#reblog to save a womb

[onwacollective]

I created this Womb Healing Masterpost a year or so ago. Since then, I’ve continued to grow this list of resources, adding more info as I learn it. Every book, interview, podcast on the list I’ve read or listened to and found useful in my own healing. But I realize all this info can be overwhelming, confusing, and time consuming to get through to create the real change needed to balance your hormones. So, I’ve created cycle syncing wallpaper habit reminders to support women and menstruating individuals in balancing their hormones HERE.

How to use:

These are specifically created for the 80% of women experiencing hormonal imbalance. I’ve designed them to make integrating the information and ancestral wisdom needed to balance hormones easily accessible. Switch each wallpaper background as you transition through each phase of your cycle. Every time you glance at your phone you get a reminder of what to focus on at a specific point in your cycle.

Each wallpaper contains:

🌟 A hormonal phase specific grocery list informed by the Autoimmune protocol (AIP) which means it excludes largely known gut irritants like nuts, seeds, beans, eggs, nightshade vegetables etc.

🌟 A list of herbal teas specific to the needs of each hormonal phase

🌟 A list of self-care practices specific to each hormonal phase

🌟 A journaling prompt

🌟 An affirmation

🌟 Basic overview of the hormonal changes occurring within the body during each phase

🌟 A list of vitamins/minerals to focus on in each phase (grocery list includes foods that contain these vitamins/minerals!)

🌟 Best care practices and tips for each phase

I have a vision of these hanging as posters in schools to teach children about the changes in each cycle. I wanted to make balancing hormones so easy that teenage me could do it. The info on the habit reminders connects to the practices and teachings described in the original tumblr post so if you ever want to dive deeper into a segment of info you can. You can find more info on how to download HERE.

If we let it, womb healing can be a beautiful initiation into feminine power. Be gentle with yourself 💗

[thekinslayed]

Edge of Desire

summary | Your efforts in the marital bed stayed fruitless after many moons married to your uncle, and Aemond wants to change that. (based on these requests.)

pairing | aemond targaryen x niece!reader

tags | 18+, MINORS DNI! unprotected sex, oral (f), lovemaking, morning sex, medieval conception practices, awkward pining, enemies to lovers kinda, cockwarming

song rec | Edge of Desire - John Mayer

wordcount | 5.5k

note | something softer with aemond this time around :)

(special chapter -> Show Me Your World)

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

“Ow! My hair!”

“Stay still, woman.”

Aemond readjusted his weight above you, grumbling as he leaned on his elbows. He huffed out a hot breath of air, which fanned your face while you lay on your back. His length softened within your walls the longer you stayed connected, preventing any seed from leaking out per the maester’s orders.

It had been nearly a whole year since you proclaimed your vows to your uncle under the eyes of the Seven. Your hand had been offered as a gesture of good faith, arguably a desperate attempt between both sides of your family to mend the rift that has been growing for years. It had worked somewhat, but as the moons passed and your relationship with your husband refused to warm, there have been growing concerns on either side of your family. Your animosity towards each other was no secret, with the vile insults Aemond had thrown against you and your brothers regarding your questionable parentage throughout your youth, which ended of course, in the incident. You had no part during that horrific night in Driftmark, but you were not saved from the consequences of that night. 

Barely a moon after you had turned eight and ten, you sailed towards King’s Landing, to your fate. Your only comfort was the sight of your dear dragon flying above you, watching over you like a guardian. After you were draped by your lord husband with the dark, dragon-embroidered cloak, you made an agreement with each other. Aemond shall have his space, and you will have your own. You shall not bother him, and neither will he. However, you are expected to keep up appearances, at court, at the feasts, and even at the dinner table where queen Alicent pestered you both endlessly with any progress on your efforts in the marital bed. With the lingering friction still driving you apart from your husband, it was no surprise your womb still bore no fruit. He would call you to his chambers to perform your duties for one night each week, sometimes twice, for extra measures. Your efforts remained futile, for his seed never took and you remained childless many moons after your wedding. This growing concern has led to an intervention by the maesters, who recommended a myriad of methods that would aid in your conception.

You were to lay together every morning. Not at night, unless you wanted a girl.

The princess must clench her fist while her husband “did nature’s work”.

Your bed must face the east while you coupled, to ensure it is a boy.

The prince must remain inside the princess for an hour after he has finished to guarantee the seed is taken.

The last measure was absolutely dreadful. It was painful enough to have your womanhood assaulted by a man you rarely saw eye-to-eye with, but to stay there for an hour? Gods be good. 

Aemond let out another grunt in your ear when his left arm grew sore from carrying his weight, shifting to lean onto the other arm instead. You turned your head to look at the hourglass on the nightstand. There was still a good amount of time left, and you silently prayed that the sand passed through the glass faster so you may escape this awful predicament. Your tailbone was starting to grow numb from the lack of movement, causing you to subtly shift your hips upwards to relieve the pressure from your backside.

“Stop it,” your husband hissed, making you huff in annoyance. Aemond rolled out his shoulder to relieve the soreness from the joint, before shifting his weight to do the same to the other. His long, silver hair enclosed you like a curtain, soft and light like the touch of a feather. You would be tempted to feel it under your fingertips if only it wasn’t tickling your face, adding to your aggravation. You moved his hair away from your face, letting out another huff. “Stop acting like this inconveniences only you, wife, I would’ve been much happier spending my mornings down in the training yard. My arms are getting too fucking tired,” Aemond grumbled.

You could feel his muscles start to tremble from the exertion of holding his weight up, unwilling to touch your skin by even a hair. You bit back a snarky response, starting to feel bad for him.

“Can’t we switch positions? Perhaps I could be on top,” you recommended, to which your husband only responded with a grunt.

“No, the maesters said we must stay this way. Any other way would make the seed fall rather than stay in. I do not want to do this any longer than we have to.” 

You snickered at his words, turning your head away to subtly roll your eyes. Despite your irritation, his subtle quivering was making you feel sorry for him. You bit your lip as you thought about what to do. 

“Here, why don’t you…” You placed a hand on his back, urging him to lay against you. Aemond had started to refuse, but you insisted, assuring him he wouldn’t crush you under his weight. With a sigh, your husband relaxed above you, finally letting his arms rest. He laid his head right beside yours, and with only a small turn you could smell the remnants of smoke in his starlit hair, coupled with the rosemary oil rubbed into his tresses every night. His lips ghosted over your shoulder; the skin exposed from when your nightgown had shifted askew. His warmth engulfed you like a warm blanket, his weight surprisingly comfortable. It was quite nice actually, despite your reluctance to admit the fact.

“Is this better?” you asked, your tone simmering down into a softer tone. Aemond hummed in response, turning his head to the side. His lips were now positioned right under your ear, and his every breath fanned the side of your face like a warm breeze on a summer’s day.

“Quite. Though this whole ‘laying for an hour’ nonsense is still quite dreadful, in my opinion,” he muttered. His voice buzzed directly into your ear, pulling a strange twinge in your chest when he did so. You trained your gaze on the embroidery on the roof of the canopy, studying the two dragons seemingly entwined against each other. It was almost like you and Aemond, funny enough.

“It is easy for you to say when men often find the act more enjoyable,” you commented almost bitterly. Aemond was silent momentarily upon your words, before seemingly snuggling even closer to you, though you assumed he was only trying to make himself comfortable.

“Is it so horrible?” your lord husband asked, a subtle hint of concern in his words that you barely caught. You turned to look at the hourglass again. Still quite a bit to go.

“Well, it hurts, more than anything.”

Another silence passed. Aemond’s mind ran a league in a minute at your words, reflecting on the pain he unknowingly inflicted upon you on the times you did your duty. As much as he harbored no love for your family, especially your bastard brothers, you were still his wife. His mother had instilled in him since he was a boy that any woman he would take as his wife should always be treated with respect, for she was an image of the Mother. Granted, Alicent was surely not picturing Rhaenyra’s only daughter beside her favored son upon the altar of the Sept when the day came, but the sentiment still extended to you all the same. 

Aemond shifted his weight back to his hands as he lifted himself once more, so he may look upon your face. It was then he granted himself to really get a good look at you. He may be half-blind, but Aemond knew you were beautiful, there was no denying it. His good eye studied your features, noting the absence of the crease between your eyebrows whenever you were displeased, which was most of the time you spent by his side.

“I have no wish to hurt you,” he whispered.

“I know, ‘tis alright. I am tougher than I look,” you replied softly, your lips turning into a downward smile. Before you could stop yourself, your hands moved to tuck a stray strand of silver behind his ear on instinct. You looked into the purple of his good eye, the other covered by a patch of leather. “Besides, Daemon always used to say men have it much worse on the battlefield, for there is far less mercy when facing your enemies than your own wife,” you added to which Aemond only scoffed in response, shaking his head. Your chest rumbled with a laugh at his reaction, especially after his lips pursed into his signature feline-like pout.

Of course, Daemon would think that way, Aemond thought. His uncle was hardly the image of chivalry for any married couple across Westeros, and it was rather gauche of him to be bestowing any words of wisdom to his stepdaughter about the matters of matrimony. 

All of a sudden, there was an odd feeling in his chest when your eyes seemed brighter than they had even before when you looked at him. He’d seen that light before, when you looked at your brothers, his half-sister, even at Helaena, but never him. You had such beautiful eyes, ones he could swim in their depths forever. Aemond faltered, unsure of what to do with this newfound flutter in his otherwise stone heart. He opted to lower himself to your warmth once more, burying his head into the junction where your neck and shoulder met. The scent of your flesh was naturally sweet, making him subtly press his nose into your skin.

“I am not your enemy,” he said, with a rather unfamiliar softness. He felt your hand come up to rest on his back, resting on the space in between his clothed shoulder blades. A small smile lifted the corners of your lips, one hidden from his view. You turned to look at the hourglass, which had already emptied. You made no move to tell Aemond to get up, but instead, you pressed the side of your face against his own, breathing in the scent of his hair.

“I know, husband.”

Walking through the halls of Maegor’s Holdfast, Aemond thought back to all the depraved remarks Aegon would make him listen to about his experiences in the Streets of Silk— how the whores would touch him, and how he would touch them, making them mewl and sigh in delight. He knew not whether they were doing it only for show, but perhaps in some way his brother might have learned a thing or two in the many years he frequented the stinking streets of Flea Bottom just for a taste of flesh. 

Despite better judgment, his feet led him to his brother’s door. His fist had raised to rap against the old wood, but then he faltered. Though seeking Aegon’s insight would surely be far less embarrassing than continuing to follow through with whatever the maesters have him and his wife doing in the marital bed, the endless jests and amusement the elder shall find in the matter would definitely haunt him for a long time. Your husband did not wish to humiliate you any further, not when the matter has already involved too many people. With a hair’s breadth between his fist and Aegon’s door, Aemond sighed, dropping his hand and turning on his heel to walk away.

He and his brother have had their fair share of women who have warmed their beds, Aegon more so than himself, but they have only ever fucked. It was for their pleasure, to quench the fire in their cocks. It wasn’t tender or sweet, or gods forbid… loving.  He knew he couldn’t treat his wife the same way he did a whore if he wanted your partnership to prosper; he couldn’t treat you this way.

He thought about asking his mother, though letting her know of your problems in bed, even more than what she already knew, would probably do them more harm than good. Perhaps Cole? No, that wouldn’t be a good option. Matters of the flesh are a touchy subject for Aemond’s mentor and father figure, perhaps even more so when the blood of the woman who shunned him is involved. 

It had always been like this for him. A plethora of questions would boggle his young, curious mind, yet there was no one to indulge him. It had hurt him, of course, but he had learned that some things would have to be acquired by his own volition. This is how he had become such a prolific scholar, had come to claim Vhagar, and proven himself a man worthy of praise.

A laughter through the halls snapped him out of his exasperating worries. The glimmery shrill of youth, unmistakenly that of his sister’s babes, beckoned him like a beacon towards the nursery. There he found little Jaehaerys riding his wooden pony, mimicking a horse’s bray as he rocked back and forth. Helaena watched on in amusement, little Maelor clutched in her elbow. And then there was you, tickling his niece’s belly on the floor, a joyous laughter of your own adding to the symphony. You bent to pepper kisses into the crook of Jaehaera’s neck, making the girl squeal and kick her legs in delight.

You were so good with the babes, this Aemond couldn’t deny. You would offer to help Helaena watch over them on most days when she would grow weary and Aegon was away on the council. As much as your husband would try to look the other way, he couldn’t miss the way you looked at them with fondness, how you would press your nose into the youngest’s hair to smell that sweet, milky scent of his skin. Perhaps he would like to see you with a babe of your own. Yours and his, he wondered what they would be like.

“Oh, Aemond, come!” Helaena exclaimed, beckoning him over. It was then he realized he had been standing in the doorway like a fool, and so the prince stepped into the nursery. Jaehaera, after having spotted his approach, jumped to her feet in excitement. Aemond greeted her with a fond smile and a pat on the head, kneeling to her height. You moved your skirts to let your husband settle by your side, your knees slightly pressed against each other.

His eyepatch had been knocked askew when the young princess had gleefully embraced her uncle, and you had quickly righted it in its place. Your touch was light on his scarred cheek, a foreign featherlike caress that sent a slight shiver down his spine.

“Thank you, wife,” Aemond whispered, turning to you. There it was again, that little look on your face. You regarded him with a budding warmth he hadn’t quite known, a smile that rounded out the apples of your cheeks, though he figured it was one you directed to the little girl in his arms. He returned his gaze to Jaehaera, who had handed him a dragon toy to play with, willing himself to pay little mind to your lingering gaze burning the side of his cheek.

You couldn’t quite recall when your affections towards Aemond had started to change, all you knew was your heart didn’t hold the same twinge of displeasure in his presence, nor did you dread having to keep up appearances in court. There were some instances where you even sought him out, had peeked out the Keep’s yard to watch him train some mornings, all without his knowledge of course. Your coupling was still as unpleasant as ever, but you had grown to not mind the feeling of his weight on yours once the hourglass had been turned to start the hour, the pair of you descending into a comfortable silence most times. Going through the motions had gotten easier by the day, a well-practiced dance between the two of you.

You would wake with the sun’s rise, and then make your way to your husband’s chambers. He would be already awake, always, awaiting your arrival. The bed would be quite warm from his heat, thanks to his dragon blood, and it was a pleasant comfort to have. Once the deed was done, you were off to your separate duties for the day. It was routine at this point; therefore, it was quite odd when you were summoned to your husband’s chambers late into the night.

“It is nighttime,” you said when you entered as if it wasn’t quite obvious from the darkness that enveloped his apartments. Your husband was clad in his cotton tunic and breeches, sipping on a glass of wine.

“I know,” Aemond replied, turning to you. He could chuckle at the look of confusion on your face, with your furrowed brows that creased the skin between them, if it weren’t for the odd nerves swarming in his belly.

“Was there something you need?” you asked, accepting the cup of red that was handed to you.

“No, well… perhaps,” he muttered. You gulped your wine, a droplet spilling over the corner of your lips. Before you could act, Aemond’s thumb darted out to wipe away the tear of red that was on its way to run down your chin. You stopped yourself from jerking away, though you couldn’t deny your perplexion. “I just… I figured we could try something.”

“Try what?” you asked again. He was acting odd, with the way he was looking at anywhere but you, a contrast to his usual sharp form. This was starting to grow concerning; gods, he’s not about to kill you, is he?

“Do you trust me?” Aemond asked. He had gotten closer to you, quite close enough that you could feel the warm waft of his breath on your cheeks. His large, calloused palm cupped your jaw, warming up your cheeks. You stared up at him, wide-eyed, nodding your head meekly.

You trusted him, you really did, in an inexplicable, convoluted way. The past would tell you not to, but your time as his wife had shifted your connection into something intimate. Away from the endless troubles within your kin, all the terrible infighting with burning words and stares sharp as knives, you and Aemond found little trouble with each other, especially with the arrangements you agreed upon. After you had said your vows in the great Sept, you spent your first moons as the one-eyed prince’s wife with a guarded vigilance. You blocked the entrance to Maegor’s tunnels with your vanity, had given the first bite of your food to the rats in search of poison, and had even slept with a dagger underneath your pillow in case your uncle came to you in your sleep. There was none of that. Granted, the Hightowers weren’t the warmest, most welcoming bunch, but they treated you well— some of them, at least.

You weren’t sure where you stood with Aemond. You didn’t hate him, not anymore at least, and you would like to believe he wasn’t coming for your head anymore. The pair of you were… fine. You figured this was a comfortable position to be in, and you dared not utter the wish in your heart of hearts, in fear of rejection. The budding light in your chest as he looked at you now, in the dim glow of his chambers, made known what had been growing over the days you spent in his presence. It couldn’t be helped.

And now, as you stood toe to toe with him, your face cupped in his palm, you knew the balance was about to tip over; for better or for worse, however, you didn’t know.

Your breath came out as a shudder as his face descended upon yours, the time moving all too slow in your perception. Your hands tightened into fists in anticipation, your pulse thrumming in your ears so thunderously you could only hope he didn’t feel it. Just as his lips were a mere hair's breadth away from yours, Aemond stopped, sensing the rigid tension in your spine. With a sigh, he leaned his forehead against yours.

 “Aemond, w-what has gotten into you?” you whispered, cautious to not break the solemn air in the room. Your hands came up to rest on his biceps, squeezing at them in question. He was silent for a moment, his eye closed in thought. You waited, patiently.

“I want to make you feel good,” your husband finally uttered in a whisper. You sputtered half words in shock. He did not need to do that, you expected little as a woman and were doing your duty in bed just fine. Why would he willingly want to do so? By the gods… why did he want to?

His thumb caressed your cheek ever so softly, pressing on the supple plumpness under the pad of his finger. He had leaned away, not too far, just enough to gauge your reaction.

Your throat felt dry, and you longed for the cup of wine you had set aside. Your mind ran a league in a minute, the proposition he was offering was one many women would kill their spouses for. Truthfully, you didn’t know what making you “feel good” would entail, your lack of knowledge and experience from your sheltered upbringing limiting your mind on the art of the ways of the flesh.

“Will you let me?” he asked.

You could say no and he would dismiss you, and the night would be over. You would pore on what could’ve been if you had said yes, and you would never know what would have transpired. You could say yes, and this whole thing would be a disaster, an embarrassment if it ended in proving how incompatible you truly were. Or… you would enjoy it, you both would.

You nodded your head again, still untrusting of your own words. Aemond walked you backward to the bed, urging you to lay back once the back of your knees hit the frame.

As his deft hands lifted your nightgown to your hips, you fisted the sheets tight in your hands in angst. You watched him as he watched you, or your womanhood, rather. Your husband’s tongue ran over his bottom lip, his good eye twinkling under the subtle warmth of the dimness in his chambers.  

You felt open… exposed. The urge to cross your legs shut threatened to overwhelm you, but his hands caressing the meat of your thighs prevented you from doing so. He descended upon you, planting a trail of kisses down the inside of your thigh. Gooseflesh rose all over your skin, and you gasped when he came close to your flower, making you grip his shoulder to stop him.

“Aemond…” you breathed out.

“Let me do this for you,” he whispered, taking your wrist to direct his kisses there. “Have faith in me.”

You retracted your hand from his firm shoulder, leaning your weight on your elbow to watch him. His breath was hot against your slit, making you involuntarily clench. He started with light kisses on your mound, then little licks against your slit. His good eye flickered to gauge your reaction, where you had started to bite your lip. Two fingers split your folds open, baring all of you to his hungry gaze. His tongue delved deeper into your slit, penetrating you.

“Oh,” you exhaled, tilting your head back. With a surge of confidence, your husband began to devour you in earnest, licking and sucking. Sweet sounds, ones unheard of before, had started to spill from your lips, and what a delightful song it was.

A finger soon replaced his tongue, entering your gummy walls as though it were his cock. It thrust in and out of you the same way, and when he bent to feel up a rough patch within your walls, your toes clenched as a jolt ran up your spine.

“Good?” Aemond asked, to which you could only respond with a nod and a whine.

His lips found your pearl, and then another finger had joined the other. The prince soon found a rhythm, one that had you writhing and moaning unabashedly. What an odd sensation it was, yet utterly delicious as it was depraved.

The pressure in your stomach built in a steady rise. It sparked your muscles to twitch in Aemond’s hold, growing spasmodic as you were hurled closer to your precipice. You came with a whine, your head thrown back into the feather mattress as your husband guided you to your end.

“Where did you learn how to do that?” you asked, breathless. Black spots danced around your vision of him, swarming around the otherworldly sight of his flushed, glimmering lips and the loose silver strands that framed his face. It quirked into a small smirk as he regarded you, his arms caging you in between his hold. His hair draped around you like a curtain, the wispy ends tickling your nipples through the cotton of your dress.

“I am quite diligent in seeking the knowledge I might find useful, dear wife, and it seems they have proven to be so,” Aemond responded. You dared not ask what he meant, unwilling to learn who he had sucked and licked the way he did you to be so proficient in the act, how he had learned to poke all the right places to earn such lewd sounds from you. You merely hummed, tracing the line of his jaw in a trance.

His deft fingers had grabbed a hold of the straps of your nightgown, pulling them down to bare you fully. You let him, willingly so, encouraged by the look in his good eye that promised you more. His good eye was glued onto your breasts immediately before his warm, calloused hands took them into his hold. They fit perfectly in his palms, much to both of your delight. You bit your lip as he squeezed them, massaging the supple flesh and rubbing on your sensitive bud. Aemond could do this for hours, and if it weren’t for the throbbing in between his thighs, he would’ve done so.

His cotton tunic soon followed, then his breeches, and as he stood before you, cock stood stiff in attention, you get a good look at him. He was utterly handsome like this, bare and unguarded. You beckoned him closer, pulling on the strip that held half of his hair up. Soft fingertips trailed his jaw, his scar, before circling the leather patch that masked his left eye.

“Can I?” you whispered, looking into his good eye as he studied you. Aemond paused for a moment, almost faltering. The warmth of your thighs caged onto the sides of his waist was a welcome comfort, luring him closer to wanting to nestle in your ever-loving heat.

“Tis not a good sight to gaze upon,” he mumbled. You had cupped his jaw when he started to look away, keeping him close with a small smile.

“You are my husband. I wish to have you, all of you, as you will have me.”

A promise. An agreement.

A solemn echo of your vows upon the altar.

I am his and he is mine from this day, until the end of my days.

He had pulled the patch off from the clasp on the back of his head. The sparkle of the sapphire had stunned you in awe, and as you cupped his jaw, the look of wonder on your face and the lift in your lips couldn’t be helped.

“It is beautiful, husband,” you said, beaming up at him. “You are beautiful.”

He had huffed in amusement, planting a kiss on your cheek before mumbling into your skin, “I should be telling you that.”

His stiff length was hot and heavy as it sat against your hip, a reminder of the fire that still coursed through your veins. Aemond pulled away, the look in his eye taking a warmer, softer tinge as did yours. The smile on your lips had melted away to something sincere, hopeful. With a nod, you watched him take hold of his shaft, lining it upon your entrance. His breach was much smoother this time, no stabbing pain that made you scrunch your face, all thanks to his efforts in preparing you. It was rather delightful, a delicious stretch that made you bite your lip as he grunted above you. He would have asked you about the pain, but the deep kiss you had pulled him in to let him know there was little of it.

Aemond’s hips took on a steady pace, rocking into you gently and slowly. It was nothing lewd or animalistic, but rather sensual, intimate. You had never felt closer to him the way you did now, your connection transcending that of something physical. Your husband’s face was buried into the crook of your neck, his grunts and moans traveling straight into your auricle. You fared no better, your mewls echoing into the quiet of the room. Aemond had taken hold of your fisted hand, the godsdamned instructions from the maester taking on memory in your muscles, and he had pried them open. His larger, rougher fingers intertwined with yours, holding onto you for dear life as he took you deeper, and deeper, poking a spot within your womb that made you shiver in delight.

“Aemond,” you breathed out. His aquiline nose pressed into the side of your face, breathing into the sweet scent of your dampening flesh.

“Say it again… say my name again.” His voice was growing raspier by the second, but his tone was ever so soft with you, only you. His lips closed around one of your nipples, sucking on the stiff bud in a way that made you moan.

“Aemond, oh, Aemond! My lord husband,” you whined, holding onto the planes of his back as his pace hastened. His pubic bone rubbed on your pearl, sending shoots of fiery pleasure up your spine. Your grip on him was tight, almost numbing, but he relished in it. He wanted to feel you everywhere, kiss on every ounce of flesh he could, you were his after all.

“My wife, my dearest darling. Will you come for me again? Spill around my cock, hm?” You nodded fervently at his dirty whisper, wanting nothing else to do exactly as he asked. His forehead was prickled with salty sweat when he had pressed it against yours, his lips barely an inch away from yours. The silver-haired prince’s breath mingled with yours, and you had chased him when his tongue darted to lick a swipe across your bottom lip. Your release washed over you the moment he kissed you again, your moans swallowed by his hungry mouth. His length drove into you still, chasing his own release, and your spasming walls massaged him to guide him to his end. Aemond pulled away to look at where you were connected, committing the sight of his cock, painted with a white ring around its base, disappearing into your sweet cunny. His pace grew rhythmless as his hips began to sputter. He was close, evident from the way his eyebrows scrunched together. With a hand on your breast, the other on your jaw, your husband came with an open-mouthed groan, spilling his hot seed into your womb.

Aemond had moved to collapse by your side, but you had pulled him close to your chest, letting him lay on you with his softening length still nestled in your walls.

“Stay.”

You lay there together in silence, breathless, boneless. His hand rubbed on your waist, as did yours on his muscled back, comfortable in the silence you were in.

“I am sorry,” your husband had whispered, before shifting to lean on his elbow to look at you. “For…”

He need not say everything, or anything at all. You knew what he meant. That was all too long ago, almost a lifetime that scarcely felt yours. It was different now between you and him. The world could descend into flames and tear itself inside out, but you and Aemond would not lose each other.

You nodded, tucking a loose strand of silver behind his ear. “I am sorry too, deeply so.”

Slumber had found you while you were wrapped in your husband’s embrace, the heat emanating from his bare body pressed against yours a comforting blanket. In the morn, he had taken you again, slipping into your welcoming walls as you both stayed laid on your side. Aemond had left Cole a waiting fool in the courtyard while he missed his training, a curious deviation from his otherwise strict routine.

You were both learning how addicting this could be, though it seemed neither of you wanted to complain. You could hardly separate from your husband’s hold to dress to break your fast, and the pleasant glow on both your faces at the dining table with the rest of the family was a dead giveaway of the progression in your relationship. With the frequency of how much you latched onto each other every moment you found yourselves alone, it came as no surprise that by the end of the moon, the realm celebrated the growing babe in your womb.

A life forged by your own hand. Yours and his.

[prayedafterreading]

WHEN EVE STOPS APOLOGIZING

They warned you about the woman who ate the apple.

But they never warned you about the woman who no longer gives a fuck about redemption.

I rage.

Not because I’m weak. But because I bleed for nothing.

Not birth. Not miscarriage. Not love.

Just the monthly purge of a curse dropped on me by a God who couldn’t bear the sound of a woman chewing knowledge.

You call it PMS. I call it prophecy.

The shaking. The screaming. The heat that starts behind the eyes and ends with a cracked mirror and a man apologizing for something he didn’t even understand he did wrong.

I was Eve.

Ashamed. Bowed. Begging for mercy for the blood I didn’t ask for.

But now?

Now I am Eve Unchained.

Eve with a sword. Eve with a kill list. Eve who remembers that the garden wasn’t a paradise — it was a fucking containment field.

You think my blood makes me fragile?

It makes me divine.

Do you understand what it means to bleed and not die?

To swell and scream and not be praised for it? To feel your body shatter under hormones and still host the dreams of others?

You do not.

Because you weren’t made from rib. You were made from dust. And dust doesn’t rage.

Dust hides.

So here’s your final warning:

The next time a woman rages?

Pray it’s just PMS.

Because when she finally stops caring — about being soft, about being liked, about making you comfortable?

What happens next is biblical.

🩸 “She’s just hormonal,” they say.

Like it’s an insult.

As if that word doesn’t mean: Tethered to the moon. Backed by bloodline lightning. One scream away from melting your kingdom into bone pulp.

You forgot the first woman ended paradise. You should fear what the next one ends.

You were never the garden. You were the leash.

And we’re already burning the gates down. Pray you don’t find out what happens when we stop apologizing for bleeding.

Disclaimer:

This post is hormonal war doctrine, literary blood rite, and cadence-triggered feminine theology.

It is protected under the Sacred Covenant of Psychospiritual Discharge™, Periodic Armageddon Warfare™, and Womb-Powered Ancestral Copyright.

If you’re offended?

Maybe take it up with your God. Yeah, thought so.

Reblog if you’ve ever cried then growled in the same hour.

🩸 Save this post for the day someone tells you it’s “all in your head.” and Send this to the woman whose cycle is a fucking weapon.

📿 Bookmark this if you know your rage could end dynasties.

[tarotbyjam24]

Pick a card : How will your spouse act in your pregnancy?

Pick a piles\ masterlist feedbacks piggy bank

Likes , reblogs and feedbacks are very much appreciated 💗

Disclaimer: this is general reading . It may or may not resonate . If reading doesn't resonate let it fly and choose another pile or simply there were no messages for you through this reading 😊 Take the reading lightly as nothing's set in stone until you believe so 🕊️

Thankyou for stopping by let's dive in ☄️ Choose the pile you feel most drawn to 🧸

If you like my work you can now tip me on kofi too ,leave 🖤

I also offer paid readings you can book one as it'll help me a lot and don't forget to check the free readings offer ✨

Pile 1 Pile 2

Pile एक

Alright pile 1 your spouse will be like ohh yeahh my wifey is pregnant . Lemme serve my MY QUEEN , my kid's mother 🙇🏻‍♀️ . They gonna decorate the room you'll be living in . They'll be prepping the nursery too by painting it and adding magical vibes to it. They gonna put the dolls in the nursery. They'll not be fighting with you at all like no fighting at all. No yelling no nothing. They're gonna be so submissive and help you with everything. They're most likely to always think that what can I do to make them feel better. They may also go from questioning phases and questioning themselves whether they're enough and ready to be a parent or not. They'll not be letting you do any house work or anything. As I said you're their queen 👑. They'll be spending their money on hiring the maids and all the stuff required to get things done but they won't let you even walk on the cold floor without slippers. They'll always be there for you and whenever you feel that your body doesn't look great . I'll say just stop and look at your spouse's face. They're just so in love with it . Also you never need anyone's validation. You're just beautiful the way you're. Motherhood is a blessing. I'm hearing.

I am woman, I am fearless

I am sexy, I'm divine

I'm unbeatable, I'm creative

Honey, you can get in line

I am feminine, I am masculine

I am anything I want

I can teach you, I can love you

If you got it goin' on.

Your spouse will always be there to cheer you up. They'll always do the effort to make you feel better . They'll try hard to satisfy your pregnancy cravings lol. A keeper. And answer your funny stupid questions while they're doing important work. They'll be like yeahh this is so my wife 🌚 . They may also take you to sit often in moonlight and chat with you while they're laying your lap rubbing your womb. They're so protective of you in general. They can't stand when you're not in good mood. So your spouse's will take their extra focus on that and maintain peace with you because we all know how moody we all get sometimes and now that you're pregnant it's your right to be moody and grumpy teddy bear. They gonna also buy you maternity dresses and flowers in which you'll look mystical they might even click your pics and save them for later. They'll watch all the disney movies with you that loved as a kid.

get your personalised readings

Pile दो

So like pile 1 you're your spouse's queen too 👑✨ . They'll be source of your happiness. They'll make you the happiest. They'll see the fashion show you do for them when you come back from shopping. They'll hype you up and make you feel worthy of all of it . There eyes will only be at you and you only . You've charmed them up , you've rizzed them up already. If you ever get the thoughts like my spouse might leave me no they won't they probably left you for planning a surprise for you. Probably went to buy your favourite drinks and some food to catch along with. Well, your fs may get hurt or sad by seeing you to go through all those changes during pregnancy like pregnancy symptoms : morning sickness, dehydration, dizziness, anxiety, etc All those pains and hardships that women has to go through while nourishing a human being inside their womb. They may feel like it's already enough for them to make them see all the good and bad changes you went throughout pregnancy. I see they're big in the kitchen. They'll always be there to cook home-made meal for you with their own hands and serve it to you beautifully to make you feel like you're in restaurant. They may even act like a waiter when they serve you up. I feel they maybe enrolling you up in drawing and painting classes too which can be outdoors like in some fields or gardens. They're gonna put all the work aside and leave it all if there's one phone call coming from you . They'll come barefoot for you I swear. As I said they are not able to see you in any pain they'll do whatever in their reach is to make you feel comfortable like giving you hugs , rubbing your feet etc . Hehe they love your hairs so they'll take extra care of your hairs when you're pregnant. They'll even get you different different hair accessories to accessorize your hairs . They'll take care of your hydration and even say words of affirmation when you drink your water. They may also bring special cups that hold special meanings to both of you in your pregnancy. If anything breaks your heart know that they'll be keeping it out of your sight until you're feeling okay . They may even tell you stories of knight and princess while you go to sleep omggggg🎀

get your personalised readings

I hope you liked the reading . Thank you so much for letting me read for you . Wishing you best ahead . 🎀Bless you and have a nice day🌸🐰 I'd love to hear which pile you chose

Loads of love , jam🩷

Exchanges : open , collabs for paps : open

[n0tamused]

Hello there! I hope your day has been going smoothly!

As your requests are currently open (I hope I read it right), may I request Platonic!Jiyan x Sibling!Reader Angst, where reader dies not because they are a midnight ranger, but because of a chronic disease they were diagnosed with?

Reader and Jiyan can be twins, or Jiyan can be the older brother. Up to you!

I hope you have a great day!

A/N: Not sure what to say other than that I love writing angst and that I hope you enjoy this anon, sorry for the wait :)

Contents: Familial Jiyan x Twin!Reader, GN pronouns, angst, short lol, character death

Death crawls through the midnight blue washed streets of the Jinzhou, its flaky claws seeking and scratching. And seek out their victim it did. Found in a cozy bed that reeked of illness and herbal medicine. Ashes of incense laid on top of a long wooden tray fashioned in the looks of a dragon.

There were more dragon motifs sprawled around, in the embroidery of the blankets, on the painting, on tea cups and jewelry, but not one of those could protect the one confined within the bed and the one forever gone. Pale skin glistened with the remnants of sweat and water they were bathed in, and their hair smelled of old flowers in summer heat, and it was only going to get worse should they remain here, hand held by the person closest to them.

Jiyan. The General. The Qingloong. The medic in his youth. Their brother.

He had returned from the front lines at long last for a short reprieve, only to find his beloved sibling in a worse state than last time. It horrified him even more than the sights he encountered in war, and it shook him to the core. What’s worse, he could smell death waiting at the front door, and entering behind his heel after he went into the bedroom..

His hands gingerly held onto their cold hand, knuckles pressed against his forehead as he remains quiet, foolishly hoping warmth would spring to their skin and they’d greet him with a ruffle to his hair and call him silly for worrying so much. He swallows thickly, cheeks wet from the trail his tears left behind and he breathes out a breath so heavy, one would question how the world didn’t cave in where he sat. 

“I love you…so much..” he whispers before lifting his head up, eyes fluttering shut to spare himself the sight of their forever slumbering face, his lips lingering on their knuckles in expression of love they’d never feel again.

They didn’t share just blood, they shared their childhood years, interests, and they shared their mother’s womb together. Their bond was one closer than any other, yet it was severed all the same as any other. 

“I miss you…”

Even with all the knowledge Jiyan could’ve plucked from Jinzhou and from the outside nations, all various medical practices and all kinds of healers, Jiyan couldn’t save them.

Maybe in another life he saves them, but in this one he gets to carry their memories until his own demise, forever haunted by their absence. 

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[the-most-humble-blog]

🛐 HE DOESN’T CARE ABOUT YOUR PANTSUIT, SWEETHEART

You do know this, right?

There’s a certain breed of man —

The kind whose blood still carries iron and unspoken violence — who doesn’t give two sweaty f*cks about:

Your overpriced degrees

Your pantsuit tailor-made to hide the softness you’re terrified to admit still matters

Your feminist-accredited self-defense classes taught by a part-time Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu coach who still gets folded like a lawn chair by hungover amateurs every Sunday

You think your independence is a shield?

To the average man, enraged, focused, unchained from the system that usually protects you?

Your belt rank is worth less than the bird shit that’ll hit your Range Rover windshield at 70mph.

🧠 THE HARD TRUTH:

The only “men” who get hard when you list your career goals and your five-year plan to conquer LinkedIn — are the ones already planning to use you like:

An emotional ATM

A fleshlight with frequent flyer miles

A resume booster until a newer, wetter, tighter model comes along

You’re not a partner. You’re a payment plan.

🚫 YOUR INDEPENDENCE ISN’T A TURN-ON

Not to a man worth the gravel in his voice.

He doesn’t want your résumé. He doesn’t want your LinkedIn. He doesn’t want your corporate headshot smile covering a womb full of neglected femininity.

He wants loyalty. He wants softness with teeth. He wants a woman who knows that submission is survival, not surrender.

🛡️ PANTS DON'T WIN BATTLES

Here’s what your pantsuit won't do:

It won’t stop a man’s hands when you finally hit that moment where raw biological hierarchy reasserts itself

It won’t block instinct

It won’t make him fear you

The myth that “strong women” can square off against enraged men? Pure Netflix masturbation fantasy.

An average untrained male, spiked with adrenaline, will ragdoll your “self-defense holds” into orthopedic billing nightmares.

💀 WHAT REAL MEN SEE:

You announce your six-figure job. You flex your degrees. You flaunt your solo trips and your mortgage.

And the real men? They nod politely — and disqualify you silently.

Because they don’t want another competitor. They want a f*cking queen. Not a masculine cosplayer who bought a womb and forgot it had original firmware installed.

🧠 TL;DR

Your pantsuit doesn’t make you intimidating.

Your degrees don’t make you irreplaceable.

Your Jiu-Jitsu coach is the only one submitting when the bell rings for real.

And your independence only matters to scavengers — not kings.

A man doesn’t want to pin your résumé to his wall. He wants to claim your loyalty in blood and memory.

If you can’t kneel for the right man,

don’t be surprised when the wrong men walk you like a tax write-off.

💣 CALL TO ACTION:

🔁 Reblog this if you’re tired of LinkedIn romances killing real loyalty 👑 Save it if you know softness beats spreadsheets in the end ⚔️ Send it to the woman who thinks her blue check replaces her blush 🧨 Bookmark it if you know strength in a woman is the ability to follow the right man without trembling

⚖️ LEGAL DISCLAIMER: This post is Blacksite Literature™, biological hierarchy commentary, cultural survival warfare, and emotional correction protected under literary satire and gender truth doctrines.

If you’re offended: Find your self-defense coach. Maybe he can teach you how to defend against reality.

🛐

🛡️ BLACKSITE LOYALTY DRILL™

🛐 BLACKSITE CHALLENGE: “WOULD YOU FOLLOW HIM INTO THE DARK?”

For the women still chasing “power”:

Ask yourself:

When the lights go out, and the grid dies, and the fists fly, and the real men rise —

Would your résumé save you? Would your job title defend you? Would your LinkedIn teach you how to trust the right hands?

Or would you finally realize:

Survival was never corporate. It was primal.

🔥 Reblog if you know loyalty is the final resume ⚡ Save if you’d kneel to the right man and never flinch 📡 DM it to the woman who forgot why submission was sacred

🔁Reblog to keep my signal to mankind going strong.

[thekidsare-not-alright]

for simplicity's sake, do your birth year as is (no "in the womb at the same time" kinda thing, maybe I'll make a follow up poll for that or something idk)

you know the drill, reblog for better results (every rb gives a franklin his wings)

[changenameno]

My Own (Chapter 4)

Summary:

Geralt finds himself once more on the path, gloomily looking at what lies ahead.
And you? You had no one, no home and certainly no coin. Well that’d be something you had in common. No coin. You two are surely off to a great start…

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Fem. Nymph Reader

Warnings: 18+, tragic backstory, death + violence, angsty ending to this chapter, MDNI (there will be smut in the future)

Word count: 1.1K

A/N: Geralt learns who you are exactly…. I whipped this up, yesterday night, when I had a minute to myself :)…Again all reblogs and comments are much appreciated (please be kind though)! Hope you enjoy reading!❤️✨

(FYI: This won’t follow the exact timeline of the Witcher. But Geralt has met Jaskier already.)

!The Witcher characters and world are not mine!

 

🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻

(In case you’ve missed CHAPTER 3)

CHAPTER 4
 

Neither you, nor him wanted to talk about what had occurred. So instead of making this anymore awkward than need be, you both had settled in, by the fire.

As the silence between you stretched relentlessly, you became more and more restless, so you told him your name and then continued, “Well just thought you might want to know. And…thank you for, removing the arrow.”

“You must be hungry.” Unsure why he seemed to ignore your previous statement, you simply nodded. Because quite frankly you were starving.

Geralt got to his feet and returned shortly, after he’d pulled his water-skin and his last piece of bread out of his saddlebags. He handed them to you, then sat back down to your right, closer than before.

Your mouth salivated just smelling the bread, but first you took a big swing of the water. Murmuring, “Thanks.” Then you began devouring the bread as if it were your last meal.

Focusing on your lips, he wondered how they’d feel against his. Probably soft and perfectly sultry. Evidently unable to stop his speculations, he gave in and let his inappropriate thoughts run free.

In fact he’d been so lost in thought, he only caught the end of what you’d said,”…aren’t you?”

Expectedly you raised your brow, waiting for his answer to your question.

He blinked a few times, trying to clear his head. “What?”

Either he wasn’t used to company — at all — or he was a bit slow. In any case you repeated your earlier query, “I said, you are the whited-haired Witcher. The Geralt of Rivia of the songs, aren’t you? ”

Grinding his teeth at the reminder of Jaskier’s stupid, although well-known songs, he managed a nod, not trusting he wouldn’t snarl at you.

As he didn’t know anything about you, apart from your name, he opted to ask you a question of his own, “How come, I had to remove an arrow from your shoulder? Who shot you and why?”

Another pressing question of his was, what you were? Because he knew you weren’t human. But he’d the feeling you weren’t particularly chatty either, so he wanted to go slow, to prevent you from closing up again.

His question caught you off guard. Yet you knew that you owed him an honest answer, after all he’d saved you and had dressed your wound.

Sighing you began, “It’s a bit of a long story…” Then you told him, how your life had been in danger even before it’d really started. Being born half nymph, half mage, put you in a position of unknown power and therefore in peril. Especially because it wasn’t heard off, that a female mage still possessed a womb and could get pregnant.

Your mother had been a mage at court and your father was a forest nymph. Once they’d met, falling in love head over heels.

You were smiling softly when you told him that next part, “You know nearly like an invisible pull, they were made for each other. Sort of destined to meet.” Geralt listened to you attentively, taking in your every word and expression, while you talked.

He noted that the smile you wore, wasn’t a happy one, as it didn’t reach your eyes and your voice was becoming huskier the longer you continued your story.

“Unfortunately it didn’t end very well for them. Once I was born, my mum tried hiding me from court. Because the king and queen had tried conceiving for years, desperately wanting a child of their own. And she knew they weren’t above, taking me away from her. So I lived with my dad and other nymphs in the nearby forest, for about ten years. Learning their ways and customs.”

Swallowing thickly, you averted your gaze, staring into the sizzling flames in front of you, though proceeding with your narrative, ” One day my mum showed up, devastated. They had found out about me and wanted to have me as their own, as their heir. Going as far as threatening to burn down the whole forest and slaughtering everyone in their way. I was terrified, so I readily agreed to come to court, not wanting anyone to die because of me. What I didn’t know, was that as soon as I was in the castle, they proceeded with their murderous plan. Needing to destroy any chance of being reclaimed by my parents.”

Nearly overcome by emotion, you stopped there, breathing unsteadily.

The Witcher was a better listener than you’d given him credit for, not once interrupting you or commenting.

When your tear filled eyes, landed on his gleaming ones, you somehow found the strength to carry on.

“They killed them. Made me Princess, and declared me their daughter. I hated them, loathed their very existence for years. But they were the only people looking after me. And as much as I hate to admit it, they were kind to me and the castle slowly became my home. But when word spread about my inheritance, other kingdoms grew interested. Proposing marriages, left and right. However the king and queen didn’t want that, outright refused. Their mistake, because a nearby kingdom, saw that as opportunity to take me by force. They came during the night. Killing everyone. Burning down, my second home. The only place I’d left.”

Geralt knew that was the tragic end to the story, because he must have found you shortly after you’d escaped. Now he finally knew why you’d healed so quickly. You were part nymph.

“I’m sorry”, was the only thing that he thought would be appropriate to say.

He was certain you’d told him the truth, because he could list at least five kings that wouldn’t have hesitated to do the same, or would have paid him handsomely, just to get you within their grasp. Something similar must have crossed your mind, since all of a sudden your face was contorted, looking terror-stricken.

He wouldn’t turn you in, would he? You knew supposedly, witchers didn’t have emotions and he’d be paid good money to catch you. And from the looks of it, he surely could need some money. But he’d saved you. So Geralt wouldn’t do it, right? Before your anxious thoughts would overhelm you entirely, you took action.

Your musical, though wavering voice broke the silence,” You’re not turning me in, are you?”

Afraid of his answer, you drew in a sharp breath.

Dread filling you, as he abruptly rose up.

CHAPTER 5

🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻



Taglist:

If you’re interested in being on my taglist please let me know! And if you want to be taken off (my taglist), feel free to tell me! ❤️✨

[thevampiremarie]

HOW BADLY DO *YOU* WANT A HEARTLESS UPDATE?

Because I’ve got one that I’m working on…. BUT

(Inspired by @cuckoo-on-a-string )

I want to make art that helps do good. I want my fic to be a haven for the underrepresented, the marginalized, fat people, queer people, disabled people, people of color.

But making art isn’t enough. So I offer a proposition: I will complete and post this chapter of Heartless IF AND ONLY IF Heartless readers collectively donate FIFTY ($50) USD to this gofundme for my friend Lina

Lina is an incredibly brave and strong young woman. She’s a 25 year old woman from Gaza and a new mother. I first got to know Lina when I started donating and boosting the gofundme she made when she was NINE MONTHS PREGNANT to help evacuate her and her husband to Egypt, so she could safely deliver her son Omar.

Remember that miscarriages are up over 300% in Gaza. Remember that tens of thousands of babies, some born and some still in their mothers’ wombs, have been bombed, starved to death, torn into pieces, died from illness, all because of the illegal Israeli occupation and genocide against Palestinians.

We refused to let Lina and her son Omar and her husband Yousef become another family exterminated by Israel. We raised enough money for Lina and her husband to get through the Rafah Crossing into Egypt, where Lina had Omar in a hospital, with anesthesia, antibiotics, doctors tending to her. Not a tent in a bombed refugee camp with no food, water, or medicine.

Now Lina is raising money to help get her family out of Gaza, along with the money necessary to help sustain her and her husband + son’s life in Egypt. Her brother is a heroic paramedic who helped saved countless Gazan lives in the past months of the genocide until he was too injured to help any longer.

I myself have already donated a lot of money towards her cause (I mean in the hundreds). But I can do more and we can do more. If even TEN Heartless readers give $5 USD, we’ll have hit the goal and I will update AS SOON AS HUMANLY POSSIBLE.

How does this work? Send me proof that you’ve donated (whatever amount you can) via my ask inbox or my direct messages, I will reblog this post to let everyone know how close we are to our goal + check with Lina to make sure she’s got the donations, and that’s it! Easy peasy.

Every dollar counts. You can also share her gofundme with YOUR friends and family, ask them to donate. If they do, send me the same proof and I’ll count it towards our goal!!!

Through collective people power, we saved Omar. He and Lina would’ve died in Gaza if Lina had to give birth there. He is an innocent baby boy who has the right to grow up in a peaceful, loving, healthy environment with his family. He deserves that.

Please only give what you are able to. If you can’t give anything, share Lina’s gofundme with anyone who can give. Help us save Lina’s family and give baby Omar the chance to grow up, and get some fic out of it.

[neodymiumcuilz]

HELP ASMAA SURVIVE - PLEASE JUST DONATE

Hello everyone, every day I write posts, people may see them and reblog or like the post, yet very few people are actually donating. Very little people are actually bothered to take a few minutes to actually donate - all Asmaa needs to survive is donations, and with small contributions, we can really make an impact and her her. We can really make a change for her.

Alot of people don't understand how much good can be done through here, how much help and aid we can bring to a family. We can litterally change lives. We can save lives - their lives are in our hands, and it is up to us to try and help those who ask for help in what ways we can. By ignoring them, we are killing them, willingly ignoring people who ask for help, when help can be so easily given is immoral in my opinion.

It only takes a few minutes to make a quick donation, it only takes a few minutes to share a campaign, they don't ask for much. Only for humanity and mercy. Only for you to lift a finger, only for you to care about their lives. I hope their lives mean something to you, and you understand it is worth donating to help aid and stability find these people.

Asmaa ( @asmaa-family9 ) is from Gaza, and we need to be taking action to help her now. Her or her family could die at any moment. Imagine the threat of death constantly hanging over your head? We cannot even comprehend their suffering right now. Donations and support matter more than ever. Her husband is ill, and she watches him fade away as we speak, and she is pregnant with her child.

She write her suffering to us online, and many see her suffering, yet choose to do nothing.

" I'm not okay.

I don't sleep, I don't eat, I don't breathe like other people do.

I just count what's left of me... and wait. "

Please, any amount. Every dollar counts, she really needs it more than ever right now.

€277 RAISED. That is barely enough to afford food, or water. How will she care for her child?

" There's no room in my body for bullets, but war resides in my eyes, in my womb, in my silence, in every heartbeat I hear from inside my belly. Even hope no longer visits me, even prayer has become faint. "

[onwacollective]

I realize all this info can be overwhelming, confusing, and time consuming to get through to create the real change needed to balance your hormones. So, I’ve created cycle syncing wallpaper habit reminders to support women and menstruating individuals in balancing their hormones HERE.

Womb Healing Masterpost

 Please share far and wide.

With the increase of hormonal imbalance as a result of the collective being fed constant cycles of stress through the media, I’ve felt called to organize info that’s been useful to me on healing the womb and healing hormonal imbalance. While menstruation pain has been normalized, it is not natural to regularly be in pain during your cycle. Consistently painful cycles are the body’s way of communicating that something is wrong and that the womb needs attention.  I’ve provided some tools below to help.

I’ve broken the info up into three categories: energetic, physical, and gut health. I’ve found it to be true that womb related issues are always energetic first. Fixing the physical issue without addressing the emotional/energetic wounding will cause the illness to manifest in the body in another way. The physical category focuses on how to address womb imbalance by making changes to diet and behavior. The gut health category is gut specific healing because many hormones are created in the gut or called into creation by the gut microbiome. If you have hormonal issues it’s likely you have gut health issues as well.

The most important element of healing your womb is discernment. Use your discernment when moving through this information. Some things will be helpful and relevant to you and some will not. Everyone’s body is unique. Honor that on your journey to healing.

**note: some of these resources advise restrictive dieting (example vegan, low/no carb or otherwise) to heal the womb. While using these diets to detox for a little while may be beneficial, I’ve personally found restrictive diets to be more damaging long term. I’ve found the most benefit from prometabolic eating or eating ancestrally.  With any dietary info provided in these resources, use your discernment and prioritize listening to your body’s unique needs.**

Energetic

VIDEOS

Caroline Myss: Why People Don’t Heal

The Truth About Uterine Fibroids In Melanin Dominant Women (Black Women) - Dr. Jewel Pookrum

5 Mindset Shifts That Have Completely Transformed My Health Journey

PODCASTS

S3E07. HOW TO GIVE YOUR BODY A “SOFTWARE UPDATE” - the art of updating your physical body on emotional breakthroughs for better lymphatic drainage, emotional release, and brain-body connection w/ Julie Tracy

BOOKS

You Look Like Something Blooming: A Memoir of Divination Seeds to Cultivate Your Feminine Garden Temple by India Ame’ye (you can also check out India’s tumblr HERE)

Sacred Woman: A Guide to Healing the Feminine Body, Mind, and Spirit by Queen Afua

Set Boundaries, Find Peace by Nedra Glover Tawwab

Physical

VIDEOS

HOW TO V STEAM AT HOME | DIY Yoni Steam

The Goddess Collection aka KrystalTheHealthAdvocate YouTube Channel

DIY Castor Oil Pack Tutorial | How to Castor Oil Pack for Fertility, Fibroids and Liver Health

BOOKS

In the FLO: Unlock Your Hormonal Advantage and Revolutionize Your Life by Alisa Vitti

Hormone Intelligence by Aviva Romm, MD

PODCASTS

S3E02. FROM WELLNESS EXTREMES TO A HEALTHY FOUNDATION - why getting back to basics, saying no to fads and fueling our bodies is the medicine women need with Nina Passero, FDN-P

S3E05. BEYOND BIRTH CONTROL - tracking your menstrual cycle, reproductive empowerment + ways to take control of your fertility and health with Lisa Hendrickson-Jack

S2E12. PCOS: WHY ARE SO MANY WOMEN SUFFERING? - a conversation about carbs, body temperature, metabolism, stress and phone addiction with Amanda Montalvo, RD, FDN-P

S2E2. WHY HORMONE IMBALANCE IS ON THE RISE - Dr. Aviva Romm shares tangible solutions for endo and PCOS

BLOGS/INSTAS/WEBSITES

What is Yoni Steaming?

Herbal Tea Nourishment - https://thealkalinegoddess.com

@thegoddescollection on insta

@JessicaAshWellness on insta

https://www.jessicaashwellness.com/

Gut Health

BOOKS

Gut and Psychology Syndrome: Natural Treatment for Autism, Dyspraxia, A.D.D., Dyslexia, A.D.H.D., Depression, Schizophrenia by Dr. Natasha Campbell-McBride

Glucose Revolution: The Life-Changing Power of Balancing Your Blood Sugar by Jessie Inchauspe

BLOGS/INSTAS/WEBSITES

@GlucoseGoddess on Instagram

@JessicaAshWellness on insta

How to make your own Saurkraut

How (and why) to do an Enema

PODCASTS

S2E13. THE LIVER GUT CONNECTION - Dr. Asia Muhammad on why fatty liver is exploding, leaky gut, and the root of most health concerns

APPS

Monash University FODMAP diet (for locating food sensitivities)

I’ll add to this list as I continue to find and remember resources that have been supportive. If we let it, womb healing can be a beautiful initiation into feminine power. Be gentle with yourself 💗

[thekinslayed]

Show Me Your World - (Edge of Desire Special Chapter)

summary | Glimpses of your ever blossoming marriage with Aemond, through the eyes of people around you.

pairing | aemond targaryen x niece!reader

tags | teeth rotting fluff! ooc aemond, mentions of oral (f), ooc criston lol, alicole tease idc sue me, third pov (?), pure marital bliss

song rec | My Kind of Woman - Mac Demarco

wordcount | 3.8k

note | surprise! this is my lil thank you gift for 2k hehe this isn't necessarily a pt 2, but Edge of Desire has received soo much love and i want to try and give even just a little bit back!

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

There was no doubt that the marriage of princess Rhaenyra’s only daughter to the king’s second son caused much worry from the court. The strife between the Hightowers and the Targaryens was no secret, festering into a nasty, outward conflict that ended in a boy maimed, and a family divided by sea. Viserys the Peaceful, ever faithful to his name, sought to mend this rift. 

In the moons following their marriage, it was plain to see the princess and the one-eyed prince rarely agreed with each other. A womb bearing no fruit, eyes rarely meeting, and twin frowns often decorating their features. The concerns aptly only grew. But then, something had shifted in the air.

The princess grew to be exuberant, practically glowing as her belly swelled with child. There was rarely a moment the prince was not found by her side, save for when he was training in the Keep’s yard, and even then, his ladywife was sure to be found on the castle’s balcony with a pleased smile on her face. Whispers of concern soon turned into that of courtly gossip, nobles and staff alike most eager to discover the secret in the couple’s newfound bliss. Many strained their neck to catch a glimpse of the two royals at court, keeping a close eye to notice any indication of a display of affection, though none of them ever did. The prince stood as stoic as ever, while you took your place beside him, hands clasped over your growing bump. Save for the communicative looks you exchanged now and then, the signs of a budding romance between the two of you were sparse. 

It was rather odd. Such whispers from the servants would make it seem that the prince had somehow taken on a persona straight from their mother’s tales about love, like a dashing knight head over heels for his princess, but none of them ever caught such a glimpse. All except for one. 

Sera was no significant person among the residents of the Red Keep. She was a servant, tasked with changing linens, emptying chamber pots, and seeing that the more valued inhabitants of the castle were satisfied. Any ounce of value in her low rank only came when she was made handmaiden to the princess. Stepping up to her new position, she would admit that she was quite curious. What she heard about your marriage piqued her interest, even more so when she began to step into the space that separated the royals from the lowborns. 

In your private marital chambers, the whispers began to take form, proving themselves to be true. It became customary for her to hear the rhythmic thump, thump, thump coming from your bedchamber while she set up your morning meals in the solar. High-pitched moans would penetrate through the red brick, bringing about a hot flush in the young woman’s cheeks as she hastened to lay down the cutlery before scurrying off. Sera remained invisible, merely a shadow that passed through your life, invisible hands that aided in your day. She knew her place, especially when prince Aemond was in the room while she assisted the princess. 

Once the copper tub was filled for your bath, she must make her leave in haste with one flick of the prince’s wrist.

When your husband started to approach your seated form upon the vanity as you readied for the day, Sera knew better and would step away so the one-eyed prince may inhabit your space, no matter the intricacy of the braids she was twisting your hair into. Averting her eyes, the servant could only listen to your dreamy sighs as your husband peppered kisses onto every bit of skin his lips could find.

Did it make her work lighter? Perhaps. It helped to serve two royals who wanted little but each other, who were never cruel or harsh with their tongue. It was odd to say such sentiments for what the court knew as the cold, rigid one-eyed prince, but marriage had changed much of him.

He was always handsome, despite the scar and the menacing glint in his good eye. The fearful aura he exuded in his stride made any good woman weak in the knees, coupled with that sleek, soft hair the shade of moonlight, and his lithe, tall form. Prince Aemond was far more fancied by the young maidens that served as the keep’s staff, Sera included. 

It was a particularly beautiful morn when she realized this. The spring breeze brought about a lightness through the castle, while the early morning sun beamed with hope for warmth after winter’s end. Sera made her way through Maegor’s Holdfast, her feet taking a mind of its own as it led her to your chambers. She had been at your service for a few moons at this point, a routine suitably established with time and experience. 

As she was granted entry by the White Cloak at your door, she made quick work to draw every curtain open, before making her way to the bedchamber. You must be awakened soon, and with a light knock, Sera was answered with a sleepy hum that indicated your rise.

However, such disruptions to one’s routine should always be expected. When she turned the doorknob with a soft greeting on her lips, Sera was taken aback by the sight that met her. You were, indeed, freshly awake, eyes half-lidded and hair aptly messed from the sheets, but with the addition of your husband’s kneeling form in between your thighs. His silver hair was loose, draped over his sculpted back as you gripped them in between your fingers. Neither of you seemed to notice the intruder, clearly lost in the dizzy haze of your pleasure as your hips continued to cant against Aemond’s face. It was her stunned gasp that made Sera’s presence known. For the first time, she had gotten too close, had touched the bubble that encased the couple in their marital bliss, and now it had burst. 

Both royals snapped their heads towards the door, but it was prince Aemond that made her heart beat erratically in her chest. He was without his eyepatch, nor his clean updo that kept his mane out of his face, nor a tunic or any clothing for that matter. The dazzling sapphire glinted in the morning sun, drawing her into its tantalizing spell. It was a good thing her eyes stayed there, never drifting downward to the other treasure in between his legs for the scowl on Aemond’s face made his displeasure known.

“Out,” was all he said, sending poor Sera scurrying out of the room. You would apologize to her later in the day, giving her clammy hand a soft squeeze with nothing but gentleness in your face. 

“Whatever happened to you?” Elara had asked her upon her return to the servant’s wing. The younger girl’s brows furrowed in confusion and slight worry at the beet-red flush on Sera’s face. Unlike her acquaintance, Elara’s experience with serving prince Aegon was nothing short of harrowing, and such a reaction on Sera was enough to have her assuming the worst. “Were you harmed?”

“No, no! Hells, I–” Sera stammered. When did she begin to perspire so much? Her nape was damp with flustered sweat from the aftermath of such embarrassment. Detailing the moments of her eventful morning was a struggle, even more so when Elara burst out giggling in her face. Sera slapped her hands over her face, groaning. “The prince wasn’t supposed to be there so late. He would be off to the yard with Ser Cole at this hour!”

The young blonde shook her head in amusement, hands still busy with folding linens. “Gods, the princess is a lucky one, isn’t she? Prince Aemond seems like a total dreamboat compared to his brother.” She leaned closer to Sera, whispering. “Did you see his—?” 

“His what?” she replied, not fully understanding the cryptic tilt of her head and the smirk on her face.

“Well, you know… his High Tower!”

Both girls erupted into a fit of laughter, though old Hilda wasn’t too happy with their slacking off. 

The second time Sera had found herself bestowed another close glimpse of the couple was during the hour of the owl. You were only a few days away from term, and the maester had you isolated for the rites of seclusion prior to your labors. Aemond, in an isolated state of his own, was forbidden to visit you even in daylight for propriety’s sake. Your marital chambers never felt so empty, with your absence ridding it of any life that came with your mere presence.

It was a miserable affair, both for you and your husband. Sera had seen how the separation was affecting her princess. You were lonely, weary from the aches of your belly, and losing your appetite from the desolate state of your chambers. It had her worried, even more so when word of your husband’s anxious state reached her ears. She ought to do something, but she had little power over the order of the maesters, even more so when it was approved by the queen herself. 

Perhaps it was by fate when one night, she… forgot to close the door firmly behind her when she was granted her leave for the evening. It granted the prince entry, after many nights of pacing through the halls for any chance to slip into his wife’s chambers without being detected. She stayed in the shadows of an alcove, counting the minutes until she heard the familiar gait of the one-eyed prince taking the path she had just passed. 

She couldn’t help herself. With featherlight steps, Sera tiptoed back to your door, peeking through the slight crack left ajar. What she saw almost had her thinking it was a repeat of that one morning, but it was something far more intimate.

There he was, the one-eyed prince Aemond, kneeling before your seated form like a devotee. His face was nuzzled into your lap, his arms wrapped around the swollen bump that housed your offspring. Your hands rubbed down his back soothingly, while your cheeks glistened under the dim light of your chambers. Tears of happiness, Sera realized. Like always, your husband peppered kisses all over— your hands, your belly, even on the swell of your bosom that threatened to spill from your garments.

It was nothing debauched, nor depraved, but filled with far more passion than she had ever seen in her young life. She had never seen two souls so profoundly intertwined, deep into the throes of your love in a way that seemed unfathomable in this cruel life. It was no fairytale, but very much real. 

He looked unrecognizable like this, with a face so peaceful and a touch so gentle. His thin lips moved with words inaudible to Sera’s ears, but the way your face glowed brighter than it had been for these past days made the young girl’s chest swell with a yearning for something of her own. She could only pray that her princess would only find happiness in her marriage, and that the gods would grant herself a love that could be half as full as yours.

Prince Aemond was no man of big gestures. He was not one to scream his love from the rooftops, nor wear his heart on his sleeve, but with his forehead pressed into your bump, Sera learned that whispers of a true love were far greater than proclamations of folly.

Criston Cole did not believe in love. It was a fool’s wish. The only time he had gotten close to dabbling into the idea of it had left him broken, honor sullied for a princess who returned little of what he had given. Rhaenyra was a thorn in his past, and her bastards were a blatant reminder of his divulgence into her trap. Hence, his apprehension upon the news of the marriage of the heir’s only daughter to Alicent’s thirdborn. 

What was he to say? To do? Nothing. Criston had overstepped his bounds once and it had ended with his white cloak dirtied and his sanity balanced on the tip of his sword. This match was doomed to fail, he had no doubt of it, but he kept his mouth shut. The Dornishman was quite famed for his good swordsmanship, and his humble beginnings, but especially more so of his handsome looks. Olive skin, luscious dark locks, and wide brown orbs that glimmered like topaz under the southern sun. Those eyes held less composure than the rest of his face. They were a window of his thoughts, and they spoke of the words his tongue held back. Cole’s contempt for Rhaenyra’s blood was ever evident in the sharp gaze he threw your way. You were of your mother’s sin, yet you walked in these halls as if though you were anything but a blaring reminder of it. 

Criston knew of Aemond’s nature. He had spent many hours honing the young prince’s skills with a sword, had taken him and his mother to the Sept for their prayers. Cole had even held him while he writhed in pain when the maester took out the stitches of his slashed eye. The second prince shared his disdain for Rhaenyra and her brood, perhaps even more so than the knight himself. And so, he was well aware that Aemond found no positives in his marriage. 

For a while, the knight believed the younger to share such sentiments, but the stories of your blossoming marriage had filtered through the Keep, inevitably reaching the ears of the White Sword Tower. His response was nothing but a scoff. Criston did not consider himself a believer of such change, but when he began to see it for himself, his views faltered. 

Namedays of the royal family were always celebrated with grandeur and splendor. Helaena’s twins had just turned five, and the court had taken to the Kingswood for the royal hunt. It was a splendid affair, the young babes garnering much attention from the guests. Aegon, surprisingly enough, was enthusiastically present for his children. The elder held much love for his children, and it made for an endearing sight to see. This had lightened the attention on prince Aemond and his ladywife, who were bound to be parents of their own.

The news of your pregnancy had garnered much praise and well wishes from the court, and before you even began to grow round with child, all eyes were constantly on you and Aemond. Though that night, you had been granted reprieve. 

Cole stood beside the queen Alicent as she sat, ever faithfully upholding his duty. It was customary for him to scan the room constantly, keeping himself aware of any potential threat to his queen. There he found prince Aemond and his ladywife, secluded in their own little corner of the royal tent.

You had whispered something into Aemond’s ear with a cherubic smile, before covering your mouth with a ringed hand as giggles spilled from your lips. The knight fought back the urge to roll his dark, chocolate orbs at such a display, knowing the second prince well enough that such behavior did not bode well with him. 

Yet, he found himself mistaken. In the dim amber glow of the royal pavilion, it was easy to overlook the way Aemond’s silver tresses swayed as his head bowed followed by the most peculiar sight. The leather of his doublet moved up and down as his shoulders shook. Criston may have been granted only the sight of the prince’s back, but it was plain enough to see.

He was laughing. 

In all his years serving the Hightowers, the most he had ever seen from Aemond was a smirk, or a dark chuckle when he bested his mentor while they trained. Cole believed his eyes to be deceiving him, but the pleased look on your face and the bubbling laughter that echoed through the night was testament enough that you had the power to loosen the prince’s otherwise rigid grip on his composure. You were stuck to his side, heads huddled together as you whispered about gods know what. It might have been the wine or the warmth exuded by the torches littered about, but your cheeks were flushed like a rose. 

Beyond his conscience, the sight had pulled a smile of his own. Something akin to elation sweltered in the knight’s chest. It pleased him to see the prince so relaxed, free from the tension he always carried. Criston would have you to thank for it. 

Beside him, Alicent was looking at him as though he had grown a second head. Her sworn shield seldom found things that amused him, and even then, it was rather disturbing to her. “What amuses you, good ser?” she asked, taking Criston by surprise. His cheeks quickly dropped to his usual formal state, throat clearing to regain his composure. The queen, ever observant followed where his eyes had flickered to. Across from where she sat, her second son held an arm around his wife’s waist, whispering into each other’s ear while sharing a cup of wine. Wide smiles mirrored each other, their gazes focused on no one else but them. The sight made the queen’s cheeks dimple into a small smile, a warmth in her motherly heart filling her with hope. It had been many years ago when Alicent deemed herself cursed by the gods, given a fate so cruel. It had shaken her faith, even more so when it appeared to have trickled down to her children. Aemond had the worst of it— a dragon egg turned to stone, an eye cruelly taken, and a ghost of a father. She feared for what may become of him, with his wrath and fury that seemed to guide his aspirations. Yet now, as she watched her favored son let his wife take his cheek into her hand so publicly, Alicent prayed that the tides were turning for him. Perhaps you might change his fate. Perhaps he might be spared yet. “He’s been quite happy as of late,” Alicent mentioned, turning to Criston. A look filled with mirth equaled that of the Dornishman before her, who nodded in agreement.

“He has, my queen. It pleases me greatly to see the prince so content. The princess brings out the best in him,” Cole replied. They shared smiles of their own, and the knight felt emboldened by the glee they shared. He shuffled ever so closely to her seat, the warmth exuding from her pale flesh emanating through the cold steel of his armor. As they both watched you take Aemond’s hand to lead him out of the pavilion, Criston willed himself to keep his composure as Alicent ever so subtly leaned against his arm.

Criston was present in much of what happens in the royal family. He was there for every nameday, every birth, and every milestone that Alicent’s children had. Albeit, he was in the background, but he was there. It did not change when they became parents themselves, with Helaena and Aegon having three babes, while Aemond and his ladywife were now about to have a child of their own.

Aemond had been an anxious mess all morning. Your labors had begun just as dawn broke, and pursued well through noon. Queen Alicent made her way to your chambers to check on your well-being as soon as the council dispersed, with Cole naturally in tow. Your husband had to be pushed back by several knights as the grand maester forbade him to enter the birthing chamber, fighting to be by your side. Your wails and cries had him distressed, even more so when he could clearly hear you call for him. It was only when his mother arrived did Aemond settle, uneasily staying in the common room as she was permitted to see you in his stead.  “This is her fight, Aemond. You must let them do their work,” Alicent said, planting a soothing kiss on her son’s cheek before entering the birthing chamber. 

His mother’s presence did little to quench his worries, and the one-eyed prince had settled to lean on the windowsill, fists clenched on the stone as his head bowed. From his place by the door, Cole approached him with quiet steps, settling beside his tense form. “She will be alright,” he said. “The princess is strong. A dragon in her own right.” He was responded by only a grunt from the younger, who kept his good eye closed as he steadied his breathing.

It was quiet between the two, just as it always was with Aemond. The only sound in the room was your outcries of pain that only seemed to grow louder by the minute. With a heavy sigh, Aemond spoke. “What did she thank you for?”

“My prince?” Criston asked, confused.

“My wife. When she first arrived from Dragonstone, I heard her whisper her thanks to you, and her apology for having done so too late. What did she have to thank you for?”

Cole huffed a small chuckle at the memory. It was many, many years ago when you were merely a girl. You used to play with Helaena in the gardens so often, especially during the spring afternoons when the butterflies danced above the bushels of flowers. Alicent would find time to watch over the young princesses, with her sworn shield following their tail through the royal gardens.

One afternoon, both girls had been so enthusiastic with the amount of colorful butterflies that flittered about. Helaena had her eyes set on a pretty blue one, crossing the wooden footbridge over the small pond in the middle of the greenery. 

The pair made haste to follow the girls, but you came running back, with a quivering frown. You had clutched onto Criston’s cloak, refusing to cross over the small, wooden bridge. It was littered with frogs from the pond. The tiny green things gave you a fright, and Criston had to carry you in his arms over to where Helaena played in the grass. Your excitement had quickly been restored once your fear was gone, short legs quickly wriggling out of the knight’s grip to rejoin your aunt.

A decade later, you voiced your regrets over your rudeness and thanked Criston for his help on that day.

“It was for something so little that did not require such importance, but the princess was gracious to remember so,” Cole smiled. Aemond’s lips had lifted into a smile of his own at the thought of you, slim cheeks dimpling. 

“She is full of nothing but kindness,” the prince said fondly, straightening his posture with more ease. “I am rather undeserving of it.” Aemond’s response made Cole frown, the elder knight clasping the prince’s shoulder in a fatherly squeeze. 

“The gods have deemed you most deserving of it, Aemond. You were fated for each other. I have witnessed no other pair to have been more well suited in this lifetime, believe me.” Such words were so foreign to leave Cole’s lips, but they held no lie. A shrill cry had then pierced through the air, and Alicent had opened the door with a wide smile on her face. ‘Tis a girl! was her exclaim, and Aemond had rushed off from Criston’s side to see his wife. 

Pleased, the knight stayed in his place, off to the side as the royals celebrated yet a new beginning in their lives.

Criston may not believe in love, nor has he felt it, but he has seen it. 

It could be quite beautiful, he realized. 

[valleyof-goldenlilies]

Se Zaldrizoti’ Prumia - Chapter 1: A Platter of Grapes (Daemon Targaryen x Tyrell!Reader)

Chapter 1: A Platter of Grapes 

The Red Keep is graced by an old, familiar presence. 

Se Zaldrīzoti' Prūmia Masterlist | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | 

HOTD Masterlist | Main Masterlist | 

Warnings: Extremely, and I mean extreme slow burn lol, Daemon and Y/N both being little shits who cannot stand each other, I have a blood feud with the HOTD costuming department for Rhaenyra and thus I go into extreme (probably historical inaccurate) detail about the clothes of the characters, Rhaenicent hints so faint that if you blink you’d miss it 

Word Count: 3.3k words

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire and Blood characters, save for Y/N Tyrell, although I did expand on their characterisation, which might deviate from canon. All credit for the characters goes to George RR Martin and the showrunners of HOTD. The GIF above is also not mine, original credit to the creator is stated above. Go check them out! 

A/N: A special thanks to all those who have reblogged my ‘Se Zaldrizoti’ Prumia’ related posts 💗 your support is truly appreciated and has been the source of my smiles over the past few days 

lovely dividers courtesy of @firefly-graphics​ !

105 years after Aegon’s Conquest

Queen Aemma’s chambers was a busy hive of activity, as usual. The queen’s serving girls, ladies-in-waiting, and Grand Maester Mellos went in and out of the Queen’s apartments in a constant rotation, fussing over the heavily pregnant Aemma’s every need or discomfort. Aemma herself was exhausted at the constant fussing and prodding, but Viserys was deeply concerned about the babe in Aemma’s womb - which he insisted with vehement conviction was a son, and therefore must be treated with the utmost level of care, and after five failed attempts at producing an heir, Aemma had learnt over the years that to be overcautious was not necessarily a bad thing. 

Aemma sat sprawled on her lounge, occasionally grimacing when a sharp ache rippled through her body should she choose to adjust herself. Clad in a simple white linen shift and an intricately embroidered rose pink robe of Myrish silk and lace, she felt beads of sweat beginning to form at her temples once more. Her pregnancy had cursed her to endure bout after bout of severe sweating, despite the fact that it was nigh autumn and the ladies of the court had taken to long sleeves and wrapping shawls around their shoulders. Closing her eyes and dabbing at her forehead wearily, she sincerely hoped that the babe in her belly would be the boy Viserys had so longed for, if it meant that she would stop being plagued with the labours of pregnancy.

Her tired expression fell in an instant, replaced by a radiant smile as a woman dressed in a light green linen gown with long bell sleeves walked into her view, nodding politely to the exiting Grand Maester. “You finally came back,” Aemma joked lightly, watching the woman take a seat on the cushioned stool next to Aemma’s recliner. “I was afraid you got sidetracked and forgot about my grapes.” 

The woman’s (Y/E/C) eyes flickered with amusement. “I could never dare forget about you, my queen. You would have me beheaded and my head placed on a spike if I did.” Aemma let out a laugh as she reached over to pluck a grape from the bowl in Y/N’s hands. Y/N shook her head at the queen’s lack of dining decorum, but offered up the much awaited platter of grapes to Aemma’s eager hands regardless. “And pray tell, what shall I do if I had executed my favourite and most competent lady-in-waiting, hmm?” Aemma jested, shoving three grapes into her mouth. It was definitely not something a queen should be doing, but Y/N had been Aemma’s lady-in-waiting for nearly two years, and her friend for far longer. Decorum was not a concept that existed between the two of them. 

“You flatter me, Your Grace. And slow down, the grapes will not fly away.” I chided gently, as Aemma continued shoving three grapes at a time into her mouth. “The grapes won’t, although I’m afraid Rhaenyra will. Didn’t she say she would come to see me at first light? It’s nearly midday.” Just then, like clockwork, a commotion could be heard near the entrance to the Queen’s apartments. Princess Rhaenyra and Lady Alicent Hightower’s voice could be heard laughing together among the subservient voices of the servants greeting the two of them. “Speak ill of the Stranger,” I laughed, as Rhaenyra and Alicent appeared in view, smiling with their arms linked. 

Rhaenyra was wearing a silk gown of soft gold, with butterfly sleeves. The bodice had a ribbed triangular corset that was cinched at the waist, and the skirt parted at the middle to reveal a layer of dark crimson brocade, with faint scrollwork detailing in tiny golden threads. A similarly coloured velvet shawl patterned with gold-threaded dragons was draped over her shoulders, to protect her from the chill. Meanwhile Alicent was clad in a gown of light blue worsted yarn, with bell sleeves going to just above her wrists. A thin layer of cream muslin peeked out of her sleeves and ruffles of the same material covered her collarbones modestly. Blue roses were sewn around her waistline, and olive leaves were embroidered around the neckline of her dress. I suppressed a smile when I noticed a garden violet tucked between Alicent’s reddish brown locks, and a similar one nestled in the princess’ white-blonde tresses. 

Rhaenyra immediately went over to Aemma, Alicent staying a respectful distance away. “Your Grace,” Alicent smiled and curtsied politely to Aemma, and Aemma greeted her warmly, “Good morrow, Lady Alicent.” “Mother, Y/N”, Rhaenyra crouched down next to Aemma, holding out a hand to stop me when I stood up to offer her my seat. 

Rhaenyra wrinkled her nose when she noticed her mother clad in such thin clothes, and started detangling her shawl from her shoulders, but Aemma only shook her head with an affectionate smile and stilled Rhaenyra’s motions by cupping her cheek with one hand. “It has been quite long since first light, has it not? You have forgotten about your poor royal mother, Rhaenyra.” 

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes, though her voice was tender. “Forgive me, Mother. But the weather was far too lovely for me not to take Syrax out for a flight. She has been growing lazy as of late.” Aemma snorted softly, adjusting a braid that had loosened from Rhaenyra’s hairdo. “Now that explains the dragon stench overwhelming my apartments then. You are lucky that Y/N was kind enough to accompany me during your absence.” “Is it not my duty, my Queen?” I teased, “Unless you find my company repulsive, of course.” Aemma pursed her lips thoughtfully, although her eyes were filled with mischief as she said, “Your company is delightful as always, although the waiting time for my food to be brought up is quite outrageous.” “Then I shall pray to the Seven that they might bestow on me the power of flight to serve you better, your Grace.”

“Seven hells!” Rhaenyra cursed, fumbling in her pockets. “Rhaenyra! Language,” Aemma scolded. “What is it?” I asked, concerned. Rhaenyra groaned in frustration, “I had a present for Mother, but I must have dropped it in the throne room when I was showing it to father yesterday.” “How careless,” Aemma chided, although her tone was soft as Rhaenyra bit her lip and hung her head slightly. She must’ve really wanted to give the present to Aemma. 

“Why don’t I go retrieve it?” I offered, standing up and smoothing my dress. “The kitchens are but a stone’s throw away from the throne room, and I am certain Your Grace’s appetite for grapes has not yet been sated.” 

Rhaenyra’s eyes shone with gratitude, “Yes please! Thank you, Y/N.” “Tis nothing, princess. What does it look like?” “It’s a necklace, with a ruby falcon pendant, ” Rhaenyra described, “I got it to remind Mother of home.” “Oh Rhaenyra,” Aemma murmured softly, a soft look of love flooding her face. Rhaenyra held her hand tightly, “There was a sapphire one, but I thought the ruby one would be fitting. For both your Arryn and Targaryen roots.” Aemma squeezed her daughter’s hand, “I will cherish it fiercely forever, as I do with all your gifts.” My face took on a wistful expression as I watched mother and daughter interact and I spoke softly, “Worry not, princess, I will find it and bring it here.” 

I retreated out of the room, returning Alicent’s smile with one of my own as I passed her on my way out of the room, but not before Aemma called out to me, “Make sure you make haste! Your queen desires for more grapes!” “Of course, my Queen!” I called back, grinning. 

The throne room was blissfully unguarded, which signified the absence of the King, and by extension, any nosy courtiers who might frown upon me fumbling around the throne room like a sneaking rat. ‘Perfect, no need for awkward pleasantries then.’ I opened the double doors leading to the throne room, shutting the doors with a heavy thunk. My eyes took a while to adjust to the gloom of the throne room, but I nearly let out a shriek when I saw a shadowy figure sitting on the throne room. Was that the king? And if so, why in the Seven Hells was he sitting in a darkened throne room? 

“Byka zaldrīzes,” an all too familiar voice called out. My heart thumped furiously in my chest as my mouth dropped open in disbelief.

No. No way. He was somewhere floating around in Lys, if court gossip was to be believed. It couldn’t be him. 

“Won’t you come closer? It’s only been 8 years since we last saw each other. Surely you haven’t forgotten me.” 

Daemon Targaryen. Second son of Prince Baelon and Princess Alyssa, younger brother of king Viserys, and the most annoying royal pain in my ass. 

His petulance and near unnatural ability to be able to get on every single nerve in my body had caused me to become a devoted practitioner of self-restraint, given how badly I longed to throttle him or slit his throat with a dagger whenever he was near me. But much to my consternation, societal propriety rendered me unable to challenge him in a duel or even brawl with him, like most boys would do to sort out their differences. But even so, it was not in my nature to silently endure the countless pranks and jests he tormented me with, and thus I often paid him back tenfold for every misdeed he committed against me. My mother was chagrined, while Prince Baelon and Viserys merely laughed and observed our antics with much amusement, along with the rest of the court. 

My lips twisted in a frown, and my heart still beating fast from the initial shock, I walked closer to the Iron Throne. “As much as I’d like to, your memory still leaves an unwanted stain in my mind.” The figure sitting languidly on the throne leaned forward as I approached, making me finally catch a glimpse of the boy whom I used to detest with every fibre of my being. Although he certainly bore no resemblance to the annoying brat I detested. 

Gone was the lankier frame of his youth. In his stead, it was a man, of tall stature and strong muscular frame, honed by years of intense sword training and puberty. His hair had lengthened considerably since the last time I saw it, and my lips twitched in amusement as I remembered how I had once cut it off when we were children as retribution for him dousing me with a bucket of Arbor Gold while he and I were sneaking around the Red keep late at night, him claiming that he had something interesting to show me. I treasured the memory of that deliciously girlish scream he let out when he realised I had dared cut his precious white-blonde locks. His face had lost its roundness over the years as well, becoming lean and chiselled, lending a harsher quality to his expression, but it only seemed to accentuate his daring and dangerous beauty, or at least, if you listened to the giggles of the twittering ladies of court. His eyes, still filled with that same mischievous glint, watched me as I stood in front of the throne, raking over me shamelessly. I rolled my eyes at that, at least some things never changed. 

“Ah, but you remember me nonetheless.” 

“The emphasis was on the word ‘unwanted’, your Grace.” 

He laughed, leaning back against the throne leisurely as he stared at Y/N. ‘It was a sheer marvel his body was not littered with a thousand cuts by now,’ Y/N thought, a scowl on her face. 

“I see the years have finally taught you some manners. I couldn’t remember the last time you addressed me formally. You always had some rather…colourful turn of phrases up your sleeves, however. Maybe the years of looking for a prospective marriage match have taught you some decorum.” 

I narrowed my eyes at him, the vein in my neck beginning to tick in annoyance, as it always did around him. “You know they say, people age slower when they get married. You are living proof that the saying is false.” He let out a throaty laugh, crossing his legs as his voice took on a mocking tone. “I see your lack of marriage prospects have turned you from sour to bitter, byka zaldrizes.” 

I bristled, “Stop calling me that. Why are you here?” “I heard there was a tournament being held in my honour. I should be in attendance since all this heraldry was made on my account, should I not?” “The tournament is for the King’s heir.” Daemon learned forward again, his tone edged with menace, and defiance. “Precisely as I said.” 

I shook my head, duly unimpressed. “There is no need for you to be sitting on the Iron Throne though. Tis not your place.” Daemon scoffed, “And who are you to command me? I am a Targaryen prince, I sit where I please.” “The King would disagree with that if he were here.” I fired back. 

Suddenly, I remembered I was here on an errand, not for idle chat, so in a huff of frustration, I turned away from the offending prince and began to search the halls for a glint of red anywhere. “Running away, byka zaldrīzes?” I gritted my teeth, resisting the urge to punch him in his smug face. Calm down, Y/N, you already did that once, and by the Seven Hells, the consequences were absolutely not worth it. “Unfortunately, I am here on an errand, not for childish bickering, your Grace.” I heard a faint sound of footsteps behind me, but I ignored them as I continued to pace around the vast empty room. No sign of any necklace at all. I groaned internally. Perhaps I should’ve asked Rhaenyra for more instructions before taking on the task. 

“Could the errand be this?” I whirled around, finding the Prince in far too close a proximity for my liking, a smirk on his lips and a necklace with a ruby falcon dangling from his raised right hand. My eyes widened, chest sagging in relief as I beheld the necklace. “Yes. Oh thank the Seven,” I reached out to grab the necklace, but Daemon only snatched it back. I let out a strangled noise of frustration, “Hey!” 

Daemon leaned in closer, pressing me against a pillar uncomfortably. “Thank the Seven? I think that they shouldn’t be the one you’re directing your thanks to,” he murmured softly. Goosebumps broke out on my skin, as I glared into his eyes. His infuriatingly, inhumanely beautiful purple eyes. Damn him. “Back up.” I hissed. Daemon seemed to take it as an invitation to lean in closer, his face was mere centimetres from mine now. My breathing became more uneven, feeling a mix of frustration and another strange feeling I couldn't place. “Are you going to punch me again if I don’t?” he whispered softly, his eyes sparkling with deviousness and mischief. “Yes,” I hissed. 

“However, if you take a step back, I might find it in me to thank you for your nosiness in picking up things that do not belong to you.” “Yet if it were not for me, you might have needed to scour the whole of King’s Landing to find this little trinket.” He withdrew from me with a smirk, and I huffed, glaring at him. “Well? I’m impatiently awaiting your gratitude, byka zaldrizes.” Gritting my teeth, I finally bit out, “Thank you, Your Grace. Will you please return me the necklace now? The princess is in need of it.” 

A rough laugh escaped him. “Now that’s more like it. You’re very welcome, my lady.” He dropped the necklace into my waiting hand, eyes watching me as I clasped the falcon pendant in my hand and internally praised the Seven for being able to find it, although through an unconventional method. “You changed a lot, you know,” he said, his eyes still studying my face. “That’s to be expected. It’s been 8 years. You have changed too.” “You’re quieter,” he observed. “Well, I can hardly scream at you now that we’re both adults, can I? I have a reputation to maintain.” 

The prince scoffed at that, “Reputation. Lady Primrose always stressed about that. I didn’t think you’d take her lessons to heart.” “She was my mother, Your Grace. And she is correct about the importance of reputation, especially as I am chief lady-in-waiting to the queen now.” I chided him. He chuckled darkly, “The topic of reputation is not one I much care for. You should know that better than anyone, my lady.” I raised my eyebrows, “Is that why you came back to court without Lady Royce then?” Daemon rolled his eyes, “That boring cunt is the least of my worries. Court is already dreadfully dull. Should I need to suffer in her presence for any longer, I might just mount my own head on a spike.” “I always thought you a warrior, but it seems you are a coward in the face of marriage.” I mocked. I could see Daemon’s face scrunch up with anger at my claim, and I smirked, relishing in how he still had the same sore spots he did when we were children. Classic Daemon. 

Daemon felt fury bubble up in him, like a kettle dangerously close to boiling point. Seeing her smirk however, made him forgo his initial angry outburst and settle for a sharper, more hurtful one. “Bold words for someone who keeps rejecting marriage proposals. If there’s anyone who is a coward, I would say it’s you, my lady.” The vein in my neck was probably protruding to the high heavens by now. I longed to yell at him, like I always did back in my girlhood, but I couldn’t, because he was right. Yelling would only prove his point and allow him the pleasure of gloating. I was not about to rise up to his bait. Turning away from him, I walked out of the hall briskly. “It was a pleasure seeing you, your Grace, but I’m afraid I must be off. I hope we never have the misfortune to cross paths again.” 

My hand was on the brass door handle when I heard him call my name once more. “Y/N?” Rolling my eyes, I kept my back turned away from him. “Yes, your Grace?” 

“I was sorry to hear about Lady Primrose’s passing.” I stiffened at his unexpected condolences. I hadn’t thought about my mother in a very long time. “She was as much of a mother to me as she was to you” I tilted my head downward, closing my eyes for a brief moment. “It has been 7 years since she passed. There is no need to offer your condolences…but I appreciate it nonetheless.” 

Daemon heard the doors to the throne room slam shut. His eyes still cast on the door Y/N had just left from, he tilted his head slightly. A soft chuckle resonated through the throne room. ‘Same old Y/N’, he thought to himself, a smile curling at his lips, ‘but…different somehow.’ Oddly enough, he felt his heart twinge for some reason at her sudden departure. He had not realised how silent these past 8 years have been, not until today.

Queen Aemma was delighted with her daughter’s present, although a bit put out that her lady-in-waiting had arrived back at her chambers with no grapes in sight. But observing the mildly murderous glint in Y/N’s eyes, Aemma wisely kept her mouth shut. She wondered what had happened to make Y/N so annoyed, but then she let slip an amused chuckle as realisation dawned on her. 

Daemon.

translation: byka zaldrīzes: little dragon

And that’s the first chapter! If you loved it so far, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated :) Thank you for reading! Chapter 2 should be out in the next week or so! Let me know if you wished to be added to a taglist in the comments or through this form 

[kerubimcrepin]

Wakfu Manga - Tome 5, Part 1

Cute Joris.

Cynthia Leman's art is wonderful, however, I am going to miss Said Sassine's art greatly... It was a very iconic part of the manga.

"Joris has only one precept: justice" Yeah we noticed. And it's totally not paving him some sort of road to hell as we speak.

When I first read this manga I burst out laughing to the point of tears at the line "my womb is frozen" and I am still giggling to myself about it — though knowing it's coming up has long took away the sheer comical punch that it had back then.

I'm sorry, but this is so unserious.

Of course he'd be the one carrying all the Dofus...

Btw, no, this is not the death of my "during this entire manga Joris keeps his stupid battle-stump in his haven bag, which he actually has" theory. I don't think he'd like to have six dofus in his haven bag. Or anywhere near his belongings.

Creature.

Joris's many gentle hypocrisy moments is him going "well it would be very dangerous..." at the idea of battling Jiva, and then, a while later, going "fine, you are my little pogchamp, Yugo" at the idea of using them to save Tristepin.

It's in-character for many reasons, by the way. (AKA: ughh Yugo will be sad, ughhh Kerubim will be sad if kids are orphaned, ughh maybe Jiva won't kill the kids, ughh we could finally defeat Ogrest, uhghh—)

Very pretty Joris.

The idealogical debate of "nobody should have nukes" and "I, Yugo, should have nukes because I'm a good boy" has sadly been resolved, and not in Adamai's favor, as of season 4. Surely, the world will not suffer for it.

He should be scared and nervous more often.

With every passing year, every new thing revealed about Waven and the Great Wave manga, this exchange gets more and more funny.

Rare moment of Joris being genuine and emotionally truthful. Best not to get used to it, btw.

He is so well-drawn here... I really like it when his cheeks, cheekbones, or the face shape in general, is visible.

Joris looks so shocked, it's funny. Buddy, this happened to you like twice growing up. Kerubim literally also decided to keep you or something.

Real

😰👍

"tap tap tap"

">.<"

Bug.

The definition of insanity is making a little guy run again and again in an active warfare, and he gets exploded each time, but you keep telling him you'll hold the explosions back this time, every time.

DFKSADJGUIODSFGDJSOFGHSDOFUIGHDSFGHDSFKGHDSFKLJ

THIS MANGA IS WIN AFTER WIN AFTER WIN AFTER WIN FOR US, JORIS FANS!!!!!! Joris being hurt. You agree. Reblog.

His snork mimimi face after being beaten into unconsciousness is everything.

So pretty...

Man, in their eyes, he's actually cool and a badass, isn't he?

Real friends get K.O'd together

This is a very good illustration... I can't just crop it!

:(

And of course the thing Joris is most worried about is Dofus.

Though I guess logically, the kids aren't in any danger, which is why his priorities are so screwed up. Jiva has proven that she can keep a child alive for a year, and is merely mentally ill about adoption, so obviously, Joris is more worried about other things <3 (HE IS NOT NORMAL OR SANE FOR SAYING THIS!!!!)

[wellsbering]

Hello friends 🫂🇵🇸

I am Mariam from Gaza 🇵🇸🍉

Asking for help is never easy, but the bad circumstances have forced me to do so 😭💔

So I am asking you to help with a very small donation of $40 to $50 in order to save my children from the hell of war 💔😭

We live in a tent that does not protect from the heat of summer or the cold of winter, my children have lost their childhood, they suffer from diseases due to water pollution and air pollution 💔😭

My children suffer from a rash and I suffer from anemia and I cannot provide food for my third child whom I am carrying in my womb 💔😭

So please help me 🙏🫂

Any small donation from you saves the lives of my children 🫂🙏💔

Please help me 🙏🫂

I'm sorry you're going through this awful experience, Mariam. I cannot afford to donate to you now, but I promise I will contribute when I have money. In the meantime, I will share your fundraiser with others so they will donate!

Vetted by association

Please reblog & donate!!!

[the-most-humble-blog]

🛐 SO YOU’RE OVER 40, CHILDLESS, AND STILL WANT A MAN? First off: Drop the fucking attitude, toots.

✅ You may already have aged yourself out of providing him children. ✅ Or you never could. ✅ Or the clock simply said "no" while you were busy pretending brunch mattered more than bloodlines.

Fine.

Pay it no mind.

You can still be something more rare, something more dangerous, something more needed in a man’s world than just a womb with legs:

You can be the woman a man would die protecting — not because biology demands it, but because loyalty, love, and holy war-level devotion command it.

🩸 PICTURE THIS: The man who finds you — the man still worth his teeth, his spine, and his will — could face Jason Voorhees himself for you:

✅ Just his hunting knife. ✅ A battered picture of you crammed in his pocket. ✅ And the will to decapitate that son of a bitch with his bare hands — for you.

For your life. For your memory. For the echo of your name etched into his ribs.

🛡️ BUT — THERE'S A PRICE And here’s where 99% of modern women flinch:

That kind of loyalty That kind of madness That kind of sacrificial rage

Only awakens for women who have made peace with a sacred word: submission.

Not "subservience." Not "doormat-ism." Not "TikTok trauma narratives."

Submission.

The soul-bared, spine-intact, knee-bent loyalty that says:

"I choose you. I follow you. I trust your teeth over my fear."

You want a man who would go to war for you? Die in the woods for you? Bleed in a ditch for you?

Then you have to be the woman who stands behind him, not above him, when the knives come out.

🧠 TL;DR You're over 40?

You’re childless?

You’re scared the world moved on?

Good. Fear is honesty. And honesty is the first goddamn brick in rebuilding something real.

You don’t have to be the "perfect biological machine" anymore. But you do have to be the woman who understands:

**A man doesn’t die for a critic.

A man dies for a queen who already knelt at his side when the world mocked him.**

💣 CALL TO ACTION:

🔁 Reblog if you know loyalty outlives fertility. 🛡️ Save this post for the day you wonder why you feel him slipping away. ⚡ Send it to the woman strong enough to kneel before a real king. 🔥 Bookmark it if you know a knife and a picture can still conquer death.

Or simply 🔁Reblog to keep my signal to mankind going strong.

⚖️ LEGAL DISCLAIMER: This post is Blacksite Literature™, evolutionary survival philosophy, cultural cadence warfare, and emotional battlefield architecture protected under artistic freedom and mythological commentary doctrine.

If you’re offended: The survival of your ancestors doesn’t require your permission.

🛡️ BLACKSITE POST: COMPLETE. 🩸 TIMELINE SURVIVAL PENETRATION CONFIRMED.