#even just watching their downfall into that

[novaursa]

The Last Oath

- Summary: His last breath carried your name.

- Paring: targ!reader/Criston Cole

- Note: The reader is Rhaenyra's younger sister.

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (because of the death scenes)

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

Ser Criston Cole knew Rook's Rest would be a trap. The King’s whispers had drifted through the Red Keep's dark corridors, words carried by shadows that spoke of luring Rhaenys into a brutal ambush. He’d anticipated her fierce defiance and braced himself for the collision of dragons. But as his gaze lifted to the clear morning sky, his heart froze, and a searing dread settled within him. It was not the scarlet scales of Meleys that darkened the horizon but the pale, ghostly hide of Grey Ghost, and upon his back…you.

A tremor shot through him, grounding him in horror and disbelief. What are you doing here, Y/N? He couldn’t fathom why you were here instead of Rhaenys. Perhaps Rhaenyra had convinced you to fly in her stead, or perhaps you, in your quiet determination, had taken this burden upon yourself, unaware of the danger lying in wait. It was so like you—to act with soft, unassuming bravery, never truly aware of how brightly you shone.

Beside him, Gwayne Hightower watched with grim satisfaction, unaware of the torrent ripping through Criston’s heart. Criston swallowed, feeling an unbearable weight settle in his chest as he turned to Gwayne. “We must signal them to call off the ambush,” he urged, his voice tight with barely concealed panic.

Gwayne arched a brow, his face impassive. “And why should we, Ser Criston? Isn’t this what we’ve waited for?”

“You don’t understand,” Criston replied, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. He couldn’t explain the depth of it, the years he had spent in silence, cherishing each fleeting glance, every gentle word you’d spared him. In the wake of his ruinous affair with Rhaenyra, it was you who had given him solace, unknowingly filling the void left by the bitter memory of his downfall. He had loved you quietly, resolutely, even knowing the folly of it. Now, as he watched you flying into the jaws of death, he felt his world slipping through his fingers.

But Gwayne’s face remained cold. “It’s war, Ser Criston. Sentiment has no place here.”

In that moment, Criston realized that any appeal he made would be in vain. With a final, burning glance toward Gwayne, he rushed toward the battlements, his eyes fixed on the heavens where Grey Ghost circled in the distance, his pale wings shimmering in the sunlight. He could just make out your form, your silver hair streaming behind you like a banner as you soared over the battlefield, so innocent of the shadows gathering around you.

“Aemond! Aegon! Stop!” Criston shouted, his voice drowned out by the echoing war cries and the toll of metal on metal. He watched in mounting terror as Aegon’s Sunfyre and Aemond’s Vhagar closed in, a deadly gleam in their eyes.

Above, you seemed to notice the trap too late. Your head turned, a flicker of realization crossing your face as Aegon’s triumphant shout echoed across the air.

“Y/N!” Criston’s voice was raw, a broken plea that dissolved into the roar of the dragons. He saw Grey Ghost’s great form twist and turn as you tried to evade them, your movements desperate and wild. Yet, against the might of Sunfyre and Vhagar, it was a hopeless struggle.

In that instant, as Grey Ghost rose to meet the onslaught, Criston remembered every stolen glance, every moment he had held his feelings tight, bound and buried in the depth of his heart. He had always kept his love in silence, hoping that his loyalty, his presence, would be enough. But now he was powerless to protect you, to save you from the fate bearing down upon you.

Sunfyre struck first, a flash of golden fire and claws, tearing into Grey Ghost’s wing. Criston’s heart clenched as he saw you struggling to regain control, your face a mask of shock and fear as you clung to the saddle. He willed you to turn back, to flee, but Grey Ghost was already locked in battle, his wounded wing struggling to keep you both aloft.

Aemond’s Vhagar descended next, a merciless shadow as her jaws snapped around Grey Ghost’s throat, crushing scales and sinew. Criston’s breath hitched as he watched you, a small, fragile figure against the fury of two dragons. The once graceful, pale beast beneath you writhed in agony, the ghostly sheen of his scales marred by blood and fire.

“Please, no…” Criston whispered, his voice thick with despair.

Beside him, Gwayne scoffed. “Seems the Targaryen bravery is finally meeting its match.”

Criston didn’t respond. His eyes were fixed on the sky, on you, as the horror unfolded. He wanted to tear Gwayne away, to scream, to beg the heavens for mercy. But all he could do was watch as Grey Ghost’s wings faltered, his body a shattered specter falling from grace.

Time slowed as you and Grey Ghost plummeted, a spiral of silver and gray tumbling toward the earth. In that agonizing moment, Criston caught a glimpse of your face, eyes wide with terror and acceptance, your gaze meeting his across the chasm between life and death.

He stretched a hand out, as if somehow his touch could bridge the impossible distance. “Y/N!” he called again, the name a broken prayer.

The ground rushed up to meet you, and Criston felt his soul shatter as Grey Ghost and your body crashed into the earth below. Dust and debris billowed around the impact, the final mark of a life too pure, too gentle for the brutality of this war.

Criston remained there, frozen in his anguish, the echoes of the crash ringing in his ears. Gwayne said something beside him, some empty remark that he couldn’t bear to hear. All he knew was that he had loved you, loved you so deeply and for so long, and now you were gone, a memory scattered like ash across the battlefield.

And there he stood, with only his silence left, his heart as broken as the earth below.

Criston’s legs felt leaden as he stumbled toward the shattered remains of Grey Ghost and your lifeless body sprawled in the wreckage. The earth was scorched and smoldering, fragments of dragon scale glinting dully among the splinters of broken bone and torn flesh. He barely felt the jagged stones beneath his knees as he knelt beside you, his trembling hand reaching out to touch the blood-stained fabric of your riding cloak.

Your face, pale as the moon, was twisted in the last throes of pain, but even in death, there was a serene beauty that clung to you, haunting and fragile. Criston’s hand brushed over your cold cheek, his thumb lingering over the bruises and blood that marred your skin. His throat tightened painfully, choking the words he could never say aloud.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, voice breaking as he leaned over you. He couldn’t stop the tears that slipped down his face, splashing onto the remnants of your cloak. “I should have done more.” His fingers traced the outline of your hand, limp and lifeless, and he was filled with an overwhelming despair that hollowed him from the inside.

Behind him, Gwayne Hightower stood in uncharacteristic silence, his face a cold mask as he watched Criston grieve. The reality of war had never felt as brutal as it did now, with your delicate form lying broken and still, and Criston’s silent suffering a testament to what he’d tried to hide for so long.

Criston barely heard the heavy footfalls approaching, but he didn’t need to look up to know it was Aemond. The young prince’s steps were purposeful, lacking any hint of remorse as he regarded the scene with a detached gaze, arms crossed over his chest.

“Ser Criston,” Aemond’s voice cut through the somber air, as cold and unfeeling as iron. “We can’t linger here. We must leave.”

Criston’s jaw clenched as he rose slowly to his feet, keeping his body between you and Aemond, as if he could shield you even now. “We can’t leave her here,” he said, his voice raw. “Not like this. She deserves better than to lie in the dirt, broken and forgotten.”

Aemond raised an eyebrow, his expression one of impatience rather than compassion. “Better? She chose her fate when she took to the skies. She knew what awaited her. This is war, Ser Criston, not some song of knights and maids.”

Criston’s fists clenched at his sides, his heart pounding with a mixture of fury and grief. “She was your kin, Aemond. Your own blood. Are you so blind to what she meant? To what we’ve done?” He gestured to the ruin around them, to your broken body and the crumpled form of Grey Ghost beside you. “This…this was a slaughter, not a battle. She was innocent.”

Aemond’s gaze hardened, his eye glinting with a cold, unyielding fire. “She was Rhaenyra’s sister,” he replied, voice laced with bitterness. “She chose her loyalties, and she paid the price. I won’t weep for someone who defied us.”

Criston took a step forward, his expression taut with barely suppressed rage. “She didn’t defy you. She fought because she believed it was right, because she had courage. More than you or I could ever claim.” He drew a shuddering breath, fighting to keep his composure. “She deserves a proper farewell, not to be left as carrion for the crows.”

Aemond scoffed, turning his gaze to the horizon as if he were bored by Criston’s grief. “A proper farewell? You think I’ll bring her to King’s Landing, parade her body before our enemies, make a martyr of her?” He sneered. “No. Her death will be a lesson. Let them remember what defiance brings.”

Criston’s hand twitched toward the hilt of his sword, his entire body trembling with the urge to strike the coldness from Aemond’s face. “If you had any decency left, you would at least allow her dignity in death. She was not your enemy, Aemond.”

Aemond’s face softened slightly, just enough to reveal the faintest hint of emotion, though it was quickly swallowed by his usual icy mask. He held Criston’s gaze, a hint of reluctance in his eye. “Fine,” he muttered. “If you are so determined to honor her, we’ll do it here.”

Without another word, he turned toward Vhagar, who loomed like a dark mountain behind him. Criston’s stomach twisted as he realized what Aemond intended. He opened his mouth to protest, but his voice faltered as he looked down at you, knowing he had no other choice.

Aemond raised his hand, commanding Vhagar with a wordless gesture. The ancient dragon’s head lowered, her molten eyes fixed upon you and Grey Ghost’s remains. Criston knelt back down beside you, his hand resting gently over yours as he bowed his head, offering a final, silent farewell.

He felt the heat of Vhagar’s breath, the fire building within her throat as her maw opened, casting a golden glow over your still face. He forced himself to stay there, to remain beside you even as the wave of fire swept forward. His heart shattered with every beat as he felt the flames draw near, consuming everything, leaving only ash and memories behind.

The fire raged, filling the air with a blinding light and unbearable heat. Criston could hear Gwayne’s quiet, almost reverent murmur of respect behind him, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away. All he saw was the fire, and in it, the last remnants of the only light he’d ever loved.

As the flames died down, Aemond’s voice rang out, cold and final. “Let this be a warning to all who would defy the true king.”

Criston rose slowly, the smoldering remnants of his heart heavy within him. He cast one last glance at the ashes scattered before him, his love and his pain mingling in the smoke that drifted toward the heavens.

The day was bleak, the sky overcast with clouds that drifted like shrouds over the land as Ser Criston Cole led the remnants of his weary host from the Gods Eye to the Blackwater Rush. The echoes of battle and bloodshed haunted their march, yet it was the silence that weighed the heaviest upon him now. His men, faces hollowed and spirits worn, followed him with the quiet resignation of soldiers who knew they were walking to their deaths. Criston’s once-bright armor was dulled, his cloak muddied and torn, yet he held his head high, clinging to the last vestiges of his pride.

As they reached a ridge, Criston’s heart sank. Before them, an army stretched across the hillside, thousands strong, clad in black and steely resolve. At their head were Ser Garibald Grey, Ser Pate of Longleaf, and Roderick Dustin, Lord of Barrowton, each man exuding a grim determination. The banners of Rhaenyra’s cause fluttered in the wind, a stark reminder of the vengeance the Blacks sought.

Criston halted his men with a raised hand, studying the enemy lines as he steeled himself. His eyes traced the ranks, noting the archers positioned along the flanks, their arrows ready, like shadows waiting to strike. He took a slow, steadying breath and spurred his horse forward a few paces, raising his voice to be heard across the field.

“Ser Garibald! Ser Pate! Lord Dustin!” he called, his voice carrying with the weight of authority, though his spirit was fractured. “I am Criston Cole, Hand of the King. My men have no quarrel with you, only I bear that burden. If you’ll spare their lives, I’ll yield to you now, without bloodshed.”

There was a moment of silence, a pause that hung thick in the air, broken only by the soft murmur of the men on both sides. Criston watched as Ser Garibald and Lord Dustin exchanged a glance, their faces hard as stone. Ser Pate of Longleaf, however, answered, his voice as cold and unyielding as iron.

“Spare them? As you spared so many in King’s Landing and beyond, Criston? As you spared the innocent lives burned in Rhaenyra’s wrath?” Ser Pate’s lips curled in a sneer. “No, your men knew the cost of their loyalty, as did you.”

Criston’s jaw tightened, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “If it’s vengeance you seek, then take it from me alone,” he urged. “I’ll face you here and now, all three of you, if you’ll grant my men their lives. Is there no honor left in Westeros?”

Lord Dustin scoffed, shaking his head as he turned to Ser Pate. “Honor? Coming from the man they call the Kingmaker? You lost the right to speak of honor the moment you betrayed the true queen and the blood you swore to protect.”

Criston’s face tightened, pain flickering in his eyes. His betrayal of Rhaenyra haunted him still, but it was the memory of another, far dearer, that cut the deepest. Her face—your face—flashed before him, as vivid as the day you had fallen from the sky. He clutched the memory like a lifeline, a reminder of everything he had loved and lost in silence.

Ser Pate glanced toward Robb Rivers, who stood amongst his archers, poised and ready. “Let’s end this folly, Criston. There will be no duel, no noble death on your terms.”

Criston’s heart sank as he saw Robb Rivers nod, the archers raising their bows, their arrows trained on him with deadly precision. He felt the finality of it, the cold acceptance settling within him. He had seen this end coming, yet now, faced with it, all he could think of was you—your gentle laughter, your shy smile, the quiet strength you had carried within you until the end. He had held your memory close, a solitary warmth in his heart amid the shadows, and now, it was all he had left.

“Do you have any final words, Ser Criston?” Lord Dustin’s voice cut through the silence, edged with both disdain and curiosity.

Criston’s eyes drifted over the horizon, his gaze softening as he whispered, as if speaking only to himself, “Y/N…” The name slipped from his lips, carrying with it every unspoken vow, every memory that had sustained him through the years. He had whispered it so often in the silence of his mind, yet now, with his final breath, it was a declaration, a confession he could no longer hide.

A murmur of confusion rippled through the men before him, but Criston heard none of it. His mind was far away, with you, lost in the warmth of a memory he had clung to for so long. He closed his eyes, bracing himself for the inevitable.

Robb Rivers released his grip, and the arrows flew, cutting through the air in a deadly arc. Criston felt the sharp, searing pain as they struck his chest, the force of each one driving him to his knees. His vision blurred, his heartbeat slowing, each beat fainter than the last.

He looked down, watching his blood seep into the earth, staining it as red as the fire that had consumed you. He found solace in the knowledge that soon, he would be free of the pain, of the memories that haunted him. Soon, he would be with you, and he could finally tell you all the words he’d held back, all the love he had kept hidden away.

As his body slumped forward, his last breath slipped away, and the battlefield fell silent. Later, the story would spread through the ranks of both Black and Green soldiers alike—that Criston Cole, the Kingmaker, had fallen not with cries of defiance or curses upon his enemies but with a whisper, a single name that carried more weight than a thousand battles.

And that name was yours.

[kimuzostar]

YOU CAN'T HIDE ii

⊱ bountyhunter!terry x black fem reader ⊰ ⊱ warnings: 18+, smut, degradation kink, pregnancy scare, mention of clinic visit, slight choking, stalking aspects, slight dom!terry and more i forgot ⊰ ⊱ probably the last part for this, i don't know... writing smut scares me because i'm bad at it ⊰ enjoy

A few weeks have passed of you being on the run. The media coverage of the robbery had died down; yet you were still on edge. 

Not about the robbery but about him.

“When I catch you again, I won’t be as nice.”

 His words replayed over and over in your head. You felt them deep in your stomach, just like his di-

No, no, no. You will not allow a man to be the proprietor of your downfall. 

After he left, you gathered your things and immediately headed for the nearest bus station. You brought a ticket to Arondale, another small town about four hours away. You needed to put distance between the two of you. 

As you boarded the bus, you had an eerie feeling of being watched. You turn and see a truck. His truck. 

Its lights cut on and it rapidly sped off in the opposite direction. 

You let out a sigh of relief. 

Now you could live in peace….. or so you thought. 

You were currently bent over the toilet of your dingy motel room. The entire contents of your stomach emptied out before you. 

For the last 5 or so days, you’ve been unable to hold down any food, certain smells cause you to gag, and you’ve been over emotional about every little thing. 

The tenant next door was not being of any help as he didn’t seem to know how to lower his volume. Constantly playing loud music and talking loudly. Every time you went to complain, he would get quiet and not answer his door. 

The one time you did see him, his back was turned to you as he got in his car. You wish you would’ve saw his face so you could flip it off. 

You were trying not to think the worst, brushing it off to a persistent stomach bug. But your period was late and that wasn’t making anything more comforting. 

“There’s no fucking way!”, you whisper to yourself. 

There’s no way you could possibly be pregnant by a man you don’t even know. A man whose face you’ve never even seen. You didn’t need any of this right now. 

Gathering yourself, you pull up to look in the mirror. Your curly hair wild, eyes shadowed with bags and your plump lips were chapped. You were a mess. 

You needed a pregnancy test. There was a small market across the street. You gathered your jacket and headed out. 

-

The market was stocked; having every essential one might need. 

You grabbed a buggy. You were going to get everything you needed so if you get the worst, you wouldn’t have to come out for a while. 

As you turn down one of the aisles, you bump into someone. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you,” you say. 

Looking up, you see it’s your loud next door tenant. He’s wearing shades with the biggest shit eating grin on his face. A perfect set of 32s. 

“That’s no bother, just don’t do it again,” he replies. 

Already aggravated, you didn’t have the energy to play into his games. You continue along the aisle, paying him no more attention. 

Scanning the items, you finally find what you’re looking for; a clear blue pregnancy test. You grab it, biting your lower lip out of nervousness. 

Taking a step backwards, you run into what feels like a brick wall. A pair of arms surround you, the hands covering yours over the test. They lift them so the owner can take a closer look. 

“A pregnancy test. Who dis fa?”, the person says. 

You push back, turning to see who it is. 

It’s the tenant again. 

“Don’t fucking touch me and it’s none of your fucking business.”

He laughs, taking off his shades to get a better look at you. 

“I think it’s a lot of my business considering I could be a daddy.”  

Fuck, those eyes. 

It was him. The bounty hunter. 

Terry stood before you, smiling so big that his eyes disappeared. His hair was cut low, his skin bronzed by the sun. 

He was beautiful. 

You were frozen, unable to properly process what was going on. You wanted to run but your body wouldn’t move. You have many questions but your mouth wouldn’t move. 

“You look surprised. What’s wrong?”, he says jokingly. 

You finally get the push to speak. 

“You’re not the only person I’ve been with so you’re probably not the father”, you lie. 

Terry raises one of his eyebrows. “Is that so?”, he says. 

“Yes, so you can go away now”, you reply. 

“Nah, I’m curious about the results. Let's get back to your room”, he says walking towards the registers.

Your shoulders sunk. There was no way of this. 

-

Terry watched every step of you take your test; standing in the bathroom doorway like a bouncer. 

You avoided eye contact, feeling vulnerable about the current situation. 

“What does it say?”, he asks. 

“I don’t know, the instructions say there’s a 20 minute wait,” you reply. 

He sighs, looking up at the ceiling in thought. 

“What should we name it? I’m thinking Junior for a boy and Jasmi for a girl”, he says, smiling. 

You scoff. 

“You have lost your black ass mind if you think I’m having a baby with you. Plus, you don’t even know if this is your baby. The only thing I’m worried about is what clinic I need to go to”, you say. 

You peek at him through your lashes. He stood arms crossed, no longer smiling. You could cut the tension with a knife. 

“I’ve been watching you for weeks. There is no other man”, he says. 

“How did you find me? I left Springville weeks ago, it should’ve been impossible for you to find me here.”

Terry smiles, a laugh erupting deep from within his chest. 

“I never stopped following you, you’re just too fucking stupid to realize it. I followed your bus all the way here. I’ve been staying next door the whole time.”, he chuckles. 

You stood there dumbfounded. The clogs in your brain jammed and you were unable to produce a coherent thought. 

The loud music, the loud talking, the man entering the car. All him. 

“Are you actually insane? Do you not hear how ridiculous you sound? What’s not clicking?”, you say. 

Terry’s brows furrowed in genuine confusion. 

“Why are you so mad? I never told you I was going to leave you alone. I said when I catch you, not if I catch. You’re my problem until I feel you’re sorted out,” he says. “You were warned yet you still can’t hide.”

He stepped towards you. You step back and he follows you until you hit the wall. He leans down, his lips brushing your ear. You shiver at the contact. 

“Do I scare you?”, he asks, tracing a circle on your hip. 

Feigning dominance, you respond, “No, I’m not scared of you.”

You were definitely afraid of him. 

“I’m not afraid of a bubbling moron that goes around stalking people, unable to act like an adult,” you continue. 

You see Terry’s shoulders shake with a silent laugh. He pulls back, trailing the hand on your hip up to your neck. He wraps it around, squeezing slightly. You can feel your nipples harden through your shirt. 

”As long as you’re here, I won’t ever leave you alone. Deal with it”, he says. 

The statement causes you to look down at the floor. The thought of him bothering you forever was too much to bear. 

Terry lifts your chin so you can meet his eyes. You’re stuck, unable to look away; almost like you were being hypnotized. 

He kisses you, his mouth engulfing yours. His lips were so soft, citing a moan from you. His hands slide their way to your butt. He squeezes, pulling you flesh against his body. 

He picks you up, walking you over to the bed. He places you down, still not breaking the kiss. 

Your tongues fight for power, neither of you wanting to fall to the other. 

“Take these off”, he says tugging at your pants. 

You oblige, removing your shirt, pants and underwear. He does the same, allowing you to finally get a good look at his body. 

He was chiseled by the gods. His shoulders were large, coupled with a six pack and a deep v-line leading down to a hung dick. 

Terry hovers over you, settling his face in the crook of your neck to inhale your scent. His fingers begin to rub up and down your pussy, softly grazing over your clit. 

He plunges two fingers in you. He licks from your collarbone to the shell of your ear. He gives it a kiss. 

“Still as tight as last time. There’s no way somebody else been in here,” he teases in your ear. 

“Would’ve been better than you anyways,” you reply. 

Terry freezes. He pulls his fingers out of you, lifting his head up to stare in your eyes. The stoic expression is back. 

Uh oh. 

He sits back, using your hips to flip you on your stomach. His hands find your hair and he pushes your face into the mattress. He straddles you, his other hand on your back.  You can feel his dick resting on your ass. 

“I’ve been being really nice. I don’t appreciate all this back talk,” he says. 

“If you stop talking so much shit then maybe we wouldn’t have that problem,” you reply. 

Terry pushes you further into the mattress, leaning in closer to your face. 

“Apologize and mayb-“, he starts. 

“Fuck you”, you spit, cutting him off. 

With no warning, he slams into you, taking a pause so you can adjust around him. 

His grip loosens from your hair, wrapping it around to cover your mouth. He lowers the rest of his body on you, trapping you between him and the mattress. 

“You don’t know how to shut up and be a good girl. Always got that bitchy attitude. That’s ok, I can fix that”, he says with a smile. 

He begins to thrust into you, hard. The position made it feel like he was poking your lungs. 

“Can’t nobody fuck this pussy like I can.”

He would pull up, only leaving the tip; rolling his hips, before thrusting back in. He kept moving over your spot; it felt like scratching an itch slowly.

“Talking all that big shit, say something now,” he urges, removing his hand. 

All you could respond with was a moan. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t form any words. He was fucking you dumb. 

You began to pant, feeling out of breath; that familiar knot growing in your stomach. 

Terry shifts, the change of angle reaching a new dept within you. 

“Cumming,” you say with an exasperated sigh. He continued to fuck you through it, making it feel like it was going on forever. 

“That’s what I thought”, he says. 

Terry flips over to his side, taking you with him. He grabs the back of your knee, pulling it up to your ear. He slides back into you, feeling even deeper than before. 

“Ah, fuck, that feels so fucking good”, you say. 

“You are mine, this pussy is mine, all MINE. You belong to me,” he growls, planting a kiss on your knee.  

You nodded. The words sounding like music to your ears. If this was the kind of dick you’d get everyday, you thought it wouldn’t be too bad. Besides, you know he wasn’t going to leave you alone anytime soon. Especially if you had a baby on the way. 

“You will be a slut for me, whether you like it or not  

He kept slamming into, never letting up. His free hand grabs your neck, pulling you closer to his face. You felt the warmth of his breath on your skin. 

“I’m gonna cum again”, you say. 

“Let it go, wet that dick up”, he replies. 

With that, you let go, screaming to the heavens. Terry follows closely behind. You feel him tense up as he paints your walls white. 

The two of you are a mess of sweat and deep breaths. Terry pulls out of you, looking down at the art he created. He gives a playful slap to your ass cheek.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”, he says.

You roll your eyes, getting a chuckle out of him. 

He gets up, heading to the bathroom to check on the test. 

“Oh look”, he says flashing it to you, “it’s negative”.

-

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes @skvrpion @avoidthings @jimmybutlrr @persethegawd @nayaesworld @mymindisneverhere @theereina @thabiddie23 @planetblaque @megamindsecretlair @melaninpov @madamzola @literallegendicon @blyffe

[porceline]

So, I'm thinking of your fic, and in it we see how the reader reacts when Optimus is turned human. My request is headcanons or a little ficlet/drabble on how OP would react if you (his human S/O) were to interact with a relic that turned them into a Cybertronian.

Turn of events

Pairing:

Optimus Prime × cybertronian!reader

Summary:

After a decommissioned disguise relic ended up in the hands of the Autobots, everyone's favorite reader (you), ended up being transformed into a giant cybertronian.

Word count: 1k+

A/N: HIII GUYSSS I'm so sorry it took me so long to get this out, gosh I got sick AGAIN! and some personal stuff went down, but I'm back and badder than ever!! Enjoy loves!

(Ps. This isn't as detailed as I would've liked but I rushed to get it out cuz I was taking too much time, but might even make it a full fic when I finish my current one!!)

It was an accident, completely an accident. You hadn't meant to. You just wanted to see.

Sliding thin, fleshy fingers between large gaps in buttons and pressure plates while no one was paying attention, with no idea the relic would be so sensitive. Not your proudest moment.

You always knew your curiosity would be your downfall. You're just lucky Bulkhead moved the kids out of the way.

It was the most pain you've ever experienced, it felt like your limbs were getting stretched beyond their limit, your skin pulled hard and slowly, then it felt like it was turned to stone.

No one had any time to react before you became ten times bigger than you were born, your new form falling onto the elevated platform designated for humans.

The concrete was thick enough to hold your weight, but the iron safety bars bent under you.

Everything was tinted blue, and somehow brighter than before. You had to squint your eyes.

Your vision kept blurring, sometimes focusing on one single spot, zooming onto it as if you were wearing Binoculars.

There was a panic around you, commotion and yelling. Everything sounded so far away though. You couldn't focus.

A hand, much larger than yours grasps your shoulder. Another cups your cheek and turns your head.

It's Optimus. He's speaking. His mouth is moving but you hear nothing. You're scared.

"Have you shrunk?" You blurt out, you can feel the rumble of your own voice like never before, it sounded so clear despite not being able to hear.

He raises an eyebrow, his mouth begins to move again, but you still can't hear anything.

Thick brows furrow as blue optics scan over your worried face. Optimus puzzles together what might be wrong, his face softens as he reaches to the side of your head.

You hear three loud clicks, then the sound of the base booms into your ears, making your head throb.

"What happened!?"

"Primus, what did you do!?"

"Why did you touch that?!"

"Are you alright?"

You snap your head towards Optimus, his gentle optics stare deep into your own.

You shake your head.

He hums, sliding a thick arm under your back, helping you sit up. His free hand slides over your legs, turning them to hang over the large concrete block you're sitting on.

By now, Ratchet has made his way over to you, an angry look on his face as both he and Optimus help you stand up.

The rest of the team are watching in silence, mouths agape in awe at the sudden transformation they had just witnessed. Seeing you go from such a tiny being, to being slightly larger than arcee was incredible.

Your feet, well, pedes, finally hit the floor, they felt so much heavier than what you were used to. Like someone glued concrete blocks onto your feet.

The two of them loosen their grip on you, the lack of support nearly makes you topple over, making you blurt out an embarrassing yelp.

Ratchet scoffs in annoyance, while Optimus shakes his head, leaning you back to scoop you into his arms.

"Let's keep you off your pedes for a bit."

You don't argue.

Ratchet leads the way to the medical bay, walking a bit faster than Optimus. You can practically hear the anger in his steps.

"I'm so sorry." You whisper, burying your face in your hands. How could you have been so stupid?

"None of that," Optimus pulls your hands away from your face, tilting your chin up.

"It's not your fault, it was an accident. Ratchet might seem angry, but he really is just worried."

Everyone else has since gone their separate ways, still on edge from, the event earlier.

What a horrible way to start the day.

Optimus settles you down on one of the large metal cots, leaning you back against the wall.

He sits down next to you while Ratchet occupies himself with running tests on you. The scanner in his forearm drowns you in a green light, covering you head-to-toe.

Completing the scan, Ratchet turns back around. His digits tap against the keyboard as he types.

You look up to the monitor above his head, the text scrolls down the vibrant green screen.

But you can read it.

It's incredible, you understand it but you also.. don't? You can read it, but the text is still so foreign to you.

The information on the screen appears to be vitals, and though you can read it, you can't quite understand it.

Optimus holds onto your hand, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. It was a comforting touch.

Ratchet returns to your side, taking an object that looks like a human-ish pistol from the table beside you.

Before you can even breathe, he turns your hand over and shoots your palm. It hurt, but not as much as you had anticipated. It was like getting a flu-shot.

The vial attached to it starts filling with a blue liquid, energon, you presume.

Ratchet doesn't say a word when he pulls the gun away, slotting it into a machine next to your cot.

The awkward silence eats away at your mind, you grip the grey armor plating on your thighs.

"Ratchet.. I didn't mean-"

"Ehp yehp yehp! I don't want to hear any of it."

You sulk your shoulders, hunching your head down as his thick metal digets tap away at the keyboard.

Optimus sighs. "Ratchet..-"

The prime is interrupted by his medic.

"Not you too! I can barely deal with one whining bot, by Primus don't make me deal with two."

Your eyes widen, your hands open in a defensive position.

"I'm not whining!"

He points his thick digit at you. "That, right there, is whining!  Can you please try to be quiet while I figure out how to fix this?!" Ratchet huffs, turning away back to his monitor. Mumbling something about humans being loud.

You glare at the back of his head, sighing in frustration.

This week is going to be hell.

[owlgirl495]

ok, so i know i rarely actually post my own words on here but with the last 911 episode i’ve been wanting to say something.

i’ve been reading a lot of what people have written (and i’ve added my own thoughts in the tags of many posts) but now that i’ve had time to process a little, see what others are saying, and talk to my irl friends about it a little, there’s one thing that i’ve only seen mentioned like once and i wanna talk about some more. more people have probably mentioned this and i just probably haven’t seen it and these thoughts are subject to change and all that but here we go:

it makes me really upset how little of buck and tommy’s relationship we actually got to see. and i know that they can’t focus on a side plot like that for a super long time and that it’s not the bucktommy show but i was actually okay with only getting scraps until the breakup and here’s kind of why.

they’ve been dating for six months. SIX MONTHS. and they seem to know NOTHING about each other. and i truly didn’t get this vibe until the last episode (8x06) and i think that’s why it feels so off for me.

at the end of season 7 they looked like they were really trying to get to know each other both on and off screen, they were talking about important things with each other, and actually trying to have real conversations. and then in season 8 there’s just none of that.

i didn’t think anything of it at first because i figured they just had those conversations off-screen in the FOUR MONTHS we didn’t see. but with 8x06 it truly feels like they didn’t have a single real conversation that we hadn’t seen.

8x06 shows us that they don’t know about each others’ exs at all, buck doesn’t know how tommy views his sexuality, tommy doesn’t know that buck hates basketball, so what exactly have they been talking about outside of the silly goofyness of 911 subplots for six months??

tbh i understand having them break up (i really wanted them to be endgame but i understand if that was never actually the plan) but the way they broke up felt so wrong.

i would’ve even understood if the real reason they had broken up was because after six months they realized that they don’t actually know anything about each other but even so, until 8x06, that was never indicated. they had a couple serious conversations with each other in season 7 and since there were no hints either way, i had assumed those had continued off-screen.

to have a well-liked couple with a decent amount of screen time break up without showing us pretty much any of the actual downfall of the relationship, giving what felt like a shoehorned in reason for the breakup, and only giving us last minute hints at the possible actual reason for the relationship ending feels shitty, if i’m being real.

i know it’s just a fictional show and it’s not that serious but this really hurt. i hate how much i let this get to me but i really let this show get my hopes up. it was my main form of escapism and something that consistently made me happy outside of things in my everyday life that have been stressing me out. i thought i could sink a little further into it after the results of the election but now it’s no longer the same form of comfort for me.

i’ll probably still continue watching the show and i absolutely adore all the people i’ve gotten to interact with (even in my really small way of interacting) through this fandom but 911 does feel a little tainted for me at the moment.

i’m probably missing some stuff here and a lot of this is just rambling but that’s it for now, i hope you are all doing okay and hanging on to whatever you can to make this a little easier <3

[bekolxeram]

I caught some flak a while back for digging too deep into the technical lore of the show’s emergencies and disasters.

90% of the criticism I got was “they writers don’t care, it’s a the shark on freeway beenado show.”

In hindsight, the only thing the writers care about or put any real thorough effort in this season is the beenado (and subsequent aviation disaster).

All the storylines set up last season were dealt with (not resolved, just dealt with) at the speed of Boeing’s downfall. The supposed big villain Ortiz showed up for half an episode then poof, gone, together with Gerrard in the same episode. Zero lasting effect from his brief stint as captain seen on screen. Madney fostering Mara caused zero friction with Henren, other than one single slightly disappointed expression from Hen in 8x01. We saw none of Mara bonding with Jee on screen, and Madney had the baby conversation in the B-plot of 1 episode, and it turns out Maddie is pregnant all along. I don’t know if they’re going to follow up on Bathe a building a new house. If not, if the house is just going to magically appear in the future, then it’s one more storyline dealt with in one episode.

And I absolutely didn’t vibe with Denny’s near death experience. I understand it’s interesting to explore work-life balance of a firefighter, and I think the message of “first responders sacrifice their time with their family so you can safely enjoy yours” is nice, but they went too far. It was too high stake too quickly, I barely even had time to react before it was over.

I asked myself, “can the Wilsons experience one day of peace?” Well, after assassinating Tommy’s character and putting Back back on the hamster wheel for the 8th season, my answer is leaning no. And I simply don’t have the heart to witness what they have in store for Madney in the near future. I’m dropping the show because I grew too attached to the characters. My heart has been completely shattered once by this show and I’m not coming back for more, to protect myself, à la Tommy.

I’m not interested in watching my beloved characters Sisyphus week after week. I’m not Cardassian.

I guess, I initially picked up this show because it’s more similar to House than I’d like to admit. And I loved that show, I watched it 4 times front to back. Every episode follows the same formula, almost all of the characters are stuck in an endless loop of self-destruction but I just couldn’t stop watching.

Except for House, I voluntarily signed up for the pain and despair.

(Tbh I’d pay money to see Buck crash a car into Tommy’s house lol)

[atlas7seo]

Arcane Season 2 spoilers***

Bruh I love Caitlyn so much. She has rocketed up to be my favorite. It's really refreshing to see people letting their characters be bad. Like I love me a good redemption arc, but downfall arcs just hit different ya know? She's grieving and her reaction just felt so realistic! You can see how her mindset slowly changes. She knows about how one person can make you form an us vs them mentality. Cait makes it clear to the audience about that effect, but as the act progresses you can see her succumb to the very thing she's trying to avoid.

The most fascinating part is that it feels like the story pivoted where Caitlyn and her mom stand in opposition to each other. In season 1 Caitlyn was more of a moral compass character despite being naive, and her mom was framed more as a ruthless individual especially adding on to the fact that she was on the council. But the way they completely flipped that dynamic is amazing. "They deserve to breathe." Caitlyn heard those words her mother left and still used the Gray in the undercity.

Plus it adds to the narrative about police brutality already existing in season 1, we watch in real time what can make someone with good intentions turn ruthless.

And it's even deeper because Ambessa saw Caitlyn. Council member with the messed up legs whose name i don't remember acted like she wasn't good enough, he wanted to get her out of the way. But literally Caitlyn stood up to Mel. She went behind her back, made hextech weapons, and deployed a team. Ambessa seeing Caitlyn as the greatest tool against Mel makes so much sense.

I love Caitlyn Kirammen, i mean she's kinda a bad cop now/maybe military dictator, but like...she's my fav....

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

Adam: LET ME OUT!!

On the screen played the most recent events of his downfall with Lucifer and Adam felt the tears and he screamed until he shot the fester demon out of his body.

Lute watched as Rolando was ejected from Adam's body.

Adam got up and he was pissed. How dare this piece of shit do that to him. His eyes glowed dangerously golden. Adam beat the fuck out of Ronaldo until he kicked him into the pool and threw the vaccum in to shock him to death.

Lute: Adam?

Adam: Let's get out of here.

Lute: I never want to set foot in a hotel again.

Adam: Yeah! Fuck hotels!

They drove a little ways to collect themselves and have some privacy. Adam sat on the top of his van looking down sadly. Lute came over and sat down beside him.

Lute: ..... The devil got you that bad huh?

Adam: Yeah...... I love him Lute.... Even now after everything. I'm having his baby I-...... Maybe in another life we could have been but I just fuck everything up.....

Stoliz Au

Adam sipped on his coffee out of his "Hell's Greatest Boss" mug as he overlooked Pentagram City. His workers, Lute and Emily were at the conference table trying to figure out ways they could get to the human world.

Adams oldest son Cain sat there on his phone looking very interested in anything that had to do with work.

Here at Adams Angelic Assassination, they started out by protecting sinners. Either from other demons or from angels on extermination day.

Turns out people would pay a pretty penny to have someone on earth killed.

It has been a few years since Adam was cast out of heaven for questioning things. They took his halo and his powers before casting him down.

Lute and Emily didn't want him to be alone in Hell so they willingly fell. Adam reconnected with his son who was homeless at the time.

They all needed money so that's when Adam came up with the idea for his business.

Lute sighed: It's impossible! There is no way to the human releam without our angelic powers.

Emily: It's okay Lute, we'll figure something out.

Adam turned: She's right Lute! And I actually have a plan.

Lute: You do?

Adam: I do. I know of a book and where I can get it. It's our ticket up top.

Yes Adam knew where to get this book, but could he sneak in and out without being noticed.

Emily: How will you get it?

Adam smirked: Leave it to me and my stealth skills.

*Adam scouted out the royal palace, he knew the largest collection of demonic grimoires were housed in the Morningstar palace including one that could take him to Earth, thankfully Adam still had his angel wings so he fly over the gates surrounding the palace, there was a party going on, his eyes went to Lucifer who was off in a corner drinking while Lilith was talking with her friends, Adam’s heart filled with longing over seeing his first love, but Adam was here for a reason and it was to get a spell book, he hid his wings thankful for the all black outfit he took to wearing now that he could use to hide in the shadows, but before he could open the door to Lucifer’s room, he was tackled by a pair of hellhounds who dragged him to Lucifer*

Adam: Shit.

*Lucifer was chugging down a bottle of absinthe when he saw a pair of hellhound guards drag Adam in front of him, Adam had a sheepish smile on his face and he couldn’t help but realize how handsome Adam was, in fact he had a strong desire to pin Adam to the bed and have his way with him since he hadn’t shared a bed with Lilith since Charlie was born*

Hellhound 1: We saw this man trying to sneak into your room.

Hellhound 2: What should we do with him?

Lucifer: I will deal with him myself, don’t tell anyone what you saw.

*the hellhounds handed Adam over to Lucifer and the former angel reluctantly followed Lucifer up to his room, once they were alone Adam became nervous*

Adam: Look, I can explain-

*Adam’s words were cut off when Lucifer kissed him on the lips, Adam found himself returning the kiss enjoying the feeling*

Lucifer: I missed you so much Adam, in more ways than one.

*Adam felt himself getting wet with desire, one of the punishments was they took away Adam’s favorite thing, his dick, before throwing him out of Heaven and now he had a pussy instead much to his annoyance, but now he saw a way to use it to his advantage and it would give him something he had always wanted*

Adam: You realized what you missed out on and now you can have it.

Lucifer: Yes.

*they ended up on the bed, they kissed as they frantically pulled off their clothes down to their underwear, Lucifer rubbed the underwear covered erection against the wet area of Adam’s panties, they pulled off their underwear and Lucifer slid into Adam, Adam had to hold back a moan of pleasure by biting into Lucifer’s shoulder which made Lucifer even more turned on, Adam moved his hips along with Lucifer’s thrusts, after a long and passionate dance on the bed, Adam climaxed and Lucifer cum inside of Adam*

Lucifer: That was amazing, is there a way I could convince you to come around more often.

Adam: Maybe if you let me borrow a grimoire to help me with my new job.

Lucifer: Done, but you must come back to me at least once a month. How about full moon night?

*Lucifer had the grimoire appear in Adam’s hands*

Adam: Sounds perfect to me.

*they both fell asleep, Lucifer holding Adam and Adam holding the grimoire, in the morning Adam had to get dressed and sneak out, but before he could sprout his wings, he fell off the balcony and onto the table which had Lilith having breakfast with her friends.

Adam: Sorry, I fucked your husband….. actually I’m not sorry.

*Adam sprouted his wings and flew off*

@things-arent-what-they-seem66

[yunyuis-remade]

saw a post on emet-selch. this is not abt the person that reblogged it.

but perhaps a character like him being sympathetic in a media made by ppl from a country that did horrific. horrific things they deny is... not it? maybe some ppl who still see the effects of similar crimes on their own communities... would prefer characters like that to not be sympathetic at All?

also most emet selch fans ive met are obnoxious and end up being (handwaves) about racism if not outright racist and have actively put me off from wanting to continue the story despite loving some of the characters

[coddda]

I wish we could have met in some other way.

Lawlight Week Day 2: Soulmates

If you saw me repost and re-edit this several times uh No you didn't </3

Still frames/Individual gifs:

If you know what every frame is from you get a free cookie. by the way

[nellasbookplanet]

The fandom god discussion is interesting, but I feel it’s sometimes hindered by an unwillingness to separate gods from mortal society, or even a sort of over-eagerness to project our own reality onto them, which simply doesn’t work. I've seen the gods referred to as rulers or tyrants demanding worship (which I kinda understand because it’s something Ludinus says in-game, though it’s funny to see fandom corners confidently repeat the inaccurate talking points of the antagonist) but more interestingly I've also seen them referred to as a higher/the highest social class, as colonizers imposing themselves on mortals, the raven queen specifically as new money. Overall these comparisons tend to talk about the gods and their actions regarding Aeor in the past and predathos/the Vanguard in the present less as if they're about saving their own lives and more as if they want to preserve their powerful position.

The gods, by their very nature, are above mortals. They cannot be compared to any mortal ruling class because they didn’t choose or strive for that power and cannot feasibly get rid of it/step down/redistribute it (nor do they actually in any sense rule; killing the raven queen, unlike killing an actual queen, will not end the 'tyranny' of death), they simply have it by virtue of being gods. Saying that’s unfair or unequal and that the gods should be killed because of it is akin to saying it’s unfair a mountain is bigger than you and demanding it be levelled, except the gods, unlike mountains, are living, feeling beings who shouldn’t have to die because some people can’t stand the idea of not always being top dog. Thing is, the gods themselves ultimately understood this power imballance and that they can't help but hurt Exandria the way humans can't help but step on bugs, and thus removed themselves from the equation by creating the divine gate. Saying this isn’t enough and that they're clinging to power is just demanding they line themselves up to be killed.

[helimir]

Some top tier Caduceus quotes I've been thinking about in these Downfall times. Something about how so much of Ludinus' position seems to rest on revenge. Showing Bells Hells the squabbling of the gods as they debate what to do about Aeor, and asking 'You can just watch bad people get away with it?'

It doesn't matter if the gods were wrong for their choices. Killing them won't bring back Aeor and it won't stop the violence that Ludinus and the Ruby Vanguard have visited on the world. I just don't see what it's for.

[worstloki]

there is a difference between being born to a throne, maliciously vying for a throne, stealing a throne, and having a throne thrust upon you when you are already in the midst of an identity crisis. And I fear Loki's place in the line of succession has people unable to differentiate between any of these

[undead-knick-knack]

Ashton: When we step out of this place, if they have a hint of what we know, the Everlight would murder us all, or let slip to somebody who wouldn't mind.

Me:

Ashton I love you but you sound so fucking stupid 😂

[pulling-a-jowan]

Hearing Hawke say "I don't know if there ever was just an "Anders"" broke me a little bit

[dent-de-leon]

Something about how Ayden is only 15 and the Moonweaver is also often represented as a young girl. The Sun and the Moon being young, curious, and so in love with the mortal world. Does the Dawnfather ever take the form of a child still, like his sister? Are there moments when he lets himself be the same hopeful, soft, carefree soul? Do they see themselves reflected a bit in each other--?

[snakesandstone]

Hey do you ever think of medieval nordic deities to the point of actually being on the verge of tears at half past nine in the evening or