#anyway i know i'm not on this blog much anymore

[majorbuckyegan]

I was tagged by @nicijones tysm 🫶 (I know its Thursday oops lmao)

Rule: share a snippet of your current WIP (or one of them) and tag other writers to spread the love.

Posting a snippet from their last fight, because I'm not loving the part I'm writing rn (gotta write the bad thing and then rewrite it!)

“John, what exactly is your problem?” He asked, when John still hadn't said anything.

“You! You're my fucking problem.” John snapped, letting out another angry bark of laughter, “You're doing that thing that you always do when I say I'm fine, and then you go and smother me anyway. I told you I don't need your help, so just fuck off and leave me alone for once in your life.”

“You know what? Fine.” He snapped, standing up so that he could take the porcelain shards that he'd already gathered and throw them into the bin. Ordinarily, the sound of breaking glass would have upset him even further, but he was angry too now, and so he couldn't have cared less about that, “You want me to leave you alone? I'll leave you alone, but don't come crying to me when you can't patch yourself up properly. Go bleed all over the bedroom for all I care.”

“You know what, Buck? Go fuck yourself.” John huffed, tossing the shards of the broken plate that he was still holding into the sink, “Jesus Christ, I feel like I can't breathe around you sometimes without you pulling the whole Saint Cleven act.”

He shut his mouth with a click, refusing to let himself say something that he'd only regret afterwards. He doesn't mean it, he's just having a bad day. Telling himself that didn't exactly help the situation, though, and so he really wasn't sure what he was supposed to say or do.

“You can't fix everything, Buck.” John continued, obviously refusing to be put off by his silence, “I don't give a fuck if you think I'm some broken little pet project for you to fix, ‘cause you feel guilty for leaving me.”

“Is that what you think?” He asked, refusing to acknowledge the prickling of tears in his eyes, “Fine, if you're really that sick of me, then just say the word and I'll be gone. You won't have to put up with Saint Cleven anymore, if it bothers you that much.”

the girls are fightinggggg 👀 bucky will feel bad and apologise though, I promise

Tagging: @buckbiddick @alienoresimagines @moghraidhs @hogans-heroes

@swifty-fox @ackackh @c-goldthorn

@joeyalohadream @spaceshipkat @whirlpool-blogs @amiserableseriesofevents

[bucknastysbabe]

i'm like two years late but i finally binged the 1st and 2nd season this week! currently obsessing over the concept of cole w/ rhaenyra's valyrian-looking (but bastard nonetheless) daughter, returning after 5 years on dragonstone. thoughts?? anyway glad i found your blog it's actually making me more insane <33

Yessss I like this and decided to make an angsty lil songfic!!! Thank you for waiting! I’m so glad you love my stuff it’s so rewarding!!!! COLEWIVES RIDE AT DAWN TO PONDER LIFE ON A LOG AND BE HORNY

I hope you enjoy mwah mwah❤️

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Song fic, Velarystrong Princess, TW: very twisted thinking, homicidal ideation, hate sex, sadism/masochism themes, bastardphobia and dornish racism match made in heaven, obvious poison tree allegory and trying to work through both sides own mistakes screech, ye olde seroquel hours, Criston gets his head fucked with, angst, dark, rough sex, quickie, pnv!sex

Taglist: @aemonds-holy-milk @aemondfairy @elaratyrell @fairysluna @lovelykhaleesiii @peachysunrize @starogeorgina @towriteloveontheirarms @zaldritzosrose

You were ten years of age leaving the Red Keep. There was naught much but scorn and pain surrounding the place. As Rhaenyra’s first, you were a baby girl born with dark hair and dark eyes. Save the silvery streak in the thick curls— still, that wasn’t much to help.

You could cry and yell until you were blue in the face claiming your dark eyes shone like indigo in the right light. Aegon would laugh and laugh. Queen Alicent had remarked in passing that your features were too ‘strong’ to overlook. She didn’t mean the Valyrian traits.

Your family left for Dragonstone, anger in your heart, wishing them to choke on their words. The whole lot of the green-clad faction. The morning upon leaving was seared into your heart, tucked away to stew upon. You were straggling behind, trying to decide whether to desecrate something in the room or not.

A knock upon the door made your head whip up. You opened the heavy oak up, staring at one Ser Criston Cole. Your mother always instructed you to stay away from Alicent’s loyal kingsguard. His dark eyes scanned over you and the room. His head tilted toward the right as he gruffed, “It’s time to leave, Princess.”

He spat the last word out like bile. It made your skin prickle uncomfortably while grabbing your soft-knitted dragon dolly— black as night. You walked beside the knight, knowing he’d never much liked your mother or any of you, your ‘father’ Laenor, and Ser Harwin. You missed Ser Harwin as he was good and kind.

Ser Criston looked down at you, his lips twitching.

“Do you suppose you’ll enjoy your new home? A fine one for the future Princess of Dragonstone.”

You eyed the bigger man back, anger growing in your chest. Instead, you replied quietly, not wishing to incite his notorious rage, “I do not wish for it. My mother has enough issues. My brother Prince Jacaerys shall receive the inheritance.”

It’s people like him who made you decide that at such a young age. The anger, the scorn, the stares all the time from court and ‘family’.

Ser Criston let out a bitter little laugh, “Hah- you might be smarter than the whole lot. You’re sharp and strong.”

That was the end of talking with Ser Criston. The seed had been planted along the many others. Alicent, Aegon, Aemond, Otto, the list went on and grew.

You were back in King’s Landing once more. Now a woman grown of eight and ten. Everything felt different and the old burning in your chest began to rise once more. You hoped the deep anger would shield you from this cutting place— something to keep the pain from sinking in. You were here for another claim of bastardy, this time from the Sea Snake’s brother.

You weren’t a child anymore. Under your veil of anger and haughty face, there remained a well-developed princess. Lovely sweet fruit and honey, hiding the blackened insides. The stares of the staff and onlookers in the yard shifted to the now older children of Rhaenyra.

Jace and Luke watched the much taller form of Aemond sparring with the white knight. You had learned the truth about him after bothering your mother enough. He was still handsome, spry, and dangerous despite his age. Aemond made Criston yield, turning to face your brothers.

“Nephews, have you come to train?” He asked.

You stood behind them, frowning, sharing none of the shock and awe they displayed. Aemond likely suffered from the same as you— swallowed whole with righteous anger. Ser Criston peered at the boys, then you.

All three of you passed, the knight sipping from his wineskin. He was leering, thick brows down as dark orbs roved your face, down to your tits and hips. You spat, “Mind yourself, Ser.”

He almost choked on his water, Aemond’s brow raising and Jace grabbing your arm to speed along.

How dare he look at you like some slab of meat when he hated everything you were. Who you were born from. Jace murmured, “Come now, don’t let him rile you up, you know how it’s going to be here.” Luke was frowning, the princeling worried.

As the day passed, you felt your mind head in different directions. Your mother had even checked on you, asking why you were so distant. You shrugged, claiming to be unsettled by the events of earlier. Daemon sliced the man’s head in half in front of everyone.

As they dressed you in a room, you pondered Cole. How it would feel to slap him, make him admit he wanted another princess. He desired a bastard, a bastard born of the woman he lived to hate. You wanted him. The hate in your heart needed suffering for him— even if it reflected on your hypocrisy.

The conflicted feelings turned swiftly into conviction through the wretched dinner you sat through. Putrid comments from your uncles. Fighting and laughing, crying and dying, the premonition that this would be the only time all of the ‘family’ would sit in a room.

It was sad in a way. The fact that everything had been cleaved in half before anything good could come forth. Not that you could do anything. You’d reap what they had sown, the sins of the forefathers. You could wallow in feelings that always turned back to the same damn thoughts.

Let them all burn in agony. Feel the pain you’d dealt with for years, a firstborn bastard with a cunt. It was such easy pickings when your mother remained heir. As she was entitled to be. Sometimes it seemed easier if she just let Aegon’s idiotic self become king or hire some faceless man to kill them in their sleep.

There you were. The anger and fantasies took the pain of real life away. Blooming in a million separate ways, oh, but what if? Your lips curled up walking down the halls of Maegor’s Holdfast, fingers trailing across the walls after being dismissed from dinner. You narrowed your eyes at the familiar form placed outside your door.

You stopped near Ser Criston, leaning against the frame of the door. He nodded, “Princess.” Criston had spat it at you like an insult again, likely ruffled from your behavior earlier. Why was he here of all places?

“Shouldn’t a warrior like you be outside of Luke’s door so Aemond doesn’t go carve his eye out?”

His eyes narrowed, yet Criston’s lips spread into a thin smile. The marcher replied, “No. It’s for protection. A pretty unmarried princess like you? Most men here would open their door. So in you go.” He opened the door, jerking his head with a grimace. You caught the implication swiftly, bristling.

“Oh? Because I’m on the wrong side of the blanket you think me to go out and fuck the men of the castle? My wretched uncles, who don’t give less of a shit about me?”

You shook with anger, trying to shove the pure hate back into the little pocket in your breast. Ser Criston gripped your arm, escorting you in with a growl, kicking the door shut behind him. He tossed off his helmet, hackles raised as his eyes studied you, his other hand coming up to hold the other arm as you tried to squirm away.

Criston’s voice was more shaky than you expected as he spoke. It was a bladed jab, “I’d almost say she birthed you on her own if it weren’t for that hair, you’re just as spoiled and miserable as your mother was at this age. You’re reckless, not to be trusted.”

Your lips pursed as he held you in place. The anger wanted to burst back out, fire and blood indeed. No, no, you needed to nurse it for when the time was right. Even if the little metaphorical pocket you’d sewn the seeds of resentments into had grown into a cavern. A void of straggling branches and vines only filled for a moment.

If the knight in front of you knew how fucked up you were, he would likely seal you off in the black cells. Father above, your mother would too. You’d be mad and alone— but the fantasies and resentments would keep you company.

Eyes gliding up to Cole you finally replied, “I suppose I am reckless. This place makes me mad. How you tolerate it is beyond me.” You’d rather not speak on your mother at the moment, but you sighed, “My mother has done good by me. She’s loved us all. Yet she doomed us with our nature, especially with my little silver brothers.”

Criston seemed to like your response, hands easing off you. He hummed, “You are sharp. Of tongue and mind. That’s never changed. Alas, you’d never know peace until you’re well married off and away.”

You crossed your arms, putting some paces between you two. There was a manic laugh bubbling from your chest, a harsh noise, “I’ll never know peace wherever I go. None of us will, alas certainly not you either. Not with what weighs on your soul.”

The Kingsguard’s long legs closed the space, hand darting out to grip the side of your head as he growled, “Don’t speak of things you know nothing of. Ill-begotten wretch.”

You grinned.

Criston didn’t have the luxury of nursing his anger. It appeared the more he tried to hold it in, the more it seeped out. His entire body was on the attack as he glared at you, eyes wide, teeth close to baring, thick brow twisted up. He didn’t sew a pocket and you wondered if it was worse or better for the soul.

You leaned up into his angered visage, lips close to his, your lips split into a mocking smile. Something was invigorating about this— watching his nostrils flare as the brunette sharply exhaled. He hadn’t released your head, breath choppy.

“You’re confusing me,” Criston gritted out.

“I want you of course.”

Spoken as if it was the most simple thing. Gods this felt fucking good.

He smashed his lips to yours, nose bumping together as he turned his head, lowering to your height. Your nails dug into his neck, inexperienced lips molding to his pace. It was rough, brutal really. Criston’s tongue ungracefully slipped into your mouth when his hand slapped your ass, prompting you to yelp.

You smacked him back on his cheek, pulling away. Criston growled, “You’re definitely on the wrong side of the coin and blanket, get over here.”

You surged back to smash your lips against his, gripping at a handful of dark hair, groaning as teeth and lips meshed. He turned you toward the bed, bigger frame crowding yours, shuffling steps until the backs of your knees hit the bed. You hissed as he pushed you back, your body bouncing once.

Criston immediately pinned you down, his cold plate digging into your soft skin. He breathed, “Sick goddamn spawn. I see the thorns underneath.” One of his knees propped against the bed, teeth subtly dragging down your throat. A hand kneaded and groped your breast, drawing a low moan from your throat— the edge of pain sent more throbbing below.

You wanted him to hurt. Moreso you to hurt and throb with pain, entering that state of bliss within. All of Criston’s physical soft spots were practically hidden, you reaching down to undo his sword belt clumsily. The knight smirked.

“You want my cock? Fitting for a natural born off a whore.”

You spat back, “Says the man who fucked the whore and now wants her filthy bastard. Is it my cunning, sly nature? My natural wanton lust that weakens you so?”

He gritted his jaw, hand slapping down next to your head with a curse. Criston swallowed heavily, both of his hands rucking up your dress, ripping anything in the way. He’d rip you too. A nice surprise you supposed, perhaps not for him.

You taunted with a grin. “You’re weak you know? Must be the Dornish blood. Ser Criston, you just need the feeling of a noble cunt to keep you going, hm?”

He was feverishly undoing his breeches and padded tunic. Shoulders shaking with anger, disappointment, something else. Criston cursed as his fingers slipped again, huffing, “Fuck you.”

You waited with a smug look, looking forward to this new, powerful experience.

His dusky cock was flush and hard, bigger than what you imagined. You weren’t sure what the imagination even was— your fantasies were feelings, not pictures. He felt at your bare cunt, thick calloused fingers unceremoniously delving into the slick heat.

You grunted, the pain giving way to more. So much more.

Criston pulled his fingers back, brows raising in alarm as the maiden’s blood covered his fingers. You watched him and quickly jerked his hand over, eyes flicked upwards. The man shook harder, gasping, “Gods fucking dammit— damn you, damn you!”

You suckled your essence and blood off his fingers, biting at the tips, just enough to leave the fingers throbbing. The anguish upon his shining eyes and his furrowed brow was gorgeous. More arousal filled your belly, moaning softly. He rumbled out a low noise, breath heavy, the knowledge he’d fucked something up due to instinct again eating the man alive.

“You broke it, now take me,” you demanded, licking blood off your lower lip.

Criston let out a harsh noise akin to a sob as he aligned himself with your soaking pussy. There was a long pause, likely a useless prayer in his head. He inhaled against your pulsing neck. You moaned again as the thick tip of his prick entered. The earlier stinging and pulling returning, the pain sending your lashes to fluttering.

“Mm- fuck- don’t stop, hard, I want it hard,” you rasped.

Criston moaned weakly, jerking his hips forward, breath hitching against as he had filled you to the hilt. Guilt and shame roiled off his frame. Meanwhile, you could breathe it in, feeling like a god. The power you held over this sick, pitiful man who happened to be a warrior. Your walls shifted and burned, something to relish.

“Come on now, take me Ser,” you cooed, a hand skating down his neck to squeeze. He thrust again, the pair of you gutturally groaning. You spread your legs wider, planting them on the bed, shuddering at the fullness and dull throb.

He began to shake the bed with the force of his fucking, grunting, and huffing into your neck. Criston would hold up sometimes to mutter pitifully, shivering from head to toe. His handsome face screwed up, thick brows knit as he groaned.

You panted, “Feels so good, fuck.”

The friction was nice, but his broken mumbling made you grow dizzy with arousal. Guilt lurked beneath, you shoving it away with a grip at his hair or bite to his jaw.

You were crying out in ecstasy now as he had both knees on the bed, holding your hips up as his throbbing cock pushed and pushed into your soft core, the heat growing overwhelming. Sweat shone on your brow and breast, Criston faring no better. You felt like a ragdoll, the white knight doing all the work, yet you pulled the strings.

You smiled in delirium, imagining him guiltily stripping his cock for days after this. Unable to look you in the eye ever again. Gods, gods, you needed this more. Criston moaned your name, his shaking hand peeling off your hip to swirl at the sensitive little nub at the apex of your thighs.

You cried out again, arousal surging into your veins, squirming and milking his cock. Criston’s hips stuttered as he whined something about forgiveness. Your chest felt full and fuzzy, content, idly wondering if he was always so emotional.

Soon, the stuffed feeling of your cunt, the nerves singing from his insistent rubbing of thumb had you on the edge, mewling in bliss. You whined, “Yes, so good Ser Criston, ’m gonna come, my white knight.”

He broke down again, falling forward and sobbing into your neck, the sound of his pain like a bolt of ecstasy. You clenched up around him, head thrown back as you moaned and huffed, lips curled up as the burn spread across your frame— cunt weeping and pulsing around him.

“Fuck yes! Yes!”

It wasn’t much long after you writhed and clawed at his throat, Criston pulled out, sniffling and sulky as he came with little whines, face dark with embarrassment and self-hatred. His cock spit onto your thigh and the bedding as he heaved. He sat on the bed, big mournful eyes on you, the evidence of his lust.

You easily rolled away, panting. With a stretch and final savor of the ache, you padded to the washroom to ring the bell for servants to draw a bath. Leaning against the frame, you watched the broken man, lost in his thoughts, silent tears down his flushed cheeks. You scoffed, “Fall to your needs again? Perhaps you’d be a better guard dog if they gelded you.”

You turned without a word more.

He was crying softly in the other room, once again broken down. You had nothing to say. Ser Criston deserved to remember what he was, a whore.

Cherishing your newfound feelings, your chest had begun to ache for more. You sighed, internally nursing those seeds, some had sprouted, you couldn’t let them grow much more. Only allowed for when the time came. Now was a tease, a glimpse of something much more powerful that would emerge when the realm erupted.

He left eventually, you sitting in a tub, eyes closed, humming softly as the servant brushed your bastard hair. Dripping with honey, filled with thorns and poison. Mayhaps you’d be too gone a day, but now? There was much more to life yet again.

[themostfuniveverhad]

.

[is-this-really--life]

I think this space is uniquely horrible to be in both for OSA woman *and* for SSA woman. And I think it's obvious at this point why it's so awful for OSA women, because that's more overt. You get told you're politically impure for partnering with men. Of course that's insane.

But... idk there's like... this fear and this shame of being attracted to women in the wrong way. When you're a separatist, everything revolves around demonizing male sexuality, and so of course you fear emulating it. I was* afraid any attraction to women, any expression of it, in any sort of way that isn't neat and tidy, perfectly feminist and politically correct, makes me like a man. And therefore bad. I couldn't even think about wanting to fuck women without feeling ashamed.

I was only able to unpack some of this, that I felt this way, after I stopped being a separatist.

[just-slightly-chayotic]

✨ challenge: make a poll with five of your all time favourite characters, and then tag five people to do the same, and see which character is everyone's favourite ✨

i was tagged by @scattered-stardust and @alwaysandforeverlost <3 thank you lovelies <3

tagging: @live-from-flaturn @toppingjeffsatur @shou-jpeg @vegasandhishedgehog @eriingo @arewedoneyet

it's six people because i can't count and now i'd be too sad to untag someone :( SORRY

[blizzardfluffykpop]

alright~ a few updates about everything! so this weekend I'll be seeing changkyun in chicago- so I prolly won't be posting until after I'm alive again from that 😂😅 (I am vv excited about it- I just know I'll be vv tired when I return home). Anyways, I have a few fics in the works~ one of them that is a request 🤭 I'm vv excited to work on them! But I think I'm going to change my masterlist a bit when I come back. I'm going to retire a few groups from the main masterlist and I've been debating for the past year about it... But I think I'm going to add a yearly masterlist- So it would go from most recent to the beginning of this year~

I'm also thinking about changing my pfp- I haven't been really into stray kids for uh... years- But I will be sure to make an update about that if I go thru with that too- (It may be ji changmin next 🫣🤭)

Anyways those are my few updates 🥰💖

[warmsol]

i miss makoa and elia so much but my motivation to story tell is at zeroooooo

[melverie]

Aaaaaaahhhhhhhh today I've been constantly experiencing the urge to un-private today-in-the-devildom & start writing for it again

[gorespawn]

oh right, i changed main accs like last year and transferred this side blog, but never got back into using it! so now i don't follow a single account </3 so if we used to be mutuals (or if you'd like to be!) could you please reply to this or interact somehow...? i've missed being here

[monty-glasses-roxy]

I haven't watched this, but I hope he says it's because he's right, and not because it's boring the shit out of me and probably many other people now too lmao

[izzy-b-hands]

I keep forgetting I can't seem to get the current version of xkit to work on my new laptop and going to do stuff that it let me do fjldksafjdlsaj

[iero]

I can't lie to y'all: I have not listened to a Frank album in full in years.

[fantasy-costco]

Ramble vent in the tags about. Tumblr.

[nervocat]

I wanna write platonic Saiki-K stuff so badly but idk if anyone would fucking READ IT!!!!!

[declawedwildcat]

.

[thethingything]

spent like an hour queuing stuff to @recovery-academia and it's almost entirely just nice art and photos of nature and pretty landscapes and apparently looking at this many nice photos actually made us feel a lot better mentally so that's good.

a bunch of them reminded me of some photos a friend sent us a while ago of a temperate rainforest on the west coast that lives rent free in my brain as somewhere I desperately want to visit. I feel like this would fix me