#incel knight

[bucknastysbabe]

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

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

Rating: Mature

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

Word count: About 6k

@aemonds-holy-milk @aemonddtargaryen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Simply what?”

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

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

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

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

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

For hours.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He blinked again, running a hand through his hair. Lucerra was awake, hair shining like silver under the moonlight. She spoke in a soft rasp, “Ser Cole, are you still here?” He laughed at her silly question, replying, “As always, can��t trade me out like the Cargylls.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Criston?”

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

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

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

“What’s that supposed to mean princess?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was enough.

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

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

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

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

“Come Cole, we need to have a word.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you, I love you,” she sighed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#hotd fanfic #ser criston cole x reader #criston x reader #criston cole x reader #hotd fic #hotd smut #my shnookums incel knight #incel knight

[stryshttu]

Hello arkhamverse scriddler nation!!! Take this one-shot about Edward being called a simp by Arkham Knight

preview teehee:

#scriddler #arkhamverse #scriddlerfanfic #ao3 link #arkham scarecrow #arkham riddler #arkham knight #Jon and Eddie are married here #and Ed is a good husband but Arkham Knight always saw him as an incel

[gacha-incels]

gacha game Astra Knights of Veda, also known as Dragon Blaze 2, apologizes to its misogynist fans who were shocked and scandalized upon seeing illustrations that included hands in their natural resting or holding shape- the 🤏. I had never heard of this game so I looked up the developers that are mentioned in that yellow banner:

I agree with this person who said this type of reaction reaction is similar to conspiracy theorists talking about the Illuminati

The images that had these fans passed out on their fainting couches:

#Astra knights of veda #Dragon blaze 2 #Korean gacha #korean incel #Hybe #flint

[vibesaresubjective]

Archaic, iconic, dudes' reaction to "no" in a short story designed to help women feel empowered over creeps who make them feel unsafe.

#feminism #incel #dragon #princesses #knights #people

[salsflore]

what upsetting stuff r u seeing... i will beat the shit out of it 4 u!!!!

HI AGAIN JACKIE also its ok srsly !! its not like anything triggering it’s just like “Dude™️” stuff. like super silly miniscule stuff i’ll forget in like a day or two (^^;)ゞ i see these kind of things very often but they don’t make much of a lasting impact rlly so u don’t need to go crazy ( u’d be arrested. i am not bailing you out! ) over it, it’s not important enough to me lol

#⠀new message received !⠀ #⠀var (b ᵔ▽ᵔ)b⠀ #jackie my white knight real #just not an incel

[rotzaprachim]

writing a scene right now with syril karn and just trying to get him to the level of ridiculously cartoonish and threatening at the same time 

#syril versus jyn is this whole showdown we never see but like. #the whole thing with him is i wanna see him be knocked on his ass again and again #but he has a little too much power to actually be that actually BE a flat cartoon #no one takes him seriously not even the empire but he's still convinced of his purpose AND he has a gun #and he feels /exactly/ like the kind of uh... white knight saviour meet incel guy who'se like #this woman whose house i'm in whilst holding a gun seems nervous??? whelp must be her husband i'm gonna deal with him #anyway! 1930's au #smote the water with a two by four

[tiredbitchposts]

Shen Qingqiu/ Shen Yuan: got unrestricted acess to the internet too young, fell for the the anime fan to incel pipeline, says he has never flirted with a girl because he's convinced all of them want a "chad", gets weirdly defensive about Chad's taste in women, has been told he sounds like chad's jealous girlfriend

Shen Qingqig/Shen Jiu: the only male femcel there is, og male hater, hates them to the point of concern, found out about the femcel side of the internet after a post where he slaughtered the entire male species on a unpopular opinion subreddit went viral on those parts

Liu Qingge: Not an incel, is not in any social media but his sister is, has had pictures of him taken from his sister's account and posted to incell forums as examples of what a "chad" is, still doesn't get bitches

Luo Binghe: had a very concerning teacher crush blog in his youth, got rejected by said teacher, became a weird mix of a coquette romantized bpd girly and an incel with deep self hatred, technically a vocel since he actually could get bitches if he stopped stalking his teacher

Shang Qinghua: Makes a lot of incel content so people assume he's one, he's not, actually gets bitches with his hamster charm and sleazy used car salesman aura, he just knows his audience

Liu Mingyan: Femcel, also fell for the anime fan to incel pipeline, doesn't exactly want a world without Men but wants them to leave her the hell alone to write her yaoi smut in peace

Yue QingYuan: Simp, white knight, literally only ever got a job so he could financially support the object of his interest, can be found saying "You're completely correct" on Shen Jiu's misandrist hot takes, one time Shen Jiu accidently liked one of his comments and it made his week

#shen qingqiu #shen yuan #shen jiu #luo binghe #liu qingge #shang qinghua #airplane shooting towards the sky #Yue QingYuan #liu mingyan #svsss #scum villain #scum villans self saving system

[perlelune]

Tag, You’re It | Ethan Landry | ii.

Happy, carefree college days meet their abrupt end when every guy who approaches you mysteriously turns up dead.

Warnings: NON-CON, Stalking, Bimbo!Reader, Clueless Reader, Loss of Virginity, Incel Ethan, Cheerleader Reader, Skin Carving (w/knife), Canon Typical Slashing, Voyeurism, Kidnapping

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

The party’s already in full swing when you arrive at the OKB house. While getting ready, you lost track of time. Putting the finishing touches on your hair and nails took longer than you planned. 

You dodge the bodies swaying to the loud music to make your way to your friends through the swirling blue lights. 

Mindy spots you right away and waves at you. 

"Not bad, freshman," she praises as you twirl in front of her and Mindy to show off your nurse costume decorated with splashes of fake blood.  

They’re both sprawled on the couch, limbs twined. Expectedly, only Anika made the effort to don anything resembling a costume, a pumpkin-colored hat with a bloody knife poking out of it sitting atop her head. 

Mindy even bothering to come considering what happened the last time she attended a frat party is already a huge effort on her part. 

You chat for some time, sharing the latest news regarding your friends. 

 You learn that apparently Tara got into it with her sister…again.

A lot of tension has built between the two of them lately, Sam’s protectiveness clashing with Tara’s craving for independence. 

Maybe Sam’s been overdoing…but who can blame her?

Those two have been through hell and back. 

"Have you guys seen Connor?" 

While you attempt to sound casual, even tossing a shrug, Mindy sees right through you and flashes you a teasing grin. 

"One-track minded, huh?"

Your face warms. "Sorry, I just…I really looked forward to seeing him."

Anika gives your hand an encouraging squeeze. 

"It’s okay, babe. To be young and in love."

"And horny," Mindy adds, dragging a quick eye over your outfit as her smile broadens. 

Her comment sparks more heat in your cheeks. Sure, things between you and Connor are growing steamier. But you don’t want to rush anything. You like him, and you want your first time to be special, romantic.

"I’ll see you guys later."

"Have fun," Mindy says, waving her beer bottle at you.

Your search resumes and you grow nervous, pondering if Connor is even in attendance. Maybe you missed him. Downsides of running late. 

Damn you and your tendency to spend hours dolling yourself up. 

 As you wander across the room, you nearly crash into a familiar broad, muscular back.

An easy smile creeps on your face when your friend turns to face you. 

"Hi."

"Hey, looking good."

"You too, cowboy."

You’re pretty certain Chad’s never looked bad a day in his life. There’s a reason why he’s the most popular player on the team, and one of the most sought-after guys at Blackmore. Well…several, starting with the fact that his hotness is only matched by his unwavering kindness to everybody he meets. 

You suppose if you hadn’t known him for so long, you’d harbor a crush on him too. But you’re too familiar with Chad to see him in that light. You still recall when he insisted on wearing a Pokemon onesie for nearly a year. You used to watch cartoons with him and Mindy as children, play together. He’s even tried to get you into Magic: The Gathering at some point but you couldn’t understand how the game works so he gave up. He’s like the brother you never had. 

"So I hear you've met Ethan. He's cool, right?" He throws his muscular arm around Ethan’s neck affectionately. "A whole snack he is. Look at him." An endearing tinge of red decorates Ethan’s cheeks, his gaze fleeing yours. 

It draws a smile from you. You’re glad they’re getting along. 

You tilt your head, gauging his appearance. Confusion fills you.

You’re not exactly sure what Ethan’s costume is supposed to be. A knight perhaps? Either way, it’s original and it suits him.

"Hey again," you greet. 

He lifts two bashful fingers as a response, returning your smile.

"Yeah. I appreciate him helping me out."

Ethan’s chestnut gaze widens at your words. 

College’s busy enough for everyone. It’s incredible of him to offer some of his free time to help you out when it doesn’t benefit him in any way. 

Ethan opens his mouth as if he were about to say something but, before he can speak, someone taps you on the shoulder, beckoning your attention. 

You pivot in your high heels.

Your chest floods with warmth at the sight welcoming you. 

"Hey, gorgeous," Connor hums, giving you an appreciative onceover that turns your legs into jelly. His voice lowers as he approaches you. "I’ve been looking for you all night. Where have you been?"

Your heart skips a beat at his closeness, the scent of his masculine cologne and his mesmerizing blue eyes overwhelming you. 

"Just ran a bit late," you mumble. 

His hooded gaze takes you in as he suggests, "Well, you’re here now. Wanna go hang out in my car?"

Pursing your mouth, you hesitate. 

"I…I don’t know. Is that safe? Mindy says it’s always best to stay in crowded-"

He halts your explanation with a hand under your chin. Bewildered, you gawk at him. 

His pearly whites shimmer in the dusky blue and green hues saturating the room. 

"Do you trust me, gorgeous?"

You blink up at him, dazed and lost in the sea of his gaze. 

"Y-Yes, I do."

"I’ll keep you safe. I promise. Come on."

His hand engulfs yours as Connor begins to drag you toward the exit.

Chad’s deep, concerned voice interrupts the abrupt getaway. 

"Are you sure?" His forehead creases as he inches closer. "You don’t have to do anything you don’t want. You know that, right?" 

At first, you’re a bit confused. 

Then you remind yourself he’s just being protective. Both he and Mindy share that trait. In fact, her attentive eyes carve a searing dent in your skin from the other side of the room. 

Usually, you adore that about them, how caring they are. But right now, you find it a bit much. 

Connor isn’t a threat. He’s just the guy you like, not a serial killer. 

You place a placating hand on Chad’s arm. 

"It’s fine. I trust him. Catch you later, okay?"

He gives a belated nod, his jaw clenching as he stares Connor down, before letting you walk away. 

You wave Ethan goodbye but are somewhat dejected when he stares at you and doesn’t reply, his blank expression unreadable.

Both you and Connor step outside. 

Moonlight bathes the damp pavement in silvery light as you trail behind him. 

He wastes no time once you’ve reached his expensive sports car, pinning you against the hood and kissing you senseless. 

"Fuck, been dying to do this ever since I saw you in that slutty costume," he purrs against your temple. His hands begin to roam over you, impatient fingers fondling your curves. 

When he sneaks under your short dress and tugs at the waistband of your panties, you push against his chest. 

A sudden tide of discomfort swells inside you. 

"Connor…wait. This is going a little fast for me," you giggle.

Ignoring your protests, he keeps kissing you and even turns things up a notch by grabbing a fistful of your ass. You gasp. 

"Just relax. I won’t hurt you, gorgeous."

His weight presses against you, a sizzling cage of need you can’t escape. Tears prick at your eyes. 

"Connor, please…" you whimper.

Annoyance ripples in his tone as the grip on your rear gets firmer. 

"How you’re gonna be a fucking cocktease then give me blue balls, come on, gorgeous."

His tone is light but your chest is heavy. This isn’t how tonight was supposed to go. You hoped Connor would be gentle and nice. 

This isn’t nice. 

And you’re starting to feel a little scared. As the taut bulge in his crotch rubs at your front, your stomach knots.

But things don’t get to wander any further.

In fact, they hit a sudden stop as Connor stills against you. Your brows knit. 

As he chokes on his own breath, blood gushes from his mouth, painting the front of your costume crimson. 

Your eyes widen as his head lolls before he slumps to the pavement with a heavy thud. 

Time stands still when your gaze lifts. 

Your heart slams against your ribcage.

A tall figure clad in black and donning a Ghostface mask is now standing before you.

The blood rushing in your veins makes your ears ring.

The stranger cocks his head, studying you for a few seconds before pouncing on Connor’s prone form like a starved hyena. 

Horror-struck, you gawk as the stranger rains vicious stab after vicious stab upon Connor's writhing body. Each strike draws a shudder from you, more violent than the last and causing scarlet rivers to flow from every part of Connor. 

The world becomes red. 

A scream bubbles in your throat but remains trapped in it, shock striking you mute. 

When Connor's body stops moving, the sickening squish of the blade twisting out of his mangled flesh reaches you. 

With the knife in his hand still dripping blood, its crimson hue catching the moonlight, the killer rises to his feet. 

His focus travels to you. Your insides coil, deadly anticipation gripping you as tight as a fist. 

A gravelly, distorted voice rises beneath the mask. 

"This is the part where you run, princess."

Right…

It’s what happens in those horror movies Mindy had you watch with her, you think. The characters run away, fighting whatever’s chasing them with all their might. 

It’s the sensible thing to do. 

And you want to move. You should move. But you can't. 

Even breathing is toilsome, stilted whimpers and gasps spilling from your chest instead. 

All you can do is peer into the pupil-less gaze of the mask as you crumble into a quivering, sobbing heap onto the pavement. 

The killer inches closer and it's as if your heart jumps out of your chest. 

His blade kisses the trembling flesh of your throat, right above your racing pulse. 

Languid tears roll down your face as he traces your jugular. 

Cool metal slices past your collarbone, to your rapidly heaving chest. 

The song of the night yields to the symphony of fear echoing in your ears. Every scattered heartbeat. Every uneven breath. Every desperate sob.

A sharp stinging blooms in your delicate flesh as he carves oblong patterns on your breast with his knife. 

His motions are slow and focused, as if your skin’s the canvas and his blade the brush. 

Paralyzed, you don’t move. His cloaked figure bends and blurs in your misty vision, more monster than man in the scarce light provided by the street lamps.

He slants his head when he’s done, admiring his handiwork. 

This must be it, you infer, the moment all of it ends. 

Your eyes quake shut as you wait for the inevitable blow. 

You wait… An eternity it seems. 

For the blood. For the agony. For the darkness. 

Yet nothing comes. 

When you open your eyes, Ghostface is gone, the only nightmarish vision before you being that of Connor's body lying unmoving on the pavement. 

You pay no attention to the chaos around you as you pull the thin blanket closer to your frame.

The lights of the ambulance twinkle in your hazy sight. 

Amidst the chatter of shocked students standing in the street behind the yellow tape, the whispers of reassurance of Mindy and Tara fade to white noise in your ears. 

Numb, you gawk as they drag Connor’s body away on a gurney.

For some silly reason, you keep expecting him to rise again, to not be dead.

Because this cannot be real.

This cannot have happened. 

The police ask you a barrage of questions and you give mechanical answers. None of them help and they grow frustrated with you, sparking a heated argument between your friends and the stubborn cop. 

"I’m just doing my job," he insists, raising his hands when Chad gets in his face.

If it weren’t for Detective Bailey vouching for you, you’re not entirely sure you wouldn’t be sitting in the back of a patrol car right now. 

"Can’t you see the kid’s traumatized. She doesn’t know anything," he berates one his co-worker who seemed unwilling to accept your version of events. 

The one where you froze and Ghostface somehow let you live with only a strangely shaped scar on your chest as a souvenir. The one the medic commented looked a little like a heart. 

Absently, you pat the gauze covering the healing wound. 

It's weird…but it hurts your head to ponder why this occurred. The only emotion you can process is the crippling guilt consuming you. 

You’re alive while Connor's cold body is on its way to the morgue.

Your friends gather around you, their warmth chasing away the night’s chill. While Tara and Mindy sit next to you on the pavement, Chad stands protectively in front of you. 

"I-I didn’t do anything, Tara. I just let him…" Your voice cracks, withering into a sob. 

The arm around your shoulder gets tighter.

"Hey, don’t talk like that. It’s not your fault," she feverishly responds.

You open your mouth to argue but close it once it dawns on you that all the energy’s been drained from your body. There is none left in you.

Still, you can’t help but disagree. If it were Tara, her sister, or even Mindy, you bet they’d have fought tooth and nail instead of shrinking and crying like you did. 

You’re the weak link in your group. Not smart enough, or strong enough. 

The thought makes you sob harder. 

Mindy rubs circles on your back. 

You cast a quick glance around before your tearful gaze finds hers. 

"Where’s Anika?"

"She went home. She’s not great with blood. She sends her love though."

You nod at that. If you could, you’d be home too, hugging your stuffed bear and trying your best to forget this awful night ever happened. 

Chad’s irate tone startles you out of your fog. 

"Speaking of people not being here… where the hell is Ethan?" 

You blink up at him, confused as he and Mindy trade a pointed, heavy look.

You don’t get it. 

Sure, Ethan’s new to the group, and the twins are slow to give their trust. You know that. But Ethan? He’s entirely too sweet and kind to have anything to do with this…Right?

Ethan wouldn’t. You’re sure of it. 

~

#ethan landry #dark!ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry x bimbo!reader #ethan landry x you #scream 6 #scream vi #scream

[immortalthunderstorm]

Criston Cole and Fandom Perception

There seems to be this idea that Criston's character and motivation solely revolves around Rhaenyra, which seems to be a fandom-wide belief. I won't deny that she plays a part on his development, but even that is more about who he is than what she means to him.

I'll provide my personal interpretation.

The overarching theme for Criston, something that was deeply explored by Jaime as well (who in the books refers to Criston as a man of duality), is that the idea of knightly valour in theory is rarely applicable in practice. A knight in theory is meant to be honour-bound, fearless, principled and chivalrous, obey each of their vows. Their name and the Ser they have earned is a badge of prowess and honour.

Especially the Kingsguard, having sworn off all "earthly" pleasures in order to serve their monarch for life, have a deep sense of focus on this as their duty is a singular one, while also having sworn their knightly vows before their Kingsguard ones. The Kingsguard is seen as this incorruptible, elite force of the very best of knights, a high office to have and the dream of even many of the highborn knights. The societal regard for this office is also very high.

Criston is not highborn. He's the son of a steward, Dornish, and unlike many highborn sons who are trained and fostered to rise the ranks and bring glory to their already established name at tourneys, he had to get there the hard way. The show makes this explicitly clear in the scene where Otto suggests choosing a knight with a good name to the Kingsguard, and Rhaenyra chooses Criston for his real experience (points can be made that she's also attracted to him, or impressed by his tourney feats, but she is not in the wrong here. Most knights at this time have never seen real battle, as Rhaenys says to Corlys)

His vows represent everything he has accomplished for himself "all that [he] has to [his] name" - his entire self worth.

Criston's speech on the boat is not about him being in love with Rhaenyra. He explicitly says he thinks it's the only way to wash the stain off his honour and name. He's desperate and of course it's a bad plan, but it's the only way out he sees with the prospect of death and torture now looming over his head in ever waking hour (see Ser Lucamore the Lusty). That's why he's so jumpy the whole episode and the next. He's paranoid about being exposed, and that's why he's so angry that Rhaenyra simply wants him to be her "whore". She's not in love with him either, it's all just about sex for her while it's a life or death situation for him. That's why he breaks down to Alicent so quickly and almost unprovoked, and confesses and asks for a swift death.

"I took an oath. As a knight of your Kingsguard. An oath of chastity. I've broken it. I've soiled my white cloak. And it's the only thing I have to my fսcking name! I thought if we were married, I might be able to restore it."

His devotion for Alicent also isn't primarily motivated by his dislike for Rhaenyra. To him, she's his second chance to live up to his ideals. She's his "Lady of Honour", the person he sees as the perfect example of a dutiful woman (as fostered by the society they live in) . Her he can chain his own sense of honour to, safely devote himself to without conflicting feelings, and be his idealistic version of what a white knight should be.

I'm not saying his behaviour is logical, knightly hypocrisy is one of the central themes across GRRM's work, but it's a lot more complex than what a lot of people make it out to be (everything is about Rhaenyra)

I'm also tired of this situation being simplified to "he's just an angry Incel" by this fandom. It's much deeper than that and I don't get the absolute demonisation of Criston who's a very complex character.

People just love to look for some ulterior reasons to justify their hatred for a him. It's absolutely fine to dislike Criston if they want, but applying these pseudo-psychological frameworks to him is getting old very quickly.

He is not an incel, he pretty much tells Rhaenyra he's been with at least a couple women before joining the Kingsguard, and it's not like he's angry at her because she doesn't want to sleep with him, on the contrary she pretty much offers him to be his 'paramour' and he gets upset because he doesn't want to be used for sex at the risk of his life. The whole point is his extreme sense of honour and paranoia of breaking his vows.

Similarly the Madonna-Whore complex doesn't check out because this only applies to his dislike for Rhaenyra, not sexually active women in general. Criston hates one (1) woman and that's more for personal reasons than religious extremism - he's very respectful and polite to the prostitute in ep 9, does not treat her as someone lesser or sullied or sinful despite being religious. He pretty much says to Aemond that all women should be treated with respect.

This man insults one woman (who he has personal beef with) once, and immediately apologises for it, yet the fandom seems hellbent on him being some raging misogynistic incel.

(If we want to start throwing stones, Daemon calls people bitches, whores and cunts in almost every episode lol.)

#criston cole #ser criston cole #Criston Cole defence squad #anti team black #pro team green #team green #hotd #house of the dragon #anti rhaenyra targaryen #It isn't even but I am covering my arse here #anti daemon targaryen #look I'm not saying any of these people are morally righteous #But can we as a fandom collectively stop reducing characters to one dimensional stereotypes #and while we're at it perhaps also lay off the internet buzzwords we love to use but don't really understand

[crimsonbastard]

Daemon Targaryen:

Kills his first wife by beating her to death with a rock. Mocks her and her family when the latter confront him about her death.

Doesn't care much about his second wife which leads to her questioning herself whether she was good enough for him. Refuses to let her return to her home. Ignores his daughters. Laughs at her funeral and fucks his niece at the night of her funeral itself.

Dry humps his niece in a brothel and abandons her there, leaving her vulnerable. Proceeds to fuck his niece at the day of his second wife's funeral and marries her the next day. Does not stay by her side when she's suffering a miscarriage and doesn't offer her comfort after the stillbirth and then proceeds to choke the said niece when she refuses to go to war and actually wants to consider diplomacy.

Ser Criston Cole:

Has sex with Rhaenyra despite not wanting it considering the unequal power dynamic. Which leads to him falsely assuming that the latter loves him and isn't just using him for sex.

When he finds out that he's actually being used for sex, which made him realise that he soiled his white cloak for nothing, he breaks down. He realises that he has made a mistake that might cost him his life and honour which eventually drove him to commit suicide. Harbors a deep rooted hatred for Rhaenyra. Calls her a Spoilt C**nt.

Criston has every right to hate Rhaenyra. She, albeit unknowingly, drove him to suicide. That does not mean that he's a misogynist. A misogynist is someone who is prejudiced against women. Criston does not hate Rhaenyra because she's a woman. He hates Rhaenyra for what she drove him to.

He's also not an Incel. An Incel is short for "Involuntary Celibate", basically men who are frustrated over not getting sex and take it out on women, a sub-set of misogyny. Criston is a member of the Kings Guard and he took a vow of celibacy, basically he's voluntarily fucking celibate. Rhaenyra made him break that vow (cause who can deny the princess?). It's not like he can't get Sex. Y'all were thirsting over Criston before episode 5. He's a handsome man, he's a knight and he can get sex if he wants if it weren't for his oath as a member of the Kings Guard. The white cloak is the only thing that he has to his fucking name and Rhaenyra made him soil that. That's a completely valid reason for him to hate her. It does not make him an Incel.

It's almost as if People hate Criston for switching to Team-Green (the more interesting team) and "abandoning" Rhaenyra more than anything.

Daemon on the other hand is a walking red-flag who also has a big ass red dragon. He takes what he wants and leaves the ashes when he's done and expects others to clean it up. And yet he's seen as this male-wife, feminist icon.

#anti team black #anti daemon stans #anti daemon targaryen #anti rhaenyra targaryen #anti rhaenyra stans #team green #ser criston cole #pro criston cole

[bucknastysbabe]

Okayyyy but a thot that’s living rent free in my head right now is Criston returning to the keep from battle and he’s all dirty, covered in mud, blood, cuts n bruises and the first thing he does is fuck you like a wild animal

A/N: BARK YES AWOOOO YES👹👹So I’m using I guess a nameless oc but I’ve written two other fics w her. Aemond’s twin reader. Angry bitey sort.

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Rough sex, pnv!sex, Targtower!reader, age difference, breeding kink, toxic couple, insults, dirty talk, caretaking afterward, DIRTY NASTY MUD AND BLOOD AND ASH BOINKING, they’re possessive as fuck and mean but in love OKAY

You were wrapping up a wound on your arm, already down to the barest of clothing. The approaching clopping of hooves sounded from outside the tent. It was him, returned from the last vestiges of battle, likely was giving orders for the final leg. Criston stepped inside the tent, slinging a helmet to the side with a sharp crack.

He was bloodied and bruised— ash from dragonfire and dirt from the battlefield caking his white armor and tan skin. He never looked more gorgeous. Your mentor oft said the same thing, loving the smell of the battle on your skin. You tidied up the wrappings and asked, “Need anything?”

He eyed your arm and gruffed, “No. M’fine. What happened?”

You shrugged, “Little Darry prick nicked me. He didn’t last much longer. We near Harrenhal by morn.” You held back the shudder at the remembrance of the melted down towers in the distance. He stepped closer, taking your wounded arm in a gloved hand, dark brows furrowing. Criston idly sighed, “Sometimes I do wish you didn’t have the thirst for blood. Keep you up in my tower.”

You pecked his lips, smirking at his serious expression. Teasingly you replied, “Ah yes. The Lord Commander and Hand of the King keeps his liege’s sister as a mistress. That would be great. You know we’re meant to die on the field.”

Criston grabbed your waist roughly, pulling you tight against his armored frame. He pressed his forehead to yours, growling, “I hate when you say that. Let me take you now. Enjoy the victory.” He nipped your bottom lip and held out his arms. It was like second nature unbuckling his armor.

His gauntlets fell with a soft clank. You moved to remove the pauldrons but a rough hand stopped yours. Criston shook his head and ordered, “No, now, said I need you now.” He flipped your lithe frame onto the battle table, hands greedily running downwards, grabbing your ass through the undone leggings

He yanked the thick leather down with a grunt, you frowning at the lack of control in the situation. You hissed, “I don’t want that armor pinching me.” He slapped an ass cheek, dismissing your complaint. You guessed he was going for the quickest route— unbuttoning what he could and unlacing breeches.

He murmured, “Gods, you’re wet already. Don’t even need to prep, spilling blood gets the princess sopping for cock.”

You exhaled sharply as his thick length entered with a slick noise. “I could say the same for you, harder than v-AH-lyrian steel back there Cole,” came your lame red-cheeked retort. He laughed and grabbed your wrists to pin at the small of your back, fucking into you with smooth glides. You regrettably whimpered and he cursed, “Shit- sorry, sorry, I’ll kill Lord Darry for you.”

“Good,” you growled, unable to glare at gorgeous dark eyes, cheek on the table. The Hand of the King and Lord Commander held your wrists in a more gingerly fashion when you tightened down on his prick. His other big hand pushed you apart to watch his ruddy cock pump in and out.

You squirmed and moaned, wanting to ride the fucker into the dirt, begging wantonly. Criston merely laughed and yanked your braids, “Take my fucking cock princess, seen you do it before. You can get your piece when we take Harrenhal from that slimy prick Daemon.” The man fucked rougher at the thought of your relative, blunt tip of his prick abusing the soft roof of your cunt— sending out a reeling cry.

Everyone knew you were fucking Criston. Or when he was fucking you. Made no difference in war. You just wished he’d take off that damn white cloak so he could be yours only. No dirtied oaths or lies. Rutting in tents like animals. A proper bed.

When did you get so soft and syrupy?

It made a bit more sense when your lover was grabbing both sides of your slim hips, panting, “Fucking hell, hah, never had anyone as perfect as my girl. Being so good for me, gods.” He trailed off into nonsensical moans and babbling, hips still roughly snapping, fingertips driving into your flesh.

You reached back to grab a thicker wrist, rasping, “Turn me the fuck around so I can see you!” The Dornishman slid out suddenly, an embarrassing whine echoing in the tent at the feeling of emptiness. Calloused hands manhandled you around, perching your bare ass on the edge of the wood.

He slid back in just as soon as he left, smirking. Long fingers held your chin, another hand at the small of your back. You wrapped your legs around his slim waist, holding his intense gaze. Criston growled, “S’that better my love? Godsdamn spoilt.” He grinned against your lips, noses nuzzling.

You gripped at shorn hair, internally lamenting the loss of his glossy curls. Another casualty of war. Breathing against his curved lips, you took a nip of his lower lip, drawing blood. He groaned deep, hips stuttering as your tongues and lips intertwined with the tang of iron.

“You’re such an ass,” you moaned, barely heard. Criston slapped your cheek again, harder this time, digging his hips brutally into yours. His cock was nestled against your damn cervix, rubbing fractious nerves. He spoke quickly, speeding up the pace to a frantic rhythm, “And you’re a slut for my cock, loves dirty blood, just like her.”

You yanked his hair hard this time, biting down on soft neck angrily. It would leave a dark mark, indents of teeth. Good. He laughed manically while you couldn’t help but lose yourself to the pleasure— as much as it made you fucking nuts to get a mention of the royal bitch. The first Targaryen he had.

Criston spoke softer this time, lips searching out your pouting ones, a big hand massaging your peaked breasts. He sighed, “You- oh fuck- you know I-I’m fuuucking gods! Fucking with you sweetness.” He blinked a couple of times, smashing his mouth to yours. Warmed armor pressed tightly to your bare skin.

He hiked one of your long legs higher, praising nonsense between heated locks of lips. You gasped, “Don’t mention the bitch again!” The little death was near now, your belly awash with tingling nerves, clit throbbing and cunt wonderfully tightening. Your next insult was drowned out by hoarse cries, the familiar raspy tone of your own voice.

How he drove you to pieces. You shook, legs twitching whilst locked around his trim waist. You cried out a final time, a high keen of his name. Slutty and drawn out— not something the ‘bloody princess’ would sound like.

Criston fared no better, somehow closing further into your frame, mouth agape. His hands found your blotchy cheeks, trying to lap and suck at your mouth but too busy grunting and moaning to do much of anything. Grabbing his firm ass you hissed, “C’mon Cole, Ser, fill me up yeah? Want to fill a royal womb?”

That was your payback for the mention of the bitch of Dragonstone. Criston wanted to breed you up so bad, own his destiny, have little princes and princesses. No more common-born marcher steward’s son. He whined through his nose, lashes fluttering.

“No- gods, sh-shut up,” he panted.

“Can’t you see it? Pretty little babes with my eyes and your hair?,” you said with a sigh, eyes moony and wet with emotions, overstimulation, the inevitable feeling of everything being a waste.

He pulled out, brows knitting in pleasure-pain, covering your belly with his hot seed as he moaned in short, desperate bursts. Criston didn’t dare slump but he pressed his sweaty forehead to your own and bemoaned, “I want it so bad.” You pressed a chaste kiss and sighed, “I know.”

He backed off, the post-orgasm plummet hitting hard. Reality. You reached around for one of his discarded shirts, gingerly hopping off the table. “Criston, sit down, quit pacing, I have some hot water over here.” He gave a mournful look, sitting down on a stool.

He remained stony while you unbuckled and unlaced his armor, undergarments. The Hand remained naked, horrid bruising lining his abdomen. You dipped the cloth in the fire-heated water and began to wipe his face, chastising, “You said you were fine.”

“I am, bruising is nothing new. You know that.”

“Pompous arse.”

“Wonder where you learned it from.”

You snickered softly, a gentle moment between you two. A side only Criston ever saw, a side unraveled really. He stared with intent, hand idly curling into your braids, the platinum turned dull ash to rust from battle. You raised a brow with a ‘Hm?’ He tugged the end of the fishtail and stated, “I love you.”

Tags: @bambitas @aemonds-holy-milk @fairysluna @sugarpoppss2 also @sylasthegrim (since you’re kinda in a cole era surprise???)

#hotd fanfic #hotd smut #ser criston cole smut #criston cole imagine #criston cole x reader #ser criston cole x reader #incel knight

[to-fly-with-clipped-wings]

A Fight Well Fought 

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader

Summary: when Hogwarts is being faced by a surge of bullies, Remus Lupin finds himself at the brunt of it. As a prefect, and a victim, he has to bring in extreme measures to get this surge under control.

And you, the knight in shining armour and self-proclaimed bully buster, are the extreme measures.

Inspired by the bully x student council member trope. I read some really great ffs with like the student council x delinquent trope and I feel so bad because I can't remember their titles for the life of me TT but my heart goes out to the authors of those books <3

Reader's house and gender is ambiguous!

—---------------------------------

“You-Know-Who is an incel.”

You sweatdropped almost immediately after you said it. Perhaps that wasn’t the best thing to say to Bellatrix Black and her gang of future death eaters, but on the other hand, you didn’t really care. Someone needed to put that daft cow in her place, and boy, had you been lined up for a long time.

The mass of curly hair that was once hovering over a sobbing first year snapped in your direction. Bellatrix’s right eye twitched as she made her way toward you, stopping inches away from your face.

“What did you just say?” she wasted no time in brandishing her wand at your throat. A shadow was cast on her face. “How dare you. You foul little no-life! How dare you speak of the Dark Lord in that manner!” You narrowed your eyes at the tip of her wand before spitting out your reply. “You heard me. He’s an incel. A loser. A joke!”

You expected her to curse you on the spot, but instead she let out a high-pitched laugh as she bent down closer to you, her breath hot on your ear. “Oh, how amusing. You really think you know anything about the Dark Lord? You really think you can - ?”

You don’t give her the chance to finish her prolonged monologue. You leaned back, curling your fingers into fists, and whirled forward, causing your knuckles to make full contact with her face.

The punch sent Bellatrix flying backwards. Her head slammed into the wall of the corridor with a loud strike, accompanied by the gasps of the portraits surrounding you. You glared at her with a deep scowl, watching as blood slowly began to seep out of her nose. You flexed your fingers, ignoring the stinging sensation that was blistering out from your hand.

Adrenaline coursed through your body. You basically thrived from it, your love for fights and conflict often resulted in an overdose of the hormone. You grinned a malevolent smile, wiping the back of your blood-stained hand over your lips; you were pretty sure you now had a streak of red painted across your face.

Rodolphus Lestrange, Bellatrix’s husband-to-be, rushed to her side, blubbering panicked words of comfort to her. You had no idea where the other members had run off to.

Listening to their quiet whimpers (well, Rodolphus’s whimpers, Bellatrix was still quite motionless), your expression falls flat into a look of deep annoyance. “It’s funny how just one punch can take you down so easily.”

Now, it was you who took out your wand. You pointed it at the couple, with a derisive taunt. “Let’s see how your precious master reacts to this. Stupef- ! ”

You were cut off by a rush of frantic footsteps headed in your direction. “A-ah! (Y/n) (L/n), right?”

You turn your head to face the new voice, still keeping your wand poised at the centre of Bellatrix’s forehead. 

Oh. Remus Lupin.

You appraised him with furrowed brows. Remus Lupin was a member of the notorious boy-band squad “the Marauders”, but from what you had gathered, he was the most tame of the group. Your eyes dropped to the shiny red prefect badge on his chest. Yep. A goody-two-shoes indeed. 

Remus skidded to a halt several steps next to your posse of four, if that’s what you would call this exchange. He was completely out of breath, steadying himself by placing his hands on his knees as he hunched over. 

Now, just what did Remus Lupin want? He was in your year-level, and in quite a few of your classes, yet you couldn’t say you were well-acquainted with him - or any of his friends, for that matter. 

Remus, rather unimpressively in your opinion, sucked in a final breath of air before standing up straight. He ran his hand through his brown head of hair and made his way next to you. 

“Black and Lestrange,” he started, his voice now enforced with authority, a stark contrast from the huffing boy you had witnessed literally seconds prior. “Harassing younger year level students, let alone any students at all, is a clear violation of the student code of conduct at Hogwarts! For that, I will be speaking with your Head of House to ensure you receive the proper punishment.” 

Wow, you thought. That sounded really scripted.

Remus paused, and added as an afterthought, “20 points from Slytherin, each.”

Rodolphus, the only one conscious between the two, twisted his ugly mug into a snarl, evidently severely displeased with Remus. “You filthy half-breed! Do we need to remind you of your place, again?” 

You internally raised an eyebrow at this. Had the Remus Lupin gotten into a fight with the ‘slytherin gang’, as the school lovely christened the huddle of death-eaters-to-be.

Rodolphus suddenly stretched his arm out, presumably to drag the other boy close to attack him. His fingers circled around Remus’s collar, ready to seize and-

Rodolphus’s head was slammed back into the wall, narrowly dodging the bombarda curse you’d just fired. He blinked rapidly, as if just remembering your presence. Your lips twitched as you saw the tremors in the hand that was holding onto the front of Bellatrix’s robes. Someone needed to put the fear of Merlin in him. Asshole. 

You sneered at him. “You and your girlfriend better get out of my sight, because I assure you that the next time I see you, I won’t miss.”

With that, Rodolphus grabbed Bellatrix and scrambled away.

You stuffed your hands in your pockets, watching the pair run away with a sense of amusement. As the supposed leaders of ‘the Slytherin gang’, you would’ve thought they’d put up more of a fight. Maybe they weren’t on the tops of their games today, you’d heard complaints that they usually do much worse. Well, whatever. It’d do you good to keep your guard up for the next few days anyways, in case they decided to jump you in the middle of the night.

The first year student, who you’d totally forgotten about during the tussle, suddenly stood up, tear stains trailing down his cheeks. He didn’t stop to acknowledge you or Remus in his haste to get the hell out of your corridor.  You rolled your eyes and sighed. Kids.  Realising that it was just you and Remus left now, you began to follow the first year boy’s cue to leave, still scowling and fiddling with the wand in your robe pockets. 

“(L/n)!” said Remus, snapping his head away from the notebook he held in his hands - when the hell did he get a notebook - and toward you. 

“You’re (Y/n) (L/n), aren’t you?” he asked, repeating his previous question.

You eyed him from your spot near the end of the hallway. “...why do you care?”

He gave you a soft smile. “I’m Remus Lupin. We’re in the same year level. I don’t think we’ve met before.” You stayed silent, blinking lazily at his tall figure.

He gave a nervous laugh. “Anyways,” he said, scratching his cheek. “I just wanted to say thanks for helping out. Bullying has gotten completely out of hand and even though we’ve been trying to catch people, it's been really difficult to get everyone. So, I just wanted to say thanks! It’s really nice of you to step in for that first year boy.”

He has a lot of scars, you noticed, staring at his face. Gazing at him, you realised that he was still staring at you expectantly. “I wasn’t doing it for him, or for you. Black and Lestrange annoy me. I wasn’t trying to help out anyone,” you answered shortly.

“Well, regardless, thank you!” he gave you a cheesy thumbs up, causing you to roll your eyes.

An abrupt thought crossed your mind. 

Remus had to have been there the whole time, right? 

The corridor you’d been in was one of the most secluded in the school. From what you knew, prefects were given small sections to patrol each night plus the fact that the confrontation between the Slytherins and the first year boy had been going on for quite a while before you stepped in. There was no way that such a loud fight (especially when one of the three was screaming at the top of her lungs) would go unnoticed by him. Hell, if you were able to hear it from the next corridor over, then there was almost no evidence that Remus wouldn’t have known about it before.

You let your gaze settle on Remus. Just what has you so scared that you can’t step in first? The question sat at the tip of your tongue. The most plausible reason was that he was afraid of being harassed by those Slytherins (not to mention that sketchy line Lestrange had shouted before. ‘Again’? Did they usually gang up to teach Remus a lesson?)

Huh. Maybe that’s why he has so many scars.

Regardless, your eyes swept Remus up and down once more before you spun around and stalked out of the corridor. It doesn’t concern me anyways.

—---------------------------------

The next time you bump into Remus, you realise that your theory-conspiracy skills were surprisingly on point.

A midnight stroll, stemming from you raiding the kitchens, had led you to a dark, dingy little room in the corner of the dungeons as well as a front row seat to what looked like a Slytherin, pure-blood ritual with Remus Lupin as the sacrifice.

One, two, you started to count in your head, three, four. 

You could make out Wilkes (from his foul stench) and Avery’s scrawny physique in the weird circle they’d formed but you had no clue who the other two were.

Wilkes had been muttering something into Remus’s ear, his hand firmly gripping the ends of his chocolate coloured hair. Remus looked quite dazed, and you realised with a start that his left eye was darkened and deeply bruised. 

Wilkes sneered and he suddenly reared back, only to bash Remus’s head into the floor. What followed was one of the loudest cracks you had ever heard, as well as the ugly cackles of the four Slytherin lackeys.

Forcing his head up, Remus raised his gaze to the roof, revealing the wound on his forehead that was beginning to drip with blood.

What happened next was quite unclear to you. 

One moment you were glaring down the group with your hand coiling around the base of your wand, and then, the next were occupied by the groaning sounds and creaking limbs of four students who’d been ungracefully tossed into a heap. 

You stood next to Wilkes, staring intensely at before raising your foot and ramming it into his face. Good Merlin, did you hope that the heel of your shoe had dug into one of his eyes. He let out a howl and he brought his hands to his face to assess the damage. But before his hands could contact his skin, your foot harshly slammed down onto his fingers once again. 

Irritation was flooding through your veins, pounding like an alarm, as you glowered down at him and his lackeys. You held out your wand, your dominant hand busted from the force of your punches, as you intended to use reducto on them (or at the very least turn him into a chicken) when a hasty thud caught your attention.

Remus had fallen over trying to stand up, his mind clearly still blurry from when the Slytherin brutes had struck his head into the ground. You watched silently as he staggered over to you, placing his hand on your shoulder in an attempt to both placate you as well as regain his balance. 

He offered you one of his small smiles. “We have to stop meeting like this.”

Your eyebrow twitched as you raked your eyes up and down his lanky figure. Aside from the wounds on his face and the slight tears on his robes, he seemed to be relatively functioning. 

You turned your gaze away from him and toward the Slytherins convulsing on the floor. “How long have they been giving you shit like this for?” From the corner of your periphery, you saw his smile falter. He didn’t answer your question, and from that you could presume that it had been going on for quite a while. 

Taking in his sullen expression, a fresh wave of anger coursed through you as you bent down to grab the hair of one of the Slytherins moping on the ground. With a satisfying ‘thwack!’, you threw a punch that left a lovely, blooming purple bruise just underneath their eye. 

Before you could crack his skull into the floor, similar to the way they had done to Remus, the said boy spoke up. “(Y/n).”

His eyes pleading with you to stop, for some Merlin-forsaken reason. Though you wanted to say that you were an independent person who took no crap from anyone, it was enough for you to drop the Slytherin’s head and stand back up.

You glanced at Remus, your eyes dropping to his busted lip. Huh. When did that happen? 

“You said there was a bullying problem,” you spoke suddenly, diverting your gaze. You scuffed the floor with your foot, where a dark red liquid was stained across the ground. 

Remus blinked, surprised that you were initiating the conversation. “Yeah. Heh. Maybe I should’ve mentioned that I knew that from first-hand experience…”

You pocketed your wand and raised your eyes to meet his. The tips of your ears burned slightly. “I’ll help. I’ll take care of it.”

And for the second time, in the span of a few days, you stalked out of the room, plotting murder in your mind and leaving Remus to his own devices.

—---------------------------------

The next time Remus bumped into you, there was at least a dozen thoughts running through his head - the loudest one of all being “what the fuck.”

There were, if he had to estimate, about twelve students dangling above you, strung up like some gruesome chain of fairy lights. It didn’t help that their eyes were shiny with tears, reminiscent of little flickering bulbs. 

You were sitting under your halo of bruised and bloodied students, apathetically scanning your nails. You only looked up when you heard him approaching.

“Lupin,” you acknowledged dryly, looking vaguely unperturbed about having beat up members of the Hogwart delinquent squad that were at least double your size.

“(Y/n),” he meekly responded, dipping his head in greeting. His eyes were fixed on the students dangling above you, swaying whenever a soft zephyr passed by. The handiwork of levicorpus, he supposed.

You frowned at the concern etched on his face. How could he still have sympathy for punks like these, when he knew first-hand the damage they'd done to the students of Hogwarts. “I took care of it.”

Noticing how he was now staring into the widened eyes of Rosier, who was hanging pleasantly upside down, you helpfully added “I know it's not all of them, but I’m working on it.”

Remus’s shoulders shook slightly as he attempted to muffle his laugh. 

“Oh,” you said, “I almost forgot.” 

You waved your wand and about 4 of the students were sent crashing down. They groaned, clutching their heads. The sudden transition from hanging upside down into foetal position must have been unsettling, but you held little sympathy for their plights.

You nudged one of them in the back (more like kicked) and they all scrambled into a bow at Remus’s feet. 

“Lupin!” it was the four Slytherins who had jumped him the other day. They spoke in almost precise synchronisation, like they’d been forced to rehearse it several times over. “We’re sorry for attacking you! We promise to never do it again! Never!”

Remus, charmingly surprised at their sudden revelation, looked over at you. You were frowning again, and you shot off a spell at Wilkes, who let out a whimper. “Lupin!” he cried out. “I’m worse than worse! A monster among men! Please accept my sincerest apologi- !“

His apology speech ended shortly as he paused to hack out blood. You death-stared him, plotting only Merlin knows what, to force him to continue his apology to Remus.

Sweat-dropping, Remus bent down and placed a hand on his shoulder. On any other day, Wilkes would have spat in his face and called him a disgusting half-breed for touching him; but this was not like any other day. Wilkes’s teary eyes met Remus’s own as he mouthed out ‘help me.’

“W-well,” Remus flashed Wilkes one of his gentle smiles - you fought the urge to ram the Slytherin bully’s skull into the portrait of Sir Ewarn the Fifth (who had been watching the scene with a vague horror in his painted eyes). “I accept all of your apologies. Just, preferably, don’t do it again. Please?”

He stood up. Some of the people you had strung up weren’t even the traditional, pureblood supremacist Slytherins, he realised. Jeez. This bullying problem had spread to all the houses. His lips twitched when he caught you scowling at Zacharias Smith (senior), a fourth year Hufflepuff notorious for stealing people’s homework assignments and hiding them in the abandoned girls’ lavatory.

You watched as the Slytherins you had released began to scramble away, and with a sigh, you let down the remaining students. Before they sprinted away, though, you stared intensely at them, reminding them to promise Remus never to torment anyone again.

Once they were all gone, you turned to Remus with an almost cheery demeanour - or at least the cheeriest he’d seen on your face so far. “I don’t think you’ll be hearing any complaints about them anytime soon!”

Remus, bless his pure soul, cracked a weak grin at you. His golden eyes furrowed as he took your hands in his. “Everytime I see you, your knuckles are always split open. Do you not get them treated?” Your somewhat happy expression had returned to its typical deadpan. “I used to go to the Hospital Wing, but after a while Madam Pomfrey got wary of how many times I would show up. Eventually, I just stopped showing up altogether.”

Wow, thought Remus, absentmindedly glancing down at your hands. (Y/n) is just a fighting spirit through and through, huh? Of course, he had his own reasons for his perpetual presence in the Hospital Wing, but that was a story for another time.

He grabbed your hand and began tugging you softly to follow along with him. 

You weren’t entirely sure if he was aware of the extensive hand holding he was doing, and it made your ears burn with embarrassment. The two of you stopped in front of a broom closet, where he leaned in to grab a roll of bandages. 

“Sorry,” he said, the corner of his eyes crinkling as he gazed upon you gingerly. “I’m not really that great with healing spells and I don’t want to use you as my guinea pig just yet.”

Merlin, you thought angrily. He needs to stop smiling like that.

Remus kneeled down in front of you. He began unravelling the roll to wrap the bandages around your knuckles in a firm, yet delicate??, way. A way, you thought, glancing off to the side as you felt your face heating up, that felt oddly specific to Remus. 

When you felt his warm touch leave yours, you glanced back down, your face starting to cool down. You flexed your fingers experimentally, pleased to see that you could still curl them into fists easily enough.

“Hey, Remus,” you said, surprising both yourself and him with the use of his first name. 

You bent down to peer closely at his face.

He made eye contact with you, and you could hear his breath hitching as he realised the distance, or lack thereof, that was between the both of you. You reached your hand out, cupping his jaw and brushing your thumb against his cheek. You could feel his face heating up at your touch.

Just as Remus’s emerald eyes began to flutter shut, you pulled back abruptly. Your ears were warm as you too took notice how close the two of you were. You quickly showed him your thumb, where a single strand of brown lay.

“Eyelash.”

—---------------------------------

“Oi! (L/n)! Sit with us!”

You spun around to face the voice who had called out for you. You were greeted by the grinning face of James Potter (who was standing way too disturbingly close to you). 

“(L/n),” he repeated. “You’re friends with Moony, yeah? You should sit with us.”

He grabbed your wrist and dragged you over to the spot at the table where the infamous Marauders had claimed for today. You opened your mouth to protest (you and Remus weren’t really friends, more like partners in crime or something along those lines), but you decided to leave it. 

You took a seat next to your (favourite) marauder, who gave you one of his insufferable, pure, tender smiles. You forced your lips into a straight line, praying to whatever higher power watching over you that no one could feel the heat radiating from your face. 

You glanced around hoping that by the time you have to look back at Remus, your face would have cooled down. Lily Evans, Marlene Mckinnon, Mary Macdonald and Alice Fortescue were seated on your other side, deeply engrossed in whatever conversation they were having. Lily Evans was sitting unusually close to the Marauders today, especially considering how much she allegedly hated them (or did, at least, before her falling out with Snape which kind of neutralised her hate for them. Slightly).

Lily caught you staring and offered you a smile and a giggle, You froze awkwardly and blinked at her greeting.

“So, (L/n),” began Sirius Black, the resident Hogwarts heartthrob. He was grinning cheekily at you. “How are you on this mighty fine day?” You deadpanned at his wack attempt at a Texan accent. “Good.” “Ah, good, good.” he sweatdropped at your lack-luster answer. “Yep. It’s great to be good.” 

You raised an eyebrow at him before glancing at Remus, who smiled sheepishly at you.

“I- we noticed how you usually sit alone during mealtimes,” he said, shoulder brushing ever so closely to yours. “I thought it would be nice if you could join us.” 

Merlin, you could feel your ears burning again.

Remus continued on, seemingly taking no notice of your internal (and external) struggles. “We’re friends now, so you’re more than welcome to sit with us if you want.” 

He finished with one of his dazzling smiles and - jeez, you had to stop getting flustered over his smallest gestures.

“I’m James Potter, in case ya didn’t know before!” James Potter announced helpfully.

“Right, and I’m Sirius Black,” he said, grinning at you. “It's siriusly great to meet’cha!”

James and Remus chuckled at the joke. You blinked awkwardly at them before swivelling your head to look at the final boy. 

“I-I’m Peter Pettigrew,” he said, smiling nervously (though his smile wasn’t nearly as cute as Rem- wait, what on earth were you thinking?!)

They all looked at you expectantly. 

“Oh.” you began ever so eloquently. “I know who all of you are. We’re in the same year level. We take most of the same classes as each other?” Seeing them stare blankly at you, you sighed. 

“Well, whatever,” said Sirius, leaning forward, a shit-eating grin on his face. “We heard, from our dear pal Moony here, that thanks to your solo vigilante efforts, Snape, Wilkes, Rosier - the entire little death-eater wannabe squad were basically prostrating on the floor, begging for forgiveness!”

“They piss me off-,” you began, wanting to repeat the same speech you had given Remus when the two of you had first met - that you didn’t care about honour, or revenge for the ickle first years who had fallen victim to their wrath - but Lily Evans suddenly cut you off.

“That was you?” she said, eyes wide. You didn’t even know she was listening to the conversation. “Like, you’re the person they’ve been talking about?”

James was practically bouncing up and down in his seat. “Tell us, Evans- the rumours!” Lily ignored him (for the most part), but she did in fact tell you the rumours. “They say that there’s been a monster of sorts attacking wandering students in the dead of night! But they only target the ones who no one really likes.” 

Marlene gasped, bringing her hands to her face. “So, you’re telling me that the other day, when I saw Lucius Malfoy sporting a black eye, that was you?”

Everyone in a five-seat radius of you was looking at you with new-found admiration. To top it all off, Remus patted your shoulder and announced “bullying at Hogwarts is at an all time low, thanks to (Y/n)!”

With that single touch, you basically combusted.

For all of your years here at Hogwarts, you’d remained fairly asocial. You’d sit by yourself during mealtimes, be the last to be partnered during group projects and stuff like that. The only socialising you ever got was when you beat the crap out of your enemies. 

How were you supposed to know that your enemies also happened to be everyone else’s enemies?

But still, it had all unfurled to where you were now.

And so, surrounded by Remus and the rest of your new friends, you found your lips twitching into the smallest of smiles.

—---------------------------------

It had been a few months now, since that first time you had run into Remus. And it was now, that we would be witnessing your final fight.

You were standing behind Remus, hands stuffed in pockets as per usual, whilst the boy gave his usual lecture on why not to bully others (well, ignoring the fact that you were essentially a bully now too pretty much).

Remus waved off the fifth year student you had cornered prior before turning to face you with a great smile.

Remus hadn’t been touched for the last few months either. Not with you, basically standing around as his bodyguard. Even a wrong glance at the boy would result in your death-stare gracing the halls of Hogwarts. 

“That was it,” you began, your voice quiet and hoarse.

Remus blinked at you.

You coughed. “I mean, that was the last one. There are no more delinquents left.”

“Ah,” he said. “I see.”

He exhaled, seeming to work up the courage to do something. Then, he leaned forward, taking your hands into his and smiling earnestly at you. “Well, then. Thanks, (Y/n), for putting up with me and being my partner in crime for so long. It’s been really great having you with me, a-and I’m glad we could work together.”

He laughed his little nervous laugh, the one that he usually did, and you were pretty sure that your heart rate had tripled.

Yeah, you wanted to say, but the words died coming out of your throat. Me too. We make a great pair.

Your final fight wasn’t one you were expecting. It wasn’t one that involved you beating anyone up or stringing them upside down. Instead-

You took a shaky breath, cursing yourself for getting so flustered over Remus’s words. Your fingers furled into their typical fist shapes, but rather than them swinging back (like they typically would), you rested them softly on his chest.

Ah. So your heart wasn't the only one having palpitations right now.

“(L/n)...?” Your hands gripped the front of his robes as you shut your eyes and pressed your lips to his. You can basically feel him falter against you at your action, but almost just as quickly his own lips begin to move. 

His kiss was gentle, and very, very unsure. You move your hands to the back of his neck, to press him impossibly closer to you. You don’t know what’s going on, but all you know is Remus. Remus, Remus, Remus your heart is quite literally singing.

That revelation - the one where you realise that the only reason your heart was beating was because of him - literally shoots spikes of warmth through your body. The tips of your ears are red-hot, and you were pretty sure that you were seconds away from overheating. You glance to the side, trying to hide your face from Remus.

Nevermind. Your eyes flickered back toward him. He looked dazed, and he brought his hand to brush softly against his lips. He met your gaze and you could see the blush rising to his face. He cupped his cheeks, darting away from you as you had previously done. 

You, laughing - yes, laughing - took his hands in yours once more and allowed your lips to finally reunite. 

A fight well fought, indeed.

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #delinquent #harrypotter #remus lupin #the marauders era #remus x reader #marauders #first kiss #fluff #fighting #magic #remus lupin x gn reader #remus lupin x gryffindor reader #remus lupin x slytherin reader #remus lupin x ravenclaw reader #remus lupin x hufflepuff reader #a fight well fought remus x reader #a fight well fought remus lupin x reader #a fight well fought #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #To fly with clipped wings

[horizon-verizon]

“It’s only a 5 second clip, there’s no context”, sorry but there’s no excuses, Rhaenyra literally shaking and being visibly terrified of her husband is all we need to know.

Talked about this HERE.

Not to mention that it substantiates epi 10's choking scene that I argued was always about abuse. And HotD's predilection to use unsubstantiated and extra scenes of violence against women--bc most that wasn't even in the book or can be argued as having been there--to create more drama and shock value. and to appeal to the "the Targs were the most evil people who almost brought the Westerosi to their knees".

So yeah, I will "judge" a fucking "3-second" clip, even if it's just the HotD or HBO teams trying to get people talking. If you feel that DV is a great way to get people hyped about the show, reducing DV to a marketing ploy as if it isn't already undermined as a serious offense against women bc women are blamed for it (without bringing relief to the female victim in the show who is getting abused, it's just voyeuristic torture), then you are still also minimizing DV for money. You are still undervaluing rape as an "everyday unfortunate thing", using it so casually FOR MONEY. Abuse & r*pe become capitalist playthings.

Like, think about it! They expect us to believe that Criston is from Dorne or has a Dornish parent when there has been no show!proof bc:

other than Alicent saying he is Dornish based on looks alone, we have had no background scenes on Cole's life before going to KL nor do we see any courtier discriminating against him for his Dornishness (even Otto in epi 2 could be said to look down on his lower, noble classed no money-having assed self...bc Cole is still a nobleman, just a lesser one)

not only do not all Dornish looks "swarthy" and even if his mom was Dornish she'd more likely be the paler version who Daeron I calls "stony" (those who are the closest to the Dondarrions & Blackhaven , where Cole comes from), TWoIaF and F&B both call him a Marcher knight. Not a Dornish one.

So we are meant to think Criston Dornish with little to no proof AND knowing that he was never Dornish by canon. So show!Rhaenyra was taking advantage of a PoC man (the Dornish are not PoCs, they are "spicy" white people-equivalents, even the Martells). But we're also meant to think show!Daemon is either not being abusive nor that it's such a big deal bc "he was always mean to be an abuser". Criston isn't an incel, but Daemon was always an abuser of Rhaenyra...

Watch how some fans will also say that Rhaenyra deserves to get smacked around bc she "raped" and manipulated Criston & is a danger to men everywhere!

We don't think such things are bleeding into and have informed the writers into making Rhaenyra, Rhaena (tiktok and HERE), Rhaenys all diluted and isolated versions of themselves?!!! Same as with the whole Velaryons are paternity test and Laena choosing to kill herself shit!

#hotd featurette #asoiaf asks to me #hotd sexism #hotd writing #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra's characterization #rhaenyra and daemon #daemon targaryen #daemon's characterization #hotd critical #hotd wrongs

[gacha-incels]

gacha game Astra Knights of Veda AKA Dragon Blaze 2 (and aka to google translate “become a star”) again has edited every piece of artwork that their delicate flower male fanbase couldn’t handle due to seeing any hand shape resembling 🤏. Honestly more than anything I find their second paragraph disturbing and worrying. This is also the game posted about earlier that is being invested in and overseen by Hybe.

The images being changed, directly from the post, are as follows:

if you want to know what women look like in this game, of course it’s like this 🙄

#astra knights of veda #dragon blaze 2 #korean incel #Korean gacha #hybe #hybe IM

[kopfkino-o]

In Defense of Azriel: A Dissertation, Part One

One thing I see a lot within this fandom is the suggestion that Azriel, somehow, feels entitled to Elain, that he is some raging incel or some torture-loving freak or a white knight only interested in pursuing unattainable women, etc etc. And I am just not okay with that.

Azriel is SUCH a nuanced character and the fact so many people fail to see the context of his personality, his role within the narrative, and the obvious themes SJM is using in regard to his character is just... baffling to me. Especially when he has the potential to be such a powerful male character with an important story that deserves to be told.

So here we go, I'm defending Azriel with my whole chest. This is obviously a pro-Azriel post with pro-Elriel undertones, so if that isn't your thing then SCROLL.

Thx love you all bye.

1) Azriel suffers greatly with his sense of self-worth, so much so he thinks he is deserving of nothing.

We learn first from Mor that Azriel thinks so little of himself, no doubt a direct symptom of his childhood, that he harbors a deep sense of unworthiness. So much so that even if he were a prince, even if the woman he loved (I question this, but that is a whole other post I'll save for later, so I digress) stripped naked before him he wouldn't feel worthy enough to act.

"The issue, actually, wouldn't be me. It'd be him. I could peel off my clothes right in front of him and he wouldn't move an inch. He might have defied and proved those Illyrian pricks wrong at every turn, but it wouldn't matter if Rhys makes him Prince of Velaris--he'll still see himself as a bastard-born nobody, and not good enough for anyone. Especially me." - Mor, ACOMAF, Chapter 52

I think this is a great line to turn to when trying to understand the value Az places on himself. Mor says it herself, she could strip naked for him and he would still see himself as undeserving, still see himself as someone who shouldn't be granted the chance to have her affection. If he feels his way with Mor, someone who he supposedly has loved for centuries (again, I question this lol), then I think it's fair to claim he probably sees himself this way with all women.

This feels like the furthest thing from entitlement to me.

We can also see this inclination towards self-loathing come up again in the ACOSF Az bonus chapter when he gifts the necklace to Elain for the first time.

"He knew it was wrong, but there he was, sliding the necklace around her. Letting his scarred fingers touch her immaculate skin." - Azriel, ACOSF, Bonus Chapter (1 of 2)

These thoughts don't come from him thinking that he and Elain are wrong for wanting to be together, that their shared moment of affection (both now and as hinted at by the "This was the furthest it had ever gone" line) is wrong, but rather from this innate feeling of unworthiness. Az sees himself as nothing (see point below) and cannot fathom why someone like Elain, lovely Elain who resembles hope and the sun at dawn, would ever stop and see him. Give him her time, her offer and permission, would ever call his scarred hands-- the physical reminder of his trauma--beautiful.

He thinks it's wrong because he believes someone like him could never deserve a woman like her.

"Until he felt nothing. Was again nothing at all." Azriel, ACOSF, Bonus Chapter (1 of 2).

LIKE COME ON. This man sees himself as nothing. The fact he spoke up regarding his thoughts on the Cauldron potentially being wrong to begin with was a big thing for him, he who has many secrets, and Rhys SHUT HIM DOWN. 500+ years and even Cassian states Az is slow to open up, see below:

"Cassian knew it was a lie, but didn't push it. Az would speak when he was ready, and Cassian would have better success convincing a mountain to move than getting Az to open up." - Cassian, ACOSF, Chapter Nineteen

Az did speak this time, he felt so strongly and questioned fate itself so fiercely that he opened up to Rhys. He questioned the Cauldron, the fatemaker itself, not because he is entitled to Elain, but because there is something between them, something that has been brewing between them ever since their first meeting, something so fierce he is (finally) compelled to open up, to speak because he was ready. Think about how important that is for a character like him. Azriel, whose brothers of 500+ years could move a mountain more easily than get him to open up, did in fact, open up...

And he was shot down.

Of course, he wasn't going to wax off a lecture about Rhys's suggestion being wrong--because it was Rhys, not Azriel, who suggested entitlement.

Rhys's face drained of color. " You believe you deserve to be her mate?"

Azriel never suggested anything like this. An overwhelmed, distraught Rhys who feared for his mate and unborn child did.

And Azriel shut down, just as he did when he first confessed his feelings to Mor, and immediately abandoned the conversation in favor of silence. Not because he was pissed, or felt he was wronged, but because he saw these moments as validation of his nothingness, proof he was nothing, would always be nothing.

2) "If I Fail, They Will Leave Me" Complex

One thing I think that is important about Azriel's character that is often overlooked is his liberation from his father's dungeon. He wasn't set free when his hands were burned, rather returned to his "dark, airless cell" where was forced to continue on, burned and broken, for three years.

Three bloody years.

It was only when/sometime after his shadowsinging gifts first emerged that he was granted freedom. If you can call it that. Not because he was a little boy who deserved freedom, but because he had magic: a tool of value, a weapon to be used.

And used it was.

We learn from Rhys that Shadowsingers are highly coveted...

"Shadowsingers are rare--coveted by courts and territories across the world for their stealth and predisposition to hear and feel things others can't." - Rhys, ACOMAF, Chapter 16

And that Az was sent to the camp only AFTER his gifts were discovered.

"Az's father sent him to our camp once he and his charming wife realized he was a shadowsinger." - Rhys, ACOMAF, Chapter 16

This all goes to say that Azriel's freedom was largely granted because of his magic. What would this say to a literal child? He was only valuable because of his magic, because of what he could do.

And this need to please, this need to serve, and the subsequent fear of failure are very prevalent within Az's character. He runs himself ragged, he brings too much onto his plate, he is so busy he doesn't sleep, he always volunteers to put himself into harm's way because he thinks that is all he has to offer. I suspect his time working as the personal spymaster for Rhys's father might also have contributed to these feelings, but I don't have enough info at current to delve any further into that.

Moving on, all this also goes to combat the "pro-torture" argument I sometimes see. Do I think Azriel loves slicing and dicing? No, not really. Same as Rhys doesn't like breaking into people's minds. I suspect Az sees his work in Hewn City as a similarly necessary evil, something he must do (rather than anyone else) because he is already "tainted", something he has to do to be worthy. Something he does because, regardless of how it makes him feel, provides value to his loved ones. I suspect Az probably feels if he were to stay no, if he were to refuse, then he would be deemed useless, unworthy, and abandoned as a result. Not that this would ever happen, but I think Az probably sees so little value in himself he thinks only his magic and skills are all he can provide his brothers. Not because they don't love and support him, but because years and years of trauma reinforce this idea.

It's really, really heartbreaking if you think about it.

Anywayssss, that's all I have in me for tonight, but I've got a few other points I will be adding to expand this post! I love (civil) fandom discourse, so feel free to drop in thoughts and opinions below.

Thanks for reading this behemoth!

#azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #pro azriel #acotar #elriel

[cinnamonest]

Plsss!! You gotta do some more Modern Au albedo/Xiao/Kazuha ur literally the best at it 😭😭❤️❤️

I loved those posts, these atrocious boys with their (involuntary) gfs.

For this post I included some more general stuff (and I'm repeating/expanding upon previously mentioned things), but after rereading part of the camgirl post where it mentions promising to be a good bf,  it got me thinking so I wanted to focus on the concept of each boy trying to be a "Good Boyfriend".

I'm also going off of the dynamics/darlings in these posts and mention some past ideas from them, but I made it so that you could either read it as those darlings or just a default darling, so you don't need to read the other posts, but I'll still link them:

(Xiao)

(Albedo)

(Kazuha)

Also preemptively yes they all have the same general reasoning for keeping you locked up, the boys think alike I stand by this

//also heavily gendered, some mildly sexist stuff bc modern AU incel culture (you know I'm right when I say Xiao probably pays for 4chan Pass and kazuha would be a white knight bless him), brief discussion of theoretical homicide

-------

When you first woke up here, Xiao promised to be a good boyfriend, and he tries his best to make good on that promise.

What do good boyfriends do? Well, he's been on the internet long enough and seen enough media to have some general idea. Good boyfriends buy gifts. Good boyfriends make food for their girlfriend. Good boyfriends make their girlfriends cum.

He gets you plenty of gifts. As soon as he brought you home, in fact, he bought a ton of various costumes and lingerie sets off the internet. He's spent a ton of money on it all, which you're supposed to, in turn, recognize the contributions he's put in for your sake and be happy.

He doesn't make food (he doesn't know how), but he always asks you what food you want delivered and always goes with what you want, so, same idea. A lot of girls on social media (he has gone out of his way to browse and gather observational evidence) seem to be fixated on the idea of breakfast in bed, so, he takes it upon himself to get some of those frozen sugary carbohydrate-packed breakfast packages you pop in the microwave from the store, and has them ready as you're waking up one day. He doesn't have a tray or plates, though, so he just has to take apart the cardboard box they came in and use that as a substitute, but it works.

And you do get to cum. He stakes a great deal of his own pride on that... so he makes sure it's lots and lots of times per day. Even if you protest at first, even if you say you can't anymore. It's still a good thing, so, even if you're not wanting it in the moment, he's supposed to do that anyway, that makes sense. He should be recognized for his efforts, really, because he refuses to use any aid of anything that isn't attached to his own body, only fingers and tongue and cock and never anything that isn't attached to his own body.

Granted, there are other pieces of advice commonly suggested as components of being a "good" boyfriend, like... letting you be independent, listening to your side of arguments and not interrupting.

But his favorite frequented forums have very specifically made it clear that this is beta male behavior. So, no way is he going to engage in such a thing. If you want to be listened to, don't say dumb things. Simple. He would listen to you and not interrupt you if you weren't being dumb and wrong and bringing up things he specifically told you not to. Why do you do that? You're supposed to not do things when he says not to.

It's sort of a cognitive dissonance, but he tends to take things he's read online on completely opposite ends of the spectrum and use both as guidelines. Yes, he's supposed to do all this stuff for you, and buy you things and be nice to you and compliment you (he manages to do so, albeit stutters and can't look you in the eye to do so), and all that. But at the same time, he has had enough of... unpleasant content funneled into his brain from years of being chronically online, to the extent that he also engages in complete opposite behavior too.

You've gotten into quite a few arguments over time pertaining to why you can't be allowed to go out. You even have the audacity to want to go out by yourself, claiming that since he is so averse to going outside, he might as well just stay in while you go for a walk and question why you can't do so, if you have something tracking you.

Well, for starters, even if he could trust you not to go to law enforcement, you would probably cheat with some random stranger. Not that you can be blamed for that, it's like animal instinct in some people, but unfortunately you are just especially impulsive. Of course, you argue against this and say that's preposterous, but this is because likewise, you are naturally inclined to lie. And when you get increasingly frustrated at these statements, that is due to you being overly-emotional and far too sensitive. Typical. But you see, that is why he has to do the best thing for you, even if you're upset about it, and keep you inside.

In fact, a significant portion of being a good boyfriend means sometimes doing things that make you upset, because it's what's best for you. This can be difficult, as it invokes overreactions from you and you get very mad and mean.

It's quite unfair, really, that being a good boyfriend requires so much effort. Being a good girlfriend is so easy. Being nice and sweet and never ever disagreeing with anything he says and never being mean and having sex at any moment takes so little effort. But he does it out of love, which makes the burden worthwhile.

You clearly do a lot of things voluntarily, though. He never told you you have to clean, but you nonetheless do on your own volition. One day (a good behavior day, being allowed to roam the whole apartment) you stomped into the kitchen and returned with a trash bag, and began shoveling all the empty bottles and takeout boxes and plastic forks and disposable chopsticks and crumbled papers and old receipts and empty packages and amazon envelopes and... well, you get the idea. All the accumulated stuff, and you got it all into a few trash bags. Of course, he had to hover over you the whole time, making sure you didn't dispose of anything important--

Don't throw that away. I need it.

It's literally broken in half.

I can still use it.

--And that you don't waste anything--

Don't. There's over half the bag left.

They were on the floor and already opened. The expiry date is from last year.

They're still good. I'll eat them.

No you will NOT.

--But eventually, you get it all cleaned up. It feels like having a new room... you can see the floor now.

He likes the domestic vibe of having you cleaning and all, but it also gets a bit irritating when you start nagging about it. But still, he tolerates that, because that's what he's supposed to do, it's part of good relationships and stuff. He also tolerates a surprising amount of things, increasingly so over time, provided you frame it as concern.

You've forced him into a somewhat consistent sleep schedule, albeit not a healthy one, but still, you made him agree to a standard of not staying up longer than 24 hours at a time. As well as a couple other standards that you insisted were out of concern, and, well, when you put it like that, you're trying to be good for him and showing concern for his well-being which is very nice, so if he tries his best to abide by your wishes, then that should make you pleased. Showering at least every other day, limiting the caffeine consumption (in truth, he often just drinks it while you're asleep, but you don't know that so it doesn't count), and not eating perishable food if he can't remember how long it's been sitting out.

It's not pleasant, and it's frustrating to have to abide by such arbitrary regulations, but you're trying your best to be good and do your part and care for him. If he didn't show some appreciation for that, you would be more likely to not put in any effort to be good in other matters. So, it's best to comply. Besides, it's kind of nice when you tell him that this or that isn't good for his health or organs or whatever, it sounds like you really do care, which is a pleasant thought. It also puts more pressure on him to continue to be good so that you continue to be good, he views it like some sort of back-and-forth exchange, a calculated effort.

And with that, there's one other thing, though, that's bothering him. One facet that he keeps ignoring, despite knowing it's standard for "good boyfriend" criteria.

Good boyfriends plan out and pay for dates.

Which he has neglected, for obvious reasons. But no one is perfect, right? You're mean sometimes, so you're not exactly being the ideal girlfriend either. And he's done a pretty good job with everything else.

But you bring it up. You keep begging to go outside, say you won't try anything, that it doesn't matter if it's just for a few minutes, that you're going to go insane if you have to stay in here much longer. While this is obviously exaggeration due to hysteria, seeing as he never leaves and he's perfectly fine, it does stay in the back of his mind that appeasing this desire of yours might earn favor from you and make you happy, which in turn has benefits on his end. Eventually, the more you ask, the closer you get to him giving in, until one day he finally does, much to your surprise.

Fine. There's a cafe type of place at the bottom of the apartment complex. You can go there together, for a short time. Not very long. And... you have to wait a few days, because you have no clothes that aren't far too obscene to wear in public, so, he'll have to order something off the internet for you. But no talking to anyone the whole time, and if you try anything you'll go back immediately, and so on and so on, all these regulations he keeps repeating over and over.

You're too ecstatic to really listen. You didn't actually think you'd get this far... and in truth, you know better than to try anything to escape or something like that, you're just genuinely happy to get out. You practically go bounding down the hallway when that day comes. It almost doesn't even feel real, you've been away from public so long that it almost feels foreign... but here you are.

It's one of those versatile places, with coffees and teas and fruit drinks and cream sodas and pretty much anything you could think of. He tells you to get whatever you want (this will in turn lead to increased happiness, whereas denying you anything could potentially upset you and thereby ruin the purpose of the venture), so you intend get something you really like in the largest size possible. He trails right behind you the whole time.

You can be the one to talk to the cashier. I'll allow it.

Aren't you just saying that because you don't want to?

Just do it.

He doesn't really like tea or coffee or anything of the sort, so, he grabs one of those little box containers of sweetened milk with the bendy straws they have for kids. And scowls when you cover your mouth and chortle at it.

You can tell he's extremely uncomfortable. You can imagine a shut-in would be. There's bright daylight all around, there's people all around. He still doesn't sit down, instead following you over to the counter where they have all the extra packets of cream and sugar and straws and napkins and stuff, clinging to your sleeve. It feels less like a date and more like having a shy kid following their big sibling around, even as you go to sit down.

He stays jittery, uneasy. Shifting around awkwardly, looking all around. You quietly wait for the complaints and grumbling to begin, knowing full well this was just to placate you.

But those complaints don't come. He just sits there quietly. Lets you talk. Doesn't say much himself, he's far too uneasy and nervous and overwhelmed by the noise and crowdedness for that, but doesn't complain about any of it. Doesn't start pushing you to go back within a few minutes, which you were expecting and prepared yourself for. Just quietly shifts around and looks around, responding to you with one-word answers and nods.

You don't talk about anything in particular, the sort of empty conversation (if it can be called that, with you doing the entirety of the talking) that you will forget within a few hours. You almost expect something to go wrong, even, as if someone you knew from before will show up and recognize you, or something will happen to cause a scene, but nothing does. And likewise, you find yourself pleasantly surprised by the lack of grouchy commentary you had anticipated.

It's because... you look really happy. You really brighten up and seem so much more energetic than you normally do. In truth, it does hurt a bit that you seem so much happier right now than you do the rest of the time, but normal people are like that, he thinks, they need to go out and do stuff like this to be content. So, maybe if you do this regularly enough, you'll even be happier when you are back at home, in the comforting familiar dark environment.

Maybe he doesn't even need the transactional benefits he initially had hoped for... the thought of you being happier because of something he did is enough to be satisfied. It makes him feel all warm and fuzzy that you're smiling and chattering away and sound so happy.

...But, uh, you've been here an hour now. Being around so many people is draining him like a dying battery. He still doesn't say anything, but you can see the fidgeting. You would like to stay longer, but... you're in a good mood now, and that makes you less argumentative and bitter and stubborn than you usually would be. Not to mention, this whole thing has admittedly greatly diminished your resentment, so you do have more empathy for him that you usually would, so you take it upon yourself to say well, I guess we should be getting back... You've never seen a person move so fast to get out the door of a public place.

And it works. You are happier, even when you return. You don't even go over to the other side of the room and lay down, instead choosing to come over to the desk and sit on his lap (!!!), facing towards him and resting your head on his shoulder (!!!!!), wrapping your arms around his body (!!!!!!!!), and all that. You sit quietly for a while. You're nervous to ask, almost don't want to out of fear of a negative answer, but finally manage to force yourself to ask if you can ever do this again sometime.

But he sighs, grumbles, but still says fine. Just not more than like, once a month or so. Maybe twice. But he can't handle more than that. It would probably kill him from the spike in heart rate and blood pressure. No that's not being dramatic and it's not an exaggeration, people do die that way you know. It could happen. You're laughing. He could literally, realistically die, and you're laughing. Ugh.

-------

Kazuha really cares about being a model boyfriend.

He already tries to be and considers himself a really good guy, which is already an advantageous trait, he thinks. Most guys are really awful, but not him! He's one of the good ones. He would never ever be mean to a girl, doesn't engage in tasteless jokes, doesn't talk badly about any girl. Girls are great. They're strong and smart and smell nice and are all so pretty and have nice thighs and chests that are nice to look at (in a respectful way and not an objectifying way!) so of course he's very very kind to all.

He's nice and not sexist because he's just a good person like that and not at all out of desire for brownie points and favor from you. And for that matter, he has ALWAYS stood up for random girls online as any good person would do. Being called a simp is just a way to know you're doing the right thing.

This all puts him far above the average guy (the average man is horrible for a ton of reasons that don't apply to him because he is Not Like The Other Guys and thereby better, which is something he can be proud of). He is very adamant to remind you of all of this.

Even now that you don't really have any other options anyway, trapped in his living space. Still, it can't hurt to ensure you know that he cares so much and is fully dedicated and loyal because that could earn some favor from you. After all, there's a chance you could get the wrong idea about all of this, and think of him as some sort of selfish, deranged pervert -- and he can totally understand how you could misinterpret it that way! Really, yes, it's understandable that you might come to that conclusion at first, but that actually is not the case at all and he wouldn't want that misunderstanding to occur. He's actually very selfless and has only your best interest in mind.

Which is why he has to be really good to you. Not that he wouldn't anyway, but he's just focusing on that to ensure you don't accidentally think badly of him, or think that taking you away and keeping you here is an act of selfishness on his part (because it's actually the opposite).

So he has to try very hard to be the ideal boyfriend. He, too, bases this concept on what he has read and otherwise seen presented as such over the years.

Firstly, making time for you, and ensuring you're his priority. His routine varies due to having a class schedule. You've learned the pattern that on Mondays and Wednesdays and Fridays he leaves a lot earlier than he does on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and he has short breaks throughout the day in between classes, unlike with someone who works a straight 9-5 or the like. So, he comes back a few times a day, rather than just being gone all day and returning in the evening.

Even if the gap between the class he just got out of and the next class is over half an hour, he'll come back to see you, since he lives right next to the campus. You'll be going about your day doing whatever you're allowed, hear the door creak open, and he comes rushing down the stairs. Even if it's just for five minutes, he'll still come back to you, talk to you until he has to leave again. Making sure you feel paid attention to.

And he knows that the place he lives in itself is a bit dreary. It's actually probably more spacious than the average college student's apartment, but that positive is very quickly outweighed by the lack of windows, being a basement. He tries to make up for this by having those strip-tape colored LED lights all over the place (they look cool right??) and leaving the TV running for background noise quite often. Making sure you have entertainment and light is only the least he can do to express his care for your mental health.

Oh, and of course, he makes or brings you food every day. He's gotten really good at making breakfast foods, usually prepares them ahead of time, and makes smoothies and the like, and he does always get you one too (yours is not the same thing though, his is special... he's been making the protein smoothies for months, so any day now he's going to get big muscly arms like he's been hoping to. You'll see).

Gifts are important. One of the more problematic factors in this is that he's kind of... broke. So, he does what he can, although in his head it does make him paranoid that he feels like he's not doing enough, not buying expensive enough things. Still, he scrapes his funds together for gifts, although you might not see it that way. Sure, he does get you some things like clothes and cute things (you eventually had to tell him to stop getting you stuffed animals after he brought home so many you don't have space for them). But a lot of his gifts are fun things you can use together, AKA just vibrating toys he buys online and a wide variety of high-quality S/M paraphernalia that he may or may not have drawn money out of his savings account for.

He can make up for his lack of significant funding, though, with other means. There are lots of things that go into being a good boyfriend. Like, uh... well, he did used to like every post you made on social media, but you two came to a mutual agreement together after a lot of healthy calm discussion like a good boyfriend would engage in, that it would be for the best if you don't have a phone anymore.

He explained his reasoning very politely and respectfully, that it's not good for your mental health. Lots of bad news out there in the world that would just be depressing, and even if he cancelled your actual phone service, there are just so many apps out there these days that allow you to communicate with people online and contact people and there's no way he could ever find every single one to block your access, so, since you're impulsive and might talk to people and tell them very personal things that shouldn't get out, it's for your own good. Oh, and the blue light too, not good for your eyes you know.

You didn't necessarily agree with his reasoning, and complained quite a bit, got yourself all worked up. And he did listen to you, of course, not interrupting or talking over you like bad guys tend to do, and uh, what's the terminology people use...? Right, he, ah, validated your feelings, gave you room to speak your thoughts, made sure to communicate healthily (not that he's entirely sure what that means, but he was honest and kept calm so that probably qualifies). The things you're supposed to do.

But that doesn't necessarily mean he has to give in or compromise or anything. No, technically, that would be a bad boyfriend too, if he just let you do whatever you wanted, when what you want is not what's best for you. The term is "tough love" or something like that. But you did eventually accept it which means you at least agree to the condition, even if you don't agree with the reasoning.

It just took time and continuously explaining the reasoning to you even when he already did that a hundred times and you won't stop bringing it up and one day he's finally had enough of it so the only way you'll get it through your head and stop throwing tantrums is to make you understand.

Well, no, no, he would never really hurt you. This is just corporeal punishment, and while it's not nice, it's ultimately out of love, such things are necessary sometimes. And besides, the tools he bought are intended for this exact purpose, so its appropriate and not something risking injury, although it does leave welts and bruises. Still, it's out of care, and he holds you close and kisses your forehead and rubs your back while you cry afterwards.

And to make up for the times when he has to be mean (only because you force him to be), he tries his best to make you happy because that's what's really important. And what's more fun than spending a lot of time together?

You would call it being smothered, though, although you're never really in the mood to try and be mean to him about it and risk having welts for a week... again. Besides, it offers some entertainment from the otherwise dull, boring hellscape that is life whenever he's gone. At least when he's here, it makes things a bit more interesting than watching stuff alone.

A rather cute thing (at least, it would be if things were normal) is that he tends to have very clean, and sometimes juvenile tastes in media. He prefers games, movies and shows that have very low content ratings for age-appropriateness, rarely anything that you wouldn't be comfortable showing a ten-year-old. His shows of preference are usually those "cartoon intended for kids but gained a solid adult fanbase as well" types of shows, and the games he plays are usually simulators and strategies rather than anything particularly violent.

None of that is a bad thing, of course, but it can get a bit dull over time, and you do sometimes express a desire to do maybe something a little different. Which he happily complies with, of course, because it would be terrible of him to be so selfish as to not be willing to let you share your interests. So he often lets you pick what to watch for the evening. One time you forced him to sit through a horror film and you're pretty sure you scarred him for life, seeing as he was the one clinging to you throughout most of it.

Perhaps the most important aspect of goodness, though, is your interactions. Those are paramount, ensuring that every talk you have is, uh, healthy... is that the word? Pretty sure that's the word. He's seen people say that before.

He's very nice. Listens to you even when you're being mean. That's part of the deal, right? That he's supposed to listen and hear you out even when he'd rather not because you don't deserve it and you're being ridiculous-- but still, he listens, because he's just really, really good and so much better than anyone other person you could have, who would probably have shut you up several minutes ago but here he is clenching his jaw and fist and forcing himself to let you talk anyway because he's so so so good and has so much self-control and would never be one of those guys that would lose his temper so easily! Haha.

Not that he has no limits, no, not if you just keep going and going being so mean and mouthy and eventually you cross some line or push him over the edge. But he's not someone who would yell or anything, no, he's better than that. He's very collected and firm about it, doesn't have some outburst or explosive anger, just... does what he has to. You're all worked up and have all this pent up emotion and stress and frustration and maybe another caning or fucking your throat will help you get that out cathartically. Again, you may not like it, but it's about what's best for you overall.

It's also very very important to take care of you afterwards. He gets you baths and food and gives you words of comfort. See, that's another area where he's definitely doing better than other guys who are selfish and lazy.

...And likewise, he also realizes that he's missing the critical element of going out. The best boyfriends (as per his analysis from lots of past social media scrolling) usually plan really nice dates and stuff, there's all sorts of popular forms of this, like movies and fairs and zoos and coffee shops and so on.

Unfortunately, that's... well, that's just not realistic. You're just not ready for that yet. Maybe one day you will be! Just... very, very far off in the future. He would like that one day, you could go do fun things. But for now, he has to prioritize your health and well-being, and make judgements based on that, so, although it pains him, he's willing to stay home all the time since it's what you really need, even if you don't understand that.

In the end, he's actually probably the least compromising on that regard. But that's fair because he compromises all the time.

Compromises have to be made sometimes on your end, right? And, well, he's been doing so good in all other areas, putting in so much effort, that it's only fair you compromise with him every now and then. That's... that's part of relationships, isn't it? He's always heard that said. He gives into your wishes a lot, so... you know, he's not being demanding or controlling or anything like that, no, he's just asking that you compromise this time around.

And try to be understanding, see things from his perspective and really listen, be entirely honest... the way he always does for you.

------

On the far opposite end, Albedo has never really placed any importance on conforming to societal expectations, or the cultural standard of "good." He prefers to approach things in a manner based on the conclusions he forms himself, after reflecting on the matter for a while.

He's always been so busy, never had time to have a relationship before, so he does have to really think through the matter, as it's new to him. He does care for you, of course, so his primary desire is for you to be healthy and avoid unnecessary distress or pain. Granted, when going through the matter in his head, he does feel that he would like for you to be happy, but... well, he realizes that it's probably a bit too early to have that as a goal, because if he aims for that now, he's bound to end up disappointed, given how resistant you are.

Besides, to care for another's wellbeing is the basis of affection, isn't it? So even if it takes some time, you will understand his efforts to care for you as such. That's all he really needs to do, follow his own guidelines. Societal and cultural ones are pointless, and he doesn't feel any guilt or like he's doing something incorrectly by not doing so (unlike the aforementioned individuals).

In fact, that ties to another aspect of his personality. He's one of those people that can be very quiet for a long time, but if you prompt him to speak on a topic of interest, he can suddenly go on a whole long spiel... and one thing he could ramble about is a distaste for modernity and common culture and social settings.

People are so obsessed with material things, hedonistic tendencies, a culture that encourages rapid consumption of new things and riding out thrills only to discard them when the newness wears off... including people.

He's quiet enough that people tend to disregard his presence if he's just sort of quietly going about his work, which has allowed him to overhear a lot of conversations regarding the messy, dysfunctional relationships of some of the people he works alongside. A lot of them get abandoned by significant others, very few seem to be in relationships that last, it's mostly just people hopping from one person to the next... is that really normal for, you know, normal people? If so, you've probably been influenced by that too, probably had friends like that or seen it happening around you and it's been normalized to you.

Which is how he explains his justification for keeping you, when you start to argue against it. All things considered, stable relationships are better in the long-run, but you're very unwise and impulsive and would just make mistakes you'd regret (like leaving him for someone else) if he were to extend any autonomy to you. Well... more realistically, the primary issue is you'd go to the police, but he's talking in hypotheticals and the bigger picture of your life and all that. Maintaining control over you may upset you, but it's in your best interest, which you're incapable of making decisions for yourself.

He has no desire to follow norms. Not in terms of a relationship, nor any official acknowledgement of a relationship either. What matters is the strength of care and affection and unity between two people, and his for you is to the utmost, so that's all that really matters.

Being what the current culture considers a "good partner" would require a lot of compromising and sacrificing to meet you halfway and give in to some of what you want, among other things he has no intention of doing. He's content with the idea that showing affection in his own way will gradually lead you to accept him more. No need for the additional effort of jumping through arbitrary hoops to earn some recognition or gratitude -- which you probably wouldn't give anyway. Even if he did put in all that effort (which, by the way, would also mean swallowing quite a bit of pride to "compromise" with you), you would still keep a bad attitude for the time being, he's fairly certain.

And another matter, the reason he can't "compromise" with you is simply that his decisions are right and yours almost always tend to reflect on your complete lack of understanding of things. Why would he compromise with you when you're simply wrong? That's unreasonable.

Besides, given the... nature of your relationship and dynamic, being so different from that of two normal people, it goes without saying that you can't apply unfitting rules to a unique situation they don't align with. For example, one common standard is going out on dates, presumably that he'd pay for... but, that's not exactly feasible, for obvious reasons, even aside from his dislike of such environments.

Rather than being lazy and careless, he instead puts a lot of effort and finances and care into ensuring your security and well-being, investing a lot of money into a unique security system that cost great deal more than average due to very advanced features. Cameras, sensors, and most importantly, an alert to his phone every time a door or window to the outside is opened. Gets good food for you to make (please, he's very very busy, it would be nice and give you something to do too, he's sustained himself off of microwave food for years now due to lack of time so having you to do so is really helpful...) and admittedly does spend generous amounts of money on things for you to do to occupy your time. So in terms of domestic matters, he would say he's meeting what he thinks is good.

The social norms for courtship are also largely pointless. What, go out on dates? To do what? Most movies are mindless entertainment and not worth wasting time on. Pretty much any other venue is going to be loud and crowded. There is absolutely no reason you can't experience the exact same bonding, perhaps more even, inside in the nice, quiet environment of his apartment.

That environment becomes suffocating for you, though. You go through a regular routine. He gets one of those stipends to fund his expenses, so he doesn't have to work a separate job, thankfully. Lab research has set times, though, so it's sort of like working, he's just gone for a portion of the day and comes back in the afternoon. Then, it's just doing whatever for the rest of the day, usually you trying to entertain yourself while he works and types away.

It's not always work, though. One rather unpleasant thing you really wish he wouldn't do is that he seems determined to scour the corners of the internet for anything related to you. He already stole your phone when you were brought here, got all your logins and accounts to all sorts of websites, your search history, everything, and now stays logged into your accounts on his computer (via VPN, of course, he's not so careless as to risk someone taking notice and being traced back to him).

He just goes through everything. Everything. Every little comment you've ever made across different websites, everything you've ever searched, every site you've ever visited, people and accounts you followed. It feels very uncomfortable, a violation of privacy. And, well, who hasn't made at least one comment on an anonymous site that they'd be embarrassed to have attached to their real selves? Unfortunately you never realized just how many until now, that he keeps bringing them, along with other snippets from your digital footprint, up to you.

I see that on September 6th of last year, it seems you posted this rather vague statement to your account. What did that mean exactly?

I'm cross-referencing your following list across a few different platforms and noticed an outlier you only have added to one account. Who is this?

The app won't allow me to scroll back any further in this conversation you were having. Is there a way to view even older messages or...?

You always grind your teeth. It's not even important!, you say. It really isn't. None of this information is anything particularly relevant to... well, anything. Sure, you already knew he's sort of obsessed with learning about your life prior to him, but he already learned everything you would have thought important ages ago. All the major details of your life, where you went to school and who your friends and family members and all that are and your relationship to most people you regularly spoke to, he already has all of that. At this point he's just going through pointless details. Why on earth would he care about the random searches you've made, or a comment you left on a video years ago?

It just interests me.

So he says. While it baffles you, you have to deal it, and with the irritation of being frequently asked questions about meaningless searches and comments and posts dating back years. You've gotten over the initial embarrassment of it, now it's just annoying. He questions you about things as if you would remember why you made a search for this or that five years ago. Always asking who people are and what was your connection to them. Criticizing your viewing habits - you wasted so much time watching pointless videos. You eventually it's better not to argue against that, lest you get the speech on how such stimuli will ruin your attention span and slowly kill your brain or something like that, you don't really know, you always stop listening after a while.

That ties into another very, very, very quickly irritating thing: he cannot intake any piece of media non-critically.

He's actually rather pretentious about it, but in a subtle way. He'll come back in the afternoon to you watching whatever show you've chosen to stream as your daily entertainment. He walks through the door, leans over and looks at the screen for a moment.

Yeah, that does seem like something you would enjoy.

What? What does that mean?

Oh, nothing.

You have to learn to bite your tongue. Sometimes you try to get him to relax instead of being so stressed out from working, get him to actually watch something with you, but he tends to be critical of that too -- one of those people that feels the need to point out physics inaccuracies in everything. You tend to get a bit worked up over the irritation. Yes I know it doesn't work like that, it's not supposed to be accurate it's supposed to be entertaining! Just watch the damn movie! Ugh!

Not that it's the only matter he can be pretentious about. Even that one time you tried to be nice (as part of the 'I'm never getting out of here so I might as well try to bond' mental crisis process you go through a few times a day) and asked him about the research he's always working on.

Well, this is the sort of thing that would be over your head. You'd just get confused if I tried to explain it to you.

You scowl and groan. He just sighs. He's just being honest, you know.

See, like everything else, part of being "good" per the standards of current popular culture would be to be mindful of and navigate around your tendency for sensitivity. Which is nonsensical. There's no point in sugar-coating things when communicating directly and straightforwardly works more efficiently.

He doesn't really make an active effort to do the opposite, no, it's not like he's coarse and abrasive, but he just makes no effort to adjust his tendency to be somewhat blunt when discussing various matters. He already has to do enough of the whole overly-cautious, careful with every word thing in the professional setting all the time. It's nice to have someone he can just be very straightforward with, which is what comes much more naturally to him.

Besides, having to walk on eggshells and watch everything you say around the person you're partnered to would be exhausting. And... it's dishonest, you know? No matter how you look at it, dishonesty is poor behavior. Honesty is a better, more respectable quality, even if you might not like honesty all the time.

The unfortunate thing is that him having no filter on what he says means he can be a bit condescending. It just comes out naturally.

He likes you, of course, but at the end of the day he still has this mentality that seems so condescending, like you're dumb and emotional. He once told you you were being hysterical when you were having one of your regular episodes of crying and sniffling whilst trying to argue about your situation, and admittedly the resulting outburst you had probably didn't help change his mind. It's a cycle; being treated in such an infantilizing way often makes you more upset, thereby more emotional, and then your emotional outbursts thereby only validate and justify treating you as such.

He tends to assume a lot of things about you, too. You complain about being bored? Well, you're probably used to instant gratification and stimulus, probably addicted to your phone and social media and the like. It's doubtful that you've ever really been all that productive. It's a very common phenomenon these days, people who don't really do anything important (like you) get swallowed up into mindless entertainment.

Luckily for you, he provides you with a lifestyle where you don't have to be productive, which is quite benevolent. And you're now whining about being assigned to some task? Well, you've probably never had to really work for anything before. After all, you could always just get anything you want handed to you by being sweet and nice, surely you would never understand what it means to have had to put effort into anything. And any emotional reactions or outbursts you have in response are basically just confirmation that he's right, you know.

This bluntness, though, does end up causing one particularly upsetting incident. You've been in a bad mood, are getting so exasperating again with how you're being grouchy and mean and resentful. You're mad at him for doing something or another, and you do what you always do when you're mad -- resort to not-so-subtly implying the future spells an end for him. In truth, it used to bother him a lot, it would make him paranoid, which you probably picked up on and is why you continue to do it, always going for the same lines each time. One of these days, someone's gonna come knocking on that door, one day someone will find me--

And you're at it again, even more whiny than usual, pacing around the room while he works on some paper or another. You've been on this campaign lately to try and get him to let you search your name online, see what is being said by your local news and the like. Perhaps telling you that there hadn't been anything published in a while, and thereby accidentally inadvertently admitting to regularly performing that exact search himself, was a poor idea, as you caught it and have refused to let the matter go ever since. And he's trying to concentrate on his own work, and perhaps that's why he's a bit even more unfiltered than usual.

People are still looking for me! I know my friends and family would never give up trying to find me. They're looking for me.

The keyboard keeps clacking, but he doesn't miss a beat.

Your body.

You pause for a moment.

...Huh?

He speaks very matter-of-factly, fingers tapping away on the keyboard as he speaks, not even looking up at you.

They're looking for your body. They've most likely changed their search locations by now to nearby areas that would be ideal for someone to dump human remains.

For a moment, you just stand still, slack-jawed and wide eyed before finally losing your temper--

You're horrible! How can you say something like that?! I... I...

--but you quiet down, biting your lip, sinking downward and pulling your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them. A few more seconds pass.

Statistically speaking, it would be very unlikely for you to be alive at this point.

I know.

So from an outside perspective, it would simply be a more realistic use of time and resources to--

I get it!

You have to bite your tongue when he sighs, as if you're being unreasonable. You let a few more seconds pass, grinding your teeth at that annoying keyboard sound until you speak again.

Are you trying to get me to be grateful? Feel like I'm lucky because you *aren't* the kind of psycho to kill me?

He just shrugs, still doesn't look up.

No. You ended up here with me, so you certainly aren't very lucky at all.

You groan, letting your head fall down onto your knees. At least his honesty is consistent.

#kzha fighting for his life in the replies section of an OF egirl's twitter defending women #'actually no woman has ever done anything wrong ever i will explain (1/36)' #pickme boy fr fr #also xao unironically thinks of himself as a sigma male im not apologizing for being right #and frequently uses incel lingo in real life verbal conversations #has definitely called you a normie but over something very concerning like the fact that you want daily showers is normie behavior to him #.x #.al #.kz #.modern #oh and im alive! #I would say 'alive and well' but im not actually well bc it turns out my kidneys arent functioning which is kind of very not well #but it turned out to be entirely treatable so soon it will all be over and i'll be back to normal #the universe thinks a little organ malfunction is going to stop me from posting?? hah