criston balked at the brazen comment, lips curling up. The elder sister’s hands balled up, pale skin blotching up in anger. She hissed, “Enjoy your night Lucerra,” pointing at Criston she added, “I’ll see you gelded and sent to the wall.”

The future queen whipped around and left with a furious curse. Lucerra looked to Criston for comfort, getting picked up and led into her bedroom. He grumbled, “The Queen won’t allow for that. Rhaenyra has her own secrets to deal with. Relax, relax, let me get you ready for bed.” His lovely girl did so, quiet but still affectionate. Criston ignored the feeling that this would be the close to the last night.

His gut was right. Within a fortnight he stood next to the Queen, tears in his dark orbs. Rhaenyra was absconding to Dragonstone, as she was the heir. Viserys obliged her request to take her sister, indicating she would begin the processes to marry her off. Lucerra gave her goodbyes, hugging the queen, her father, and then him.

“My heart lies with you always, I love you my white knight,” she whispered gently before stepping away to climb upon her white dragon. He remained stony, utter hate in his heart for Rhaenyra Targaryen. He would make sure she never saw happiness, just as she took his.

Alicent grabbed his hand and promised, “Criston, you will have her again. I may not be her, but I will be good to you as my sworn shield.”

He would tear through bone and marrow to get that chance. For now, he would wait, wait as long as needed. Criston Cole always got what he wanted, just had to work for it. There was a war brewing and she would be on the right side. His side.

[thewritersofdeceased]

Hey , Idk if you're still writing TBP x reader , but if you do , can you make HCS with them being in love with a tsundere reader ? If you read this your writing is really cool ✨

Hey! Of course I can do this!! Tysm about my writing! <3 I'm sorry if these are kinda ooc or the way I wrote a tsundere kinda vibe! It's a lil difficult for me, but I tried!! ^^"

I didn't know if you wanted Griffin, so I excluded him :(( sorry griffin lovers!

ENJOY!

THE BLACK PHONE BOYS WITH A TSUNDERE READER :)

FINNEY BLAKE

Finney's probably confused at first, at least when first trying to conceal his feelings!

Poor boy is confused why you seem so mean at first

Overtime, he learns that you're actually nice!

Like the time you gave him something from your snack bag after finding out he didn't get food

Probably asks Bruce or Robin why you're acting "rudeish" to him around people

Though he knows you like him, at least when you had confessed to him over it!

ROBIN ARELLANO

Robin thought of it as a challenge.

Someone with a harsh interior acting as if they didn't like him?

Now that sounded like fun to do.

He tries to impress you, even if you deny that he "impressed you"

No matter what, he doesn't exactly mind you being a tsundere, it just gives him more of the chance to tease you

BRUCE YAMADA

Another confused boy

Childhood friends most likely, but he isn't used to this side of you exactly

Probably tries to ignore the facade and get actual answers

When you confess, he then realizes your a tsundere

You def show up to his games and act all mean and rude but buys him something to show your proud or what not

VANCE HOPPER

Vance hates this "tsundere vibe" your giving off.

It honestly pisses him off and he gets all annoyed with it

Kinda is snappy with you, seeing as he himself is def a tsundere.

Hates the way you switch between being rude to nice in only a couple seconds

When he gets an answer why you're acting like this, maybe he's a little more relaxed about it

BILLY SHOWALTER

Very confused!

Like- he knows what a Tsundere is and how they act, but why are you acting like one?

Around him mainly

He mainly hopes you don't act like one around his mama

Talks to Bruce and everyone about it until he realizes you can actually be nice and caring.

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Idk if you’ve done pregnant grumpy!reader x sunshine!steve yet buuuut Steve trying to make reader feel better bc she’s getting supper irritated at him super quickly

You were everything you hated being.

Too hot, too tired, too hungry, too bloated. Your body was changing and becoming more uncomfortable, five months pregnant and growing by the day. It didn’t help that it was summer in Indiana, a heatwave that you knew would eventually come, but you still weren’t prepared for the heat - especially now your swimming suit didn’t fit.

“Honey?” Steve’s tone was soft and cajoling, his expression wary as he approached with a bowl of watermelon cubes as an offering.

You’d been snappy all day, unfairly so considering the boy hadn’t done anything to deserve it, apart from helping to put you in your current state. You’d had a lot of fun trying and you’d cried tears of absolute joy in Steve’s lap at the sight of those two pink lines, but your feet were swollen and your tummy poked out the top of your shorts.

You ignored the fruit, slouching further into the couch instead, your expression morose. “I look like Winnie the Pooh,” you cried woefully. You prodded gently at your round tummy, your belly button that stuck out more than ever. “Look at it.”

Steve tried to hide his grin, a cough covering his laugh and a fist over his mouth. You glared at him on warning as he dropped to the floor beside the sofa, placing the bowl in your lap and a warm hand on your thigh.

“I am,” he told you, palm travelling up and over to cup the top of your bump, his eyes turning soft as he gazed at it. He leaned in to nudge his nose against your tummy. “I look at it every day, y’know.”

Normally such sweetness would be rewarded with a kiss or some kind of other affection, but your skin was sticky with sweat and after specifically asking for watermelon, baby had decided she really didn’t want it anymore. Your eyes watered and you sniffed, bottom lip trembling.

“Uh-oh,” Steve said easily, not as panicked by your tears as he used to be. The hormones had turned you into a human fountain, for any and all emotion. “What’s the damage? A kick to the ribs? Sore feet? A burst pipe?” Steve cradled your belly with two big hands and he peered at it accusingly. “What’re you doing to your mom, you gremlin?”

You laughed unexpectedly, a watery hiccuping that made Steve beam at you. You dashed away the tears at your lash line and snugged again, simultaneously feeling better and stupid. “She’s not a gremlin,” you protested, “she’s just making me turn crazy.” You brought a hand to your boyfriends cheek, day old stubble scratching at your palm and you rubbed a thumb over his jaw adoringly.

“You’re not crazy,” Steve insisted softly. “You’re pregnant, honey.”

You smiled, still a little watery. “Isn’t it the same thing?”

Steve huffed out a laugh and turned his head to kiss your hand. “Maybe,” he conceded. Another kiss, this time on the inside of your wrist. “You okay?”

You nodded, suddenly exhausted. You let your shoulders droop, your head falling back into the couch cushions as the heat of the afternoon settled into a sticky warmth over your skin. “Tired,” you said and Steve knew that, could hear you getting up and down through then night to pee, then in the kitchen for more water, a vicious cycle. “But m’too warm, just uncomfortable.”

Steve pouted sympathetically, hands travelling down your sides, over your hips, squeezing affectionately. His touch made your lashes flutter.

“I’m sorry,” you added, your voice small and soft. You looked like you were about to cry again. “Didn’t mean to be a bitch.”

Steve tutted away your apology, leaning carefully over your belly to kiss your lips, one peck that turned onto two, three, until he was pressing his mouth to your cheeks, your nose, your chin. “Don’t gotta apologise, baby, I know it’s hard.” He hummed against you, one lazy, slow last kiss that felt like the summer heatwave. “How ‘bout a cool shower, then a movie? I’ll let you use me as a pillow.”

You closed your eyes in bliss at the suggestion, nodding gratefully. When you opened them again, Steve was holding a piece of watermelon for you, brows raised.

You made a face, feeling awfully guilty even as your stomach turned over in protest. “Baby decided we don’t want watermelon anymore.”

Steve gasped, overly dramatic. “God, she really is a gremlin—”

“Steven.”

“What?” The boy grinned before he popped a cube of fruit into his mouth. “You’re lucky I like watermelon,” he tried to sound mean about it, but he failed miserably when he leaned back over to smack a kiss to your cheek. “And you… and you,” he conceded, one final kiss to the top of your bump.

[lunar-years]

🎵Can I ask you a question?🎵😉

Do you think that Jamie Tartt was actually angry at his father or that said anger was a motivation to him? I mean, he did say that he would say “fuck you” to his father, but it seems to me that Jamie’s tendency when he’s scared or feeling vulnerable is to cover it up with snappiness and apparent anger. (Maybe I’ve just read too much fic in which this is the case idk🤷🏻‍♀️😄.) Also, back in “Two Aces,” Jamie said that “[his mother] is the reason [he] works so hard”—not that he’s doing it because he hates his dad. And in the same episode in which he says he’d tell his dad “fuck you,” he says to Georgie that he doesn’t give a shit about James anymore. I just feel like Jamie is more scared of his dad than angry, but I would truly like to hear your opinion. Thank you!

hmmm...I guess I think it's complicated? Like yeah Jamie definitely has real anger towards his dad. When he says he'd want to say 'fuck you' to his dad I believe he was being 100% genuine. I wholeheartedly think Jamie would very much like to say 'fuck you' to that man. Yet if James Sr. suddenly appeared on the pitch at that moment, I'm not Jamie would have said it to him. Wanting to say it and being able to say it are two different things. In general, I read Jamie's anger as sort of an aftermath and response to his fear/vulnerability, if that makes sense? His tendency is to freeze/shrink in on himself/make himself small/not fight back when he's actually facing his father. And Jamie knows his father and knows the signs to look for to try and read his dad's moods, and he's gotten pretty damn good at assessing his dad as soon as he enters any room to determine whether he's walking into an interaction that's going to harm him. He watches for signs that his dad's already upset, whether he's at that particular state of drunkenness that most often seems to end in violence, whether the old man is out looking for a fight. Still, he's terrified at the same time he's looking that he's missing something, that he's going to miss one of those tip offs and be caught off guard and left vulnerable or hurt or humiliated (because his dad has historically been unpredictable). And his own knowledge of himself, that he isn't going to fight back, because he never has, sits with him too. As such, he's always got his guard up when he's around his dad and there's always an air of sort of anticipatory fear along with his annoyance/irritation/exhaustion/snappishness, etc.

And then in the after, when he's had time to sit with the fear he felt, and the small way his dad always always makes him feel, *that's* when I think he gets angry. In part it's anger and (temporary) hatred directed solely at his father, because he's let Jamie down again, and he's a complete arsehole ("my dad's a dick. not much you can do with that, is there?"), and Jamie knows he's not a good dad, but then slowly that anger, more times than not, warps around in his brain and eventually gets turned inwards towards himself. More than Jamie hates his dad, Jamie hates the way he himself acts around his dad. The way we see Jamie at Wembley is so antithetical to everything Jamie normally is. So I think Jamie's always fighting an internal battle between being pissed at his dad for hitting him and being pissed that he "let himself" get hit. He doesn't even *need* his dad, right? He's Jamie fucking Tartt! He was always going to be great long before he ever met that piece of shit, and he can be fucking great now without him. Right? He doesn't even care. In fact, he wants to tell his dad fuck you! So...then why can't he tell his dad fuck you? Whenever he goes to try, the words shrivel up and die, and he's back to being that same scared kid wanting his dad's approval. Jamie hates being that kid. He can't stop being that kid. That's what has him running off to a reality tv set. That's what has him running around Amsterdam trying to bury the past. He wants to outrun the person his dad makes him. He wants to outrun himself and he never can.

So I guess I say...all of the above? Jamie's motivation and drive and work ethic ultimately comes from who JAMIE is. Sure, he's a product of both his dad's violence and anger and his mum's love and care, but Jamie is very much his own person who is motivated to become a great footballer because he wants that for himself, not for anyone else. At the same time, yes he's angry at his dad, yes he's afraid of his dad, and yes, ultimately, he loves his dad and wants to be loved by him in return. All those emotions get mixed up in his head sometimes, and all of them are a part of who he is and all of them are valid emotions.

[pepperpottes]

i think i've figured out that my problem with writing fic is actually... reading other fic

i mean, my problem is a multitude of things, particularly perfectionism and a serious lack of self-esteem and confidence in my abilities to do a good job with literally anything, but lemme tell you, reading a bunch of absolute bangers on ao3 lately has NOT helped me in that department lol

like. i've read a few lately that are just SO GOOD. the kind of good that you can't stop thinking about it for days. and that's wonderful! i love when something is so well done that i can't get it out of my head. however, i really need it to get out of my head when i sit down to write my own shit, because then this starts:

"that author characterized [insert character] here so well; I can't do that! do i even understand this character at all?"

"their prose was so beautiful and poetic and had such a strong voice; mine doesn't! it's boring and lifeless and basic and there's nothing special about it to even call it a style!"

"their dialogue was so snappy and smart and realistic; mine isn't!" (re: do I even understand this character?)

"that story was so incredibly creative and well-thought out; my ideas are just lame and i don't have the mental capacity to come up with something that good!"

and most of all:

"that piece of work made me actually feel things; there's no way i could ever manage that!"

and then i end up staring at a blank page, internally screaming at myself: COMPARISON IS THE THIEF OF JOY

and i let it steal my joy, every time.

i do this with everything, by the way. not just writing. i have this terrible vice where i always think to myself, why is this worth doing if there's so many other people out there who are better at it than me? why would someone want to look at my pictures when they could look at something prettier? why would someone want to spend time reading my writing, when much better, more creative, more well-written stories exist? why would this company want to hire me, when they can hire someone smarter and more experienced?

i know a lot of this too is that i am so wildly out of practice with anything and everything creative, and that writing is like a muscle, and if you don't use it enough it grows weak again. i know that the more i do it, the better it will be. but just. ugh. i just get mad at myself sometimes for being this way. i'm mad at myself for letting my experiences in college make me hate writing SO MUCH that i didn't do it for eight years. nearly a decade of honing my skills, nearly a decade of ideas and stories, just lost.

(which is kinda silly, because i'm not even a... serious writer? i'm writing fanfiction. like who the fuck cares)

(but perhaps i could be a serious writer someday, like i always wanted.)

(circle back to, "but why would they hire me when they could hire someone better and more talented?")

idk. i'm just tired. i'm tired of being in my own head and not allowing myself the grace to say hey, it's okay if your writing isn't Pulitzer Prize worthy. it's okay if it's not as good as someone else's. it's okay if no one reads it or no one likes it, cause its yours and you should like it, and that's all that really matters in the end.

i'm also just physically and mentally tired from life and work and society and i imagine that's a much bigger factor in all of this than i'm giving it credit for. i punch out after 8+ hours of staring at medical records on a giant, blinding screen and i'm like, what are words? what are thoughts? i don't have any

(side note, i really feel like that job in particular has sucked the life out of me entirely. i used to be creative. i used to do things i liked, even if they weren't particularly good. i used to be... well, smart. i feel like i've regressed. or maybe i was never actually that smart or creative to begin with. BUT that's another rant for another time) (can you tell i'm a former "gifted student")

anyway, this turned into a really long and unnecessary rant about my deepest insecurities, but moral of the story: maybe i should stop reading fic for a while if i actually want to get something done without feeling terrible about myself in the process.

excuse me while i go, well... not write, probably.

[lesbiannancytruther]

hey guys did you miss me i missed you

anyways rising clawing myself out of my grave to complain again because im reminded half of the st fandom is STUPID

i just saw someone say, fully and genuinely, that nancy constantly dismisses robin’s inputs, that that was ALL she did in the past seasons with steve and jonathan, and ultimately she just wants a ‘yes partner’

and honestly it’s kind of beyond me?? how someone can so drastically misinterpret a character and their relationships? how is one just so wrong?

obviously, they brought up ronance’s first meeting, and of course, the age old “she was so mean”, when. no she wasn’t. she was absolutely impatient, and even snappy, she didn’t have much patience for robin’s rambling, but there was never a point where she insulted her or demeaned her. matter of fact? that’s what ROBIN was doing.

of course she didn’t mean to! robin was just questioning her reasoning and rambling to someone who was exhausted, wanted to go alone in the first place, and has been consistently ignored and questioned for her reasoning the entire show.

can you see why, maybe, nancy wasn’t the most receptive to robin’s attempts at honest conversation? or attempts to clear the air? cause nancy genuinely doesn’t have any problems with robin beyond the fact that she’s distracting her from doing what she does best, and that she chose to come along only to call all of her ideas ‘a massive shot in the dark’

and you know, i’d FULLY get it if after this, nancy DIDN’T see the value that robin’s input had and just ignored her and didn’t listen to her, like you’re implying…, but then,… she actively chooses robin to break into a psychiatric ward with her…..? makes her a disguise and everything…??

now, considering robin’s very real tendency to ramble about things that are kinda personal, it makes sense that nancy is like “let me do the talking” and idk, if when robin started talking one of the first things she said to the person they’re trying to convince they’re academic scholars is “my BOOBS hurt” i would also! probably! be a little freaked!

and you know what? cause robin’s idea works…. nancy trusts robin more! learns more about her and her strengths! they high five afterwards did you miss that!!!!!

to the overall claim though that she wants a ‘yes partner’…. idk this is just so weird and tbh, so misogynistic😭 this ENTIRE show nancy has been doubted and questioned and ignored, half of the time she’s slowed down by people that are supposed to care about her because they just assume she’s boy crazy or she’s cheating or they just think she’s wrong!

and idk, it would be weird if nancy didn’t hate that? if at the first sign of someone who admits she’s a genius and sees the value in her input, it softens her?

wanting someone who doesn’t doubt you constantly is not wanting a ‘yes partner’. matter of fact, nancy DOESNT want a yes partner. if robin was a yes partner, nancy wouldn’t have found out half of the shit that she did, because robin provided new insight and handled situations in HER way. robin didn’t blindly agree with everything nancy did, and it only drew nancy closer to her

anti-ronancers i will never understand u fr

[apocalypticdemon]

.

[loycos]

Lol can i plz have your Caitvi fic list?

haha, i wrote the tag asking people to ask for this list over a month ago and got that ask shortly after, only to go into my bookmark list and see that i have WAYYY too many saved in there. sorry it took a while.

There are a lot (A LOT) of piltover's finest fics, and a lot of them are good. this last year i've been FED like ive probably never been fed before in my life. that means i have a lot of bookmarks that i honestly don't remember much of other than "it good", but i wanted this rec list to include the fics that really left a (positive) mark on me. they aren't ordered in any specific way, and all are sfw. if you guys want my nsfw list, hit me up (i swear it wont take a month again)

Shadows at sea won't keep you from me - this is rated M but the sex is extremely vague. this one is very dialog heavy and is filled with inner vi monologue, however, it feels like a fresh take. I love the home-y vibes they give off here.

i won't let go (i left my baby teeth in your drawer) - caitlyn experiences a crisis in the shower. sounds like every caitvi fic you've ever read but i swear this one has something special to it. it feels really intimate in a way not many fics managed to capture imo, and caitlyn is written very in character.

High Tide Came and Brought You In - caitlyn's a mermaid, vi's a sailor. i'm usually not a person who actively seeks aus, especially not as extreme as this one, but this way such a sweet little thing, even i couldn't help but get swiped by the simple story.

Don't break the rules (maybe just for you) - "i hate aus! especially high school aus!" i scream again and again in every convo about fanfics i've ever had. so why is battle academia like my favorite caitvi au??? i don't know. makes no sense to me. i actively sought out this specific au tag, so i guess it makes me a liar too. what's so special about this one? idk, it has caitlyn and vi in it, it's well written and adorable, its a goddamn high school au, you know exactly what you're getting yourselves into. do be aware that BA!caitlyn is a different beast entirely than arcane!caitlyn, and so is BA!vi to an extent. (EDIT: i made it sound like im mad at this very cute fic, not my intention at all. this one is on here for a reason)

We Have Never Been Fairweather Friends- in the aftermath of the council's attack, caitlyn comes down with a mysterious disease, and vi is there to make sure she's ok. i, *cough*, might have talked about this one before. this might be my favorite fic, or top 2 at least. really good and in character writing, trippy and surprisingly authentic dream sequences, and a mystery that builds at a perfect rate.

Soaked with Sadness - caitlyn attempts catching jinx by herself, vi isn't too pleased. this is the other top 2 fic. the usual well-written-in-character compliment goes here, but also it's got that special brand of intimacy that i like, plus drunk caitlyn, and you kind of find out things in a non-linear way that make the story feel really... well crafted. i had to read it twice in a row cause i felt like i was missing things on the first go (might just be my dumb ESL brain tho).

the negative space and the pausing of time - aftermath fic. like author said, there are tons of those in the tag, and i have read probably all of them, but this one is really really good. the dialog feels especially flowy and snappy. kinda what i wouldve want to see in season 2, if arcane was just about angsty lesbians, which it sadly isn't. fics like this fill the void of the hiatus in my heart.

[calicodreamer]

Calico Reviews: Sun and Moon Show eps. 1-3

Welcome back to Calico rants about the Sun and Moon show to her tumblr page, because its to cringe to explain to people in real life.

We’re going to try to do at least three episodes a week, and then write down my notes so I can ramble about this to my Tumblr, become like, an actual content creator for the things that I like.

Does it count as spoilers for the show if its episodes 1-3? regardless, spoilers below

9:21 Montgomery Gator is the WORST Daycare ATTENDANT in VRCHAT

They have a Funny little intro right now! It's Cringe, and I would like them to not.

 I am looking forward to when they don’t. .

I had previously watched this episode during my trying to get all those juicy little lore bits by being picky and choosey with what I wanted to consume, and unluckily for me, there isn't a complete season one compilation for me to pick through

Moon, when we the audience are not looking through his perspective, hangs out in Vtuber form in the corner. We don’t see any of Sun's Vtuber model right now, but he does have one, so there's that.

Sun - upon the start of the video, is cleaning the day-care, Moon comes down to check on him. Sun is an upbeat happy guy, who is anxiously cleaning the day-care - this seems to be his only personality trait. Moon is snappy, uptight, and grumpy but overall quiet outside of when he is yelling, or being angry at Sun.

Sun has hired Monty the gator (Yes he’s here, no I don’t know why), for 1000$ dollars a second to look after the daycare for him for whatever reason. Why would they have this much money to afford to give it to Monty the gator?? Don’t ask me, they just do I guess. Moon hates Monty the Gator - this is a reasonable opinion of Monty the gator.

Moon has control of the bank account they have I guess.

Sun has to talk to Roxanne for whatever reason (Yes, Yes I do mean Roxanne wolf, No I don’t know why she’s here)

Monty sucks at his job - hence the title of the video. Monty is also an idiot, and happy music plays when he comes on screen, he also briefly thinks that Sun is a statue- this feels like Flanderization, even though this is an au, I hate that character choice, I wish they would not. 

Sun seems to be slightly intense about cleaning, he has a whole organization schedule. Moon can only be grumpy, I assume this is because Sun didn’t talk to him about anything he was doing that day, but eeeeeeeeeeeeeh - Moon stop being a dick to your brother.

There’s implied to be kids running around while everything happens, which is also concerning.

Monty leaves because Moon hates him for whatever reason, I dunno why. He was sent to get snacks and then doesn’t show up for the rest of the episode. I’m also glad Monty is gone, Fuck I hate this character.

Sun shows up, upset that Monty has messed everything up, Moon is largely apathetic to the whole situation. 

9:06 Sun and Moon MOVE to SPACE in VRCHAT

We are still intro-ing, I would still like us to not be. I have to forcibly remind myself that this channel is meant for kids every time the intro comes on, and that If I watch like five episodes a day I can get through this in 2 months.

I am not going to watch five episodes a day

They (The people) told me to watch this episode, You really don’t have to. Nothing of major importance here, but there is funny nonsense happening. 

Moon is starting a ponzi scheme I guess, or atleast is implied to have business deals with “Someone” or people? Idk between this and insisting how “Animatronic” they are I’m beginning to loose it.

Monty the gator is also here (For SOME reason), and he has a space station apartment building that he is using to actively kill people to get more money, they only reason Moon cares about it is because Sun spent 50,000,000 dollars on an apartment for Moon to live in, because he thinks Moon hates him (Poor baby), and wanted Moon to be able to have his own space.

Moon has to walk Sun through what sarcasm is a couple times. Sun you sweet precious baby. And remind him that No he doesn’t actually hate him, and would prefer to live with Sun

Moon goes to Monty to get the Money back

Monty doesn’t wanna give the money back

Moon threatens to expose him

Monty gives the money back.

Apparently Sun spent even more money on a tv sold to him by Monty

Oh boy howdy, I hope this character trait of Sun being gullible isn’t around long.

Other notes:

It's Directly stated that they have a bank account, and that Moon has enough money to buy himself a house for whatever reason? Why is he buying himself a house? I don’t know. Where did they get the bank account from? I don’t know. WHY DO THEY HAVE-

There's also apparently enough money on this account to afford a funky little space station apartment, and a house.

Moon invent things, why? Idk personality traits.

But they do have a good dynamic going or whatever, and the voice acting for Moon is pretty good

17:51 Sun and Moon Play AMONG US in VRCHAT

THERE IS NO INTRO LETS GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Sun and Moon are playing among us, for some reason. With Some of the Funtime animatronics, Glamrock Chica, and Freddy - just regular old Freddy - he is here

Sun and Moon are canonically, Very Big boys, and have to crawl around the ship

This is just a Funny little episode, Nothing important lore wise happens here, but you do get more of Sun and Moons Dynamic. 

Sun walks around being anxious the entire time, and everything is too short for him to move around properly. Which is a shame that no ones drawn this scene yet because I think that would be hilarious - them just knuckle walking on the ground because they’re both too tall. 

“OMG YOU GUYS ARE CREEPILY WALKING EVERYWHERE!?!?”

“Bro, I am literally just trying to get around.”

Funtime Freddy has a stupid voice

also Funtime foxy what the fuck is up with your voice, I am literally begging you both not to show up again so I don’t have to hear you. I hate it.

Moon is so proud of himself for just doing anything - he could burn coffee and I'd still believe he was proud of himself

Moon has such a smug little voice and I’m 80% sure its all the deadpan tone he has when he’s not yelling. When he’s not being an edgy bastard he’s such a little goober. The dynamic between the two is very interesting, and I am HERE for it. 

Notable: Moon is Willing to Kill Sun, and kill for Sun without a second thought, Sun is willing to lie for his brother. Even to his own detriment. Sun is afraid of Moon to some degree in the episode? I'm not sure how much of a joke this is.

I am most certainly reading into it

Moon stop being an edgy goober for like, five seconds, I swear. The deadpan voice even makes him even better. I love him

Sun stop being Anxious challenge “level impossible”

This episode is just silly little filler, Not much of note happens.

Everyone is rabid, except for Sun who is a very good boy. I cannot wait to see him change that

Final thoughts:

So Overall, In the first three episodes. My favourite character is definitely Moon, mostly because I like his voice better. Sun and Moon definitely have some issues in their relationship, especially since Moon is grumpy, and Sun is constantly going out of his way to try and appease him most of the time.

Anyhow, hopefully this makes my watching of the series easier.

Previous post?:

[lorynna]

white woman tears anon from earlier - that's actually fair & i agree with what you said about "white women don't need ass kissing," i think its come to a point where any "defense" of white women (i'm white let me clarify) i feel like i need to clarify that i do not think white privilege *doesn't* exist, i guess that in itself shows the problem. it will already be assumed that whatever i say is white women tears so i need to give a disclaimer that i am not victimizing myself for being a white woman. it makes me feel whiny before even speaking, having an opinion or thoughts is "whining and crying". the self flagellation isn't necessary but i feel obligated to say so otherwise be assumed racist/"karen." i've seen arguments of "don't speak then/we don't need your opinion then" which just turns into an echo chamber and you can't have an actual conversation about anything without it getting shut down immediately. and have women not been told to shut up since literally forever? idk, not the best at describing this because it feels taboo to discuss but hopefully this makes some sense. i'm also not fully versed in the Imane/Angela situation but the hate i've been seeing online is insane, seeing men say "im glad that white girl got hit" like 🫤 is this not just misogyny? men (and many women disappointingly) don't give a shit about women's sports they want to see her get hit because she cried. she cried "white women tears" and she should be hurt for that. this is not giving other women a sour taste in their mouth??

Hello again anon - I'm glad you didn't take my reply negatively - I was worried you might have!

And yes, I totally relate to what you mean about feeling the need to clearly state that you do believe in white privilege before defending any white woman - I did so aswell in my reply to you previously.

Maybe this is more of an online-forum-problem, than when you're talking to someone directly irl. I often find it tiring to have discussions on here because there are so many people not even trying to have a good faith conversation but more so aiming to knock of their daily-life frustrations by twisting or laying words in your mouth you haven't said, just to make it seem like a cheap win when all they did was jump to thoughtless assumptions. - so logically you try to minimize every potential possibility for them to accuse you of anything by thoroughly elaborating on all of your beliefs beforehand.

I myself notice how I care less and less about arguing with people online. If it's a healthy conversation where I feel like I am being respected and I can learn smth from it - then sure but I won't waste my time on engaging in a debate where the whole point is to insult each other and where both are not ready to start with good faith.

In the end it doesn't benefit me and prioritizing one's mental health always goes first. So instead of trying to change people's minds (like i tried when I was younger and more patient and naive) I no longer see any shame in just deleting a person's comment from my blog if they have no constructive criticism but only insults etc. This is my space and if someone violates my boundaries I delete it and be done with it, even though sometimes the desire of sending a snappy reply overtakes.

Don't worry - I get what you're saying.

And thanks for writing again ❤️

[larcenywrites]

Talk more about the whole Tony Stark and the couch/guest bedroom thing? Like when and how does he decide that he's gonna sleep there, and is it just for a day or like how long does it last? Would you ever send him to sleep on the couch? (if yes, under what circumstances, like, why would you send him to the couch? And for how long?) And how does he feel about getting kicked out, how does he react, how does he try to be accepted back into the bedroom?

Idk I kinda got carried away-

I’m sure it doesn’t happen very often aside from the fact that Tony does occasionally fall asleep on the couch, bathtub, office chair, snd of course in the lab (and maybe even on a table in the lab), whether it’s because he’s kept working through his exhaustion or because he’s sick or sometimes because he’s been drinking too much. I’m sure he’s even fallen asleep in a chaise lounge by the pool some nights! Probably even in or on a floaty in the pool!

But moving on, there’s some occasions where it’s not an accident :( or an innocent decision where he was just in the lab and he was too tired to even go upstairs, or on the nights he felt a bit insecure about that arc reactor and felt bad that it was so bright. Now, Tony is… a lot of things. A lot of difficult things… one of those things being that he’s difficult! He can be pissy, stubborn, snappy, sarcastic, passive-aggressive, and snarky, which means that when fights do happen, they can probably get out of control rather quickly when he’s feeling defensive and attacked, and that’s the only way he knows how to respond. It’s not entirely his fault, but he should also probably learn to grow out of it too, and that’s not anyone else’s fault. He’s definitely not as bad the older he gets, but pre iron man between becoming CEO and Afghanistan will probably be the hardest time to be in a relationship with him, and early stages of post iron man will also be difficult when you include his lack of self-preservation and erratic and dangerous new behavior. Oh, and he’s always right.

Pre-Iron Man, an argument could really be around anything and he might start acting out, especially when he’s so young and fiery and confused and depressed and a whole list of problems. He doesn’t like feeling controlled, so stop confronting him about the drinking and asking him to stop. He doesn’t like feeling like he’s in the wrong, so stop probing about the weapons program and making him think about what and who they’re being used on. He gets testy and flighty, and while you may think he’s just mad snd doesn’t want to see you when he doesn’t come to bed or find him getting blankets on the couch or settling in a nearby guest room, he just doesn’t want to confront you. Because you’re probably right, first of all, whatever it was about, and seeing you kinda makes him face whatever demons the conversation brought up :/ and he’s scared you’ll bring it up again :/ so, even tho it honestly sucks and maybe he’s a little scared of the dark because he’s never actually been in this room properly before now, he’s going to be dramatic and sleep in another room. Well, probably not much sleep. And he also doesn’t wanna face you because he does feel guilty, believe it or not. He’s sparing you from having to look at him! He’s giving you your own space and leave and quiet! At least, he tells himself that to feel like he’s doing something right, and something right by you. It typically won’t last for more than that night, and maybe two if he unintentionally falls asleep elsewhere, but while he may apologize, he’ll probably never say that you were right. Once he comes back from work the next day, probably really late if he can get away with it tbh (and otherwise he’s just super quiet and keeps to himself where he can) he’ll stalk his way into the bedroom and carefully climb back into bed. He does hate it when you’re mad at him, and may just try to act like nothing has happened and try to cuddle 🙄 And while that’s pretty toxic of him, sometimes it’s easier to go along with it and move on until next time :/ though, he might still say he’s sorry, at least? If you do bring it up again, try to do so pretty quietly and gently. He’ll still probably just say he’s sorry and try to move on, even though that’s not entirely the point. Now, if it’s a situation where the argument ended in him being pretty mean, and you definitely tell him that you don’t even wanna look at him and to fuck off somewhere else, he’ll definitely realize his mistake right then and there and try to fix it. Probably to no avail, however. Because when he gets mean he can definitely push it too far. Talking about how you’re being nosy, controlling, finding a problem in nothing. Oh, you’re concerned about the weapons program? You sure don’t have an issue with spending the money it brings in. And ya know, he can’t really blame you for kicking him out. He’ll stutter your name and struggle to find anything to say but maybe he’s just stalling time. He’ll still feel shitty when he’s lying wherever he’s gone alone, but the difference is that now he’s kinda holding a grudge because you kicked him out! But he probably won’t last the night :( he’s restless and anxious and guilty (as he should be!) and he’s really gotta get it off his chest (as if he’s the victim too!). He’ll trudge in rather loudly and stand over you and say your name until you wake up, and that probably has you even grumpier now… but he will apologize and even admit you were right. He gets carried away, and his aggressive defensiveness isn’t exactly his fault, but that also doesn’t exactly excuse it either. He does try to do more of the things he probably used to do more often, like bouquets with promises of love written on them or spending more time upstairs. And he really wouldn’t blame you if you needed a break from him at this point, and maybe it would even be a good idea, but he’s really not sure if he could take it right now :( of course. He’s not always like this! In fact, it is probably not that often! But maybe that’s what makes it so much worse when it does happen.

Though, when he’s older and closer to that momentous trip overseas, still just a businessman, he’s definitely not going to be as bad. But just as he seems to be getting better, of course now there’s whole new problems. Those early stages of being a superhero will bring plenty of strife, and bring back plenty of that stress-induced defensiveness that’s meant to be his protective barrier for a few minutes that causes more harm than good. He’s being reckless! He’s being obsessive! Isn’t this a little crazy? It’s stressing you out more than anything, and he’s not really paying any mind or to his health, his property, his life, you! And he never has a proper answer, just more excuses and combative words. He’ll just stay down here in the lab for your sake. He’ll keep working on it and prove it’s fine! It’s going to help everyone! You, him, the world! Wasn’t that what he was supposed to do? He even shut down the weapons program! Wasn’t that what you wanted? Again, he’s confused and frustrated, and now he hurts everywhere— can’t you cut him some slack?! Everyone’s a victim here tbh, so it’ll probably end with you both apologizing. You may not understand fully yet as to why, but obviously this whole thing means a lot to him, but also he means a lot to you! He probably been avoiding you down in this lab for days, and now he’s just tired :( just take him to bed. Tony’s been through way too much by now, and you’ve both been through a lot together, so there’s probably not going to be many more escalating fights after this, and definitely no kicking him out. It would really take a toll of him, and now there’s no telling what he’ll do out there with an unclear head and those feelings he hates so much. Besides, there are definitely better ways to handle these things, especially when the problem is not longer his pettiness. If anything you’ll be begging him to come to bed! Which may still result in an argument, but something will sort of suddenly changed? It’s not like it used to be. In fact, it’s probably almost a little sad. It’s still the same bouquets with love notes and warm baths, but it’s… different. And unfortunately, it may have taken a near-death experience to get him to finally mellow out.

But from here and on, he definitely learns to be more communicative. If something is wrong, it finally gets talked about. It’s still not very easy for him to find words, nor is it easy for him to admit he’s wrong, but he’ll do it! He’s worked on a lot of things by now, and has more symbolically moved on from things, such as finally removing the arc reactor. He definitely doesn’t purposely hide anymore! And he’s learned to control his temper and bite his tongue— with you, at least 😅