Tumgik
#but that's part of the deal i presume
b-lizi · 1 year
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
You know, having Teldryn over the phone can be something so personal.
I drew this marvelous man at the end of July and completely forgot to finish the colouring! Here he is, in a 1920's AU setting because I love the aesthetic.
He's of course talking to the Dragonborn, before and after entering in their service.
I like his shoes
261 notes · View notes
ahkaraii · 11 months
Text
Five [Kakashi fancomic, 72/?]
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
(Previous) (Next)
(Index)
173 notes · View notes
ichthyorelationships · 11 months
Text
Tumblr media
an idea i invite anyone else to write about / run with lol....
the premise that The Change gets all messed up for alberto, say it's something that can happen from stress, &/or happens rarely and you just have to wait for it to resolve itself....used as some parallel to struggling through some emotional turbulence / upheaval / questioning / Realizing Things, etc etc
#luca 2021#pixar luca#alberto scorfano#another idea i've failed to write for & so invite anyone else to run with: ciao alberto but what if he peaces out by swimming off lol#ends up in a coastal town maybe an hour's swim from genoa. but not Getting In Touch w/anyone for a while b/c plausibly he thinks that#giulia may not be a fan of him now by extension; just being too embarrassed asf to reach out to luca kinda lol....luca off doing his own#thing just fine & alberto not wanting to write him now like b/c i Ruined Everything again ahaha....#and by ''not in touch w/anyone for a while'' who knows. months; a few years even....might stumble across news of him b/c like.#say more sea folk are coming to land / more humans know abt them & not many places are as [harpoon]ly from the start anyways#portorosso exceptional in that way....maybe where alberto settles down they're like legendary but also considered Good Luck anyways lol.#anyways like some people know of him who might; say; swim down to portorosso. have their own teen who knows a teen who mostly lives on land#most convenient re sparking [wow could they mean Our alberto] if he doesn't go so far as to take up an alias lol. but why would he....#that difference in that massimo might figure that however alberto was surviving before; he could continue to do so now; but even though tha#is some comfort it's still Not Actually Enough....feeling way more Parentally towards alberto than his biological dad like that; obv#and anyways re: this [The Change gets messed up] idea it's more of an inconvenience lol but one that could still have some significance#like if he first finds out the issue exists via hopping right into the ocean; failing to change forms; never being human form'd in water b4#thee worst....crash intro course to the experience of drowning. observation of How Humans Swim / being able to grab any part of the boat...#and besides That unpleasantness it's like; hey. where's my nonhuman form at#or; of course; being in sea form even while dry....especially if he's still dealing with Nonsense on land. which is presumed.#&/or if there's an upswing in nonsense b/c of Other ways you're Othered...ofc we can consider like; tfw you're a gay fish & maybe that's no#something that on its own would be like Aah until it's like well a) i kinda wanna do things that would make this Visible and b) i've learne#that humans also Have Issues about this kind of thing....#appropriately my tablet was also all thrown off. no pressure sensitivity; input sensitivity overall was rough#but i would've had to restart my laptop about it lol like eh i'll just work around it
164 notes · View notes
hatterladz · 2 months
Text
Fuck it deranged "I just woke up" character analysis
I think it's interesting that in the movie it feels like Leo is more determined to NOT be serious whereas in the series, despite being lazy, he was also (mostly) the most reasonable
A lot of ppl believe Leo was doing this to shirk responsibilities of being a leader (which while I do think is VERY possible, don't think was what was happening)
Considering how much at the beginning Leo pushes "we defeated the Shredder" I believe it was moreso "We just underwent a very traumatic event the last thing I wanna do is start training and getting strict with things"
Rise Leo shirking responsibility? Possibly, but with how much he prevents his brothers from biting off more then they can chew and how integral "why does nobody trust me?" is apart of his character? Harder for me to believe
Him avoiding serious "hero" work bc he went through a traumatic event and as he does so it's repeated "its not about you" when he decides to be selfish and tries to just have fun instead? Far more likely, it's also interesting that Raph never tells Leo "when are you going to be a leader" leadership isn't really ever mentioned in the movie
Just Raph saying "when are you going to take things seriously", I also think Mikey and Donnie aren't really on anyone's side, afterall they're participating in Leo's shenanigans at the beginning, they're the ones participating in the "you said heroes" game, breaking the pizza record
But at the same time now Donnie has Donnie Pods, which is assumably after Shredder's attack (unfortunately we don't have a clue what Mikey might've been doing before the Kraang, but I'm assuming since Leo is the one getting bitched at the most, Mikey was doing some training as well), they have taken some things seriously, more then Leo, but not to the degree Raph is
Anyway but imagine trying to avoid thinking about how everyone you love nearly died and trying to just enjoy time with them while you can and prove that things are going to be okay, there won't be another Shredder only to fuck up so badly that there's something worse then Shredder, and so you go "I can fix it look this future guy says I can fix it he's supporting me" *falls in a hole* *gets told he sucks* "Nvm I guess I don't got this!"
I think this also supported by how Raph mentions trying to prevent your team from getting hurt and the change of Leo's face only to IMMEDIATELY goad Raph into a fight
3 notes · View notes
cadcnce-archived · 1 year
Text
Tumblr media
sword fight!!! :: closed
send ‘ Swordplay ’ for my muse to pin yours to the ground while fighting/sparring. send ‘ Swordplay + reverse ’ for your muse to pin mine.
@starryskied sent: Swordplay ( Zeph from ms. blue bird herself )
It's not a matter of if Zephyr deserved comeuppance, but when. Something or someone will surely, finally, catch up with the cheeky bird. Debauchery was only scraping the surface. There was an entire history even before arriving tired and haggard with his half dead sister on the front door of Rhodes Island building up a karmic debt. And apparently, he continued to be good at evading his debtors. Isn't there only so much one can get away with? And no, HR reports don't count. It may take something else for him to get the point. In this case Astesia's blade.
Tumblr media
"I really really don't want to fight you, you know?" Troubled words spared while evading another strike of that flourishing rapier. It's unfortunate, that even at his most earnest Zephyr carries an air of someone who can't be taken seriously. Dubious to a complete fault. And cunning to a degree that everything might be a game. Either to save his own life or mess with someone else's. Talk was cheap, and even with a wealth of vocabulary the bounty accrued on him by the astrologist would take more than a speech to assuage.
So what else did he have then?
Well, his dexterity and agility for one. Swiping from tables and slipping around chairs for a chunk of your life making change and trading gossip around the clubs and casinos that made up the underbelly of Ursus is worth something. Not to mention surviving the fights when you got caught or had turf to defend in the alleys. He's been doing this since he was little. Surviving. To the great dismay of those who wished death upon him he was slippery even before the arts came into play.
They weren't, not for now. In such close quarters and with his attention on that sword it's not that he couldn't, but running away invites a certain level of cowardice on his resume and against a refine lady like Astesia that just wouldn't do. It'd be one thing if one of the elite operators or city clearers like Blaze were around where he didn't stand a chance at a parry. Oh, absolutely he would be halfway across the landship by now to save his skin.
That beautiful blade draws close to his neck and a flash of steel preludes the knife that catches it at the hilt. Zephyr knocks the attack away as footwork evades him a breath to the side from the attempted riposte that follows from the woman. She moves quick, and so does he. One might think this a tie as far as capabilities went, and they'd be wrong. The longer the battle draws on the less an advantage Zephyr has. He's a get in and get out kind of assailant. Quick attacks to take an opponent by surprise, it's why his arts made him such an effective combatant.
Tumblr media
"Shit, you're not actually trying to kill me are you?!" This is the question that should have been asked earlier, alas, perhaps the optimism had run a little high after the supposed prank went poorly. Astesia had every right to be offended and wish retaliation for her honor. Zephyr just wanted to take his fidget spinner and leave. That wasn't going to work. And he's realizing it by the moment that in her current state an apology wasn't going to work.
Clang! Swish!
It's not the cleanest way to fight, but getting in and kicking away her lead foot and then breaking her guard with the pommel of the knife in his hand was about the only chance he had. A gust of wind to put him behind her and she's on the ground, just as angry as one might expect. But at least she doesn't have her sword, and Zephyr is no longer on the table to become swiss cheese.
Tumblr media
"Are we good now?" There's the optimism again! As if it ever went away, and only blipped. It seemed that comeuppance wouldn't come so easily, but it was only stemmed. Much like the other Liberi's merited rage. "I'm sorry. Okay? I'm... sorry I spun a fidget spinner on your boob while you were asleep. Now if you promise not to gut me I'll get up. No hard feelings! We'll let this go..."
4 notes · View notes
ofpd · 1 year
Text
the kickback i tried to throw my senior year of high school that was fun but i didn't know enough people to invite to make it actually kickback-like vs the party my brother tried to throw last weekend that ended at 9:30 bc he's literally the most popular kid in school and 300 people came and the cops got called
3 notes · View notes
katakaluptastrophy · 26 days
Text
I think what's so interesting about Gideon as a narrator at the anniversary dinner is the fact that there's clearly tensions that she's just not picking up on because she's only there to eat a dessert.
But these people are all the immensely powerful leaders of the Houses and consider themselves to be in competition for literal godlike powers and the favour of the emperor.
There's so many little snippets that are potentially intriguing: why is Teacher trying to prime the Ninth to consider the Fifth a threat? Why are the Third and the Sixth "sizing each other up like prizefighters"? The Fifth absolutely knew what they were doing when they sat the teen heads of the opposing cults near each other.
Through Gideon's lens, Magnus' speech is a little awkward jokey thing. But...the seneschal of the House that is known to be actively trying to absorb another House is saying it's such a shame they're all so remote from each other and what do they all have in common (and it's so quiet you "could have heard a hair flutter to the floor") - that had to feel a bit different to people who aren't Gideon.
Palamedes' is dissecting the meaning of "Master Warden" and at one point compares it to a prison warden. 'Dulcinea' asking about whether Magnus and Abigail have children is perhaps less small talk and rather more pointedly political. Harrow's apparently stilted conversation with Protesilaus is clearly her actually probing his limitations like he's a bad Chat GPT-run chatbot.
And then 'Dulcinea' tells Gideon she liked the dinner because it was "useful". In her typical "I never lied to you" way, Cyth wasn't lying when she said Abigail had to die because of her hobby - Abigail Pent let loose on the Facility would have risked blowing Cyth's cover sky high. But what does a Canaan House look like where after the dinner party, the Fifth go down to the facility, get a key, and survive to continue their 'the Houses are going to get along or else' agenda? We've seen Fifth House soft power on a smaller scale in HTN: and it looks like inviting a teenager round for coffee, lulling her into a false sense of security with small talk, and then physically preventing her from leaving the room until she does what you want, while smiling the entire time. A series of little coffee chats could probably have led to a lot of cooperation in Canaan House, one way or another.
Gideon jokes about Silas marrying Ianthe because of their similar colour pallete, but it does raise the fact that there seems to be some tension around the Third, its succession, and the *point* of Ianthe. Why is Silas openly saying Ianthe should have died at birth? Combined with Judith's comments in the Cohort Intelligence Files about succession on the Third, it feels like there's something else being said here that Gideon isn't picking up on.
And of course, Harrow wasn't the only one desperate to become a Lyctor because her con was unsustainable. Presumably at some point Corona and Ianthe would be expected to marry, or at least take on more separate roles as Corona prepared to take over the throne and Ianthe was funneled off elsewhere. At some point, their package deal would have become unsustainable and Corona's cover would have been blown. But much as Harrow wants to become a Lyctor so she can reveal the state of the Ninth without repercussions, Ianthe is probably in part motivated to become a Lyctor for the same reason. Because otherwise, what would Ianthe's expected role have been? Amidst the suggestion of anxiety about the Idan succession, the dinner party also presents the fact that the reason Abigail and Magnus' infertility isn't a succession crisis for the ruling family of the Fifth is that Abigail's younger brother dutifully married in his early 20s and had kids. We know there are branch families in Ida - Babs is from one. He may be a prince, but he's not treated well, and you do get the sense that the stakes to stay in power in Ida are high.
We don't learn anything about the political situation in the Houses themselves during HTN or NTN, but in the wake of Canaan House, you have to suspect there are a number of tensions and concerns.
3K notes · View notes
daydreamerdrew · 11 months
Text
Tumblr media
The Defenders (1972) #83
#stopp not Patsy and Val going shopping with Kyle’s money after he’s been arrested#they’re such great friends#I’m actually really charmed by the other Defenders’ relationship with Kyle’s money#cause like Kyle is probably only a few years older than Val#I think he’s canonically 27#and I imagine that Barbara Denton was in her early 20s and she got married young#and that Patsy is also around the same age as her#and I’m thinking about how Kyle used to be interested in Val but got over that#and then encouraged her to go to where he went to college as part of her finding herself journey#which he’s presumably paying for#and that he dropped her off on her first day at school#and that he also drove Patsy and Val to a school dance there even though he couldn’t attend with them#cause he had to deal with his legal problems#so he’s really like not much older than them#but he has a more secure establishment in the world just from having inherited money#so he helps them out#but really none of them are at a better place than any of the others in terms of personal development#and having a hold on their life#they’re kind of all in it together in terms of being a bit of a mess and try to help each other out where they can#I think that Dr. Strange is a bit older than all of them and is also a bit more distant from the core group at this point#because he lessened his involvement to deal with personal magic stuff#but like even as Kyle’s got his personal legal issues he’s not succeeding in distancing himself from the group to deal with them#because they have that personal bond#and obviously the Hulk is the Hulk- he hasn’t got his life together either but is the most consistent Defender#marvel#patsy walker#valkyrie#kyle richmond#my posts#comic panels
1 note · View note
Oppenheimer review (spoilers spoilers spoilers)
The good:
Cillian Murphy is truly giving the performance of a lifetime. Christopher Nolan wanted an actor whose eyes could tell 80% of the story and by god he succeeded
The movie is gorgeous, just visually stunning and rich and immersive
It's a complicated, slippery, story that resists easy definition. It was brilliant in keeping Oppenheimer a cypher even to the audience, in refusing to resolve any side of the nuclear debate. It's a meaty, chewy philosophical web of a movie I'm going to be thinking about for awhile
The not so good:
Christopher Nolan I am begging you to talk to one (1) single woman
It is hilarious to me how Florence is being trotted out as the second female lead of this movie when she was in it for 5 minutes mainly to be naked
Emily Blunt has her one #girlboss scene but you know what would have made it land better? Literally any work done to set it up. When Oppenheimer goes "don't presume to understand relationships you're not in" that felt like the movie realizing at the last second it had done absolutely nothing to build their relationship other than some scattered discrete bits and going "well how dare you want to know" and nothing ticks me off more than a piece of media that judges you for daring to want to watch it
You could easily cut 30 minutes from this movie and lose nothing. I don't care if you're making an operatic grand masterpiece, no movie needs to be more than 2 and a half hours
I saw a review trying to claim that the masses of interchangeable white men was a choice to demonstrate the tide of history or something and I'm sorry but no, all it did was cheapen any emotional impact of anything these characters did since I had no idea what they had done before
The thing I am probably beating a dead horse about a bit:
It is deeply fucking weird to me to write a movie about the inner turmoil of a Jewish man building a weapon he thinks will end ww2 and not deal at all with the fact that he is Jewish and a lot of the people working with him are also Jewish. Sure, there are a couple of passing references, but they carry no more weight than if he had said "I'm from 86th Street" or "my mother had red hair". Oppenheimer was a secular, assimilated Jew one generation out from immigration, who had family still in Germany and who faced antisemitism at every stage of his career. You cannot tell me that this brilliant man caught up in his own brilliance, trying to build a world destroyer, would not have at least woven into his web of self deception and justification the fact that this could protect his people from an existential threat. That the many Jewish scientists working with Oppenheimer would not have had complicated feelings about working for a country that barely tolerated them, trying to create a device of mass death, wondering if this will be enough to protect their people, responding to an attempt at complete extermination with actual extermination, all wrapped up in a big package of nationalism and the war effort and, yeah, scientific progress to the point that it might as well be magic or a miracle. It is impossible to overstate the impact the Holocaust had on Judaism, and maybe if you start to explore that it becomes the entire movie, but this movie didn't even try. I just wonder why bother mentioning Oppenheimer was Jewish at all - they clearly fictionalized a lot of other elements, and Christopher Nolan certainly isn't the person to handle this issue. But to act as though being Jewish is completely disassociated from wanting to defeat the Nazis is disingenuous at best and actively intellectually lazy at worst
My favorite part of the evening:
Girl in the bathroom after the movie: "They dropped JFK's name like they were talking about fucking Bruce Wayne in the DC villain origins story"
3K notes · View notes
snek-eyes · 7 months
Text
Things I'm noticing on rewatch
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Aziraphale knows how reproduction works (and realizes you need a pair) because (unlike Crowley, rip unicorns) he saw the human design plans, if maybe didn't directly work on them. Presumably there are other angels who know, it's a good thing that none of them were tagging along for the whole Job bit. Or maybe they just didn't want to contradict Gabriel.
Tumblr media
The "this way up" sign on the box is so cheeky. Aziraphale and Crowley could've solved the whole mystery if they'd just ignored the rules and upended the system box, but there's still part of them (esp. Aziraphale) still instinctively following the rules.
Tumblr media
Literally the first thing they say to each other in the present sets up their entire season conflict of not communicating properly, while being hidden in a joke. *groans loudly*
Tumblr media
okay wait did we figure out what the deal was with this getting so specifically highlighted?? I've tried looking up the passage and I am.. still pretty baffled. Other than the obvious connection to Crowley being about to explode in a few minutes.
Edit: There's a theory I like quite a lot here, though still open to other interpretations if you've got em!
Tumblr media
Crowley opening the door for Aziraphale and Nina staring in fascination is SO funny. She's just dying to know what tf is going on there.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Originally overlooked this bc it's not his usual coy heart eyes, but this is an Ask from Aziraphale. Aziraphale glances to Jim and back like, Well I'm not doing that.... and Crowley gets the message that this is (at least partially) why he's here, to be the demon and not the nice one.
Tumblr media
Really can't get over the walls matching Crowley's eyes. You can't leave this bookshop indeed.
Tumblr media
Despite the fact that Crowley is storming out of here so angry that he will literally explode in about 60 seconds, he does not slam the door. It's not the bookshop's fault / he really is trying to control his temper / he doesn't want to leave things on that final of a note / choose your interpretation.
2K notes · View notes
girlgerard · 7 months
Text
i’ve been thinking a lot about gerard’s character they developed in the last leg of this tour and the way i believe it really solidified what we might have coming for us in the future.
it’s really sweet, if you look in the comments of some of the videos from brisbane and osaka, you can see people who’ve obviously been my chem fans for at least 15 years saying things like ‘i’ve watched every video from this tour and this is the first show where i really saw the spark come back’ and ‘that’s the gerard way i remember’ and other cheesy shit like that. and the thing is they’re totally right!
this whole tour developed more fluidly in intensity and meaning than in any of their previous gigs. mcr has always been a band to change with their time and creative drive, but this was a different type of transition to me. you could see as characters started to be built, from gerard DIY’ing his own costumes in europe to increasingly meaningful outfits with whole backstories in the USA all the way to one consistent character with a uniquely terrifying stage presence in the last leg.
that last character, at least to me, is totally gripping. she’s unexplained, she’s scary as hell, she’s near-undead, she has this commanding presence gerard hasn’t really done since early-mid black parade. in every single performance they’re so in-character and it’s such a BLAST
Tumblr media
importantly, this character also showed up in the shortest, least-publicized part of the tour. imo she wasn’t meant for cameras, really.
to me it’s so clear that she’s a result of gerard earnestly solidifying where they might want their next artistic endeavors to go - that kind of serious direction, maybe even that character specifically.
he’s talked about how he always has stage characters that reflect his music and, broadly, things they’re working through in their life. the revenge stage character was a mix of both demo lovers which can have a ton of different interpretations, the patient was a joan-esque personification of grief and existentialism, party poison was a pop-art way of dealing with your own artistic/literal death. it makes me wonder why this character, the only truly consistent character this whole tour, came about, and if it’s related to gerard’s nightly diatribes on war and later-tour statements on (presumably) queer/trans rights.
it also makes me think that we have a lot coming in the future. a character that solid and a direction so suddenly bottlenecked into such a specific concept, such a mychemicalromance concept, especially out of a tour that was originally supposed to be a casual celebration of music, i think points towards something new.
2K notes · View notes
ozarkthedog · 11 days
Text
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐃
Tumblr media
summary: while doing a deal with Marc, Joel comes to collect your debt.
pairing: (mob enforcer!Joel Miller x afab!reader) x dealer!Marc Spector.
warnings: 18+ mdni. dub con -> read responsibly. alt universe. soft!dark. no physical descriptors of reader. power imbalance. threats. debt to the mob. weed. no m/m. oral sex (f&m). rough sex. dirty talk. spit roasting. shotgunning. aftercare. w.c. 4.2k
author's note: honestly, this started out as pure filth/pwp, then it turned into so much more. there is potential for multiple parts, mostly revolving around Joel x reader. don't hold me to it, but like i said, this took on a life of its own, and now i'm madly in love with mob enforcer!Joel.
huge thank you to @ghotifishreads for beta-ing and being such a wonderful, supportive friend.
𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ♁ 𝐎𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞'𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲
Tumblr media
The carpet in your tiny living room was slowly developing a hole from your pacing back and forth. You love this apartment. Sure, the faucets drip, and the dingy wallpaper started peeling the day you moved in, but it was all yours. 
Since you moved to the big city after leaving home, you took any job you could find. You knew starting out on your own would be tough, but you could grin and bear it. Anything was better than small-town life. You wanted adventure, to see what the world had to offer.
What you didn’t plan on was getting involved with the wrong kind of people. 
When you fell months behind on rent, a co-worker mentioned she knew someone who could help. 
Tumblr media
It was too good to be true, you thought, as you slowly walked into a smokey nightclub around midnight. Uptempo Spanish music played in the background as patrons drank at the bar, loudly singing and chattering. You tread deeper into the club, entering a VIP section where multiple gorgeous women sat on the laps of intimidating, finely dressed men in expensive suits. 
Various sets of eyes spot you the moment you cross the threshold, but only one set feels like they’re burning into your soul.
An unnerving man with piercing brown eyes holds your wary gaze. He’s draped in a long, brown leather coat, and streaks of gray pepper his temples. He stands to the side, leaning against the wall, and watches with intrigue as you shift nervously on your feet. 
His arms are crossed. A mustache tops his lips, which are etched in a permanent scowl as if he’s a dog that’s been kicked too many times. Still, he’s among the most handsome men you’ve seen since coming to the city.
He pushed off the wall with his broad shoulders, finally breaking his stare, and leaned down to whisper in the ear of a younger man seated at the head of the table, presumably his boss. 
“You need a little help, Sugar?” the younger man asked. 
His dark hair is a mess of curls, and his cheekbones look like they could cut glass. “I could use some help around the club. There’s always a gentleman in need of some company.” His fingers traced along a woman's nylon thigh as he looked you up and down. His coy lips tugged into a smirk as the group quietly laughed. 
The brown-eyed man's face grimaced at the younger man's tone. You want to curl in on yourself. The smoke in the air makes it hard to breathe. “Uh, no,” you start, tonguing your dry lips. “I just need to borrow some money.” 
The younger man purses his lips and nods. “That can be arranged. Joel here will take care of you.” He motioned to the older man on his right and looked you over with a curious gaze before waving you away.
Joel, the mob boss's right-hand man, meets you in the dingy alley behind the club. Water drips off the corner of the rooftop from the storm that blew through earlier in the day. A gust of cool fall air blows through, and you hug yourself to keep warm.
You learn that Joel was a no-nonsense man, straight to the point. Clear and precise.
He thrusts a heavy bag into your hands, and the leather handle creaks under the weight. “You sure you know what you’re getting yourself into?” he asks, lighting a cigarette. Orange hues lit his features sinisterly as if he were a demon or creature from hell's depths.
You stood your ground, but the tremble in your voice gave you away. “Yeah, I know what I’m doing.” 
Joel’s eyes go soft. It’s the first time he looks human since you first saw him. “That’s what I thought,” he muttered, shaking his head. He blows a long gust of smoke from his nose. “He expects to be paid, with interest, by the end of the month.”
You teethe your bottom lip with a nod as nauseous worry swarms your belly.  
“I’ll be keeping an eye on you,” he states, thumbing at his lips. “Just so we know you haven’t run off with our money.”
Your eyes widen, and your knees slightly buckle. “No! I don’t plan on taking off. You don’t have to worry about that.” You trip over your words, frantically making sure he knows you won’t rip them off.   
He chuckles at the sight. It’s a deep, dark rumble from years of smoking and drinking, and it makes your cunt throb. “We don’t think you will, but it’s part of the job. Besides, having to keep track of such a pretty face ain’t so bad.” he muses, a light smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.
An anxious, breathy laugh puffs from your chest. You hesitantly wring the leather handle as your eyes fall to the wet pavement.
A horn blares in the distance. Angry drivers yell into the night, breaking the perilous spell between you and the enforcer. 
“If you ever need help with anythin', let me know, okay?” he offers before turning on his heel and returning to the club.
“How will I contact you? With a bat signal or something?” You asked quizzically.
He chuckled again, and it set your heart on fire. “Just call the club and ask for me, sweetheart.”
Tumblr media
You were truly and utterly fucked. 
It was the end of the month. Joel would arrive at 5pm to collect, and you had $50 measly dollars left in your bank account.
You’d squared up with your landlord and then some, paying for a few months in advance to show how grateful you were that he didn’t kick you out on the streets. What you didn’t plan on was getting fired from your job. You desperately tried to find another one, but you knew it was pointless as the end of the month slowly crept.
A knock on the door jars you from your thoughts. You scramble to open it, thankful your dealer was around today. You badly needed a smoke to curb your anxiety and impending doom.
Marc stands on your doorstep, beaming with his classic lopsided smile. “How’s it going?” He asks, making the short trip over to your couch, unbuttoning his long, black, and gray tweed coat before plopping down with a sigh. 
“Uh, fine,” you reply quickly. “You know. Same old.” 
“Same shit, different day, as I like to say.”  He scratches his trimmed beard with a coy grin. He looks really good today. Dark gray hair gelled and tousled. 
Nerves tug at your belly. You can taste the bitter doubt in the back of your throat.
Marc was a decent dealer. He let you start a tab when funds were low and gave you extra lighters and papers when needed. You knew to avoid crossing him, so what you had to do was extra tricky.
You sit on the floor across from him as he chucks a bag filled with joints onto the coffee table. Your body itches to feel the smoke burn your lungs.   
“Wanna hang for a bit? Smoke with me?” you offer, already reaching for the joint with a timid smile.
Marc quirks a brow. He digs his phone out of his tweed jacket and checks the time. “Uh, yeah, sure. I can hang for a bit.”
You try to light the joint, but the lighter won’t spark.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Marc asks, taking the lighter from your shaky hands. 
You silently nod and press the joint between your lips. Just as he lights the spliff, a knock sounds on your door.
You curse under your breath and hand the unlit joint to Marc. “Sorry. I’ll give whoever that is the boot.” He nods and sparks the joint, taking a long drag as you cross the distance to the door.
You yank open the door without thinking. “I don’t want anything you’re selli-”
“Hey there, Sweetheart,” a familiar, deep voice drawls.
You stand like a deer in headlights before the intimidating mob enforcer. 
He wasn’t supposed to be here so early. That’s the last time you open your door without checking the peephole.
“What’re you doing here, Joel?” you inquire, leaning in close so Marc doesn’t hear. "I have until tonight to give you the money."
The older man's leather jacket is pulled tight around his rugged shoulders as he leans in your doorway. His salt and pepper curls look damp as if you were his first stop after he got out of the shower.
“The boss has plans later and wants to ensure you're paid up.”
You wanted to scream. 
“This isn’t fair.” Your fists clench at your sides.
“That’s life, Sweetheart’.” Joel shrugs. “So, where’s the money?"
It takes every ounce of courage you have to stand your ground. 
“No. The boss said I had until 5pm, so I won’t give you anything until then. Now kindly, leave.”
You slam the door, but not quickly enough. A worn boot slides between the frame and the door, halting your escape.
“God dammit,” Joel fumes, shoving the door open, sending you flying back into your living room.
You catch yourself before you fall and watch as the enforcer makes his way into your sacred space. Now you know what it feels like to be on his wrong side. He kicks the door shut with his foot, ready to pounce, but freezes when he sees Marc.
“Miller.” Marc acknowledges from his laid-back position on the couch, joint pinched between his fingers.
Joel’s jaw twitches. “Spector.”
“So, what’s going on here?” Marc asks, gesturing with a curious wave. He then blows a lungful of smoke into the room and flicks bits of burning embers into an ashtray.
“None of your business,” Joel grits before focusing his attention back on you.
You do your best not to cower in front of the large man as he stalks closer. “You don’t want to make the boss angry.” He says, in an eerily calm voice, one that makes your hair stand on end. “Where’s the money?”
“I don’t have it.” You admit, barely louder than a whisper.
His jaw clenches hard. He shakes his head in disbelief, hands perched on his hips. His eyes grow scarily dark. "That’s not what I want to hear.”
“I don’t know what to say. I have a few dollars left in my account,” Your voice wavers.
Joel drags a heavy palm over his face and sighs. “What were you thinking? How were you going to pay him?” He hooks a thumb over his shoulder to your dealer.
“I, uh, I had a plan.” Your fingers wring at the seam of your shirt, and nausea swarms your belly.
Marc stands and finally joins the conversation. “Yeah, I’d like to know how you intended to pay me.”
You shift on your feet, eyes darting between the two more prominent and influential men. 
“I was going to offer to blow you.” The words tumble out so quickly that you wonder if they even heard you.
You wish the floor would open up and suck you in. It was bad enough that you had to resort to blowing your dealer, but now Joel was here to witness everything and most likely drag you to a certain death.
“For fucks sake,” the older man groans. 
Marc’s brow shoots into his hairline. He whistles as his eyes drag down your body. “You sure got yourself into a real jam here, huh?” He licks his bottom lip and steps closer. “I think something could be arranged, at least on my end. What about you?” He claps a hand on Joel's back, barely moving the powerhouse of a man. He was an enforcer, after all. This job wasn’t just for anyone. 
Joel shakes his head in dismay. His leather jacket creaks as he moves, lightning fast, quickly pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Here’s what’s gonna happen, Sweetheart.” He informs, “Since I’ve taken a likin’ to you, I’d hate to see you get hurt. I’ll pay off your debt.”
The heavy weight you’d dragged around for the last week falls from your shoulders. You didn’t realize you’d stop breathing until the sweet air rushed into your lungs.  
 “But,” he continues, rubbing his thumb across your bottom lip, “you’re going to pay me back in kind.”
The heaviness returns, except now you’re afraid the extreme weight will crush you.
Joel notices your racing thoughts. “Shh. No need to think,” he murmurs, letting his hand fall to your hip and making himself comfortable. “Just be grateful you’ve got to deal with only me and Spector.” 
His eyes are solemn and tender, lost in his thoughts; his gaze travels across your face. You raise a cautious hand to his chest, feeling his heartbeat under the smooth leather. That magnetic pull you felt the first time you met him pulsed through your veins again, and you think he felt it, too. 
Then, his features twisted with remorse. "This wasn't what I had in mind, but you've left me no choice, Sweetheart."
In a flash, Joel drags you across the worn floorboards and carelessly tosses you over the back of your couch. The air knocks from your lungs. Your ribs flash bright with pain. He moves too fast for you to protest and tugs your leggings off, throwing them across the small room. 
“Best get to work, Spector, if you plan on getting your end of the deal,” Joel threatens the dealer as he crouches down, giving himself a front-row view of your exposed cunt. 
“Let’s get a look at the goods.” His large, warm hands roughly spread your cheeks apart. “Fuck me. That’s a sweet looking pussy.” He drags a thumb up the slice of you, making your spine bow as your hands press into the cushions. “Already wet, too. My kinda girl.”
Unconsciously, you strike an elbow back, but an imposing figure grabs your flailing limb, halting your retaliation.
You forgot about the other man in the room. 
“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t ever wonder how you’d look with my cock in your mouth,” Marc admits while fisting his length out. 
He’s half-hard and already intimidating. You stare up at him incredulously while he grasps his veiny girth and traces your tightly closed mouth with the weeping, dusky pink tip. He smears his pre-cum on your skin, marking you before he begins his corruption.
Joel smacks your ass hard, making you yelp and shoving you onto the dealer’s awaiting cock. You instantly gag as Marc's hips pitch forward once he feels your warm, wet mouth. He curses under his breath, cages your head between his hands, and begins sawing his cock back and forth over your tongue. 
His brute thrusts make you gag and spring tears to your eyes. “Come on now. Why the waterworks? This was your plan, after all,” Marc teases, patting your damp cheek.  
Without warning, Joel’s tongue dives into your heat. A blazing heat erupts in your belly as he licks from end to end, wild and ferocious, not stopping until he tastes every inch of you. 
You instinctively moan from the blissful arousal that begins to pulse from his treatment. He laves at your taint and tickles your untouched rosebud for a beat forcing your mind to somersault before traveling south to circle his tongue around your clit. 
“Could eat this cunt all damn day,” he slurs against your throbbing core like he's drunk off you. “God damn, s’fuckin’ delicious.”
Joel sucks the tiny button into his mouth, earning a whole body shiver as you writhe against the couch. He rubs his nose against your soaked folds, making sure to take deep breaths while he eats you alive. 
Marc leans to his left while he works his cock ruthlessly down your throat, making you sputter as the bulbous head prods your tonsils.
You hear a click. The sound of paper igniting and then a long, deep breath.
Marc leers down at you while holding the smoke in his lungs. He curls a hand around the back of your head and presses until the auburn wiry strands littering his girthy base tickle your nose. Then, he exhales, blowing a long, winding breath like a dragon down into your face. 
Your vision blurs from the vapor. The trapped oxygen burns your lungs, and your body quivers from your helpless position while you gag sickly around his cock. Joel winds his arms under your belly, keeping you steady as you thrash anxiously. 
When Marc finally lets you free, you sputter and suck down as much air as you can. A glossy strand of drool connects your lips to his throbbing cock. You sniff and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand as his fat length bounces in your view. “You look fuckin’ wasted, Kitten.” He quips with a languid laugh and takes another hit. 
Joel stands behind you, knees cracking as he towers over your vulnerable body. You warily look over your shoulder when he grinds his against the soft skin of your ass.
You’re caught in his wretched stare like a deer in headlights. “Best hope this pussy fucks as good as it tastes,” he threatens, tapping his bulbous, weeping crown on your sticky folds.
Joel gives no warning before he steadily pushes his obscene length into your heat. Your jaw drops with a raspy wail, allowing Marc to fill your mouth again and mute your frantic moans. You feel every vein and girthy inch of Joel’s cock splitting you open, as well as Marc's, as he glides his thickness over your tongue.
It seems to go on forever until they bottom out harmoniously. Joel presses his hips against your ass, and his plush lips pull into a sneer as your core stretches to accommodate him. “Oh, Sweetheart. This cunt is practically chokin’ me.” He provokes with a ragged groan, rubbing his thumb along the glistening, excessively stretched skin that embraces his cock.
A high-pitched whine slithers from your throat before it’s quickly cut off by Marc snapping his pelvis. Joel licks his creamy thumb with a dark chuckle before caging your hips in his steely grasp. He sets a steady rhythm, entirely withdrawing before shoving his cock back in, giving you no reprieve as Marc continuously thrusts his dripping length between your spit-coated lips. 
Your body burns. Your mind is warped. Joel's cock keeps brushing against that spongy spot behind your clit. It's all too much. You feel yourself losing strength, giving in. Either from lack of oxygen to your brain or your greedy cunt that's feeding off their wretched pleasure. 
"You gonna come, Sweetheart? Can feel her milkin' me real good. Shit-" Joel hisses as your velvet walls squeeze him tight.
Both your holes lock around their cocks as you come. Your eyes roll back, your spine bending like a bow as the harsh wave of desire ripples through you. 
Both men curse at the sight and feel of you. 
It shouldn’t feel this good being used and tossed around like a toy, but a thick, syrupy heat steadily gathers in your belly. With your head in the drug-induced clouds, every illicit touch sends you higher into a euphoric atmosphere.
“Wanna hit?” Marc offers, holding the joint between his fingers to the enforcer.
Joel finally tears his eyes away from where he’s spearing you open. He nods, stilling his hips, and extends a hand before pressing the joint between his lips. He takes a long drag before splaying his broad body over yours. 
You notice him in your peripheral as he watches you choke down Marc’s cock. “What a fuckin’ sight,” he drawls, joint bouncing between his lips. “Swallowin’ his cock like your life depends on it.” He roughly drives his hips forward, his leaky crown cruelly kissing your cervix, making you gag from the agonizing bliss. “Kinda ironic that it does.” 
You feel their cocks pulse in unison when you start writhing at Joel’s threat. You knew they wouldn’t hurt you, but the thought was too much to bear in your current state. They quickly make work of your flailing limbs; Joel grabs the back of your neck with a heavy paw, and Marc traps both your hands in his own, caging them against his stout stomach.
They set a brutal pace. You no longer feel in control of your body as they use you to get off. The room echoes with the sounds of gluttony, like feral animals staking their rightful claim on lowly prey. 
Marc comes with a growl, caging your head between his hands as you push against his abdomen, and fucks his salty release into your mouth. He collapses onto the couch with a ragged sigh, his engorged cock a shiny mess as he catches his breath. 
“Gotta get used to this, sweetheart,” Joel gloats in your ear, working an arm around your collarbone to pull you back onto his cock, forcing you to meet every one of his brutal shoves. “Your pretty pussy is gonna be ruined by the time your debt is paid in full.” 
Marc cups your jaw in one of his hands and takes a puff of his joint. He slides a thumb between your sticky, come coated lips and blows the smoke into your mouth. You gladly inhale, letting the drug work its magic. Joel grabs your hips and picks up his speed, greedy for his pleasure. 
He comes with a gruff, dark groan, snapping his hips hard against your ass until he's buried to the hilt and pumping his sticky load into your fluttering core. 
You collapsed onto the cushions once Joel let go of your hips, your body too weak and drugged to care to move despite your vulnerable state.
“We’re square, Kitten.” Marc grazes your cheek with his knuckles, and a sly grin tugs at the corner of his lips. “But anytime you want a hit and can’t pay, I’ll be more than happy to help you out,” Marc quips before silently nodding at Joel and leaves with a bounce in his step.
"Come're, Sweetheart." Large hands slide under your belly and help you stand on your feet. His eyes soften as he looks over your puffy eyes and swollen, slick coated lips. He cups your cheek and sighs through his nose. "Let's get you cleaned up, yeah?"
A rush of water hits your ears as Joel turns the shower faucet. You stand behind him like a child waiting for their next instruction before he turns back to you with a slight smile.
"Up and over. That's it," Joel says, ensuring you don't bump your elbows as he removes your shirt, folds it, and places it on your vanity. He helps you step into the shower before he sits on the toilet lid and watches you through the clear plastic curtain. 
Silence falls over the tiny bathroom as he lets you take solace under the stream.
You melt in the warmth. It eases your aches and dulls your overwrought senses. You stay there until your skin prunes and icy cold water pours from the tap.
He helps you step out of the tub, ensuring you're on solid ground before grabbing a towel hanging on the wall and wrapping you in the soft cotton. 
"You'll stay with me until your debt is paid," he said, resting his hands on your shoulders; the weight keeps you grounded as your world turns upside down.
"You won't have to worry about anythin'," he continues, carefully drying your body with a tenderness you didn't expect. "I'll pay your rent, so you still have this place when our transaction is complete." 
You know you should be upset. A screaming, raging mess but seeing such a dangerous man on his knees drying water droplets from your body makes you lightheaded with alarming power.
He stands when you don't outwardly react. His lips are pressed into a worried, hard line, his hands are perched on his hips, and a sharp brow wrinkles his forehead. "Okay?"
The vexation that laces his tone snaps you out of the dumbstruck fog. You knew there was only one right answer.
“Yes,” you rasp, defeated. 
He smirks, softly chuckling under his breath at your submission.
"I'll be back in a few hours," he says, cupping your jaw like he's drinking from a stream; God knows what brutality those hands have dealt out. "I trust you'll still be here when I get back." 
You nod quickly under his grave stare. 
He plants a searing kiss on your lips, making you gasp. It's dominating and possessive, like he's christening the start of your new life together by licking into your mouth and claiming you. 
He breaks the kiss with a grunt and nudges your nose with his own. "Thatta girl." 
He holds your gaze as he slowly walks backward out of the room. "Pack enough for the next week. I'll swing by later to get the rest," he instructs before turning and walking out your door.
You're left standing in your tiny bathroom, panting like a newborn fawn. Your legs wobble as you move to sit on the toilet lid and clutch the towel tighter to your chest; heart smashing against your ribs.
Joel was right. You had no idea what you were getting yourself into.
Tumblr media
feel free to scream at me -> 💌
*if you'd like to read more about Joel and reader's new life together, please invade my inbox about them! it helps motivate me!*
->reblogs & comments are extremely appreciated!<-
follow @ozzieslibrary for new fic updates!
564 notes · View notes
actual-changeling · 7 months
Text
this one is thanks to a post by @thegroovyfool because she is very much correct - we do not talk about aziraphale's "i need you" enough.
so once again, with a deep breath and a sigh, welcome back to alex's unhinged meta corner, where i tear apart the confession scene frame by frame. i'm gonna say, watching this particular clip over and over and focusing on aziraphale's face almost took me out.
let's get into it.
first, how about a little look at our starting point. (any blurry screencaps are due to a LOT of movement on michael's part rip)
Tumblr media
crowley is very pointedly facing away from him, he turned after aziraphale said "we can be together - angels!", presumably because being offered exactly what he wants in the one way he cannot have it fried his brain, cause besties it surely fried mine.
aziraphale on the other hand looks openly desperate, which is why he says "i need you." more on that later. let's have a look at how he says it, because michael "microexpressions" sheen is putting in the work.
to me, he seems close to tears, his eyes are glistening in that specific "i'm about to cry my eyes out" way i know from looking in the mirror while crying
Tumblr media
he is trying to get crowley to listen to him and to turn around. he wants crowley to face him, which is something most people tend to want during an argument. talking to someone who is not looking at you tends to make someone frustrated and like they're not hearing you/do not care about what you have to say.
aziraphale looks close to despair, his i need you is a plea to crowley to come with him. he is opening himself up not just emotionally but physically, too.
Tumblr media
he slightly leans forward, his arms are raised and seem to both slightly grasp for crowley and point towards his chest/heart for emphasis. the pure pain visible on his face knocks the air out of me every single time i look at it.
Tumblr media
aziraphale is admitting to needing him, something he has never done before, hell, he has told him the exact opposite on numerous occasions. i don't need you. and while they both knew it was a) a lie and b) a way for him to deal with his conflicting emotional standpoints and cognitive dissonance, it still hurt crowley every. single time.
crowley was there for him no matter what, he knows aziraphale needs him but he came back and remained at his side even when he was pushed away and more or less openly insulted. he endured it all.
aziraphale saying i need you now is pretty much a slap in the face but also what crowley needs to hear. as with everything that happens during the entire conversation, the timing is fucked up and they're talking past each other.
in my opinion, that is why crowley does not react.
Tumblr media
only when aziraphale turns spiteful and starts questioning his understanding (aka calling him stupid without outright saying it) does he re-enter the conversation.
aziraphale, however, is upset. now, i will put on my tinhat for just a second and turn up the insanity because there are two more things i want to talk about.
first, the little stutter at the beginning.
"i ngk - i need you."
my question is - why? why does he stumble over these words in particular when it does not happen with any other sentence? the only other time is right after crowley walks away with his "good luck", he stumbles over crowley's name.
so, in short, it happens when he is either caught off-guard or saying something incredible emotional.
and this, everyone, is where i go unhinged in my interpretation.
what if he initially did not want to say "i need you?" what if he was so caught up in getting crowley to stay/come with him that he did not think and almost confessed another three word sentence?
what if he was about to say "i love you" but stopped himself because no, that's too direct, they don't do that, they can't do that. it goes against EVERYTHING they have silently build over the last six thousand years. so he chokes on it. he chokes on it and instead he says "i need you" because it means the same thing.
i need you. don't leave me. come with me. be an us. go off together.
i forgive you. i love you.
they say it over and over again because that's the only way they can say it.
that is why aziraphale is so angry and upset after saying it. he told crowley he loves him, he needs him, and all he got in return was silence.
the funny part is that this code may have worked before, but it no longer does. crowley is too hurt to listen to what aziraphale is trying to tell him, and aziraphale is equally as hurt and also not listening anymore.
the funny part is that it stopped being about love and started being about sides again. my side, your side, our side. choose a side, choose our side, choose me.
the funny part is that beelzebub and gabriel told them what they need to do, i found something that mattered more to me than choosing sides.
1K notes · View notes
luvbugs-blog · 8 months
Text
getting caught with the mha boys - part two!
featuring: bakugo
a/n: aged up characters!
warnings: a little steamy
#bakugo
you were sitting in the living room with your friends, listening to a fruits basket episode, sitting next to your childhood best friend, midoriya. the two of you were facing each other, discussing the fact that the united states government just acknowledged the existence of extraterrestrials. the two of you were very passionate during the discussion, handing waving in the air. there was an occasional comment from todoroki who was sitting on the couch as well, but it was mostly rambling conspiracy theories about shape-shifters and ufo sightings.
you heard your boyfriend coming from the familiar stomp of his combat boots. the door was thrown open as he walked through, eyes roaming the room, presumably looking for you. but when he spots you, he immediately scowls, boots stomping a little harder as he turns to go to his room.
you stop your rant and look questionably at your friend.
"what's his deal?"
"i have no idea."
a voice behind you startles you slightly, "i bet he's jealous."
you whip around, placing a hand on your heart. "jeez, todoroki."
"maybe he's right," midoriya throws out there. "he's always been a bit protective of his things."
"you should go check on him." you sigh, knowing he is right.
"if i'm not back in 20 minutes, send help," you joke. todoroki looks at you funny, but at least midoriya laughed.
you meander to your boyfriend's door, taking your time in hopes that his temper might subside. you knock on the door, but don't hear an answer. you knock once more, but still, nothing. you warn katsuki that you're coming in, and hear nothing but a grunt. you walk in and gently shut the door behind you, walking towards the bed. you see katsuki tucked under the covers, scrolling on his phone. you sit next to him, who is facing you, but refusing to make eye contact.
"baby?" nothing. "kats, what's wrong?"
"why don't you just go hang out with your other boyfriend instead of me?" he shuffles around under the covers until his back is turned towards you.
"oh, you big baby." you kick off your shoes and join him under the covers, wrapping your body around his back. "you're so jealous," you giggle in his ear. you see him drop his phone on the bed as he turns back around to glare at you, but he still wraps his arms around your middle.
"am not."
"are too."
"fuck you."
"you'd like too." he glares again, and you just smirk back in response.
"i love you, you know. but i also have been friends with midoriya for as long as i've been friends with you." he frowns but nods.
"i know."
"you want to know what we were talking about?" he buries his face in your chest.
"no."
"we were talking about aliens." he just laughs.
"nerds. all of you." he pulls away to look at you.
"kats-" he cut you off with his lips, bruising against yours. he pulls you closer to him, grabbing onto your hips. his hand slides down your side until his reaches your thigh, pulling it over his hip and holding it there. your hands slide into his hair, pulling slightly, causing him to groan. his lips travel down your throat, sucking lightly, until you get impatient and pull him back to your lips.
he rolls on top of you, body in between your legs, not breaking the kiss, until the door slams open. katsuki rolls off of you and the both of you sit up, fixing shirts and hair.
"y/n?"
"todoroki?"
"half-and-half?"
"are you ok?" he asks worriedly, but not moving from the door.
"of course! why do you ask?"
"you said to come get you in twenty minutes."
you and katsuki look at each other, but before you could say anything, you hear midoriya running down the hall and yelling, "todoroki! she was joking!"
"I"M GOING TO KILL YOU, YOU BASTARD!"
a/n: send me prompts!!
2K notes · View notes
venus-maneater · 5 months
Text
a loyal dog’s reward ii. | yan! criston cole
yandere / obsessed ! au
fem! targaryen princess! reader
part i
synopsis. suffering an injury from a tournament, criston has to deal with seeing you alongside his temporary replacement. fortunately, you weren’t interested in teasing too much this time, trying to distract yourself from your sister beginning her labors, and you were happy to cheer your poor mutt up.
note; I’ve decided to make this a series with no real plot lol 😭 if being attracted to criston cole is a crime then lock me up !! this chapter took a mind of its own bc this was not the original plot and it’s twice as long as part i
WARNING(s): obsessive / possessive behavior, manipulation, violence, thoughts of violence, implied murder, blood, injury, JEALOUSY, nosebleeds, talk of bastards and having bastard children, Rhaenyra gives birth, allusions to sex but no actual smut, cole def has a breeding kink y’all
Tumblr media
Ser Criston Cole, your ever-so-loyal shield, always said yes when you asked him to enter tourneys. He knew how much you enjoyed them, and relished in your attention as he succeeded in competition. There were only two real downsides to tournaments for him: the hours he had to spend apart from you, and the injuries. Criston had always excelled at anything physical, but he was only mortal. He was just a man who could be maimed or murdered just like any other. It served to remind him of the status gap between you: he was a man while you were born from dragons.
He kept his eyes on your form in the nobles’ box until it was his turn. This was typical behavior from him, he was nothing but devoted to you. Since you’d discovered his true feelings, you gave him more attention than before. You entertained his tendencies, teasing him sometimes but always reassuring him at the end of the day. You wanted no one but him.
“Oh, don’t fret, my Criston.” You’d tut, “I could never replace you. You’re the only guard dog for me.”
You played with his feelings occasionally, trying to get a rise out of him, but he quickly found that he didn’t mind. His reward at the end made all his anger worth it. He never blamed you either, it was never your fault that men didn’t know how to leave you alone.
He wondered now if this was one of your attempts at making him jealous.
The large man who stood obediently behind you was the one taking over Criston’s position as he competed in the tournament. Usually, another Kingsguard member would take over, but this particular Knight had something to prove. He was highborn, from some house in the Vale, with wide shoulders and a somewhat handsome face. The two men looked nothing alike; the Knight next to you was pale, hazel-eyed, and thin-haired.
He doubted it.
You didn’t like men other than Criston Cole guarding you, you’d expressed so before. They’re boring and untrustworthy, you insisted. Your words made his chest puff out with pride. He liked that he was the only one you truly trusted with your life; you knew he would protect you. You chose him to protect you.
To be honest, you didn’t even seem interested in the Knight from the Vale; you looked stiff and bored, which concerned your sworn shield. You loved tournaments, you loved when he won things in your honor. Why don’t you look excited?
Soon enough, it was his turn again. With your flowery red favor around his wrist, he got into position.
You perked up a bit when you saw that it was Criston’s turn once more. You’d been rather stiff most of the event, and you partially blamed it on your boring temporary guard. The man was flat; no personality to work with at all. It bummed you out honestly, he was from the Vale but behaved like a Northman. He was presumably around Ser Criston’s age, but had not even half of his spirit. It wouldn’t have bothered you so much if you couldn’t feel his stare burning into the back of your head. You could give him some credit; at least he’s taking his job of supervising you seriously.
But no, the primary reason for your irritation and lack of focus was your father. He had demanded you to attend this tourney to celebrate Rhaenyra’s labors, not allowing you to be by her side. You and your sister were close, very close, and quite similar as well. To not be by her side when she was in pain had you tense. You didn’t want to be here, not even to see Criston compete.
Criston Cole was facing a member of House Bolton, a rather fierce young man who didn’t scare easy. Most Northerners were like that, but Criston should know best as he just beat another one last round. The tournament today was celebrating Princess Rhaenyra beginning her labors, so competitors have traveled from far and wide. The event had been planned for a month, so it was good news that the Princess was finally giving birth.
“Jessil,” you called to your guard with a smirk, “You should watch closely this round, my shield is competing.”
The man nodded curtly without a word, causing you to roll your eyes. His under-reactions irked you, but you were starting to blame Criston Cole for that fact. He always reacted wonderfully to anything you did, perhaps you were too used to it.
Speaking of your shield, you could see his anger growing the longer you were with another man. It was the only thing keeping you here at this point; waiting to see if he’ll get violent. Criston was the most amusing man you’d ever met, you just knew something was going to happen. There were only two more rounds until the event ended, and he’d been stiff ever since Ser Jessil bent down closer in order to hear your comments about two hours ago.
The two knights settled into their positions across the courtyard from each other, on opposite sides of the tilt. Then, a horn sounded, triggering their horses into a sprint. With their lances aimed, the men collided, wooden splinters flying but neither of them falling. New lances were readily tossed to them and the process repeated. Criston spared you a glance, noticing that Jessil had gotten a few inches closer.
Again, they charged forward. Only this time, when they clashed, Criston was thrown from his horse at the force of the hit. The Bolton fared a bit better, remaining on his horse, but he was hit in the face by Criston’s lance, causing the front of his helmet to cave in just enough to cut him.
What you saw made you shoot to your feet, your hands gripping the railing in concern. Never in your years of knowing Criston Cole had you ever seen him knocked from his horse in a tournament. He was easily one of the best fighters you knew of, it seemed impossible that this could happen. Had you pushed too far with your teasing? You’d never tried anything during a tournament before, perhaps Ser Jessil’s presence threw him off.
The round didn’t end there. Criston was quick to stand despite his obvious injuries, and his morningstar was swiftly given to him. His helmet had flew from his head when he fell, so his bleeding mouth was for all to see. He was holding his right arm close to his body, making it appear broken or incapable of proper use. Although he was right-handed, he gripped his weapon in his left hand and prepared for a fight. The Bolton Knight was also without a helmet at this point, ditching the damaged armor when he jumped to the ground to grab his sword. His nose was bleeding and looked to be broken from the hit.
“Is his arm broken?” You asked aloud, leaning over the railing a bit in an attempt to see better, “he favors his right.”
Jessil ignored your words, but inched closer so you wouldn’t go over the railing, “Princess, you could fall.”
Criston let the other Knight come to him, not willing to waste any energy. He used his time to look your way, not liking the way your guard was holding your shoulder.
The fight began, but didn’t last long. The Bolton may have made a skilled jouster, but not a fighter. He was no match for the angry Kingsguard, even when he had every advantage. Handicapped from his injuries, Criston swung his Morningstar with his left hand, swiftly hitting his opponent in the head while avoiding any oncoming attacks from the sword. The impact knocked the younger Knight out, but visibly broke his brow bone. Due to the force from the spikes, his face was bleeding badly and the area around his eye was caved in, perfectly mirroring the damage to his helmet.
Half the crowd was silent in shock (including yourself), but the other half was cheering loudly at the violence. You were desensitized to such things at this point in your life, but that didn’t mean you welcomed them. You didn’t like that Criston came so close to losing, or that you have to watch some poor Bolton boy bleed out on the ground for no reason, your shield was too injured to continue to the next round anyways. And due to your being a princess, it would be inappropriate to leave early to check on the Kingsguard member. Because your father wouldn’t allow to be with your sister, you’d made Criston your fixation of the day.
The two of you made eye contact as a few servants rushed over to him, helping him limp off to see a maester. It was soon announced that although neither competitor was continuing to the next round, Criston Cole was technically the winner.
“Well that was certainly a show” You cleared your throat, shaking Ser Jessil’s hand off your shoulder and finally taking your seat once again, “I knew something was going to happen.”
“So you did, Princess.” The Knight nodded curtly, recalling your words earlier, telling him to watch closely.
With Criston gone, your mind shifted back to a pregnant Rhaenyra, who was currently giving birth without your comfort. You stiffen up, nails digging into the railing before exhaling deeply and taking your seat. The two of you return to your proper positions and continued to observe the event for the next few hours, clapping dutifully when an insignificant Lannister won.
x
You made it back to the Red Keep in record time, it seemed. Even Jessil had trouble keeping up with you on your horse as you rushed home. You’d refused the carriage ride, eager to see your sister.
You were sprinting up the nearly infinite steps to her chambers, Jessil following close and maids jumping out of the way. A couple of people tried to stop your entrance, but you only shoved them aside and pushed your way towards your sister.
“Rhaenyra!” You gasped softly, a grin finding its way to your face when you saw her cradling her new baby in bed. After the death of your mother, childbirth was a sensitive subject for you and your sister, you hated being apart during this time. She dismissed the women in the room, leaving just the two of you and her first child.
“I’ve decided on Jacaerys.” She smiled at you as you crawled into the bed beside her.
She’d discussed baby name ideas with you before, with Laenor as well, who suggested Joffrey. Rhaenyra was adamantly against it, and you remembered the distaste you felt hearing it, knowing the implications that would come along if they decided on that name. You’d always liked Joffrey actually, unhappy with his death, but almost all of court heard the rumors of he and Laenor. You’d suggested Jacaerys, a Velaryon sounding name. Rhaenyra didn’t seem overly interested, so you didn’t expect her to choose it.
“Oh, Jacaerys.” You cooed, stroking his little head, full of dark locks. That wasn’t good, not really. Hopefully he took after Rhaenyra in his other features, or else questions of his parentage could arise. Rhaenys was half Baratheon, so that could be used as an excuse. But then the baby boy opened his eyes, revealing big brown orbs that mirrored Harwin Strong’s. You liked Harwin quite a bit, not minding. But the court would mind. You and Rhaenyra would just have to protect him.
“Have you slept yet?” You asked your sister, who hasn’t stopped grinning since you first saw her.
“Not yet, dear sister, I cannot stop looking at his sweet face.”
“Has… his father seen him yet?” You both knew who you meant.
“No. But he will soon enough, when I’m well enough to leave the room.” She gave you a knowing smile, which you returned.
Upon leaving Rhaenyra to rest, you were able to successfully escape Ser Jessil’s supervision with the help of Ser Harwin Strong, and went straight to Criston Cole’s chambers. You found out through your favorite handmaiden that he’d been released from the infirmary, and you took the first opportunity that presented itself to you. You didn’t knock before slipping into his room, but you were sure he wouldn’t mind.
Stepping in, your eyes were drawn to his place on the bed immediately. He was lying down above the blankets, with his arm wrapped and splinted in a sling resting above his bare midsection. His ribs were bruised, but it was apparently nothing bad enough that would need wrapping. Both legs were extended out, with his left pant leg pulled up to the knee to reveal his bruised ankle. He didn’t notice you enter, his eyes were shut and he was likely half-asleep. His face was fine, handsome as always, besides a cut on his nose-bridge that was beginning to darken into a bruise.
“Look at you, my poor sweet thing.” You cooed quietly at him suddenly, waking him from his relaxed state. His eyes shot open, head snapping over to the door.
“My princess.” He gasped. His chambers were much smaller and less impressive than yours, he didn’t want you in such an environment.
“Are you well?” You asked, closing the door as quietly as possible, “The maester says you’ve broken bones.”
“I’m well, I swear it to you. It’s a small break in the arm, everything should heal rather quickly.” He tried to reassure you as you approached, struggling his way into a sitting position, his back against the head board.
You hummed at his clumsy movements, stopping to stand at his bedside. Cute. Criston wasn’t an inherently violent man, at least not with you, so it was easy to forget how strong and dangerous he truly was. It was unnerving to see him injured; weak.
“How quickly would you say?” You asked.
“The maester says a month.” He answered quietly, not willing to admit the extent of his injuries. His primary goal was to get back to you.
You knew the Maester had actually said two months.
“Hm. Who will protect me for a whole month in your absence?” You held back a smirk.
You watched as Criston’s body language immediately changed. Clenching and unclenching his jaw, his leg twitched in frustration.
“I am still fully capable.”
Has he always been this attractive or does jealousy just look good on him?
“My father thinks you should take time to heal.”
He scoffed, shaking his head, “I don’t care what he thinks, you saw what I did to my opponent despite my injuries.”
“You ‘don’t care what he thinks’? He is King.” You said in a mock-scolding tone, lifting your knee to rest in against the bed, close to his lap.
“Yours is the only word to mean anything to me. I listen to no King.” Still seated, he leans forward to get closer.
“Though you listen to me? Only me?” You ask with a smile, batting your lashes at him and leaning in. He doesn’t move to kiss you first, he rarely does. He lets you do as you please, feeling the puffs of air from your giggle on his lips.
“Yes. Only you.” He whispers, his eyes begging you to just kiss him already. But nothing is ever that simple with you, and he knows it well.
You grin at him, leaning in until your lips are just grazing his own, before laughing and pulling away entirely. His face followed yours until you were out of reach, leaving him to huff and fall back against the head board once again. He let out a quiet groan, closing his eyes and tossing his head back so he could catch his breath.
“You’re so easy, Ser Criston.” You snickered. His lips quirked up at your joyous tone, but he resisted the urge to open his eyes. After a few moments of stumbling around the room in amusement, you bit your lip to keep quiet.
Criston went stiff when you fell silent, excited fingers beginning to twitch as the urge to touch you increased. But he was a seasoned warrior at this point in life, and could hear every movement you made. He heard you tiptoe back over to the bed before pausing. The mattress dipped as you climbed onto the bed and landed in his lap, straddling his thighs and avoiding his bruised ribs. It was only when you were on top of him that his eyelids fluttered open to watch you. You gave him a satisfied look. He was happy to let you believe you caught him off-guard.
“Criston?”
“Yes, my Heart?”
“There’s something I have to tell you…” You placed your hands gently on his chest and leaned in, your mouth next to his ear, “and you will not like it.”
“You think me incapable of handling such news?” He asked, a bit breathless.
You smiled, “Of course not. You’re my protector, my strong and most loyal servant. You can handle anything I give you, yes?”
He nodded, unable to speak properly with your lips on his ear.
“My father says that Ser Jessil will be your stand-in as my protector.”
Criston’s good hand immediately moved to your waist, gripping it tightly, “You don’t need anyone else to protect you. Only me.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” You kissed his jaw gently, “but you should heal and rest.”
“I will kill him. Do not doubt me.”
“He would just be replaced.”
“I don’t care, I should kill the next as well.”
“You go against my word?” You pulled back, sitting up fully. He hesitated in his response, so you continued, “Ser Jessil will be your temporary replacement, my King father has said this and I have agreed.”
It was a lie, technically; you didn’t exactly agree to anything. But you weren’t about to let Criston believe he had the power here. He’d started to get a bit too bold.
Your faces were close together now, the two of you holding heavy eye contact. Criston said nothing, though his body language revealed his true feelings easily. He didn’t like that you were taking your father’s side over his own.
“I love you.” He blurted out, brows furrowed in emotion.
Your hands moved up to hold his face, “I know that. I just want you well. You must rest and heal so you can be at your best. Don’t you understand?”
Criston nodded slowly, a satisfied shiver running through him at the thought of you caring so much. His health is truly that important to you?
“Good.” You say with a grin, pecking the corner of his lips and reaching up to pat his messy hair down. His long locks grew wild already, but the style worsened from hours of wearing a helmet.
Giving into you, per usual, the Knight sighed and wrapped his good arm fully around your waist, pulling you close so he could tuck his face into your neck. You cooed at him, returning his embrace and giggling in between your praises.
“I know that this upsets you quite a bit,” You began, gasping in surprise when you felt a warm tongue trail over your throat, “but I don’t mind making you feel better.”
“Feel better you say?” He questioned absentmindedly, more focused on the taste of your skin.
You hummed in confirmation, “I can take care of you in places you may need help with. You know….. here?”
Eyes closed, you placed a delicate touch to the bulge in his pants, smiling when you felt him stiffen beneath you.
Criston Cole was always half-hard around you, your presence alone able to rile him up. He often found himself having to control his thoughts when around other people, not wanting them to notice his… state. As much as he wanted to touch you all over— taste you and love you and worship you— he held a higher respect for you than himself. You were not just a Lady, you were a Princess. He would not dishonor you in such a way, at least not until the two of you were married.
“Princess—” he grunted, mouth dropping open in pleasure briefly before pursing his lips. He pulled his upper body away from you slightly, giving you a bit more space to do what you wanted.
“Oh, it’s fine, Ser Criston. I want to.” You reassured, shrugging because you knew he would end up letting you anyways, “You just look so good bruised up like this, all jealous over some loser, nobody Knight.”
You whispered the last sentence harshly, and Criston loved it. He loved when you degraded other men in comparison to him. He was who you wanted, not that loser, nobody Knight. It didn’t matter that he was low-born or sick in the head, you wanted him anyway.
“You prefer me?” He asked looking up at you, “to him? Tell me...”
“I prefer you to him, Ser Criston Cole. I prefer you to all other men.”
Pulling him by his hair, your lips captured his. Whimpering into your mouth, he now does nothing to stop you from reaching your goal. You smile into the kiss at his surrender.
“… but perhaps you’re right.” You pull away from his lips, but stay close enough to tease, “it would be so dishonorable and you’re injured as well. Hm.”
Criston, his mind in shambles, doesn’t say a word, just sucks his teeth and releases a shaky breath. He doesn’t like to argue with you, he won’t. He’s overwhelmed, you’re so close.
“Can’t think.” He muttered so quietly you almost missed it.
A breathy laugh escaped you before you could stop it, “No? And why is that, Ser? Do I possess you so?”
“Possess? Princess, you are torturing me with your affections. I cannot think of anything else, I cannot focus, I cannot stop shaking.” His voice cracked at the last word and he wasn’t lying, his body trembled.
“Do I dominate your dreams as well?”
“Yes.”
You hum, curious. You knew of his fantasies; his plans to run away, marry, and have many children with you. But you never question the details, allowing them to stay fuzzy so he wouldn’t get too ahead with his scheming. Dreams, however, you could create your own world. “Won’t you share them with me?”
“We ah-” he pauses to take a deep breath, likely attempting to control himself, “You call me by name a lot.”
You tilt your head, a bit confused.
“Not Ser, not dog, not thing— just Criston. The sound of my name from your lips is like music to me. It makes me— I never want you to say another’s name ever again. And uh- a daughter. We have a daughter. She looks like you- so much.”
You begin to shift at his words. A daughter? No Westerosi man wishes for a daughter, at least not before a son, “Daughter you say? Why?”
“She will be you, reborn, carrying my blood. I dream of a baby girl that smiles like you. I will call her my little princess as you are my Princess. A child that is ours.”
“A daughter.” You repeated once more. It was… nice to hear a man express desire for a daughter rather than a son. You and Rhaenyra had suffered due to that mindset, spending most of your lives watching your father desperately try for a son, even at the cost of your mother’s life. He no longer felt that way, but it was too late, the damage had been done. He now had Aegon and Aemond, who he didn’t even pay much attention to. Your mother’s life felt wasted.
“Princess—?”
“A sweet thing it is.” You cut him off, “your dreams are endearing. But I must go now, Jessil has no doubt noticed my absence.”
Criston tensed, “Ab—sence” He croaked, jealousy building.
“Mmhm.” I nodded, “I’ve avoided him thus far, impressively. He may report this to my father if I’m gone any longer.”
Just a few minutes more, his mind screams. But he’s good for you, so he only nods. His jaw is clenched and there’s a noticeable twitch in his expression. His fingertips dig into your sides.
“I don’t want to part with you for so long.”
“Perhaps I’ll visit if you behave.”
x
“He’s clearly a bastard.” Criston spoke quietly, but plainly.
You’d snuck him into your chambers after a long day of cooing over Rhaenyra’s baby boy, Jacaerys. It’d been a couple weeks since his birth and she finally brought him to court for all to see.
“It is treason to suggest such a thing, Ser Cole.” You bitterly defended your sister as you brushed your fair, before rolling your eyes, “And even if it were true, what does it matter who the boy’s father is? He is Rhaenyra’s true son and her heir. The boy is a Targaryen.”
At the risk of upsetting you further, he held his tongue. Being rather low born, Criston grew up having to prove himself through his ability rather than his status. But when he was young, at the end of the day, he was still a rank above bastard children. He had that, at least. He knew that it wasn’t exactly fair, you can’t control who your parents are, but it was a mindset he was raised with and couldn’t shake so easily.
“What if my father marries me off to some Lord I do not love? Are you saying you wouldn’t fuck little bastard babies into me? Babes that look just like you?” You ask him, standing up from your vanity to approach his spot on your bed, feigning innocence.
Face twitching in annoyance, Criston grabbed your wrist and roughly pulled you to his level. With your faces were inches apart, he reached up and gripped your chin. The action made you bite your lip to hide a grin.
“I will be fucking little trueborn babies into you. I’ll make you my wife before giving you children.” He took slight offense to your words. How could you suggest that? You should know he would not let you be married off.
“Oh, of course, My White Knight. You plan to steal me away.”
“Hardly stealing.” He muttered, lovesick eyes staring into yours.
You don’t voice your disagreements, you only laugh. You did not belong to Criston Cole, you belong only to yourself. His words make you think that this game had gone a little too far; he’s getting too confident in his possessiveness. His hesitancy was one of his initial charms for you, and it’s leaving him. Perhaps it’s best to stop entertaining his ideas of a future with you, no matter how cute and pleasant you believe them to be.
“So you’re saying you wouldn’t like it, even just a little?” You tilted your head, his hand still holding your chin softly.
“No.” That’s a lie, maybe just a small amount. Everyone knowing you belong to him, having his kids, despite your status. But the negatives massively outweigh the positives. Not only would it put so much dishonor on you, but Criston isn’t good at controlling his jealousy. He wouldn’t be able to handle you being married to another or his children not having his name.
You smiled knowingly, teasing, “I don’t believe you.”
He released his grasp on your chin, letting you fall closer into him, “I could never be fond of an idea where you are not mine.”
“Well I would be, only secretly.” You pointed out.
“I want you to be mine openly, in every way. By name.”
You knew that wasn’t possible, not even across the sea. But you didn’t want to burst the bubble he’d been constructing for the last year. You let it go. A short silence takes over, not an uncomfortable one, but not the kind you particularly liked. The two of you had extremely different thinking processes, and it was something only amplified when you discussed your ideas for the future. Luckily, your partner was delusional enough that he didn’t notice your discontent with running away.
“Criston?” You ask, letting yourself fall to lie flat beside him. He lets go of your wrist and his eyes follow your moments, as usual. He lies back on the bed as well.
“Yes, my Princess?”
“Why do you desire me the way you do?”
He looked slightly surprised at the question, like he’d never expected you would ask. The truth is, he hadn’t. It wasn’t like you to care why. You were quick to accept things for what they were.
“You’re special to me.” He eventually whispered, “I was made to love you.”
“Made?”
“The gods constructed me only for the purpose of worshipping you. You have bewitched me with no effort. I do not know whether to kiss the ground you walk on or fall to my knees and beg for your continued attention.”
You stare into his big, dark eyes silently. He’s loyal, like a dog. And he’s hopeless like one too. “You’re not exactly a poet, but I suppose that will do.”
He grins, and you can practically feel his heart racing, “Not a poet, no.”
You tear your eyes away from him to glare at the ceiling. “Do not call my nephew a bastard again.”
He tensed at your words, entirely disliking that he’d upset you, and nodded immediately. He was embarrassed, “Yes, my love, I’m sorry.”
You sighed and looked back at him, sitting up once more. “I think you’ll find him charming. Rhaenyra says he reminds her of me already.”
“Well I’m sure to be charmed in that case, aren’t I?”
“Oh, yes, since you’re more than quite charmed by me.”
“Charmed,” He smiled, pupils expanding as he began to fantasize, “I hope to be charmed by our own children one day.”
“Our own?” You entertained, “How many? Including this daughter of ours of course.”
“Five perhaps. More if you’d like.” He took a piece of your hair between his fingers to play with.
“Is that what our lives would look like if you had it your way?”
“If I had it my way,” His eyes shifted back to your own, darkening, “by now you’d be chasing around our first two children as your stomach swelled with our third. You’d be called Lady Cole.”
“Ah, yes. Lady Cole with her many Cole babes.”
Criston had to take a deep breath at that, practically vibrating at the mere thought of you carrying his children and living as his wife.
You giggle at his visible reaction, leaning down to claim his lips. He sighed into the kiss, hesitant hands reaching for your hair. He tugs, trying to urge you closer, onto his lap, “My princess, please.”
“He begs, ‘Please please please’. You are the wantingest man I’ve ever met.” You grin into the kiss, allowing him to take you into his lap.
“I will never have shame in begging you. My life belongs to you, I am yours.” His words are beginning to slur slightly, “It’s only natural for me to be greedy when you are the one who claims my heart.”
“Always trying to impress me with your words,” You playfully roll your eyes, “you’re nearly healed, you know. Ready to return to my side?” It was a lie, he had good a bit left of healing to do.
“I never should have left.” He squirmed, trying not to show his anger. He never left, not willingly. He was removed.
“Of course, of course.” You tugged on the dark hair at the back of his neck, “The man who’s been with me is utterly serious. Neither I nor Rhaenyra like him.”
Criston listened to your complain about your temporary shield with a sense of pride and giddiness. He was relieved you disliked his replacement. But the mention of your sister disliking him as well did nothing for him, as the princess Rhaenyra didn’t like most men surrounding you, Criston himself included. She never vocalized it much, but he noticed when she tensed and sneered when he got too close to you. He wondered if she knew about your relationship.
“I’m more your taste, Princess?”
A grin found its way to your face and you nodded, “That’s right, I can do whatever I please to you and you only bask in my attention.”
He couldn’t, and wouldn’t, argue with that. While he had his own boundaries of sorts, they were completely disregarded in your presence and he didn’t even mind it.
To prove your point, you began to kiss his jaw, sweet and gentle kisses. Criston hummed, closing his eyes and tilting his head back only slightly. You nipped at the delicate skin, comfortable with leaving just a few marks because he was still out of action; not many people would be seeing him anyways.
“G-gods-” he choked out.
“The gods cannot save you, I’m afraid.” You giggle.
“I beg them not to.”
You giggle at his dazed voice and expression, blowing cool air on his neck and enjoying his shiver. His hands keep twitching. Just to tease, you kept your face tucked into him, kitten licking at the skin until you felt something wet hit your cheek. Pulling away slightly, you quickly identified the source of the warm liquid; blood was dripping from Criston’s nose, falling over his lips down to his chin.
“S-sorry, your grace. I’m overwhelmed is all.” He muttered, hand immediately going up to face to stop the dripping. But you only pull his hand away with a smirk.
“You know,” you begin, thumbing some of the blood and smearing it over his lips, “in the way of Old Valyria, we share blood when we marry.”
“Please, please,” he croaks, big dark eyes boring desperately into your own. They’re shiny and lack any coherent thoughts, “Don’t say such things to me now— can’t control myself.”
“We use dragon glass to cut one another’s lip,” you take your bloodied thumb and swipe red onto your bottom lip, “then we kiss to show we are of the same blood now.”
His leg begins to bounce and he has to look away from your face. His nose continues to drip blood, but neither of you move to stop it this time.
“You like that idea~ i can tell because you’re shaking.” You giggle into his ear.
“M’not shaking-” he replies, but even his voice trembles.
“Well you’re bleeding, is that not a sign?” You tilt your head, “perhaps you’re unwell, should I stop?”
Before he can beg you not to stop, his sharp ears catch the sound of clicking armor in the hall. He tenses, almost forgetting he was in the Princess’ chambers; he doesn’t know how when yours was easily three-times the size of his own. There was no need to panic and hide, people were not permitted to just walk in.
Three hard knocks sounded throughout the room, causing Criston to freeze. Your expression didn’t change, as you’d heard the footsteps.
“Who is it? Do not enter please.” You answered, your eyes not leaving your knight’s. As nervous as he was, Criston maintained eye contact and didn’t move a muscle. With a small grin, your hand traveled back up to his chin, which was now smeared with blood. As your fingers traced his features, you leaned in close to his ear to place a few gentle kisses there.
“Princess, it’s Ser Jessil. Your sister, the Princess Rhaenyra, has sent for you. She is… perhaps you should open the door to let me explain. It concerns your safety.”
Your reactions vary; Criston’s posture is still stiff and he’s growing annoyed at the knight’s presence. It’s almost offensive how this pathetic creature is trying to protect you when that’s his job. But you’re worried, though you won’t show it. Rhaenyra? Is something wrong? But something about it didn’t make sense; if your safety was threatened, then why did Rhaenyra know first and why did Jessil bother knocking at all?
“I’d prefer you explain from where you are.”
You could hear his sigh through the door, an impressive feat, “She is suspicious that a knight of the king is sneaking into your chambers.”
Probably because it was true, you thought, glancing at a stiff and unhappy Criston.
“Let me ready myself and I will speak with her at once.” As you began to shift off of your shield, but he only pouted and desperately hung on. He had the mind to keep quiet, but his heart wouldn’t allow you to leave him.
“… Yes, Princess.”
You turned to him sternly, “Let go, Criston. Don’t be foolish, just hide for now and be gone when we leave.” You quietly scolded and his grip loosened.
He clenches his jaw, the most common hint to his annoyance, and said nothing. He allowed you to pull him up by the hand and drag him over to your wardrobe, shutting him in with a last apologetic kiss.
“Be good.” You uttered, and his gaze softened for a moment before the door shut in his face.
He could hear you shuffle around, dressing quickly to see your sister. He sucked his teeth angry. Did he deserve mistreatment? To an extent, yes, he could admit that. But this wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t you just— stay? Tell him to kill that bothersome knight and be done with him entirely. His fists clenched. He’d kill him— and soon. Right now even. Then he’d take you away and give you a nice little home with sweet little silver-haired babies. Criston was growing sick of waiting, it was eating him up inside. You affected him so severely, it was showing itself physically. He brought a hand up to the crimson liquid that had finally stopped leaking from his nose.
You were gone now— he knew this because he could feel when you were near. But someone was in your chambers, someone closer to his size. He could hear the metal clanking of heavy armor. The person was looking for something, an intruder most likely. But Criston was not the intruder here. The idea of someone who wasn’t him being in your space made him burn with anger. That was fine, he decided, he’d handle it. With balled up fists, he stepped out from the wardrobe.
x
“Has Ser Jessil been good to you, little sister?”
You shrugged at Rhaenyra, your chin resting in your hand as you leaned on the table. It wasn’t polite, but you were comfortable in her presence, “He’s fine, I suppose.”
“But you prefer that dog of yours.” Your sister teased. You could tell she didn’t like that— didn’t like Criston. You understood.
“He’s good, listens well.”
“Not for long— I can see it well. He’s a sick thing, sister.”
“I can handle him, he does as I ask.”
“He’s greedy, an oath breaker.”
You hummed in agreement, “He has pretty eyes.”
Rhaenyra scoffed with a grin at your reply, “He will try to steal you away. Not just that, but he’s also obvious. Painfully so. If I know, someone else does too. He needs to be put out. Be rid of him.”
“I… understand that he’s got troublesome feelings. But he’s become something of a pet to me now.” You pouted and your sister sighed, not fond of upsetting you.
“When I ascend the throne, he will be gone. I worry he’ll be your downfall.” She wasn’t being dramatic, she’d disliked the man for years and saw every bit of concerning behavior he displayed. She saw clearly his desperation to leave with you. When it comes time for you to marry, he’ll go mad.
You knew whatever you had with Criston wasn’t permanent, but to hear your elder sister give away her intentions of getting rid of him really struck you. “He’s brainless, Rhaenyra. Just a dog, truly. He can hardly read. He’s only a threat physically, and he would never hurt me.”
Rhaenyra sighed, wrinkling her nose in distaste for the man. She used to be like you, still was sometimes, but she would protect you from her mistakes. She would not allow any whispers at court of you being a whore and your children being bastards, not like her. Since the birth of Jacaerys, she’d grown just a bit more serious, and much more protective.
“You needn’t be literate to kill a man.” She replied after a brief silence.
You held back a huff. The truth was that Criston could read fine these days, though not nearly at the level you could. You’d only said that to give the illusion of harmlessness. Unfortunately, Rhaenyra would never buy it; she had seen the knights he’d bloodied during tournaments.
“I’ll be harder on him then, perhaps add a bit of distance. But, sister, he is important. As a member of the Kingsguard, his support and loyalty will aid your claim. One more soldier on our side— a good one.”
“I will not sacrifice you for my cause.”
“I’ve told you, he will not harm me—”
“It’s more complex than that—!”
It felt like you were 13 and 14 again, bickering over something that was caused by your sisters protectiveness.
No, you will not be coming with me. You will sleep in your bed and I will wake you myself come morning!
If that stable boy looks at you that way again, I will have father or Uncle Daemon take his eyes— probably Daemon.
No, sister. You are mad if you think I’m letting you anywhere near a wild dragon—!
You sometimes think that Criston and Rhaenyra hate one another because they are a bit similar.
“Nyra,” you groaned, head in hands, “I will fix it, you’re right, he has become a bit… extreme lately. But you must admit he’d be beneficial to our cause.”
Although Rhaenyra was legally the heir to the throne, there were already whispers of putting Alicent’s son, Aegon, on the throne in her place. Criston wasn’t very powerful politically, but he was a brilliant fighter and his words as a Kingsguard held just a bit of sway.
She furrowed her brows, “You’re too fond of him.”
You shrugged, standing up, “Perhaps. But I’m no fool; you come first. I will never flee with him.”
“And when he realizes that?”
You didn’t have an answer. You passed Harwin Strong on your way out, and bit your tongue to stop myself from calling out the hypocrisy.
What was the difference between her and Harwin vs you and Criston?
x
Well for starters, Harwin didn’t murder any man who entered Rhaenyra’s vicinity. Criston on the other hand…
By the time you returned to your chambers, the entire stone floor was red, the liquid seeping into your intricate carpet you’d had since you were a child. There was no body, suggesting that Criston had already gotten rid of it or the victim managed to escape. (But that was unlikely, Criston was a beast in a fight, and his temper was unmatched.)
“Princess.” Criston croaked from behind you, in the open doorway. He’d just arrived, and it took only one glance at him to know what he’d done. Blood covered his hands, arms, and chest. It was splattered from his face all the way down to his knees. He was in his civilian clothes still, rather than any armor due to being put on leave. His eyes were shiny, some sense of desperation in them, and he was fiddling with his red hands. Nervous. Why were you back so early? The sling for his arm was gone, though he surely still needed it.
“Is—” You cleared your throat. “Is he alive?”
But judging by the brain matter on the ground, you knew the answer was—
“No.” Direct and honest. He took a few steps forward, shutting the door behind him. You weren’t scared of him necessarily— you knew well enough at this point that he’d never hurt you. But he didn’t look quite human at the moment, so you took a step back.
Your simple shuffle backwards was enough to send him into a panic.
He dropped to his knees, blood soaking into his breeches as he inched closer, “My love— he was threat! He would’ve found me in here—” He babbled on about protecting you, begging for you not to be afraid. You let him talk, focused on the blood.
“Clean this up.” You finally muttered, patting him quickly on the head to avoid soaking yourself with the crimson liquid.
As much as a part of you wanted to coo at him ‘good dog’, you couldn’t. This was messy— emotional and obvious. Risky. He was a bad dog, a stupid one even. He wasn’t like Harwin— manageable. He was something else entirely. You liked him how he was, violently loyal and protective, but you couldn’t have it.
He quickly agreed to clean it and began to calm down, which led him to notice your own unease. He flinched when he saw how much blood seeped into your shoes and skirt, pulling you into his arms and placing you on your favorite stool.
He was cooing at you, “Sweet Princess, don’t worry about this, yes? I’ll rid you completely of this man, I swear it. I allowed his blood to soil your clothes, I’m sorry.”
Criston kissed at your collar bones down your arms to your palms.
“Criston,” his eyes shot up to meet yours. Big brown heart eyes. “No more of this, not in this castle.”
His hands tightened slightly around your wrists, “But you like it.” He muttered.
“It isn’t about that—!” You held your tongue, deciding to take a smarter approach, “My sweet Criston, the people in the Keep will soon notice a pattern, I cannot let that happen. My sister needs nothing in her way of that crown.”
He nearly scoffed, “Is it always about your sister and her crown? I have protected you again! From-from these perverts who wish to—”
“You’re the pervert-!”
“You love me! You love it! How you affect me— how you can physically see every thought that goes through my head about you! You love how perverted I am for only you! I see you— I love every part of you, even the part that gets off on a Kingsguard soiling his cloak for you!” Criston was shaking, “I am sick, and you cannot get enough! Just as I will never tire of you— I need you!”
There was silence, besides his heavy breathing. You didn’t expect such self-awareness, and you didn’t like it. You liked him better dumb, but it appeared he never was fully clueless. His brown eyes were wide and a shade darker than usual.
“Sit.” You commanded and he did, “Just clean this up.”
x
Tumblr media
[taglist] @3abydolll @pearlstiare @caramelcandescence @eilishchaos @watercolorskyy
The Rhaenyra/Criston beef is gonna go crazy in the prequel
im hoping you guys noticed, but this chapter was meant to emphasize the lack of control the reader truly has on criston. like yeah, he worships you and is willing to do almost anything you say, but his urges control him more than anything else ever will. this is going to be a common theme in the future. i also wanted this chapter to show more daily life and readers relationship with rhaenyra compared to part i.
842 notes · View notes
alastors-antlers · 2 months
Text
a brief take on the whole "Alastor's smile is permanent" discussion
hello all!
I've seen a lot of people theorizing lately that Alastor actually smiles all the time because his smile is magically, physically fixed onto his face. All of this seems to come from the fact that he's practically grimacing rather than smiling during the scene where he breaks down in ep8:
Tumblr media
As well as this frame of his deal with Charlie: (lower res sorry)
Tumblr media
I will say, I do like some of the implications of this theory. The sheer spite of his creditor forcing him to smile as an addition to their deal, almost like a sort of forced silence, is a neat concept. It's fun and dramatic. Plus, of all things, of course Alastor would claim the "smile at all times" policy and make it his own to pretend that it was his decision all along lol.
To be fair, though, I don't think we even need any magical compulsion to explain why he's smiling while he's having a mental breakdown. Actually, if we assume magical compulsion, I think we lose a bit of dimension from Alastor's character. (No judgement to anyone's take though, of course -- I just think this works in the direction of his established characterization, but obviously all personal takes <3)
Hear me out:
Alastor's persona is not just for others to see.
"A smile is a valuable tool, my dear. It inspires your friends; keeps your enemies guessing; and ensures that whatever comes your way, you're the one in control."
That makes sense given what we know about him. If he's always smiling, he seems like he has it together. You can't read him very well, especially not when he's actively trying to keep up appearances.
Now consider that when you think about ep8's fight with Heaven, we see that he's already been through so much in this one day.
He fights an army of angels, presumably not even at his own whim (if we go by his blurb about freedom in the Finale song); he loses to Adam, who he considers sloppy and mediocre; his staff, which we can assume holds some part of his power, is snapped; he comes close to being Angelic-power-killed; and to top it all off, he knows that others watched him get injured and then apparently die or flee, all of which would ruin the public image that he's trying to maintain. It wouldn't even be unreasonable for us to assume that he knows Vox was watching, given that Vox kind of has eyes everywhere.
In a moment like this, in the finale, you could say that Alastor has lost (at least on some level) everything that we know matters to him. He doesn't have access to all of his magic, and it's limiting him. He's reminded that he doesn't have freedom or control over his own destiny. He certainly has taken massive hits to his powerful, composed persona. But he's desperate, and furious, and terrified, and clinging on.
That's why he's smiling.
It's not that he can't stop because he physically can't. It's that he can't stop because to him, the smile is the last thing that is still within his power. When there are so many moving parts that he can't predict what happens to him next, he can control how he responds to it. In these last fragments of autonomy, there is solace.
He needs to keep telling himself that he has it together and that he'll eventually scheme his way free, that there's a solution, that he won't be in chains forever; because letting his pretense slip would be admitting that it's all starting to actually get to him. That maybe this time, he doesn't have an escape plan.
In addition, if you read his interactions throughout the series, we also see something else: Alastor's reputation is of paramount importance to him. At multiple points throughout the series, when others disrespect him by discounting his power or presence, he gets visibly annoyed. And in the battle, we see a glimpse of the part of his personality he seems to be trying to leave behind - a normal Alastor, who's just some guy from Louisiana. No transatlantic accent; no unflappable malice; no sharp wit waiting at the ready. Maybe even unremarkable.
Dropping his smile - arguably the most prominent part of his brand - would be admitting that in reality, he's not the Radio Demon of legend that he aspires to project. And if he doesn't have that... where would he be?
821 notes · View notes