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bitdemonic · 3 months ago

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† 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐒.

𝟓 𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐒 . 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐋, 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐈𝐓. 𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍 𝐈𝐍 𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃, 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒 𝐌𝐄. ⚠︎ 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄. 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍, 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐋 𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐋 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐄—𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐀𝐋𝐓. 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐀𝐔𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒; 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐎𝐘.

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𓆩ψ𓆪 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 [𝐊𝐎𝐅𝐈]

↓

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈 ✮

PUBLIC IMAGE, POPULARITY, WHAT LEVEL OF FAME, CELEBRITY PERSONA ➞ 🎴 The World. Death. 7oC ↺.

Introducing this pile is the same as a thousand suns in the sky, their essence (presence) shines brightly that it's hard not to notice. Definitely thrives under the spotlight without the pressure affecting their image; effortlessly magnetic celebrity and has the fans to back it up. The public flocks to their every move in throes, this is an indicator of attracting obsessive behaviors from others, but it's also attracting defensiveness and "predatorial" protectiveness (i.e. stans, cult-ish supporters). "Can do no wrong" in the eyes of the public, because Pile One has them feigning for their attention. The influence here that's over the masses is actually so powerful it's concerning.

Carries the same mystique and aura that a rockstar does, it's intoxicating almost. Being "hot on the scene" is their peers kryptonite, because this pile has the gift of never being unknown; ability to adapt to every trend and do it correctly ("justice"), sets them too. Falling off the radar is near impossible, which boosts their status on the regular. Fitting into any crowd and shaking hands with every mogul; elite networking skills. Personality may be a little jaded however, it'll be obvious that Pile One was thrown into fame and made ("forced") to navigate it alone; no guidance or mentor, which is perceived in a bittersweet light from the world.

Will be the black sheep in Hollywood, they'll either stick out like a sore thumb or stand out amongst the crowd. Polarizing, "striking" appearance that gains popularity; a part of modeling campaigns for the largest houses and knows it—flaunts it out of confidence. They're a magic eight ball in every room and connection, leaving people on their toes for any answer [or "form of life"]. Indicator of keeping to themself when "work" is over, so they'll awaken everyone and leave them hanging. Chappell Roan vibes, basically.

PERSONAL LIFE, CONTROVERSY & DRAMA, PUBLIC ENEMIES, LEGACY & DOWNFALL ➞ 🎴 Knight of Wands ↺. Ace of Pentacles. 5oP.

Life as a star is similar to a college student's, it's thrilling and full of adventures, but also is the cause for lots of destruction (i.e. pain, change). Knight of Wands in reversed speaks for Pile One's personal life being out of control and somewhat "reckless". Could feel like things are out of their hands a lot, like trying to keep a family secret but the tabloids pick up on it. Privacy invasion will be a common thing for sure, but they'll find a way to defeat the odds of the situation (turn drama into memes or making light of context). Getting called out a lot, but for minor mistakes and mishaps.

Love wise, this pile is attracted to upcoming celebrities or people that work in an entirely different field. Wouldn't be surprised if they met long term partners at random, like when they're dodging paparazzi or running shopping errands lol. Relationships are short lived due to the demand of career, so romance isn't stable unless they're actively changing their lifestyle to make it work. Friends are potential lovers too, which is more mess for the blogs, but Pile One finds much happiness in the "unconventionality". This can bring about liars though, "snake in the camps" are prone to be revealed after the lust dies down.

Struggle shows in their capacity to actually put in work, as in enough effort without relying on others (a team); they'll have zero issues bringing in wealth, but it'll be from different ventures and endeavors outside of their field. Career won't be taken in a serious matter as expected, they'll have to fight against being the butt of jokes for this. Perceived as an "internet cousin" which means they'll receive more gains from being niche or partaking in what's popular; TikTok or Instagram is where majority of their funds stem from. For the most part things come simply, it's what comes along with it that's the issue. Being young, reckless, and rich is their only downfall and it'll come to pass if they choose to ignore growth.

SIDE QUESTS, HOBBIES, THE MEDIA, CLUB CULTURE ➞ 🎴 King of Wands. 2oC ↺. 4oS.

After hours is when they come alive ["in the nighttime"], able to let their hair down and be free from the press/stress of their job. Going out in general helps them evolve, it's as if their starlight beams even brighter; emphasis on evolving is shown through appearance, Pile One looks *good* whenever they're out and about. Confidence is boosted too, which only encourages their impulsivity in the moment—has a million crazy stories because of this and relives each one. Quite controversial and loudmouthed after a few drinks though, might cuss a supporter out once or twice and have to publicly apologize. Regrets getting into shenanigans just to end up doing them again; very 'live fast, die young'.

When it comes to the media, Pile One will be a celebrity face for reality shows, brand commercials, and modeling campaigns; televised daily for sure, this reading indicates that they're a hot commodity everybody wants to be seen with. Interviews, meet and greets, show panels, etc. all come second nature to them. Charisma oozes from their pores ("pores" correlates to their beauty, they're flawless to the public) and touches an audience in record time, they're beloved [and "cherished"] without second thought. "All is forgiven" is being channeled, which validates the fact that this pile gets away with a lot due to their likability. "America's Sweetheart" plus other countries icon.

Side quests are the complete opposite of their vitality, this pile would book hiking retreats or yoga sessions with the 4 of Swords. There's a sense of tranquility in the aftermath of being famous, their "quiet before the storm". Visiting town shops, feeding birds, getting a massage or hitting the sauna, like winding down would be a part of their schedule no matter the event. They prefer to be alone, want to enjoy the ["little"] peace and quiet that arrives; there would be photos of them eating alone and reading a novel in an Internet cafe ("spotting them in the wild") after headlines about their night before spread word. This pile lives for themselves, always, and being someone with status doesn't change that mindset in the slightest.

𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐒

𖣠 The Devil card was at the bottom of the deck which describes the tumultuous obstacles Pile One might face as a celebrity. It speaks for obsession, toxicity, bad habits, and unfortunately jealous people that will sabotage their future; it'll be challenging to avoid everything hence the escapism through drugs and partying. Indicates having lots of ink (tattoos), a grunge or 'intimidating' presence, and potential piercings as time goes on.

𖣠 Could lose fans from aging or maturing (trash ass fans if I'm being honest), people will chastise, criticize, and bully if something seems out of place from what they’re used to. It’s eerily similar to Britney Spears mistreatment in the public eye, but it’s not as detrimental; Miley Cyrus versus Disney Channel watchers is what’s being indicated. "Tough crowd" but they'll still follow Pile One, might even send forms of abundance as a way to release anger—contradicting but beneficial lol so…

𖣠 Reputation will be seen in a positive, friendly and "happy go lucky" manner. Pile One is remembered for their jovial attitude and intimate (platonic) friendships; could have best friends that adapt to their fame and inherit their own, it's like when you see this pile you'll see this specific person at their side. Might be known for their drinking or drunken attitude (confirmation lmao).

𖣠 Accomplishments and projects are going to be underhanded, there's going to be obstacles when it comes to full recognition that isn't half-assed. This pile works hard and does receive attention for it, but it wouldn't reach the scope of bringing home "real" or profound awards; seen as a young minded star with great potential for most of their fame, and that's all. Might go down in history for fighting against this narrative, going to war for their spot in Hollywood, but to no avail.

CELEBRITIES IN COMMON: Timothee Chalamet, Tyla, Megan Thee Stallion, and Chappell Roan

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐈 ✮

PUBLIC IMAGE, POPULARITY, WHAT LEVEL OF FAME, CELEBRITY PERSONA ➞ 🎴 10oW. 5oS ↺. The Hermit ↺.

Introducing Pile Two would have the same force as an older soul in a room full of whimsical minds; groundbreaking, immovable sense of self that causes tremors in each room they're found in. Jalen Hurts comes to mind, he's only 26 years old and has done irreversible damage (complimentary) when it comes to playing pro football; talented and handsome, which he knows, yet his humbleness has taken him to heights beyond the norm. That's what this pile evokes [and "invokes"] as a celebrity, they're a beacon of a star, burning amongst their peers but in a way that lights up the path to where they're headed. The wisdom and depth of their knowledge proves that fame isn't or wasn't the end goal, that it just so happened to be a part of their journey because they're able to teach, curate, or nurture the collective in ways that nobody else could. Public image is adorned and somewhat envied for being irreplaceable—this individual cannot be replicated or buried (e.g. blackballed, forgotten about), that's how cherished they are.

The ultimate workhorse, the CEO, the alpha and omega ("alma mater", might've studied in their field), etc. This pile will be known for their "utmost" dedication and respect to their craft, there's a sense of having the same respect as one of the greats, otherwise a teacher to the collective of students that adore and "look up" to them. Denzel Washington is being channeled, and now there's a download about masculinity; Pile Two could be perceived as someone domineering [or "dominating"], a king in whatever got them famous. The arts are being specified (i.e. actor, director, screenwriter, or composer), as well as being in the fashion industry (i.e. designer, professional stylist, makeup artist); could be more known within Hollywood, as in amongst the famous rather than being famous, but regardless the admiration could move mountains.

As a star, they're going to be sought after for how much they're worth, for being so high value they're out of reach ("out of touch", too). Since this pile has such high demand, it's going to be near impossible for them to connect with the public or their actual ("legitimate") fans. Could be seen as The Moon card, otherwise illusive and private until they're meant to be out in public; the Hermit being reversed is a telltale sign of antisocial behaviors. It'll be "extremely" difficult to connect with them on a personal level, and to be honest, this is how they'll want it to be; boundaries are going to be implemented and established from day one, so there's little to no room for mistakes from "outsiders". Fame can feel prickly, cringey, or downright disgusting for Pile Two, "dystopian" is what they're reminded of whenever they're made (forced lol) to engage—would drop the flashing lights in a heartbeat if it meant life would return to normal.

PERSONAL LIFE, CONTROVERSY & DRAMA, PUBLIC ENEMIES, LEGACY & DOWNFALL ➞ 🎴 The Hierophant. 10oP. 4oC.

Life as a star will have the same trudge as someone stomping through the house with mud on their boots, it'll be hard to find *real* enjoyment in the spectacle when it's not about money. Pile Two could have Capricorn or 10H placements that challenge the "lights, camera, action!" ordeal that they'll inevitably partake in; smiling in strangers faces or "performing" for them feels embarrassing. "Lighten up" is being channeled, so they're more than likely seen as a celebrity that's stoic, direct, and unmoving. Imagine how Cilian Murphy goes viral for being out of touch with social media and going blank during interviews (e.g. Buzzfeed Celebs reading thirst tweets), that's this pile times ten. Despite the standoffish response to being celebrated, they're meant to be in the spotlight for a longer duration and will stick to the commitment.

When it pertains drama and controversy, the main issue is their attachment to wealth and high-end luxuries. There's an underlying element of hatred towards Pile Two, but it's not directed to their existence, more so the everyday choices they make "out loud" (publicly); how Taylor Swift is beloved by her Swifties but gets berated for traveling across town in her private jet all the time, that's how this pile comes off within the spread. Capitalism or having a capitalistic mindset would cause chips in their notoriety, that's their only stain as a celebrity. With how many celebrity comparisons have been mentioned (example wise), it's alluding to public beef or disputes with their protégés. Someone that this pile views as inspiring would probably nitpick and start something out of spite, because they're so successful, to the point it'd cause a ruckus for everyone to see; jealousy would be attracted and they'd face backlash for responding ("dealing") with it.

In terms of career, legacy, and downfall, this pile feels the most likely to leave everything behind if they're unsatisfied with their outcome. Things like slander or defamation to character (i.e. blogs reporting them negatively) would turn them *completely* off, they wouldn't even attempt to do damage control; PR wouldn't be called or anything, they'd already be over the whole ordeal. The 4oC speaks for turning their back on what once was, feeling that there's nothing more to achieve outside of what's been accomplished [or "done"]. Hard to say where Pile Two's work would go, it feels like it'll vanish or be erased from being left behind—"in the dark" is coming through, so they're the type to take down or delete all traces of fame and what they've achieved. Very pessimistic way of thinking, but they were never attached to begin with, it's no big deal in their eyes and the world has to accept that ("come to terms with it").

SIDE QUESTS, HOBBIES, THE MEDIA, CLUB CULTURE ➞ 🎴 Page of Swords. 8oW. 7oP ↺.

After hours would consist of a routine, something that’s planned and structured ahead of time, an event or night that they’re looking forward to because it’s strategic. Logical plans are prone to occur, like spending their free time visiting museums with complex pieces, or choosing to lose themselves in a game of darts/archery; fun consists of mental development, so this pile isn’t too different from their celebrity demeanor (way of thinking, in other words). Pile Two keeps to themselves so much that there aren’t other people that join them once it’s time to “unwind”, it’s as if they’re the only company that they want, need, and want to keep—trust is being channeled, this is a boundary that they’re probably used to having crossed [or “challenged”] hence the strict requirement of one person allowed. Yoga, journaling, poetry slams, spiritual retreats and meditation are their favorite recreational activities when they’re out of the way. Such a lone ranger this pile is, but it’s freeing and keeps them protected (“out of harm's way” from the fame).

It’s possible that things start to get fast paced on days where they’re needed most, or places where they’re required to be; a hobby of theirs is to up and leave when they’re ready for something new lmao. This is the celebrity that’s invited to a high fashion show just to disappear in the middle of it because it was boring— “there’s more to do”, something better that isn’t a waste of their time. It's not done out of rudeness, though the media will undoubtedly paint them in that light, it's out of the desire to seek more on par with their interests. Pile Two is just very detached and doesn't put on a front to hide it, they come as they are and leave when it's time to. Hobbies would honestly be any endeavor that isn't expected of them, otherwise they'll break the rules purposely if it means they'll be left alone.

Going out clubbing feels pretty nonexistent here, partly due to privacy reasons, but majorly because this pile is disinterested in night life as a whole. The club in particular could be a sore spot from their height of fame, hence why they opt out of doing so; public outings aren't their friend lol, it'd be a nightmare no matter how promising the scene could potentially be. Fans coming up for pictures, paparazzi's flagging them down when they leave, dealing with headlines in the morning, etc. the hassle isn't worth the hours of sweaty excitement. Not that they don't go to parties or lively events at all, but they're extremely choosy with their time and rightfully so. Definitely would prefer hosting their own "club" at home and inviting friends over instead.

𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐒

𖣠 The Fool card was at the bottom of this spread, which further cements that this pile’s fame is a whirlwind of opportunities. Upheaval in status will come randomly, literally definition of “started from the bottom, now we here.” Type of celebrity that is influenced by the numbers on the check; featured in TV commercials, box office films, or comedy sketches as long as the zeroes align.

𖣠 Longer paragraphs than other piles, this is a celebrity who’s remembered or seen as prestigious in their field. Can hold lengthy conversations during interviews, typically aces them with their density and reformed responses. Sturdy foundation of a career that was built “brick by brick” from their bare hands.

𖣠 Reputation is lighthearted, special, and seen as "familial". Celebrities that brought a light to their career field or industry and lightened it with their creative (distinct, unique) nature. Perceived as innocent and pure, no matter their age or appearance; gorgeous people and are commended for their beauty (trendsetters as well).

𖣠 Accomplishments could come at an advantage from others; nepotism babies, industry plants, or even being the protégé of another huge star (or compared to them a lot). Men could force themselves in the way of receiving public accolades like awards or "plaques", but this pile's ambition speaks for themselves. Will have a day or street named after them for their contributions to said field, a golden star after putting in overtime at work.

CELEBRITIES IN COMMON: Teyana Taylor, Bella Hadid, Aaliyah, and Tems

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐈𝐈 ✮

PUBLIC IMAGE, POPULARITY, WHAT LEVEL OF FAME, CELEBRITY PERSONA ➞ 🎴 6oW ↺. 3oP. 3oW.

Introducing them has to be extravagant, it has to be 'big, bold, and beautiful', it has to have pizzazz and gusto otherwise it wouldn't live up to their presence. Pile Three's public image would have the coined term of "diva", they're the celebrity who was born for stardom ("born to be one") and it's imprinted in their personality from the get-go. It could be hard for them to mesh with a crowd however, for their peers could curate an idea of them apart from who they actually are; "bitch" is what they could be labeled as, but it's not all true. Glamour would have a lasting impact on their supporters, people would admire their taste in fashion and aesthetics to the point of being inspired; ventures in beauty are prevalent as well (i.e. makeup, designing clothes). Appearance for them is important because it's a large part of their identity [or persona], the kind of face card that earns them millions on top of millions ("billions").

Integrating crowds would do wonders for their status, Pile Three mixes (blends) well with other audiences opposed to just one. Essentially, they're a magnet for diversity and finds much attention overseas—the kind of star that's adored in Brazil or France lol, all over the world they're perceived as someone special and worth loving. "A jewel", a talent that brightens the collective, that "ignites" the fire in others and deems them the same (i.e. inspiring). This could actively boost their fame, meaning their prominence will never be the same as it was previously; popularity follows them for sure, they'll take off like the fastest of rockets. Similar to Rihanna's general likability and aura, this pile just carries the gift of natural attraction.

Fans feel comparable to friends for Pile Three, they’re able to call them by name or hug them in person, it’s a relationship that’s genuine and not just because of their status. It doesn’t just come with the job, there’s real love shared between them and that’s why they’re so beloved (“fan favorite” celebrity). Will be seen and viewed as someone who’s adaptable, productive, and overall invested in branching out within their career (i.e. not in one box). “Dynamic” comes to mind, so as a celebrity they’re going to be full of surprises; bursting onto the scene with ideas that are creative, original, and groundbreaking. Innovator, trendsetting and trailblazing vibes are heavily implied with this pile.

PERSONAL LIFE, CONTROVERSY & DRAMA, PUBLIC ENEMIES, LEGACY & DOWNFALL ➞ 🎴 5oC. Queen of Swords ↺. 7oW.

Life as a star will leave them ‘winded’, it might leave them disappointed in the way life unfolded, or that the cards they were dealt left them unsatisfied; the saying “money can’t buy happiness” is what they’d understand if they were famous, it came full circle and they’d hate that. Life can be tumultuous, it can have an undercurrent of despair—drowning from the upheaval in what used to be normal. A lover could be their saving grace, the “one good part” of their difficult day to day (future lover, future spouse that feels genuine and safe). For some reason there’s a taint of sadness on their success, accomplishments, and overall enjoyment of fame, it’s a melancholic energy that will never disappear. If this pile could rewind time and do things all over again, they probably would.

Queen of Swords in reverse indicates enemies [or Pile Three’s biggest enemy] being themselves. Their biggest setback stems from insecurities and ends up being the root of all disappointments; missing deadlines, bailing on appearances, all forms of self-sabotage hinders their growth in the spotlight. Nitpickiness bleeds into connections outside of career, eventually harming their bond with those closest to them—too blinded by their inability to be vulnerable, it seems they won’t even realize (“until it’s too late”). Publicly they’re adorned, but behind closed doors is when [and where] everything goes left. It’s not significant, but controversy or drama involving other people (i.e. their peers, paparazzi) will be nothing short of envy, wishing that Pile Three’s success or assets were their own.

This is surprising, but this pile seems to be the problem and not the other way around lmao; “wreaking havoc” internally is the uproot of any negativity, in other words their self-destruction is the fall of their fame. Too domineering and defensive, they’re the type to lash out when they’re under pressure, not giving second thought to their attacks if they’re struggling (“failing”) to handle celebrity culture well. Similar to throwing rocks and hiding their hand, basically. It's not their fault however, because with the 7oW being here, that speaks for crippling anxiety and having nowhere to run to; defense mechanisms are really apparent when it comes to Pile Three's legacy. There'll still be a chance or multiple for them to redeem themselves, just as long as they're able to clean up their acts.

SIDE QUESTS, HOBBIES, THE MEDIA, CLUB CULTURE ➞ 🎴Strength ↺. The Fool. Knight of Swords ↺.

After hours could be quite unattainable as a celebrity, meaning alone time is few and far between; going out would consist of fans spotting them all the time and possibly ruining the entire vibe from pushiness (rude behavior, harassment, not leaving them alone). Pile Three would give up on the idea entirely to be honest, they'd succumb to the defeat of not having enough strength (hence the card in reverse) to assert their dominance, it's easy to push them over for sure. However, this won't keep them from showing up at their favorite spots or hanging out period, it's just going to have obstacles that ruin the overall enjoyment meant to be had. Indicator of huge mobs appearing out of nowhere, despite an evening with private intentions. There could be a slight revel in this kind of attention though, there isn't an inclination to use a disguise or coverup to be hidden from unwanted eyes.

For some odd reason, the media would be "hyper focused" on what Pile Three does on a random hunch; headlines or published stories wouldn't revolve around the average celeb drama (romance, projects, gossip), but instead it'd be about their eating habits or newest purchases. Miscellaneous updates, essentially, and it wouldn't go unnoticed. Garners publicity [without trying] from their most expensive car, current haircare routine, or partner's latest playlist dedicated to running at the gym—falls in the category of being niche when in actuality it's quite boring. Catchphrases or slogans are significant too, might put something under an IG post that goes viral and becomes the print on a crop top. It's going to feel quite strange to them, but at the end of the day there's nothing that can be done; lots of moments where they're seen "unprepared" that they'd obviously want to avoid (paparazzi feels like they play pranks almost like lmao).

This pile is so naughty, it's hilarious; prone to be caught "red-handed", usually found in the midst of doing something that shouldn't be common for celebrities. Vandalizing buildings (i.e. spraying graffiti), stealing small items from stores (Winona Ryder tease), being spotted at an ex-lover's house, etc. It's so silly for them because these are daily antics of the average civilian, which they are, but societal status wise it's out of character—not of their tax bracket. Quite comedic with it also, like this is someone that poses for their mugshot on some silly goofy mood shit. Definitely known for their humor in general, but it's apparent when they're off duty, so much that it brings in a new surge of 'supporters' each time [or circumstance]. Wedding crasher energy, that's what hobbies would revolve around anyway: photobombing stranger's pictures, going outside in bunny slippers, tripping in public and using it as a meme because they're unserious, etc.

𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐒

𖣠 Page of Wands was at the bottom of this spread, meaning that this pile is seen as the "jester". The entertainment part of Hollywood, bringing charisma and character in the areas that are drab or boring; the person everybody wishes they could hand around outside of social media. Bright ideas that are implemented for them and others, a celebrity that's hard to ignore because they're always pushed to be seen.

𖣠 Humor is their strong suit x10, this pile has the ability to get any dead crowd up and alive with their words. Easily first pick for hosting live ceremonies or headlining concerts (live events in general). Reminiscent of a younger cousin or middle child, heavy sibling energy that the public adores [and "admires"].

𖣠 Reputation is remembered in an expressionistic way, meaning this pile has left their mark externally. Clothes and fashion could be their "hidden" niche, something that people weren't aware of until later, but can't deny the fashionista gene that's a part of their flamboyance. Might be known for starting and stopping on projects a lot, experiences burnouts often and has trouble picking up where they left off.

𖣠 Accomplishments are typically "the first to", this pile is a leader in their own right which gives them a boost in receiving public accolades. Their difference makes them stand out and lands them in rooms with large (huge) ass names. Will either be top choice for an "unattainable" award (e.g. winning a Tony isn't simple, but they'd score it without difficulty), or win multiple awards in their field (i.e. Billie Eilish winning numerous Grammys at her young age).

CELEBRITIES IN COMMON: Rihanna, Sabrina Carpenter, Cardi B, and Keke Palmer

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐕 ✮

PUBLIC IMAGE, POPULARITY, WHAT LEVEL OF FAME, CELEBRITY PERSONA ➞ 🎴 Queen of Pentacles ↺. 2oW ↺. The Sun.

Introducing Pile Four takes a different approach than all the other piles, as a celebrity they're going to be perceived as "nothing short of a gold digger". This isn't inherently negative, but it does paint the picture [and begs the question] of their loyalty to those that 'surround' them; spouses, friends, management, anyone that's meant to assist or uplift this pile under the limelight. Envisioning Anna Nicole Smith right now, which indicates that they're someone who's driven by status and ["most importantly"] money. Dollar bill signs flash in their eyes for sure lol, it's as if wealth stimulates every notion of their will to live (i.e. be a star); the promise of good fortune and billionaire company is the promise land of their dreams. Meant to attain it for certain—after, or even before Pile Two, this is the wealthiest pile out of them all.

Another group of celebrities that cause rifts and notions within the opinions of others; it'll be hard not to assume they're one way, because ultimately, they don't go out of their way to hide it. Being bad is good, being good is bad is their internal monologue, something that they're not afraid to admit openly and [undoubtedly] without shame. Their fame might feel unstable, or "hot and cold", and it's due to them not being involved with the "shenanigans" as much as their peers; the WAG celebrities, the stars that harbor fame from the rich partners hanging from their arm. The Lori Harvey of their industry, possibly even of whoever's company that's kept—people are caught off guard by their ability to stay afloat from doing nothing. What this means is that they're not actively involved in a career that pins them down, so they aren't fulltime actresses or musicians, just fulltime paid and pretty.

The Sun is the literal embodiment of being hot shit, it's one of the major arcana cards that screams it-girl or it-boy essence; charm is through the roof, visibility is on one hundred, skin continuously glowing from all the attraction they gain or pull. One upload on social media and their followers shoot to the millions, this is a celebrity that's the most followed person on whatever platform, and it can literally be for just existing. Their fans aren't particular meaning there isn't a specific niche (or gender) that's into them, people in general are drawn to their presence like "bees to honey". Hell, even their favorite artist's favorite artist's is drawn to them, like this is a celebrity that shows up and brings the whole room with them whenever they leave; followers are a personality trait, it's effortlessly natural for them to be favored. The A in A-lister.

PERSONAL LIFE, CONTROVERSY & DRAMA, PUBLIC ENEMIES, LEGACY & DOWNFALL ➞ 🎴 2oC. Ace of Swords. 7oW.

Life as a star is a life that's worth living wow, they're going to be someone's sugar baby for sure. "Cash cow" is being channeled, so there's a lover that doesn't hesitate blowing bag after bag on their every desire, pleasuring them with luxurious expenses and flashing bright lights; not ever forcing them to lift a finger in exchange for gifts. Oh this is the dream for real, this stirs up "positive" jealousy, like their peers root Pile Four on but not without wondering what they could do to attain the same lifestyle ("you go girl" is being heard right now too). Things feel dipped in cotton candy (or gold), adornment and princess/prince treatment are very common; spoiled brats that live as a star both in public and at home. For as long as they're able to, as long as they're alive, nothing would make them give this full ride up [and rightfully so lmao].

Enemies, the media, and paparazzi for this pile will carry senses of wit, intellectual and meticulous yet impressive. Pile Four could even be acquaintances with these people, it feels similar to throwing the fakest smile to a person you hate due to the public setting, it's calculated "hatred" between one another. Indicative of sources for their secrets being close friends, or people that're trusted; bold moves and audacity that will usually be found out by Pile Four, but it doesn't prevent it from happening again (i.e. bitches are snakes lol). Lots of traction on social media from blogs and stan/hate pages that boost popularity; "bad publicity is still publicity" definitely applies for this pile. Sensing that there isn't much emotion present however, so ultimately there isn't a lot that's done besides soaking up the scrutiny.

Similar to the previous pile, there's going to be a temptation on Pile Four's end to be destructive at one point in their fame. It's a dire need, an urge almost, to act an ass and make the world enable their self-sabotaging behavior; being used to having everything their way will lessen their social cues and manners, which isn't going to help their public likability. Quite chaotic as a person, they're not going to filter themselves for anyone, anything, or any "moment" (i.e. setting), which forces their maturity in that second. Pettiness is their go-to lmao, so it's obvious where this is going—reaction, response, or action is both this pile's success and downfall. Their legacy as a whole relies on if they're able to be mature, so the cards can fall either way; the Universe will decide, so essentially, they'd either be well liked enough to never be cancelled or disappear out of nowhere on a random weekday.

SIDE QUESTS, HOBBIES, THE MEDIA, CLUB CULTURE ➞ 🎴 The Magician ↺. 9oC. 5oS ↺.

After hours are on the trickier side to explain, it feels as if they're in more than one place but nowhere at all. Seeing them outside would be like spotting a giraffe in the wild, they're hidden in plain sight and everywhere all at once; could hide themselves well, making it harder for others to detect them in a crowd. 'Where's Waldo?' vibes, Pile Four has the ability to camouflage and that's their favorite pastime; loves to use an alias outside. This reason alone can leave their actual events of the night under wraps, it feels as if nobody's aware of what happens apart from the invisibility. Quiet as it's kept is how this feels, it's near impossible to get a read on this part, maybe it's not for anyone else to know ("use imagination", up for interpretation).

Wow, the people's princess for sure—9 of Cups speaks for fulfilment, wishes, and positivity—headlines will shower ("flower") them with compliments, make them feel even more seen and appreciated than before. Pampering them with the sweetest words or captions, publishing their best pictures on front pages, sending presents as 'thanks' for existing, etc. Favoritism will absolutely be shown for this pile, so much that it won't evoke negative emotions, it'll just make everyone fall ["even more"] in love. As a star this brightens their light to maximum potential (power), their name being publicized is the equivalent to a supernova shooting across the sky. So little words can be used to describe this kind of magnetism, but it exists within them and it's treasured by anyone that's graced ("touched") by it.

Nature retreats, traveling to far out countries ("beaches"), and visiting spiritual resorts would be side quests that they partake in. "Peace of mind" is their motto, it's their way of life when they're free of the madness, it brings them contentment beyond the money and fame. The weight that comes with the world's attention is lifted and they're a free bird when they're with them; sitting in the forest and listening to the sounds might also keep them in high spirts. Yoga seems to be common with all the piles (no surprise considering the tax of the subject lol), but Pile Four finds more interest in teaching it than practicing. Time to themselves is spent enlightening their mental habitat, nurturing and replenishing their thoughts with the Universe or Mother Nature.

𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐒

𖣠 Queen of Wands was at the bottom of the spread, meaning this pile is known for their ferocity, sexiness (i.e. sex appeal), and independence in their chosen field. Runs the world with every command or will grow into this strength the more they're involved with fame. Indicator of a star that's intimidating or dominant to their peers because no one can touch them (otherwise "steal" their spot).

𖣠 The celebrity that's plastered everywhere but isn't known past their social image or public name (as it should be). Hidden even when, or if, they're in high demand—can disappear and come back with twice the power they had. Their pupils (peers and fans) admire them to the point of hoping or wishing to be like them one day.

𖣠 Reputation feels as if it halts or stops in an abrupt manner—a change to how they were seen at the start of their career, near the middle or "ending". Their efforts and past are wiped clean from the difference, could be unrecognizable despite being a trailblazer. Lots of love or "loss" of love for this pile regarding fame, a situation could alter their reputation that was honestly out of their hands (i.e. whoever they're associated with fucks up their name).

𖣠 Accomplishments are going to be huge, personal accomplishments that transcend the physical. Gone through so much to see it all pay off, the field they're in (or fame in general) could've molded them into a "machine" but the rewards were worth the price. World domination is written in the letters of their name, it's near impossible to overthrow the transformations they've brought to celebrity life.

CELEBRITIES IN COMMON: Zendaya, Beyonce, SZA, and Ayo Edebiri

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐕 ✮

PUBLIC IMAGE, POPULARITY, WHAT LEVEL OF FAME, CELEBRITY PERSONA ➞ 🎴 6oP ↺. The Star ↺. The Magician.

Introducing Pile Five would come with strong words of advice for newcomers that come after, this pile's presence might be shroud underneath bad financial decisions, debt, or naivety to the industry. Prone to being taken advantage of, even being misrepresented by gullible words, actions, or choices, they're a celebrity that reminds their peers of Bambi. Might be in the "background" more often than not, someone that's behind the scenes and uses their abilities ("magic") to bring beautiful art and creations to life. Underpaid or being underappreciated is a prevalent theme though, so fame would cause them distress or distrust in anyone that isn't themselves; prefers working alone, enjoys their career and what perks that come with it, but choose not to share how much they're planning on doing next. Hidden gem in a world full of the same diamonds but opts out of promoting their specialties—underrated to many, except for the few that have been blessed to find out about their talents.

The Star being reversed is an indicator of their fame level being despondent on their next big move, it relies on what "they're able to bring to the table". Pile Five is quite the individual, they're a natural creative that can staple their works without an issue; if they wanted, if they chose to, they'd be soaring to grand heights with ease. Untapped potential either by choice or by procrastination. Reminiscent of Normani's dance in [and out] of the spotlight, the ball is in their court and sometimes it doesn't make it to the basket. The people yearn for their work too, that's the funniest part because they're well aware of this, they just don't move on anyone else's time but their own; fame doesn't temp them easily, it's as if they're the "black sheep" amongst normal sheeple.

The magnitude of their fame definitely does depend on how active with their celebrity they are; one minute it's intense and thriving, next minute it's gradual and subtle. There could be periods of rest with this pile, it's not necessarily detached energy, but it gets still whenever they're "bored" (i.e. exhausted with keeping up, not bothered to be a celebrity lol). Manifestation could be a technique that's shared between this pile and their fans, or some other kind of reference to spirituality; this is a known fact about them for sure and it's accepted without question. The potential to lead or generate followers is so strong it's cult-ish, like their power doesn't go unnoticed but they don't go out of their way to enforce it. The aspects of fame aren't as present because this is someone that got famous "on accident" (not purposefully, it just happened), but their influence could lead millions whenever they decide to tap into it.

PERSONAL LIFE, CONTROVERSY & DRAMA, PUBLIC ENEMIES, LEGACY & DOWNFALL ➞ 🎴 Judgement ↺. 9oP ↺. 10oC ↺.

Life as a star won't be simple for them, it'll actually be more difficult than any other pile to be honest. Judgement in reverse indicates malicious gossip and constant (I mean *constant*) opinionated comments, Pile Five is quite literally under a microscope with no air to breathe. Friendships and romantic relationships might even crumble from the burden of being around them; reality will be harsh, and it does teach valuable lessons, but it'll be taxing as hell. Might find solace in spiritual gurus or "religion" (imagine SZA), it keeps them stable and focused on fulfilling their purpose [because if famous, this pile definitely has a karmic mission to accomplish]. Ironically, this kind of negativity never breaks them, only spurs them forward and gets them closer to their inner completion/goals; nothing stops them, not even themselves (i.e. Universal alignment).

Contracts, contracts, contracts, and more contracts—huge disclaimer that Pile Five must read over every piece of paper involving their earnings and very carefully, because the fine print is their biggest enemy. Hiring managers, talent scouts and agencies (“agents”) will attempt to take advantage of them with the potential to succeed if they’re not reading between the lines; acute around others and well informed on said industry, nothing else will stand in their way except for that dotted line. Shows that despite fame being a great challenge (“roadblock after roadblock”), they’re always going to stand on their two feet again. A force to be reckoned with solely as an individual, they’re the biggest threat and won’t need to open their mouths to say it. Intimidating aura that affects business sharks and CEOs, not their celebrity peers—Pile Five is the big dog.

Having 10 of Cups in reverse suggests that they’ll back out of fame once it starts to drain their happiness; they’re someone that’s strong, but eventually the backlash of their social presence takes a toll. Their legacy and downfall would mention the depressive essence that they carry, how it seemed their souls “yearned” to be set free once upon a time (poetic individuals here, they’d be remembered for their intuition and higher selves for sure). Melancholic thoughts are present here, so overall their life under the spotlight depicts some sense of needing to be saved. It’s bittersweet for them but since this pile also has special attributes, the wounds of fame are buried beneath the creative identity they’ve built (i.e. shown publicly). Despite how it seems or sounds, balance is restored as a star.

SIDE QUESTS, HOBBIES, THE MEDIA, CLUB CULTURE ➞ 🎴 2oS. 5oC ↺. Queen of Pentacles.

After hours are usually private, otherwise moments that happen once the door’s close and there’s no one around. Intimacy isn’t the denominator, it’s more of wanting to keep their personal life “top secret” because of the hectic mess they deal with everyday. It’s not uncommon to go this route when in the public eye, but this pile dedicates themselves to shutting the world *all* the way out, especially if attention isn’t warranted. Essentially, they’re hidden all the time, it’s the same as Alexa Demie never being seen until she’s out of hibernation. Not much happens that is “known”, it’s one of the topics that Pile Five chooses to leave up for interpretation (“up in the air”).

Discord with the public was alluded to, but in this section it seems that there is solace or “forgiveness”; apologies are given and Pile Five accepts them with grace. The media seems to fall in life after realizing (possibly owning up to) the mistakes or “trauma” they brought upon this pile, there’s a lot of sorrow and guilt from society as a whole. It’s not addressed on Pile Five’s end but there’s going to be a sense of “I’m sorry for all I’ve caused or done” emanating off of the ones that did the most damage, it’s a complete 360 compared to when the reading first started. Something could’ve transpired over the course of their fame, or near the ending, that caused the world to embrace them like they should’ve (ironic lmfao). Bittersweet is the keyword here because it’s being channeled,for the second time, which speaks for Pile Five holding resentment yet maturing and moving forward; “pay no mind” to those that aren’t them.

Importance is found in all of their side quests, it’s this pile that finds comfort in giving back; donations to charities, protests as an ally, food drives however many days in a row, etc. Nurturing their community is what they’re found doing outside of celebrity tasks, Pile Five would rather help those in need before spending time out “doing nothing”—not that they’re not outside or can’t hang [because they definitely can], but it’s more common to see them spending their time making an “innate” difference. This pile is highly important, like without them Earth would spin a little slower, it’d be off its axis by the largest degrees, their soul is necessary for the greater good of the future. They’re abundant both physically and mentally, which is combined to create the life they’ve always wanted; pleasure is a side quest that’s prioritized. Pampering themselves and staying beautiful [“in every way”] has been number one ever since they received the benefits to do so.

𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐒

𖣠 7 of Pentacles in reversed was at the bottom of this spread, meaning that this pile might not find satisfaction in fame despite bringing so much material in the area. Financial issues could be present a lot, more than any other issue, and that derives them of finding actual pleasure in being a star. Has drafts and unfinished projects that could change the world, but picks when [or if] they ever get done.

𖣠 Outside of the dreariness that shadows (follows) this pile, they would be a celebrity that garners loads of support and attention from their fans. People absolutely love, adore, cherish and treasure them, it'll be immense and irrefutable, intense emotions. Very, very loved by the masses and the grandiose display of affection will encourage them to keep going every time.

𖣠 Reputation will be hopeful and celebrated for its positive inflection upon the collective. Beloved for their kindhearted spirit, tender minds (words, thoughts m), and touching actions—big hearts that people wish they could've kept forever (i.e. "forever in our hearts"). So special it actually hurts.

𖣠 Accomplishments are physical, but not the most significant in this pile's lives. Spiritual progression is their largest accolade, they alter the spirits of those that come across them; seeing them on TV, in pages of books, or on the radio has an impactful effect on their audience. They bring change in the smallest, yet largest ways and it creates a positive difference amongst the world ("whether it's recognized or noticed, it takes affect").

CELEBRITIES IN COMMON: Tinashe, Michael Jackson, Britney Spears, and Frank Ocean

#lovebitdemonic ψ #tarotblr #pick a card #pac #pick a pile #tarot readings #free tarot #intuitive messages #tarot cards #tarot #tarot reader #major arcana #𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗝𝗘𝗖𝗧 𝟭𝟬𝟭 𖡎 #𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗗ྀི #𝗕𝗜𝗧𝗗𝗘𝗠𝗢𝗡𝗜𝗖.#Spotify

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novaursa · 10 months ago

Text

The Last Dragonslayer (The Lost Chapters)

- Summary: One last tale of the Dragon Queen and her Dragonslayer.

- Pairing: female!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top. The conclusion of this story has been expanded by popular demand.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 6 000+

- Previous part: 2/2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

Above the God's Eye

The wind howls above the God's Eye, where the skies churn with dark clouds. You can feel the heavy weight of your sword at your side, its hilt familiar in your grip, the legacy of your ancient order pulsing through the blade. Below you, the twisted expanse of Harrenhal rises, a testament to the folly of dragons and men. But your focus is not on the crumbled towers or the history beneath your feet. Your gaze locks onto the monstrous shadow circling in the distance—Vhagar. The largest, oldest dragon in all the Seven Kingdoms, her scales rippling like molten jade under the waning light.

Aemond Targaryen rides upon her back, his long silver hair streaming like a banner of defiance against the darkening sky. The patch over his eye gleams, a stark reminder of the hatred he harbors for you. You feel it as sharply as your own, a hatred forged in fire and blood. But there is something else beneath his fury—a fear he won’t admit, one that only you, of all people, can summon in him.

You stand tall on the back of your mount, the Banshee—a creature from the depths of the world, more beast than dragon, her long leathery wings blotting out the sun as she shrieks across the sky. It is a scream like no other, a sound that turns dragonfire cold, that sends a shiver of dread through creatures bred for conquest. Your Banshee is a nightmare made flesh, darker than the sky itself, larger than any dragon. Her glowing green eyes narrow with hunger, fangs bared in anticipation of the kill.

Aemond circles above you, tugging at Vhagar’s reins. His voice reaches you across the distance, carried on the wind like a taunt.

"Run while you still can, Y/N!" he bellows, his arrogance sharp. "You cannot hope to defeat the might of Vhagar. You will die like the rest of your kind—forgotten, a relic of Essos, your bones dust beneath dragon fire."

You say nothing in response, only urging the Banshee forward with the barest of commands. She roars, a chilling sound that cuts through the sky like a blade, and you feel the thrill of her power beneath you. A primal connection between rider and beast, honed through generations of bloodlines. Your people were not conquered by the Valyrians—they resisted, even as the Freehold rose in dominance. Dragons fell to your blades, your creatures hunted them to extinction in your homeland. The legacy lives through you, and today, it will be written in blood.

Vhagar turns, her massive wings unfurling as she prepares to attack. The ancient dragon’s roar echoes like a crack of thunder, but the Banshee is unphased. You’ve seen this dance before—dragons are always arrogant until they’re faced with something that terrifies them. Vhagar hesitates, her massive body trembling, but Aemond snarls and spurs her forward.

“Do it!” Aemond shouts. “Burn her alive!”

Vhagar releases a torrent of fire, but the Banshee dives beneath it with lethal speed, cutting through the air like a shadow. You’re already on the move, sword drawn, the ancient steel gleaming with deadly intent. The Banshee spins through the sky, her wings slashing at the air as she rises above Vhagar, letting loose another scream, one that rattles even your bones.

Vhagar falters. The sound is too much, too unnatural. She tries to retreat, her instincts urging her to flee, but Aemond yanks on her reins, refusing to give in to fear.

"Fight, you stupid beast!" Aemond’s voice is filled with desperation now, but you can see the fear in his remaining eye. He knows, even if he won’t admit it.

You push the Banshee into a dive, the wind screaming past you as you close the distance. Vhagar rears back, trying to snap at you with her massive jaws, but the Banshee is faster, more agile. She lashes out with her talons, sinking them deep into Vhagar's neck. Blood erupts from the wound, spraying the sky in a crimson mist. Vhagar roars in agony, thrashing wildly as she tries to shake the Banshee off.

Aemond’s curses are drowned out by the sound of his dragon’s suffering. He clings desperately to Vhagar’s saddle, struggling to maintain control as the Banshee rips into her flesh with relentless ferocity. Your sword flashes, and you bring it down in a deadly arc, slicing through the thick, leathery membrane of Vhagar’s wing. She howls, the injury throwing her off balance as she plummets toward the lake below.

But the Banshee is not done. She dives again, her jaws locking around Vhagar’s throat, and with a sickening crunch, she rips it open. Blood pours from the wound, a river of hot, steaming liquid that paints the sky red. Vhagar's struggles grow weaker, her mighty wings faltering as she begins to fall. But even as her life fades, the Banshee does not stop.

Her jaws clamp down on Vhagar’s still-beating heart, ripping it from the dragon’s chest. The wet, sickening sounds of flesh tearing and bones snapping fill the air as the Banshee devours it whole. You watch as she tears into the liver next, blood drenching the sky as she feasts on the dying dragon.

Aemond, thrown from the saddle by Vhagar’s final thrash, scrambles to his feet on a small outcrop of rock. His once-proud visage is now twisted in disbelief, covered in the blood of his dragon. He stares at you, fury and fear mixing in his violet eye.

"You—" he starts, but he doesn’t get to finish.

With one swift motion, the Banshee turns her gaze toward him. Her glowing eyes lock onto him, and she lets out a low, rumbling growl. You don’t need to give the command. She strikes like a predator who knows her prey, her jaws snapping around Aemond’s body. His scream is brief, cut off as the Banshee crushes him with a sickening crunch. Blood spills from her mouth as she devours him, piece by piece.

It’s over in moments.

The skies are quiet now, save for the distant echo of your Banshee’s final shriek as she consumes the last of Aemond’s body. You sit atop her back, your heart steady, your breathing calm. The blood of Targaryens, of dragons, stains the air, marking the end of one more chapter in this endless cycle of fire and blood.

You lean forward, resting a hand on the Banshee’s neck as she licks her blood-soaked jaws. "Let them remember this day," you whisper. "Let them remember what happens when dragons challenge those born to slay them."

The wind carries your words across the battlefield, to the ashes of a dragon that once ruled the skies, and to the man who thought himself invincible.

The Dragon Prince and the Dragonslayer

The courtyard of Dragonstone is alive with the distant sound of waves crashing against the rocky shore, the wind carrying the salty tang of the Narrow Sea. You stand in the center of the courtyard, sword in hand, its weight an old, familiar comfort. The sword is unlike any in Westeros—its hilt and blade adorned with intricate designs that speak of its Essosi origin. Passed down through generations of your family, it is a weapon forged not just for battle, but for the ancient art of swordplay, a style lost to time.

Luke stands before you, eyes wide and eager, his own sword gripped tightly in his hands. The boy has always had a fire in him, a determination that you recognize, but today there’s something more—a request that he’s hesitant to voice.

“Are you sure, Lucerys?” you ask, your voice calm but firm. “This isn’t something you learn overnight. It’s not like the training you’ve had.”

Luke’s jaw tightens, but there’s a spark of excitement in his violet eyes as he nods. “I’m sure, Y/N. I want to learn. I’ve seen you fight. It’s different. It’s... graceful but deadly. I want to be able to protect my family, to fight for my mother. Please, teach me.”

You tilt your head slightly, studying him. He’s young, still growing into himself, but there’s no mistaking the resolve in his voice. This is more than just curiosity—this is about loyalty, about becoming someone his family can depend on in times of war.

“Very well,” you say, stepping back and motioning for him to take his stance. “We’ll start with the basics. Forget what you’ve learned with the knights and their heavy blades. This style isn’t about brute force. It’s about precision, timing, and reading your opponent.”

Luke’s brow furrows as he shifts into the stance he’s been taught, but it’s rigid, his grip too tight on the hilt. You circle him, the soft clink of your sword against your thigh the only sound between you.

“Relax,” you say, tapping his shoulder lightly. “Your sword isn’t a hammer. Loosen your grip. Feel the flow of the blade, not the weight.”

Luke adjusts, trying to mimic your posture, but it’s awkward, his movements still tied to the way he’s been taught to fight. You stop in front of him, reaching out to gently correct his grip, your fingers wrapping around his wrist as you guide him into position.

“Think of it like a dance,” you instruct. “You move with your sword, not against it. Watch.”

You take a step back, lifting your own sword. With a fluid movement, you swing the blade in a graceful arc, slicing through the air with precision and speed. It’s a dance, each movement flowing into the next, your feet shifting lightly on the stone floor. Luke watches, mesmerized by the ease with which you wield your sword.

“See?” you say, coming to a stop, the sword resting lightly at your side. “You let the blade guide you. Don’t fight it. Let’s try again.”

Luke nods, determination etched on his face. He takes a deep breath, mimicking your movements as best as he can, but there’s still hesitation in his swings. You step in close again, showing him how to shift his weight, how to flow through the movements instead of forcing them.

“You’ll get there,” you assure him, seeing the frustration flicker in his eyes. “This isn’t about being perfect right away. It’s about learning how to adapt, how to use your opponent’s strength against them.”

For the next hour, you guide him through the basics, correcting his stance, showing him how to strike with precision rather than power. There’s sweat on his brow, but he doesn’t complain. He listens, he watches, and slowly, you begin to see the change. His movements become less stiff, more fluid. There’s a natural grace in him that surprises even you.

"Like that?" he asks, a hopeful glint in his eyes after a particularly well-executed swing.

You nod, a small smile pulling at your lips. “Better. You’re learning quickly. But remember, this isn’t just about the sword. It’s about the mind. You have to stay calm, even when the battle rages around you.”

Luke nods, his expression serious. “I’ll keep practicing. Thank you, Y/N.”

You sheath your sword and place a hand on his shoulder, giving him an approving look. “You have the heart for it, Luke. That’s what matters most. But don’t forget to take your time. Don’t rush what you’re not ready for.”

As you speak, the familiar sound of footsteps catches your attention, and you turn to see Rhaenyra approaching from the far end of the courtyard. She’s draped in black and red, her long silver hair billowing slightly in the wind. Her eyes fall on you first, and then on Luke, her expression softening as she watches the two of you together.

"Mother," Luke greets, sheathing his sword and offering her a small smile.

Rhaenyra’s gaze lingers on him for a moment before she turns to you, a faint smile playing on her lips. “I see you’ve been giving Lucerys lessons. Did he beg, or did you volunteer?”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “He asked, and I couldn’t say no. He’s determined. He wants to protect you.”

Rhaenyra moves closer, her gaze flicking between you and Luke. There’s pride in her eyes, but also a deep, unspoken worry. The war is heavy on her shoulders, and she knows what it means for her children. She steps closer to Luke, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.

“You’ve made me proud, my son,” she says softly, her voice filled with warmth.

Luke looks up at her, the boyish smile returning to his face. “I’ll keep practicing, I promise.”

Rhaenyra kisses his forehead, then turns to you as Luke takes his leave, retreating to practice on his own. The courtyard feels quieter now, the air between you charged with a different kind of energy. Rhaenyra’s eyes meet yours, and there’s a softness there, a connection that has grown stronger with each passing day.

“You’re good with him,” she says, her voice quieter now, intimate. “He looks up to you.”

You step closer, close enough to feel the warmth of her body in the cool evening air. “He’s strong, Rhaenyra. He has your spirit.”

Her eyes search yours for a moment, and then, without hesitation, she closes the distance between you, her hand coming to rest on your arm, fingers trailing lightly over your skin. There’s a softness to her touch, but also a weight—a trust that goes beyond words.

“I don’t know what I would do without you,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. “In this war, in this chaos… you’re my constant.”

You reach up, gently brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear, your fingers lingering there, caressing the soft curve of her jaw. “I’m not going anywhere,” you promise, your voice firm but tender. “I’ll fight for you. Always.”

Her lips curl into a soft smile, and then, slowly, she leans in, pressing her forehead to yours. There’s a peace in this moment, a stillness in the midst of the storm that rages beyond these walls. You close your eyes, breathing in the scent of her, feeling the warmth of her so close.

“You are my heart,” she whispers, her breath warm against your skin. “And I am yours.”

You don’t need to say anything in response. The bond between you is deeper than words, forged in fire and blood, stronger than any sword. You stay like this for a moment longer, lost in each other, before she pulls back slightly, her hand still resting against your cheek.

“I’ll see you tonight?” she asks softly, a playful glint in her eye.

You smile, your fingers brushing over her hand as you nod. “I’ll be waiting.”

And with that, she turns, the lightness in her step a stark contrast to the heavy world that surrounds her. You watch her go, the warmth of her touch still lingering on your skin, knowing that no matter what battles lie ahead, no matter what enemies rise to face you—you will always stand by her side.

The Past Lives

The winds howl across the dark, jagged cliffs of Dragonstone, but you barely feel the cold. Standing at the edge of the precipice, the sky overhead is filled with swirling clouds, dark and tumultuous. Your eyes, however, are not on the present, not on the sea crashing below or the distant lights flickering from the castle behind you. No, your thoughts are far from this place, far from this time.

You have lived many lives. Far too many.

The weight of it presses down on you now, like an invisible chain that has grown heavier with every passing century. There was a time when you had felt invincible, when the bond between you and your Banshee was something you had reveled in. Immortality was not something you had feared—then, it had felt like freedom. The blood ritual that had sealed your fate had been your choice. You had chosen to bind yourself to your Banshee, chosen the power and the bond that came with it.

But time changes everything. You had no idea, back then, what it truly meant. You couldn’t have.

Your mind drifts to the ancient ruins of Valyria, now long turned to ash, but once an empire of impossible might. You were there when the Freehold ruled the skies, when dragons cast shadows over cities, and sorcerers shaped the world with fire and blood. Your people, the Dragonslayers, had been the last stand, the ones who resisted the dominion of dragons. You remember the battles fought in the sky, the screams of dragons as they fell to your blades and the primal terror they felt at the sound of a Banshee's scream.

But your people are long gone now, consumed by the same fires that once forged them. You watched as the Doom swallowed Valyria, watched as your homeland crumbled under molten rock and fire. You fought, you survived, but the world you knew died that day. And with it, everyone you had once called kin.

Empires rose after that. You saw them all—the Free Cities, the Rhoynar, even the rise of Oldtown and the Reach. You fought in wars, watched as kings claimed thrones and lost them, as cities were built and then turned to rubble. And you never changed. The world around you shifted like the seasons, but you remained. Unaging, unyielding, bound to your Banshee, your soul entwined with hers.

At first, there had been others like you, remnants of your order who had survived the fall of Valyria. You remember them vividly, their faces, their voices, their laughter. You remember the brothers and sisters you had once fought beside, who had shared your bond. But even they could not withstand the toll of immortality. One by one, they had fallen—some to madness, some to the blade, and others to the slow decay of time. And you had been forced to watch it all.

You close your eyes, the weight of centuries pressing in on you. The names of those you loved haunt your thoughts. Faces flicker in your memory, faces of people long dead, faces you cannot forget. It is a terrible thing to love when you cannot die. To watch those you care for grow old, wither, and pass on while you remain. It is a curse as much as it is a blessing, this immortality.

A sigh escapes your lips, and you feel the presence of your Banshee nearby. Her glowing green eyes watch you from the shadows, her dark, leathery wings folded against her massive body. She is a part of you, and you of her. The bond between you runs deeper than blood, deeper than any love you have known. Yet even she cannot ease the pain of loss.

You think of the lovers you have had, the fleeting moments of happiness in an otherwise endless existence. There had been many over the centuries—strong, beautiful souls who had entered your life like flashes of light. But they were always temporary. Mortal. You had loved them fiercely, but they all left you in the end. Not by choice, but by the slow march of time. You remember holding their hands as their eyes dimmed, feeling the coldness creep into their skin as life slipped away. And you, left alone again, unchanged.

Until her.

Your thoughts drift to Rhaenyra. She is different, and yet she is the same. The moment you met her, you felt the familiar pull of love, the warmth that you had thought long gone. You had tried to resist it at first, tried to keep her at arm’s length, knowing the pain that would come. But Rhaenyra—stubborn, fierce, and full of fire—broke down your walls, just as others had before her. Now, you are bound to her, not by blood or ritual, but by something deeper.

But Rhaenyra is mortal. Like all the others. And you know, in your heart, what that means. You know how this will end.

A part of you wants to run, to leave her before the inevitable comes. You know that one day, you will have to watch her wither, to see the light leave her eyes as it has with so many others. You will have to endure the agony of her loss, just as you have with everyone else you’ve loved. The thought of it terrifies you, more than any battle, more than any dragon.

You hear the soft rustle of footsteps behind you, and you turn slowly, already knowing who it is. Rhaenyra stands at the edge of the courtyard, her silver hair catching the faint light of the moon. She looks at you, her eyes searching yours, as if she can sense the storm of thoughts swirling in your mind.

"Y/N," she says softly, her voice gentle, yet filled with concern. "What troubles you?"

You don’t answer immediately, instead letting your eyes trace her face, memorizing every detail—the curve of her lips, the strength in her gaze. You wonder how long you will have with her before time claims her as it has claimed so many others. How long before you are left standing alone once again, the cold shadow of immortality your only companion.

Rhaenyra steps closer, her hand reaching out to rest on your arm, her touch warm and grounding. "You’ve been distant," she whispers, her brow furrowing slightly. "Please, talk to me."

For a moment, you are tempted to pull away, to retreat back into the safety of solitude. But her eyes hold you, her presence a balm against the ache in your heart. You sigh, your voice low and rough when you finally speak.

"Do you ever fear time, Rhaenyra?" you ask, your gaze distant. "Do you ever fear the years slipping away, taking everything and everyone you love with them?"

Rhaenyra frowns, tilting her head slightly. "Of course I do. Time spares no one. But that is why we must live now, in the present. Why we must cherish what we have, for however long we are given."

You look at her, your heart heavy. "But what if time spares one of us, and not the other? What if I must watch you wither and fade, as I have watched others before you?"

Rhaenyra's hand tightens around your arm, her expression softening with understanding. "You have seen more than any of us can imagine," she says quietly. "But that is not our fate. Our fate is what we make of it, here and now. You have me, Y/N. And I have you. We cannot fear the future, not when we still have each other."

Her words are a comfort, but the ache remains. You close your eyes, leaning into her touch, allowing yourself to feel the warmth of her hand against your skin, the steady beat of her heart. For now, she is here. For now, she is yours.

But in the back of your mind, the shadow of time looms, reminding you of what is to come. Always watching. Always waiting.

And you, immortal and unchanging, will face it again.

The Rogue Prince

The sun hangs low over Dragonstone and the courtyard where you stand, gently tending to the Banshee. Her massive form is hunched, wings folded tight against her body as you move your hands over her dark leathery skin, inspecting every inch. The creature is quiet, save for the soft rumble of her breath, her green eyes glowing faintly as she watches you with an ancient understanding. There's a bond between you, one forged in blood and ritual, something deeper than words or time. A connection that goes beyond mere companionship.

But that connection, that understanding, is not one shared by anyone else. Especially not by those who feel the primal fear that the Banshee's presence invokes. She is a thing of nightmares, a creature bred to strike terror in the hearts of dragons and men alike.

You hear the soft crunch of boots on the stone behind you and know, without turning, who it is. Daemon Targaryen, always light on his feet, his presence unmistakable even when silent. He has an aura about him, a sense of command that fills any space he occupies. Still, you sense a hint of hesitation in his steps as he approaches the Banshee, something unusual for the Rogue Prince.

“You must have lost your nerve, Daemon,” you call over your shoulder, the faintest hint of amusement in your voice. “I never took you for a man who hesitated.”

Daemon’s voice, rich and low, carries a mocking edge as he replies, “I don’t hesitate, Y/N. I’m simply weighing whether or not I want to be torn apart by your little friend here.”

You laugh quietly, running a hand along the Banshee’s side, feeling the strength of her muscles under her skin. “She wouldn’t tear you apart—at least not if I told her not to.”

Daemon steps closer, his eyes fixed on the creature before him. Even for a man who rides Caraxes, the Blood Wyrm, there’s a certain respect—or perhaps a deep-seated fear—in the way he regards the Banshee. Caraxes is terrifying, yes, but the Banshee is something different. Something older. Something darker.

“She looks like she crawled out of the Seven Hells,” he mutters, folding his arms as he studies the beast. “Is there any part of her that doesn’t scream death?”

You glance at him over your shoulder, a smirk playing on your lips. “She’s not so bad once you get used to her. A bit like you, I imagine.”

Daemon chuckles, moving even closer. He stops just a few paces away, the distance between him and the Banshee still deliberate. Her green eyes flicker toward him, a low rumble vibrating through her chest, but she doesn’t move. You can sense her wariness, her innate mistrust of anyone but you, but there’s no aggression in her stance. Not yet, at least.

Daemon’s eyes shift from the Banshee to you, his expression turning playful. “Does that thing even have a name? Or do you just call her ‘Beast’?”

You roll your eyes, returning to your task of checking the Banshee’s wings. “She has a name. But you wouldn’t be able to pronounce it.”

Daemon raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Wouldn’t I?”

“Not with that Valyrian tongue of yours,” you tease, glancing up at him. “It’s an old name, from my people’s language. Far older than any of your words.”

Daemon watches you for a moment, clearly intrigued. “Humor me. Let me hear it.”

You pause, running your hand along the edge of the Banshee’s massive wing. It’s a name that few have heard, fewer still have spoken aloud. A name passed down from generations of Dragonslayers, from a time when the world was different, when your people stood against the might of Valyria itself. You hesitate, knowing how the sound of it might unsettle even the most fearless of men. But then, Daemon is not most men.

You murmur the name softly, almost under your breath. It rolls off your tongue like a whisper of the wind, ancient and guttural, a sound not meant for human ears.

Daemon’s expression shifts as he hears it, his usual bravado tempered by something quieter, more thoughtful. “I see what you mean,” he says, his voice softer than usual. “I doubt I could manage that without a few drinks.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “I told you. But she knows it, and that’s what matters.”

Daemon’s gaze drifts back to the Banshee, the massive creature still watching him with glowing eyes. He inches closer, almost imperceptibly, as if testing his own courage. He reaches a hand out, hovering just shy of the creature’s leathery skin, as if waiting for some signal from you—or perhaps from her—that it’s safe.

“She’s not like a dragon, is she?” he asks quietly, his voice no longer teasing.

You shake your head. “No. She’s older than dragons. The Banshee is a predator, made to hunt them. Her instincts are sharper, more calculating. But she’s loyal, in her way.”

Daemon lowers his hand slightly, his fingers brushing against the edge of the Banshee’s wing. Her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t move, accepting his touch with a kind of reluctant tolerance. You watch him carefully, knowing that this moment is not just about him facing the creature—it’s about him conquering the fear she inspires. And for a man like Daemon, fear is not something he allows himself often.

“You know,” Daemon says, his tone lighter again, “I’ve always thought dragons were the pinnacle of terror. Now, I’m starting to think there’s something worse.”

You smirk, folding your arms as you lean against the Banshee’s side. “Oh, trust me, Daemon, there are worse things in this world than dragons. Much worse.”

He glances at you, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Like you?”

You tilt your head, your eyes meeting his. “Perhaps.”

There’s a moment of silence between you, the air thick with unspoken understanding. Daemon is many things—arrogant, reckless, fierce—but he is also perceptive. He knows of your relationship with Rhaenyra, has seen the bond you share, and yet he does not object. Perhaps he respects the connection, perhaps he knows that you and Rhaenyra are tied by something deeper than even he could touch. Or perhaps it is simply that he, like you, understands the burden of being more than what the world expects.

“You’re a hard one to figure out,” Daemon says, stepping back from the Banshee and folding his arms again. “But I suppose that’s why Rhaenyra loves you.”

You raise an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “And you’re not?”

Daemon laughs, the sound rich and genuine, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Oh, I’m an open book, Y/N. But you—you’re something else entirely.”

You shrug, turning back to the Banshee. “Maybe. Or maybe you just haven’t figured out how to read me yet.”

Daemon grins, the playful glint returning to his eyes. “Give me time.”

As he walks away, leaving you alone with your Banshee once more, you can’t help but smile to yourself. Daemon Targaryen may be many things, but fearful is not one of them. And perhaps, in some strange way, he understands you more than anyone else—because like you, he walks the line between power and fear, life and death.

And though the Banshee watches him with her glowing eyes, she too understands.

The Dragon Queen and her Dragonslayer

The Great Hall of the Red Keep was silent, save for the soft crackle of the torches lining the walls. The Iron Throne loomed before the gathered court, its jagged edges a testament to the power it represented. And seated upon it, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen—first of her name, ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. She had worn the crown for years now, her reign hard-fought and blood-soaked. The weight of it showed in the lines that etched her once-youthful face, in the silver hair that had begun to streak with gray. But there was a strength in her still, the fierce fire of a Targaryen queen who had battled for her birthright.

Today, however, her thoughts were elsewhere. Far beyond the hall, beyond King’s Landing, beyond even the lands she ruled. They were with a memory—one that had haunted her for years. A memory of you.

The court was in session, lords and ladies arrayed before her, but she barely heard their voices. Her mind was with the last time she saw you, so many years ago now. You had saved her children, stopped the ships of the Free Cities at the Gullet, and then... vanished. You had promised to return, yet the days turned to weeks, the weeks to months, and still, you had not come back. Rhaenyra had waited, even when reason told her that you were lost. And still, somewhere deep inside, she had never stopped waiting. But now, so many years later, even the hope had begun to fade.

Until today.

“Your Grace,” a guard interrupted her thoughts, stepping forward with a slight bow. “There is a visitor at the gates. They claim to be a close friend of the Queen, though they come from distant lands.”

Rhaenyra’s brow furrowed, her gaze sharpening as she regarded the guard. “A close friend? Who?”

“They would not give a name, Your Grace,” the guard replied. “But they were insistent. Said you would know them.”

Rhaenyra’s heart skipped a beat. For a moment, she felt the familiar pull of hope, a sensation she had long buried beneath the weight of her duties and losses. She composed herself quickly, her voice steady, though her pulse quickened.

“Bring them in,” she commanded, her tone betraying none of the sudden storm inside her.

The court murmured softly, curious at this unexpected arrival, but Rhaenyra paid them no mind. She sat taller on the Iron Throne, her hands gripping the arms of the seat, her breath catching in her chest. Could it be? After all these years?

The great doors swung open, and the guards entered, flanking a figure draped in the travel-worn garb of distant lands. Your steps were measured, slow, as you crossed the hall. The torches flickered as you passed, casting shadows on your face, but Rhaenyra’s eyes never wavered. She knew you. She had never forgotten.

It was you.

You looked exactly as you had the day you left her—unchanged, untouched by time, your features sharp and ageless. Your eyes, those eyes she had known so well, gleamed with the same strength and wisdom that had captivated her so long ago. Your movements were graceful, as they had always been, as if the weight of the world did not cling to you as it did to everyone else.

Rhaenyra’s breath caught in her throat as her world tilted, the very axis of her reality shifting with your presence. Her mind struggled to grasp what her heart already knew—that you had come back. You hadn’t aged a day, while she had grown older, while years of ruling, of loss, had worn her down. And yet, here you were, as if time itself had no claim over you.

You stopped before the Iron Throne, your gaze meeting hers, and for a moment, the years fell away. You bowed your head slightly in respect, but there was a knowing smile on your lips, a look that spoke of secrets shared, of a bond that had never truly been severed.

“Your Grace,” you said, your voice like a familiar song, one Rhaenyra hadn’t realized she had been longing to hear. “It has been a long time.”

Rhaenyra’s fingers tightened around the arms of the throne, her heart racing as she fought to find words. “You...” Her voice was barely more than a whisper, disbelief and something more—something raw and painful—tangling in her throat. “You’ve come back.”

“I promised, didn’t I?” you said softly, your eyes never leaving hers. “I always keep my promises, Rhaenyra.”

At the sound of her name on your lips, something inside her broke. She rose from the Iron Throne, descending the steps slowly, her eyes locked on yours as if afraid that if she looked away, you might vanish again. The courtiers, the guards—none of them mattered. In this moment, it was just you and her, and the years that had stretched between you dissolved like mist.

When she reached you, she hesitated for a brief second before raising a hand to your cheek, her touch tentative, as though testing if you were real. The warmth of your skin, unchanged, made her heart ache with a mixture of relief and pain. She had waited so long.

“You haven’t aged,” she murmured, her voice low and filled with awe. “Not a day. How...?”

“I told you, Rhaenyra,” you replied, gently taking her hand in yours. “The bond with the Banshee—it comes with a price. Time doesn’t touch me the way it does others.”

Her eyes searched yours, filled with emotions too tangled to name. “And yet... you left. You didn’t return.”

“I had to protect your children,” you said softly, regret flickering in your voice. “And then, I couldn’t come back. There were things I needed to see, places I needed to go. I didn’t want to drag you into the curse of my immortality.”

Rhaenyra’s breath hitched as she heard the pain in your words. She had lost so much—friends, lovers, even family. But you... You had been her constant, her anchor in the storm. And now, here you were, offering her a path she had never imagined.

Your fingers gently entwined with hers, your grip steady and warm. “Come with me,” you whispered, your voice filled with the weight of centuries, with the promise of something beyond the world she knew. “I’ve seen worlds beyond this one, Rhaenyra. Places that would take your breath away. Let me show you.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze dropped to where your hands met, and for a long moment, she was silent. She thought of the realm she ruled, the Iron Throne that had been her father’s, her birthright. The crown that weighed so heavily upon her head. But then she thought of the years that stretched ahead—of the loneliness, the losses yet to come. Of the children who had grown, who no longer needed her in the same way.

Slowly, deliberately, Rhaenyra reached up and removed the crown from her head. It felt heavier than it ever had before. Without a word, she dropped it at the base of the Iron Throne, the clatter of metal against stone echoing in the silent hall.

She turned back to you, her lips curving into a smile that was filled with a rare lightness, a freedom she hadn’t felt in years. “I’m ready.”

Without hesitation, you took her hand, your grip firm as you led her away from the throne, away from the court, away from the world that had bound her for so long.

And that was the last time anyone ever saw the Dragonslayer or the Dragon Queen. The court whispered of their disappearance, of how the crown was left behind, a symbol of the queen who chose love and freedom over the weight of a kingdom. Some said they went east, to lands beyond Essos, to realms where dragons and gods walked side by side. Others said they were never seen again because they left this world entirely, into places where neither time nor death held sway.

But in every corner of Westeros, in every whispered legend, one thing remained clear—Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, had found her heart once more. And she had followed it beyond the edge of the world.

#house of the dragon #hotd x female reader #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #hotd x you #rhaenyra x y/n #rhaenyra x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra x you #rhaenyra x female reader

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lotusarchon · 5 months ago

Text

hot to go (nezha x reader)

content warnings: trans-masc reader (he/them pronouns used), rabbit spirit reader, second pov (you/your), racer/racing au, modern-ish au, fssy characters mentioned, weird plot, kidnapping attempt gone wrong, self indulgent, smut/nsfw warning - minors/ageless blogs dni, outdoor sex, cowgirl, oral (m receiving)

author's notes: save me racer nezha, save me

Just focus on the race. The track is all yours.

“Yo, Nezhie! Good luck buddy! You're gonna need it! Not for the other racers though. From me, haha. Okay, I'm gone now, byeeeee~!”

….

Li Nezha was a popular racer. Going from barely remembered in his rookie days to the current moment that everyone in the racing world was aware of his name, and the title he had been graced with ― the Lotus Prince. He who was above all ‘worldly desires’, expressing a profound commitment to his racing career. If it wasn't obvious enough from the sleek design and commitment to his car, the extra care given to his racing suit, then perhaps the countless offers from different sponsors, each one more determined and desperate than the last, to have him as the show of their fortune, should've been visible proof of his ever growing talent and power.

His arrogance and cockiness was irritating to his fellow racers, crew and even family members, that was a given. None enjoyed having to deal with an arrogant prick ― a person who spoke insulting words with false kindness, someone who always wore a fake smile and who cared little who's feelings he crushed, friend or foe.

Lotus Prince was the title he was given on the racetrack, but behind closed doors, arrogant prick was a generous if not kind title.

He was a ‘one-man’ show as the rumours went, and if it was possible, he most likely would've long since abandoned his crew. The one, sole reason anyone was willing to put up with him, either on the pit or as his driver, was because of his sweet, gentle golden retriever of a brother, Jinzha, who had inherited the family's business and his father's legacy. Said father had also been incredibly unhappy with Nezha's choice in careers, but since no amount of beatings and nights without dinners worked, he wiped his hands of this unfilial child and gave up on him.

He wanted to race so badly!? So be it! It wasn't his (Li Jing’s) life that was being thrown away anyway! Ha!

With a slight twitch of his eye, Nezha's hands clenched around his steering wheel.

Against other racers, Nezha was always certain to come out on top, even in his rookie years, stealing the title of racing champion to whoever it first belonged to.

At least, until recently, when he was promoted to go up against the Monkey King ― that Sun Wukong who was all but a cocky rookie, yet still managed to win more races than Nezha ever could.

What a damn monkey indeed. Second place had been given to Nezha, again, and again, and―

“The Monkey King takes the lead once again!”

“Son of a bi―”

***

“Whoa, buddy. Ya look pink.”

Mentally, Nezha countered to ten. His brother had always insisted that if he couldn't control his temper, at least give himself some sort of countdown to relax and think rationally.

It was bullshit. Counting didn't help him relax, it only made him itch to hit the person who thought this method was remotely helpful to begin with.

With an agitated huff, Nezha raised his head to the man―er, monkey?―who came to irritate him with that stupid remark.

Of course he looked pink. Nezha was probably the only racer who was man enough to not give a fuck that his signature colors were…pink. His car, his racing suit, hell, even the ribbons that he wore were colored pink.

To be honest about 70% of Nezha's fans were women, and one only needed a mere glance at him to know why.

He was the epitome of a pretty boy: jade white skin, thick lashes and full lips tinted pink from his constant gnawing, and many often wondered what he would look like of he just smiled. A sharp jawline and dark eyes that reflected none of his true emotions, and his hair tied into twin buns, styled with girlish looking ribbons. When he wore his helmet, strands would occasionally slip from the style, but it only served to make him look more appealing to his fans.

Naturally, it should be common knowledge―forget about the color, no man alive would dare to step outside their house looking like that, nevermind allow pictures to surface and plaster across billboards and the like. The fact was, an even rarer 10% of those remaining thirty percent of his fans were actually straight men, and even they at times couldn't bring themselves to admit they were diehard fans of this pretty-boy racer, who may as well have been better off playing the role of some prince or something in a xianxia setting.

Sighing, Nezha rubbed the crease in his forehead that always seemed to appear whenever Wukong was within sight. His temple throbbed as he answered, “Can you take your silly jokes and gloat somewhere else? Weren't you supposed to be partying with Yang Jian?”

That Yang Jian, in question, was either Wukong's boyfriend or close friend. Whatever the relationship was mattered little to Nezha ― the farther away Wukong was from him, the easier life would be.

Unfortunately, this monkey was as smart as a koala bear. The lousy grin he wore widened, and he promptly sat himself down on the back of Nezha's car, designed with white lotus flowers and his title.

Nezha felt his eyelid twitched.

“You know, I'm really just concerned about ya,” he said cheerily, swinging his legs back and forth. “I mean, you should've seen your face when you hit second place today. You looked like someone had just fucked your mom!”

Nezha listened to his inner voice and grabbed a wrench from one of his mechanics.

“I mean, damn. I know you hate losing to me but could you really not have expected it? I'm me, and you're, well, you. So I don't really see why―” He suddenly paused, his eyes on the wrench Nezha clenched. “Why do you have that.”

“....”

After much shrieking and a comical chase, Nezha retired inside his trailer for the day. His next race was supposed to be held in Donghai, which was at least a few days worth of driving. The sooner he got there, the less chances of him running into that annoying monkey.

The fantasy of not hearing Wukong yap in his head was enough to withdraw a rare, barely there smile. One that would've made his driver―his annoying brother Muzha―stare at him in terror, or his fangirls squeal with glee, to be given the knowledge that their cold, unreachable lotus could smile.

He settled back against the seats, staring boredly through the windows with an unreadable expression.

A knock from the driver's seat roused him from his daydreams. He spared it a brief glance, meeting a face that could've been carved of the same mold as Li Jing's had it not been for the slight delicate softness inherited from their mother's.

Nezha squinted.

“Ge wants to know if you wanna give any of your friends a few tickets,” Muzha deadpanned from where he sat, his gaze focused on the road before him. “Speak quick, I don't have time, and neither does he.”

Of course he didn't. Jinzha was always so busy, yet still attempting to make time for his brothers.

Nezha thought and sighed.

Tickets for what friends? Most of the people Nezha worked with tolerated him for the promise of money, or for Jinzha. Arrogance was what he was known for, and to be honest, he never allowed anyone the chance to get too close.

He wasn't so caught up in his own ego, like a certain Monkey King. He was more than aware of his own unlikable personality, and thus knew better than to try or pretend, instead dedicating his life to his racing.

Checking his neatly trimmed nails, picking at the faint nail polish left behind, Nezha merely hummed.

“Tell him not to bother. I don't need support anyway.”

From the driver's seat, all he heard was a snort from Muzha, before he finally fell silent.

***

Nezha had only rested his eyes for a few minutes, yet when he reopened then again, almost three hours had passed.

He yawned, grumbling as he sat up to rub the sleep from his eyes. Outside, the moon was high in the sky, and so the passing scenery was mixed in a passing blur and darkness, lit only by the occasional streetlight.

For a split second, he was mildly concerned. As much as he disliked his older brother, that wooden prick, there was no way he could keep driving without rest. Even if he desperately itched to arrive at Donghai in time, if Muzha fell asleep at the wheel and an accident happened, it wouldn't end well for either parties.

Resolutely, Nezha leaned over, knocking on the front compartment that opened to the driver's seat.

“Muzha?” He called out, a slight frown to his expression. “Hey? You know you can stop, right? If you crash, the one who's being blamed is me.”

A pause. There was no answer, only the gentle driving that continued.

Nezha hesitated.

“Fine. I won't stop you. But don't blame me either if something happens.” Another pause. “Get some rest too. Good night.”

Fuck.

Nezha knew something had been off when he woke up properly the next morning, squinting at the bright sunlight that threatened his vision. He must've been lying on the bare ground, to be in this position, and thanked his stars the jacket he wore was padded to avoid the feeling of gravel pressing into his back.

He squirmed, discovering that his hands had been tied in front of him, and sighed.

Honestly. He'd have to be an idiot to not recognize the situation he had been placed in.

With a huff, he tried to make an attempt to roll onto his side. There was much difficulty, but in the end, he found himself leverage, and was finally able to sit up and examine his surroundings (after his eyes had adjusted to the sudden brightness).

What he first noticed was that his trailer, thank the heavens, was parked nearby, and didn't seem to have been dealt any damage. There was no sign of his brother however, and that made his relief become gnawing guilt as he examined the rest of his surroundings.

A long gravelled road, with some sort of rickety fence that stopped for a few short miles, at least from what he could see. Either side overlooked what might've been dunes, miniature at best compared to the ones he had seen on another trip, but sandy dunes all the same, and flat exposed rock that seemed to glimmer from the sun beating down upon them.

For all his pretty boy appearances, Nezha wasn't exactly a stranger to the rough outdoors. His childhood was spent froclicking wherever he could, and tearing a dragon's sinew from it's body. If he reached into his pockets, he could still feel the remains there, rubbery and often used as a past time for him to turn into different patterns between his fingertips. Soft and princely he might've been, and with smooth, gentle hands that could've been a woman's, Nezha was as much at home in this blistering weather as he was in the racetrack.

That didn't make him any less happier, however. Briefly, he contemplated summoning his sash tied around his belt, when he spotted two figures emerging from the back of his trailer. They took no notice of him, so Nezha took it upon himself to stare as much as he could.

One was a man much taller, with a bushy bear and long flowing hair tied into a low ponytail. With only a mere side view, there wasn't much for Nezha to go off on, aside that he wore loose, black robes in this hot as hell weather. He faced a smaller figure who bounced in place, but at least looked like someone from the modern century.

Nezha stared, taken aback by the fluffy black ears that twitched on their head. Most animal demons or spirits in this day and age hid any sign of their true forms behind a glamor, not a part of them revealed to be an animal. Even Sun Wukong in this day and age had opted for an appearance that though still stood out, was enough to hide his true form from unwanted remarks.

Even their fluffy bobtail, which Nezha barely spotted from the pastel pink jacket they wore around their waist, was in sight.

A rabbit spirit? He blinked. They've got guts showing up like that, I'd give them that.

They also had the guts to try and capture him of all people, but for now, Nezha wouldn't dwell on it. At the very least, this spirit was at least dressed comparably decent, in loose, white clothing in this warm weather.

And appearances aside, Nezha couldn't tell if the latter was male, or female. Their voice, which was a mix of a high-pitched whine and feverish garbling, was androgynous at best.

“Honestly….” The older man interrupted the rabbit spirit's indecipherable speech. “How does one find themselves in such a mess…..your Qiu-mei will not be pleased.”

Huh. They must've recognized him then, and clearly had much regrets. Good that they did, and Nezha with a pleased conscience, decided not to attack them yet.

“I’m sorry.” The rabbit spirit wrung their hands nervously. Their ears twitched rapidly, and Nezha was mildly amused by the sight. “I didn't mean too…i-it just kinda happened.”

“....(Name), how does one happen to kidnap a racer and mistake him as their target!?”

So their name was that, huh. Mumbling the name to himself, Nezha continued to eavesdrop to pass the time.

(Name) burst into tears, still wringing their hands. “It really was an accident!!” They whined out, fidgeting in place. “It was so dark outside! I just jumped at the first trailer I saw outside….”

Nezha finally understood.

This, for some ironic reason, had genuinely been some sort of accident. Muzha must've stopped somewhere after Nezha had fallen asleep, for a small break to rest his eyes. The designated area he'd chosen was a seedy gas stop, but while he was busy at the counter, this (Name) person mistook their vehicle as some other target of theirs, and had stepped inside.

And now that they'd realized their error, they clearly were about to faint on the spot.

Luckily, the older black-robed man caught them, stuck between laughing and sighing.

“Okay, okay, relax―” The older man chided, patting the smaller figure's back. “Just breathe, alright? I'm sure we can work this out…probably….”

Nezha didn't know if he should laugh, or cry. The knowledge his brother was at the very least safe soothed his temper, but at the same time, knowing these people were criminals was enough to make him grimace. Accidents were…excusable, but on purpose…that went against everything he stood for, arrogance be damned.

Unable to keep up with their mindless banter, Nezha cleared his throat―loud enough to catch their attentions. The rabbit jolted with surprise, but the darkly-dressed man simply spared him a glance. Nezha caught the sight of a scraggly beard and dark eyes, but what stood out to him was the familiarity.

“Shen Gongbao.” The name fell off his lips with a bitter taste to his tongue.

The centuries old Taoist spared him a lecherous grin. “His Highness, the Third Lotus Prince. Nice to see you again. You lost the baby fat from your face―couldn’t recognize ya’ for a sec.”

Nezha rolled his eyes at the remark. Next to the Taoist, the rabbit was flailing their hands, attempting to stop their accomplice from talking. Shen Gongbao merely waved them off, still smiling at the racer bound and tied on the road.

“Huh. Always wondered where you and the others disappeared off too.” Shen Gongbao toyed with his beard and took slow, calculated steps towards him. Up close, Nezha could spy grey strands mixing with his dark hair.

So he got older too.

“Don't see why that matters to you,” he retorted back, and flicked his gaze to the bouncing rabbit spirit. For whatever reason there was, they seemed at least able to recognize him if the dark flush to their freckled cheeks was anything to go off by. They bit their thumbs and stood in the same spot, bouncing on their heels with a look of anxiety in their eyes. “Besides. Aren't you too old now, pulling this type of nonsense?”

Shen Gongbao simply pouted. “And aren't you too old to be having such a sour attitude? Honestly, how did you manage to become a racer? And such a popular one too?” He reached out, pinching Nezha's dusty cheek. There was now little distance between them, and the faint smell of sweet liquor filled Nezha's senses and made his eyelid twitch.

“Don't tell me.” Nezha winced when the Taoist finally released his possibly red, swollen cheek. “You weren't happy with what Jiang Ziya gave you, so you decided to terrorize everyone else. How very….” He struggled to find the correct word.

“Demure?” The rabbit spirit piped up from where they sat.

“(Name), do be quiet.”

“Sorry….”

“.....” Nezha exhaled. “Just what the hell are you planning on doing with me? I don't have all the time in the world to be wasted on the likes of you and your little pet.”

Shen Gongbao snorted. “I find that highly unlikely, little prince.”

“And I'm not his pet!” The rabbit quipped again, earning another sigh from their master. “Master Shen, I'm not! Tell him I'm not!”

“Of course you aren't (Name).” The Taoist stood. “But why waste our words on a dead man? Don't get so upset, he's not worth our time.”

Nezha's brows furrowed slightly. Did this guy seriously think they could just kill him just like that? Sure, his skills were a little rusty, but―

“Um….we can't kill him.” The rabbit, no, (Name), looked mildly upset as Shen Gongbao took a swig from his flask he must've kept hiding in his sleeves. “I mean. Well….. isn't there something else we can do? Like sending him back?”

Maybe this rabbit had the right head on their shoulders.

“Um. No.”

And maybe he should've used that brick of his on Shen Gongbao when he had the chance instead of listening to Jiang Ziya’s nonsensical babbling.

“Why not!?”

“(Name). Your Qiu-mei would hit you if she heard you speak.” The Taoist rubbed his forehead. “You don't…kidnap people and then just return them. He knows too much and isn't our target, so we have to get rid of him without our secrets being leaked.”

The rabbit blinked. “He's rich and people would pay a lot to have him back and alive.”

Nezha nodded. For as dumb as they appeared to be, it seemed that they were quite smart for whatever age they were. It benefited him, because then he wouldn't have to lift a finger in restraining these villains until the last second.

Shen Gongbao’s thick brows looked like they wanted to frown harder. He spared Nezha a glance and stood, dusting the gravel and stone that clung to his thick robes.

“My little A-Lan,” the Taoist said, his tone gentle and laced with kindness, like when a parent was trying to deliver bad news to a toddler. “Your….admiration for the prince is showing. Look at him―do you think any honest woman would want to be near him? Nevermind anyone in general. He's a prick.”

The rabbit’s lips pursed slightly.

Nezha looked offended where he sat.

“Um. I most certainly would be missed,” he deadpanned from where he sat.

Shen Gongbao spared him a look. “Would you really?”

“Yes. I'm quite famous you know.”

The rabbit nodded. “He is, Master.”

“(Name), shush. My point still remains. You're arrogant and haughty. It's not an issue about holding you for ransom. It's simply that you aren't worth anything, and no one would be willing to pay the price to get you back.”

“Um.” The rabbit tried again. “But we can't kill him. That's…I mean, it's not really nice….”

The older man looked like he wanted to roll his own eyes, but fought back the temptation to flash the rabbit a small, fond smile. It seemed, by their dynamic, that this was not something new, and Nezha felt a little disappointed that he was not the exception to this sympathy.

“You and Qiuyue are far too different.” Shen Gongbao heaved a sigh and tugged on the rabbit's fluffy ear. “Perhaps it is for the best.” He spared Nezha another glance, and continued, “Fine, then. If you don't want for me to kill him, then we'll go with your plan.”

***

When Shen Gongbao had asked for your plan in sending Nezha back without either of you getting caught, you blurted out the first thing that came to mind. Yet, who would've guessed―not only did he have you take control, he left the racer in your hands.

It's totally fine, he had said. He sealed Nezha's meridians away, so he couldn't get away from the cables tied around him. No big deal!

It was in fact a big deal. Nezha's face might've been soft and pretty, but his body did not match that delicateness. He could crush you to death with one hand alone! The fuck!? Did your master not see the size of those things!? And he expected you to watch him!?

Hahaha, what the fuck!?

“You're telling me you don't know how to drive?” He deadpanned from the driver's seat, his free hands clenching the steering wheel. His expression was blank, if not unamused, and he seemed itch to roll his eyes. “How on earth did you even steal it to begin with?”

You flushed with shame, staring at the dashboard in front of you.

The truth was, you barely managed to steal his trailer that night. It was genuinely pure luck you had managed to keep it from driving on the road without attracting attention.

Nezha continued on, “What kind of kidnapper has their own hostage doing the driving? That's pretty lame, isn't it?”

You covered your face in shame, your ears drooping.

“Please, no more. I can't take it anymore,” you managed out, fighting back tears of shame.

Whether or not he felt any sympathy, he wouldn't say, but at least his insults stopped for the time. His gaze remained focus on the road before him, his lips pursed.

Arguably, you might've been decades younger than your cousin and master, but at least that meant you had more common sense than they did. Sure, you were probably useless for a lot of things with your anxiety always ready to skyrocket, but at least your first thought hadn't been to murder a guy because he was the wrong target.

And to be honest, you did like Nezha a lot. You might even dare to call yourself one of his fans, but that would be a bit much. His pretty boy looks were the only things you really liked, because racing was a boring sport to you, and you didn't understand anything related to it. Ignoring that Nezha's personality was also ass.

With a sigh, you propped your hand under your cheek to stare out the window. If Nezha did, and he most likely would, try to turn you in to the authorities, you could always just make a run for it. Just as long as he returned home safe….

A few hours passed before Nezha finally spoke again.

“Where are we going?”

You blinked.

“You…you're the one who's doing the driving!?”

“Yeah, and you brought me here.” Nezha glanced at you. “Shouldn't you at least be able to tell what direction we're in?”

“....”

Shen Gongbao was the one who asked you to meet him here, but that didn't mean you knew where here was. It was the middle of nowhere as far as you could tell, and when you'd dragged Nezha inside the trailer sometime later, your master hadn't told you that you might've been heading in the wrong direction.

Not to mention, you didn't think you would've gotten lost. Nezha was a driver, so surely he should've been able to tell where you were heading??

Fuck.

“Oh my god we're lost.”

“You're fucking with me.”

Nezha groaned, banging his head against the steering wheel. You panicked when the trailer swerved, but it didn't crash into anything unassuming, and Nezha muttered another curse under his breath before regaining his bearings. He glowered at the open road, his brows twitching.

You gulped nervously.

“I'm supposed to be in Donghai in three days!” He muttered out, digging his nails into the steering wheel. “And I can't believe I got kidnapped by Bugs Bunny and his fucking evil wizard accomplice.”

You processed his words, and gaped. “Who are you calling Bugs Bunny, you…you fucking….”

Nezha raised a brow. “Go on.”

“....” You looked away and pouted. Finding an insult that would hurt was too hard. You should've listened to Qiuyue when you had the chance. “I'm not a Bug's Bunny.”

“Could've fooled me then, Lola Bunny.”

“Okay, stop.”

The trailer came to a stop on the side of the road. Nezha couldn't keep driving forever, and because you were useless in driving and couldn't take turns at the wheel, he had no choice but to stop for a break, even when he would much rather keep driving until daybreak the next day.

He sat at the edge of his cot, watching you try to figure out how to pry the sink open without breaking anything.

“You're a bad kidnapper,” he commented, picking at the last bits of nail polish on his fingers. He frowned, looking around for the bottle he'd had tucked away somewhere. “Like. Seriously. What kind of kidnapper just grabs someone without knowing how to drive? Much less do anything in general?”

“It was an accident.” You gave up on the sink, choosing to look through the cupboards instead for anything of nutritional value. All your hands could find were bowls of lotus seeds, covered to prevent spilling over. You stared at the several bowls lined up neatly in the cupboard, and deadpanned.

Well….lotus seeds it would have to be, then. Though you really wished you could find meat….at least you wouldn't have to cook it.

You grabbed a bowl and faced Nezha, taken aback by the sight of him sitting cross legged and painting his nails a fresh layer of pastel pink that matched his car's designs.

He glanced your way, cocking a brow. “What?”

“Nothing…” You shook your head, taking the empty spot next to him. “Um. I found this….if you're hungry….”

Wait….wasn't he reborn from a lotus root? You glanced at him nervously. Would it count as cannibalism if he ate them―

“Feed me.”

“Pardon?”

Nezha sighed. All of his attention remained on painting his nails with precision, and he barely even spared you the energy of an eye roll. He stuck his tongue out, examining his index finger in the trailer light, and made a gesture with his free, unpainted hand.

“You're pardoned. And I said, feed me. I'm busy.”

“...” You picked at one of the seeds, your ear twitching. Perhaps Shen Gongbao had been right. With an attitude like that, did he even have friends? Or, if he somehow magically had any, how did they tolerate him this much?

Begrudgingly accepting your role, you placed a lotus seed to his lips. Though distracted, his teeth latched onto it with ease, and you watched with awe as it disappeared into his mouth.

Well, you were already bored anyway. Might as well make a game of how fast he could eat and swallow lotus seeds.

“Stop staring.”

“Oh.”

***

Two days had passed, and unfortunately, you were both still very lost. There was an occasional gastop and settlements on the road the longer Nezha kept driving, but neither had been helpful with directions. Either because they sensed you were a spirit and they were awfully superstitious, or because Nezha's not too-pleasant attitude and expression scared almost everyone into fainting on the spot.

You didn't have the heart to ask the lotus prince to try to be nicer. If you did, he would probably go back to calling you those mean names again. He had stopped after reducing you to tears once, but you weren't very eager to remind him. Creative as they were, you did not enjoy being at the receiving end of those insults.

Maybe he was just a sadist.

Unsurprisingly, Nezha did not take pleasure in driving for this long. After your most recent gas stop, he ended up stopping the trailer in an empty grazing field. You sat with newly acquired snacks to watch him drive his race car around, kicking up dust and scaring the local wildlife in the process.

You couldn't make heads or tails of whatever he was doing, but when he drove past, you did manage to catch sight of his expression. For once, he seemed genuinely happy to be there, behind the steering wheel of his stupid car, driving repeated circles in the same tire tracks until he was tired.

It might've been a trick of the light, but you could've sworn you saw a faint smile on his lips.

“Honestly,” you spoke to one of the rabbits that hopped closer to the blanket you sat on. “He seems like a nice guy in the field. Is it that hard for him to place that same energy into talking to people?”

The rabbit twitched its nose at you.

“I mean. Qiuyue is always complaining about people being unchangeable.” You threw a lotus seed at the rabbit. “But it's…not fair, is it? People can change! And, I dunno. He's lived decades longer than I have, but doesn't seem to have anyone to really be there for him, does he? Outside of his brothers, I mean.”

“...”

“Ugh.” You groaned and allowed yourself to fall back onto the grass beneath you. “I'm going mad.”

“Yeah, you are.”

You glowered at the familiar face hovering above you, a smirk curling on those lips that you had gotten used to staring at in the two days you spent with him.

He was right, at least. You were a horrible kidnapper. I mean, who let's their hostage drive around knowing damn well they could escape if they wanted too!? Qiuyue would have your head if she saw you as you were now.

Nezha extended a gloved hand towards you, and you accepted it, allowing him to pull you up with ease. His car was parked near the trailer, and as he sat himself next to you, you couldn't help but spare him one more glance. The sweat beading down his temples, the slight motion of his chest as he caught his breath, his ruffled hair and the strands that escaped his bun….

You sighed as he stole another bowl of lotus seeds, propping your hands behind you.

Don't misunderstand ― you most certainly was not falling for a guy you met only for two days. This wasn't a cheesy romcom to begin with.

But, you'd be lying if you said you weren't mildly…atttacted to him.

“Why were you talking to yourself?” Nezha asked between a mouthful of seeds.

“I was talking to my rabbit friend.”

He blinked, giving you a weird look between stuffing seeds into his mouth. “So you can….communicate with them?”

“No….”

“...”

“Oh. You're really weird then.”

“It's not weird! I was just talking out loud! How is that weird!? Stop looking at me like that! Hey!” You gasped as he snickered, grabbing him by the arm. “Stop laughing! I'm not weird! It's not! Don't you talk to yourself all the time!? Stop laughing!!!”

There was nothing you could do about it. With a snort, Nezha's free hand grabbed your wrist, pulling you forward, if only to grin at your embarrassed expression.

“But it's funny,” he insisted, watching you squirm. “You're the only person I've ever met insane enough to talk to a rabbit. I have to laugh.”

“You! You're so horrible.” You gave up, slouching on his lap. Maybe if you stayed incredibly still, you could pretend to be dead. “I was just pointing something out…”

Too bad Nezha didn't want to follow with your pretense. He set his now empty bowl aside, both hands free to do as they pleased. With your front on his lap, he placed his hands on your back, and casually grabbed at the fluffball that was your tail.

“I heard.” He squeezed the soft fur experimentally, ignoring how you twitched and tried to pull back. “While I appreciate your concern, it is as you've said. I've lived for centuries, I don't think I need anyone else to be there for me. It's pointless.”

You gave up on escaping and prayed for your tail. The legends of how Nezha tore out the dragon king's son's spine and was probably still playing with the sinew made you mentally sob.

“But it's not nice being alone, is it?” You tried to look at him. “I mean…even gods get lonely every once in a while. Isn't that why they like to visit humans?”

Nezha caught your gaze, and a small, barely visible smile adorned his expression. The hand not occupied with your tail pinched your chubby cheek.

“But being lonely is far better than pointless attachments,” he pointed out, leaving your cheek to tug your ear. “A god lives forever. Eventually, you'll learn that it's better to simply be as you are, and to depend on no one but yourself.”

“Is it because you've been hurt before, or that you'd rather not take the risk of being hurt ever?”

He paused, and released your tail. “The latter.”

“Oh.”

Without his hand on your tail, you managed to roll yourself onto your back, staring up at him. He stared back a blank expression, and you frowned, wanting to say something.

“.....do you wanna fuck?”

Nezha choked and shoved you off his lap. Which, come to think of it, really was well deserved. Who asks that question with a straight face, after having a conversation like that!? The fact he didn't try to kill you was mercy in itself, but you didn't exactly think of that while staring at the way his face seemed to flush and grow pink in color to the tips of his ears.

You picked yourself up, dusting the grass that had stuck to your pants. Nezha blinked.

“Um…what the fuck?”

“Qiuyue told me that in awkward situations like that, relief helps with the tension.” You held up a finger. “And I mean. We're stuck here for a bit. Might as well make the most of it.”

Nezha didn't know if he should laugh or cry. In all his years of living, he had never heard anything more ridiculous, and very tempting.

“....very well….I guess. We can um. Try.”

You gave him a thumbs up. “Yay!”

“Don't do that.”

“Oh.”

With how shy and bouncy you were, Nezha thought you would've wanted to do this….thing, you suggested, behind the walls of the trailer for privacy.

Yet instead, you insisted that you stay outdoors. For what reason, he couldn't tell, and he lost all thoughts of questioning you when your warm hands wrapped around the base of his cock and slowly pumped your hand.

Nezha's breath hitched, his hands clenching the blanket he sat upon to leverage himself. His bottom lip worried between his teeth, and his face burned ever so warmly when your warmth breath brushed against his sensitive tip, flushed an angry red, the slit slowly leaking precum from your ministrations. Your tongue dragged against his weeping tip, leaving him fisting the blanket and his hips instinctively bucking against you.

You raised your head slightly, blinking up at his blushing experience, and as if an afterthought struck you, you gently patted his thigh.

“Don't worry, I'll be nice,” you assured him with a smile.

Shouldn't I be saying that to you?

If he wanted to respond, he had no chance to do so. His teeth sunk into the tender skin of his lip, and a strangled moan managed to escape through gritted teeth when your mouth enveloped his cock, your lips sucking at his tip and the warmth of your tongue dragging against his slit.

His tip kissed the back of your throat, and your hands clenched at his bare thighs, forming crescent shaped cuts from your nails. You glanced up at him through your lashes, and Nezha couldn't bare to keep eye contact for long. He squeezed his eyes shut, hissing as you began to bob your head against his length.

You could feel him throbbing, yet for some reason or the other, the Lotus Prince remained stubborn in his actions. He refused to even look at you, despite the red blush spreading to his neck, or the fact he was trying so hard not to buck his hips with every swirl of your tongue.

Honestly….

Your nose pressed against his pelvis, and Nezha choked, his hand flying to your head. His fingers laced through your hair that had fallen from its ponytail, gently tugging and fisting the strands when you hollowed your cheeks and dragged your tongue against the underside of his shaft. He twitched and groaned, his chest heaving with his shallow pants.

His cock throbbed in the cavern of your mouth, and you allowed yourself to pull back, his cock slipping from your mouth with a slick noise. Saliva clung to his tip, and your hand, breaking the strand that connected his tip to your lips, stroked him to completion. You could feel his hand tugging at your hair, his head falling back with a quiet moan as he came in your hand, his cum coating your wrist in sticky, wet spurts.

You sat up, allowing him to catch his breath. His hair must've come undone at some point, and the strands of silky black hair draped his face like a curtain. The redhue spread across his nose, and he gazed at you through hooded, glossy eyes.

“Well?” You looked around for something to wipe your hand on. “That felt nice, didn't it? Now, you can feel better about yourself.”

Nezha frowned, using his elbows to push himself up. “That's it?”

“Hm?”

“That's….” He trailed off, clenching and unclenching his hand. “You…um. I mean, is there not another….”

He was looking at you again, but not quite at your face. Intrigued, you followed his gaze, lower―

“Pervert!”

“What!?” He choked. “How am I the pervert!? You just sucked my dick!”

“And!?”

“W-well, I thought that….you uh…”

“....”

“Fine.”

“Yay!”

“WHY IS IT FINE WHEN YOU DO IT!?”

You refused to lie on your back, and Nezha was adamantly stubborn, so in the end, you both compromised, and thus was your position. On one hand, you figured you didn't want to complain, but on the other….you really did not do well with prolonged eye contact. You almost wished you'd accepted his offer to do it on the grass instead….

Nezha's hands squeezed the soft flesh of your ass, guiding your hips to meet with his upward thrusts. His brows were furrowed in deep concentration, though you had to wonder why he chose to stare at your exposed breasts instead of anywhere else.

“You're…you're a…” He briefly looked up to catch your flushed gaze.

“Um. I'm a guy.” You deadpanned at his surprise. Was it not obvious from the beginning? “Did you not know this?”

Nezha blinked as if realization dawned on him. His lips parted to make a remark, but then he immediately snapped them shut, burying his face between your plush tits abruptly. You gasped when you felt his lips latch onto your nipple, his teeth teasing the sensitive skin.

The action caused your cunt to abruptly clench around him, a whimper escaping you, mixed with another moan when his cock brushed against a sensitive spot inside you that made your toes curl and your entire body tremble.

One of his hands slowly crept upward, against the curve of your ass, until it found your fluffy tail. His nails scratched against the base connected to your back, and then he tugged in time with another bite to your sensitive nipple.

You wanted to smack him for that. Of all the places he had to touch, why the hell was it your tail!?

As revenge, you tugged off his ribbons, allowing the rest of his hair to fall against his shoulders. He parted from your bite- covered breast to glance up at you, and his hair seemed to frame his face like a dark halo.

Oh.

He tugged on your tail again, and this time, you could see the grin he wore everytime your body reacted.

“What?” Nezha asked innocently.

You exhaled. “I'm gonna hit you.”

“Doesn't that go against your little code?” He angled his hips again, finding that sensitive spot inside you. The warmth coiling in your stomach spread, and your hands clung to his shoulders, digging into the fabric of his jacket. “And you like it, so why are you complaining? You'll probably cum from this too.”

You scowled. “No, I won't.”

“Yes, you will.” Nezha gave your tail another firm tug. His nails scratched at it's base again, soothing the sensitive skin before he tugged again, all done with repeated motions, until your cunt spasmed and coated his cock with your arousal and slick as you came.

He cooed when you buried your face in the crook of his neck, his fingers still teasing your twitching tail while his cock throbbed inside you.

“See?” He insisted when you grumbled against his neck. “Told you you'd cum from it.”

He waited for you to catch your breath, and when you did, you raised your head to glare at him.

“Rot in hell.”

“And leave me with blue balls?”

“....”

***

“Nezhie! You're alive!!”

Nezha sighed, rubbing his temples from the incoming migraine threatening his skull. He had to fight the urge to grab the wrench nearby, looking so, so tempting as Wukong's big mouth came closer.

“Wukong, please.” He set his helmet down, glancing at the champion once again. “I'm not in the mood to listen to you yap. Yes, congrats, you won.”

The monkey looked offended by his comment. Nezha frowned, until he felt Wukong slugging him in the arm.

The wrench looked really tempting right about now.

“Dude! You're funny.” Wukong chuckled and patted his head. “Nah, nah. I'm not here to gloat. We're friends! I thought you upped and died!” He pinched him on the cheek, tugging the flesh until Nezha hissed a curse. “Don't be like that man. What else was I supposed to think, huh? Then you show back up again and you bring back a boyfriend too!”

“....boyfriend….?”

He glanced in the direction he'd last seen you. You had followed him back to Donghai, and the minute Jinzha had seen you with him, he hadn't waited before he jumped on you, bawling his eyes out about taking care of his little baby brother.

You were still there, trapped in his brother's hands.

“Wait…he's…. he's not my boyfriend.”

“Ah, right. Husband.”

“NO!”

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