#this is my only wisdom please be gentle with it

[crochetwizardman]

ALWAYS stir your carnation instant breakfast with a fork instead of a spoon. And put the powder in first.

[somnoir]

Prodigal son beyond Time - part 2

Part 1 | Masterpost

Damian first met his great uncle Danyal when he is three years old. His mother says he's met him long ago, when he was but a babe with a memory too fuzzy to remember. But the man before him is his grandfather's favorite child. The son that scowls at his father as he cradled Damian in his arms.

"What have you done?" His uncle scowled, a gentle hand pressed against the back of Damian's head. "He's a child!"

"Danyal!"

"You weren't like this with me." Danyal spat, keeping Damian in his arms and pressing his lips towards his nephew's forehead. Damian notes how cold his uncle's skin felt like, but more welcoming than that of his grandfather's.

"Danyal, he is to be trained like a proper Al Ghul." Grandfather said, frowning at Danyal.

"You trained me like a proper Al Ghul when I was older than him!" Danyal immediately protested, "He's three!"

"Danyal—"

"Ukht, I understand that you wish the best for your son but this is not it." Danyal immediately said, looking apologetic for interrupting Talia, but went back to glaring at Ra's. "I've tried to tolerate the fact that you handle an assassin league, father but this? You taught me to be loyal to the family. You taught me to cherish the family, you're blood—why the fuck aren't you giving the others the same treatment you gave me?!"

"Because they are not you!"

Damian doesn't recall what truly happened that day, but he does remember how his uncle's eyes went from soft blues to the same shade that the Lazarus pits glowed.

Damian remembers everything going dark.

Damian grows up differently.

He continues on his training, but everything is kinder to him. The world is kinder when his uncle is home, having tea with grandfather and overseeing his training. Mother loves him and uncle Danyal the most, claiming that they are blessings to her life.

Grandfather is quieter nowadays, almost docile with his uncle around.

It's a little more peaceful. The assassin's continue to train, to fight. But their reign of terror fall upon those that are corrupt and destroying the world. It's one of the compromises uncle Danyal and grandfather have led too.

Damian grows up differently.

Damian's arrival to the Bats' lives was unprecedented and quite confusing. He was a child raised by assassins, a child raised to become the next leader of the league. But he was... Strange. Strange for that kind of standard. 

Damian was rather sociable, hostile but not downright murderous towards them. 

His uncle did make sure that he had friends in the league.

Ra's had been utterly ecstatic to find out that he had two more grandchildren while Talia was quite pleased to know that she had a niece and nephew. 

Damian had a pair of strange cousins who snuck him out of training to go watch the stars, often getting them scolded, but it was worth it. Dante was older than Damian by five years. He was what other would call an angsty teen with how he often rebelled against his father. Meanwhile, Janelle—preferebly Ellie—was only a year older than Damian himself. She was a mischievous person who made sure that everything around her was swallowed by her own chaos. So when he entered the manor, suddenly struck with the reality that he had multiple siblings instead of just one elder brother, Damian knew what to do. 

Murder was not the answer. 

But by the words of his gracious uncle and the wisdom of his excellent cousins: fight your siblings like a feral child but defend them by being even worse to others. 

So Damian's first act as Dick Grayson's younger brother was to bite him. 

The undead were restless, rising from their graves or haunting their own corpses. It wasn't something they usually dealt with, forced to call upon magicians. 

But even Constantine was bewildered by just how cursed Gotham's lands were. To bring back the dead. Jason was a miracle but this was like an abomination, a literal zombie. 

No one really knew how to properly deal with the dead...

Well...

"My uncle would be willing to provide his assistance in this matter." Damian piped up, examining the contained zombies from a safe distance. All eyes were quickly drawn to him, bewildered and questioning. 

"I hardly think that Dusan would be suitable for this." Bruce sighed. 

Damian scowled, "Not him. My grandfather's first-born is whom I speak off. He is knowledgeable in the occult arts of the dead." 

"Damian... Ra's Al Ghul only has one son." 

"Untrue. Grandfather's greatest pride was always my uncle. He is precious to grandfather and ensures that no one knows much off him. I expected you and Drake to be aware of the first born." 

Tim stiffened, "They weren't rumours?! Ra's actually has some cryptid son?" 

Bruce, who had heard of the old tales of the Demon head's beloved heir, had always thought they were stories to scare the assassins. He's never seen the man, nor has he found any evidence of him in the league. 

Jason finally started paying attention, "So the league's golden boy can help? Dami, I don't think Al Ghul will even let his favorite kid anywhere near us." 

"You underestimate my uncle's love for me."

"You met him?" Bruce quickly interjected. 

Jason shrugged, "He helped me out back then. Patched me up when the pit madness got worse and helped me manage it. But his face was usually covered and no one really knew his name."

"Aside from myself, grandfather, and my mother." 

Bruce frowned, "Nyssa and Dusan don't know their brother's name?" 

"Grandfather says that they do not have the privilege of knowing his name. Mother was the first of his other children to have met my uncle."

"And what about you? You won't give us his name?" 

Damian scowled, feeling rather displeased with his father's choice of words. "Names are powerful, father. My uncle taught me this when I was young." 

Constantine narrowed his eyes, "You're uncle some kind of fae, kid?" 

"Watch your mouth, hellblazer. He does not like you." Damian hissed, having heard all his uncle's rants about the Laughing Magician, especially whenever he'd just randomly pick up Talia and walk around Nanda Parbat like she was a kitten rather than a deadly assassin. "But I shall call upon my great uncle and ask him for assistance. This matter with the undead shall surely pique his interest."

"Tell the old man I said hi!" Jason cheerfully added, sounding quite pleased to hear about the mysterious uncle. 

"No." Damian blatantly denied. As much as he loves Todd (and he will never admit that), he was not going to let anyone threaten his status as his uncle's favorite child. Over his dead body. 

Damian was quick to walk away from all of them, quickly retrieving all the materials he'd need to summon his uncle. Dark green paint for the summing circle, five candles, and an astrology book. 

"Bats... Why the hell is your son performing a summoning ritual? For a ghost of the realms too." Constantine's tone was strained, clearly disturbed and wary of Damian's actions. 

"Damian." Bruce warned but Damian just waved him off. He watched as Jason started lighting up the candles, humming an unfamiliar tune. 

"D'you think the old man will help us?" 

"Of course! Uncle adores me." 

"You think he'll give me his name?"

"I will gut you, Todd." Damian immediately responded with the most nonchalant tone he could ever give. 

Jason shrugged, before taking a step back. 

"Damian! Whatever you're summoning—" 

"I'm summoning my uncle, father. He's the best person to go to with these issues." Damian insisted, before muttering something unintelligible under his breath.

Bruce was startled when Constantine grabbed him, eyes wide and rapidly turning pale. "Why the hell does your son know how to speak the language of the—"

Fire burst forth from the circle, slowly morphing into an icy blast. 

"Dead." Constantine's breath hitched, "Holy shit, your brat just summoned the ghost king." 

Bruce grabbed Damian the moment a hand emerged from the blast of cold. He shoved his on behind him, suddenly feeling frightened as his entire body felt goosebumps. Fuck. Did Damian really just perform a summoning ritual for such a powerful being? He never expected for Ra's to brainwash his son into believing that such a powerful thing—

"Nephew!" 

Bruce blinked, suddenly blinded by the light. 

"Uncle!" Damian escaped from his grasp, rushing into the circle. Constantine practically screamed once Damian ran into the arms of what was supposedly his uncle and the ghost king. 

In front of Bruce was the most gorgeous man he's ever met. 

The floating hair that reminded him of snow and the green eyes that were purer than the Lazarus pits. He couldn't help but swallow thickly, blinking. Damian was held up by the ghost king, allowing the boy to nuzzle into the crook of his neck. 

"Hello, dami (my blood)." The king cooed, his pronunciation of the nickname much different from the shortened version of Damian's name. "I was not expecting you to call me. What's happened, my dear?" 

Damian hummed, but before he could speak, he was immediately interrupted.

"Long time no see, old man!" Jason yelled, waving his arm as if he wasn't in the same room as the king. 

"Jason! Hello! How are you? The corrupted ecto hasn't returned, has it? If it has, just tell me. I'll schedule a check up with Frostbite." The king quickly fussed, not minding the way Damian was baring his teeth at Jason. "Damian, behave!" 

Damian just seemed to whine, refusing to behave and opting to pestering the king. 

"I'm good, uncle. Haven't gone out crazy since you took me to the doctor." Jason smiled, already ripping of his domino mask to show that his eyes were green tinged with blue, not glowing green like the pits. 

"Good, good. But I really must know why I've been called." The king softly said, directing his words to Damian who was already trying to wriggle our his grasp. Gently, the king settled Damian back on his feet. 

"Right. Uncle, my father, Batman. Father, this is my uncle." Damian introduced, his tone hurried and a bit hesitant. 

The king, Damian's uncle, smiled at Bruce. "Hello there, Mr. Wayne. I've wanted to meet you for a long time." The king hummed, "My name's Danny, but the Al Ghuls call me Danyal." 

"Uncle!" 

"Hush, hush, Damian. I can give my name to anyone I want. I don't suppose that your father is worthy of it."

Bruce really should be more concerned about the fact that the king knew his name. 

"But what of the others?" 

"Little one, I sent Nyssa and Dusan letters ages ago. But rest assured, dearest Talia is still the first to earn it." Danny—Danyal—the ghost king softly spoke and patted Damian's head. "And... Oh, it's you."

"Your majesty!" Constantine enthusiastically greeted while Danny scowled. 

"Tax evading bastard." Danny huffed, shaking his head before promptly ignoring the tax evading bastard in question. 

"Damian." 

"The dead are rising."

Danny blinked, blinked again, before he groaned and shook his head. 

"Okay, sorry. That seemed to be caused by an error on my side. Some prisoners of my realms started a riot and some of them managed to break out. Some have most likely decided to overshadow their old bodies." Danny sighed, "I'll have this taken care of. Apologies for the inconveniences."

"These... Zombies have been wrecking havoc across my city." Bruce frowned, "They've been harming people."

"Vengeful spirits do that. They're criminals meant to be in prison. It's rare for breakouts to happen, in all honesty." Danny paused, just long enough to run his fingers through Damian's hair. "But if you wish to take charge, by all means. These are corpses being possessed by their own spirits and... Well... They're out of their minds. Not really considered revenants since the possession isn't quite permanent." 

"Alright, Bats. We've gotta make a proper deal here. His Majesty was summoned so we've gotta offer him something—" 

"That's not necessary." Danny immediately waved Constantine away, evident displeasure from the man. "The sigil I gave Damian was just to call me to him. No need for an exchange."

"Seriously?" Constantine blurted out. 

Danny just shrugged, "He's family. And my favorite nephew." 

Damian smirked, absolutely smug. "I am your only nephew, uncle."

"Mm... Jason's also my nephew." Danny chuckled softly, easily stepping out of the circle and removing it from the floor—leaving not a single stain. "Now... Shall we deal with the dead?" 

Bruce Wayne has made many bad decisions in his life, especially when it came to his relationships. Damian's ghost king of an uncle might be one of them.

Masterpost

[fixated-cookies]

souljam play.... ooooo... yes... kissing, licking, borderline teasing pv without knowing that shmilk is prob also feeling all that..... omg... or or what if rubbing ur cutee pussy on pv's souljam???? his composure would drop and lose allll sense of control over himself..... this time, its your turn to please this people pleaser of a man! its about damn time HE receives the pleasure instead of giving! BTW SRRY FOR DISSAPEARING,... YOU'VE BEEN COOKING , I AM THE ONE WHO FED U THE IDEA OF CUCKING PV!!!! HEHE... I WILL GIVE MORE IDEAS FROM YOUR LATESTS POSTS... IN THE MEAN TIME, THANKK YOUUU FOR FEEDING US STARVED COOKIE FUCKERS!!!1 LUV U LOTSS /p <3333

CAN I BE 🔮 ANON.... expect me to be right HERE the very moment u post... i eat it up evry. DAMN TIME !!!!!

My mind could only focus on reader rubbing their cunt of pure vanilla souljam and shadow milk cookie feeling, whoops!!!!

SMUT INCOMING

Oh, you’ve cracked open something dangerous. Pure Vanilla Cookie, the ever-giving, ever-sacrificing soul, finally being the one to receive? The moment you press yourself sopping cunt against his Soul Jam, the very core of his being, his breath hitches— a sound so rare, so unrestrained that it sends a thrill down your spine. He's laying down on the mattress you hovering above him. golden locks splayed across the pillows, his usual serene composure nowhere to be found. He tries—oh, he tries—to maintain his composure, to be gentle, to whisper sweet reassurances like he always does. But the second your touch lingers, the moment your cunt graze the delicate jam that holds his very essence, his restraint shatters.

Hes reduced to a mess of incoherent murmurs and shaky gasps. His voice, usually smooth and soothing, now slurred beyond recognition, each word tumbling from his lips in breathy, desperate attempts at encouragement.

“Y-You’re… ah—doing so well, my lo—o… oh…” His sentence crumbles into a helpless whimper, his grip tightening onto your thighs that's around his head, unsure if he wants to pull you closer or ground himself. His vision is hazy, swimming between golden light and the intoxicating sight of you above him. His teeth are barred with drool escaping the cracks.

Oh, the moment you start grinding against his Soul Jam? It’s over.

At first, there’s a sharp inhale—a broken, shuddering gasp—as if the air has been stolen from his lungs. His golden lashes flutter violently, his grip tightening on anything he can reach—your hips, the silk sheets beneath him, your arms—as if grounding himself in reality before he drifts away. But even then, it’s useless.

His Soul Jam is his essence, his very being, and here you are, pressing against it, dragging your warmth against its radiant glow, teasing him in ways he’s never known. His body betrays him, his back arching instinctively, pushing himself further against you, chasing after your touch despite the embarrassment burning beneath his skin. A sound tears from his throat, raw and achingly loud, nothing like the soft, composed voice you’re so used to. It’s needy, desperate, and full of unrestrained longing. His hands grasp your thighs, trembling, unsure if he wants to still you or pull you closer.

“Ah—! W-Wait, I—” His words, usually so elegant, are slurred beyond recognition, tumbling from his lips in broken syllables. His mind, once filled with wisdom and kindness, is now completely fogged, drowning in the sensation of you. His eyes, his beautiful mismatched eyes—they roll back, disappearing behind fluttering lids, his lips parting in a helpless whimper. He clings to you like a drowning man, fingers pressing against your skin as if you are the only thing keeping him tethered to this world. The benevolent ruler, the gentle healer, the embodiment of warmth and kindness—reduced to nothing but raw, vulnerable pleasure beneath you.

And maybe somewhere, elsewhere deep in the twisting halls of his Spire of Deceit, he crumbles. His usual grace, his theatrical poise—all gone. He’s slumped against a wall, hunched over, his body trembling with something visceral, unbearable.

Drool slips past his parted lips, his breath ragged, erratic. His fingers twitch against the cold stone beneath him, gripping at nothing, as though trying to ground himself, trying to fight against the unbearable sensations rippling through his very soul. “Gh… ahh—haah—” His laughter is ragged, choked, delirious. His head jerks to the side, forehead pressing against the wall, eyes blown wide with something akin to madness. His usual smug arrogance? Shattered.

It’s you. You and Pure Vanilla Cookie.

Your touch. Your warmth. Your—ghhh, your every move, every cruel, slow grind against that wretched light, Pure Vanilla Cookie’s Soul Jam. And Shadow Milk Cookie feels it all.

A sick, helpless groan rips from his throat as his fingers claw at the wall, as though trying to dig himself out of this infernal feeling. His teeth clench, his eyes roll back, his body trembling like a marionette with its strings tangled beyond repair.

“Damn it… haah… you… little… liar…” His voice is nothing but a whisper, a hushed, broken rasp. His usual cocky arrogance is nowhere to be found. He should be furious. He should be livid.

Instead, he’s unraveling.

And there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

---

yalll shadow milk cookie dead at 67!!!!

Anyways, these request are going down steadilyyy I can't wait to open them back up!! btw anon this was amazing you know I had to expand on this idea!!

[imaginariumwanderer]

!!Announcement!!

News series!! A freshly baked, extra scrumptious webcomic spin-off based on the hit game Cookie run: Kingdom! Featuring our fan-favorites: White Lily cookie, Pure Vanilla cookie, Elder Faerie, Space Donut… and many more! An energetic love story for all ages!

~Please marry me, Miss White Lily~

Summary:

At the Witches banquet, White Lily cookie ended up falling through a dimensional rift opened by the Moonstone. Only to find her soul transported into the body of Blanc Lily, a powerful-legendary-hero-turned-villainess-turned-Silver-Tree-guardian-maiden-alternate version of herself who is a human being instead of a cookie. Accompanying White Lily cookie in this world are many familiar faces and yet… "Such an odd feeling when I'm with you, it's as if the raging blizzard inside me have been quelled." "This kind of perfect world can only be build with you beside me. So please, stay." "My dearest friend, now that we're united. I will never let you slip away again…" Huh? What is everyone saying? Why are all of her friends acting so strange?? Follow White Lily cookie as she try to naviagte her new life full of danger and romance!

Arch Mage ~Elder Mage Faerian~

An arch mage belonging to the elusive Silver Tree tower. His face framed by silky silvery locks, through his eyes colored by the gentle shines of the moon are millennia of wisdom. By chance or fate, the wise mage's meeting with Blanc Lily when fighting the Great Calamity caused him realize he still have something he has yet to understand. For mysterious reasons, Faerian can switch between his younger and older forms.

Duke of the North ~Darek DaCacao~

The duke of a certain Northern kingdom, famed for his battling prowess. Possessing long black hair with graying streaks, his face is a perpetual scowl adorned by tulip poplar purple eyes. Behind his cold and resolute exterior is a lonely heart, waiting for someone to bring the warmth of spring into his life. Tend to say "Interesting…" a lot when interacting with Blanc Lily.

Crown prince ~Puré von Vanilla~

Our heroine's estranged childhood friend turned crown prince. With golden blond hair and heterochromia eyes, his right being pale yellow and the left being faded blue. Puré von Vanilla is greatly beloved by all of his subject. Even so, for now and forever, he only longs for one person. His queen, his everything. What lay behind Puré von Vanilla's regal perfection? Do you really wish to face the scary truth? Read more to find out!

Now available on: Tapas, Webtoon, Lines... And many more!

[cazshmere]

Destiny Matrix: The Energy You Must Embody for Genuine Happiness

materialist🔖

DISCLAIMER: These are just my personal observations and are meant for entertainment purposes only; it may not resonate with everyone due to the nuances of astrology. Please respect my work and avoid copying or stealing it. Enjoy reading!! 🦂

The center number in the Destiny Matrix chart represents our core energy—the Major Arcana card that has the most profound influence on your life. This number reflects the key lessons and dominant themes we must embrace to feel aligned with your destiny. It acts as our guiding force, shaping our experiences and guiding us toward fulfillment and balance

link to calculate your chart : click here

1 – The Magician 🪄

Key Themes: Manifestation, creativity, willpower

Ways to Embody This Energy:

Start a vision board to focus on your goals.

Practice daily affirmations to boost self-belief.

Learn a new skill or hobby to channel creativity.

Set small, actionable goals and track progress.

Use mindfulness to align actions with intentions.

2 – The High Priestess 🧚‍♀️

Key Themes: Intuition, inner wisdom, mystery

Ways to Embody This Energy:

Meditate daily to develop inner awareness.

Keep a dream journal to reflect on subconscious messages.

Trust your gut feelings, especially in decision-making.

Reduce distractions and spend time in quiet reflection.

Engage in mystical practices (tarot, astrology) to deepen insight.

3 – The Empress 👸🏽

Key Themes: Nurturing, creativity, abundance

Ways to Embody This Energy:

Create a peaceful, beautiful space at home.

Spend time in nature to feel grounded.

Cook or garden to nurture creativity and growth.

Support loved ones emotionally and offer care.

Indulge in self-care rituals to cultivate self-love.

4 – The Emperor 🤴🏽

Key Themes: Authority, structure, stability

Ways to Embody This Energy:

Set a clear routine or daily structure.

Take on leadership roles, even in small situations.

Establish long-term goals for your personal and professional life.

Lead with confidence but remain fair and balanced.

Be disciplined in areas like finances or personal development.

5 – The Hierophant 🪽

Key Themes: Tradition, spiritual guidance, teaching

Ways to Embody This Energy:

Explore cultural or spiritual traditions and integrate them into your life.

Mentor others and share knowledge where you're experienced.

Reflect on core values and how they guide your decisions.

Study spiritual texts or philosophies to deepen understanding.

Join a spiritual or community group to foster connection.

6 – The Lovers 👩🏼‍❤️‍👨🏻

Key Themes: Connection, choice, harmony

Ways to Embody This Energy:

Strengthen communication in your relationships.

Make decisions that reflect your values and desires.

Foster deeper emotional and spiritual connections with loved ones.

Practice compromise and understanding in conflicts.

Focus on self-love as the foundation for harmonious relationships.

7 – The Chariot 🚀

Key Themes: Determination, control, success

Ways to Embody This Energy:

Set clear goals and take steady steps to achieve them.

Stay focused on your objectives despite distractions.

Practice emotional self-regulation in stressful situations.

Celebrate victories, no matter how small.

Take charge of your life path with confidence and direction.

8 – Strength 💪🏽

Key Themes: Inner strength, compassion, patience

Ways to Embody This Energy:

Practice self-compassion and be gentle with yourself in difficult times.

Engage in physical or emotional activities that build resilience, like exercise or meditation.

Offer kindness and understanding to others, even when it's challenging.

Be patient with long-term goals or emotional healing.

Cultivate a quiet inner strength by facing fears calmly.

9 - The Hermit 🐚

Key Themes: Solitude, inner reflection, wisdom

Ways to Embody This Energy:

Take time away from social media and external influences to reflect.

Spend time alone in nature or a quiet space to recharge.

Journal regularly to explore your inner world.

Read books or engage in study to deepen self-awareness.

Offer wisdom to others from a place of experience.

10 – The Wheel of Fortune 🍀

Key Themes: Change, destiny, cycles

Ways to Embody This Energy:

Be flexible and open to unexpected changes in life.

Reflect on the cycles of your past to understand patterns.

Trust in the flow of life, knowing that ups and downs are part of growth.

Release the need for control and go with the flow.

Embrace new opportunities, even if they come unexpectedly.

11 – Justice ⚖️

Key Themes: Fairness, truth, balance

Ways to Embody This Energy:

Be mindful of making fair and just decisions.

Take responsibility for your actions and decisions.

Seek balance in all areas of life—work, relationships, health.

Practice fairness in your interactions with others.

Be truthful with yourself and others in difficult situations.

12 – The Hanged Man 🙃

Key Themes: Surrender, new perspective, patience

Ways to Embody This Energy:

Let go of control and allow things to unfold in their own time.

Reflect on challenging situations from a new perspective.

Embrace stillness and patience during times of uncertainty.

Be open to changing your approach if things aren't working.

Trust that waiting or setbacks often lead to growth.

13 – Death 🦋

Key Themes: Transformation, endings, renewal

Ways to Embody This Energy:

Let go of old habits, relationships, or situations that no longer serve you.

View endings as opportunities for new beginnings.

Embrace change and transformation, even if it feels uncomfortable.

Focus on personal growth during times of transition.

Practice gratitude for past experiences, even as you move forward.

14 – Temperance 🕊️

Key Themes: Balance, harmony, moderation

Ways to Embody This Energy:

Practice moderation in areas of excess, such as work or indulgence.

Focus on finding balance between different areas of your life.

Meditate or engage in mindfulness practices to foster inner harmony.

Be patient with yourself and others, especially during conflicts.

Seek holistic well-being by integrating mind, body, and spirit.

15 – The Devil 👺

Key Themes: Desire, limitation, mastery

Ways to Embody This Energy:

Acknowledge your desires and examine whether they serve your higher self.

Confront limiting beliefs or unhealthy habits that hold you back.

Practice discipline in areas where you feel tempted or out of control.

Seek balance between enjoying life’s pleasures and maintaining healthy boundaries.

Embrace your shadow side without judgment, using it for personal growth.

16 – The Tower 🗼⚡️

Key Themes: Sudden change, upheaval, revelation

Ways to Embody This Energy:

Accept that sudden changes may be necessary for personal growth.

Let go of outdated beliefs or structures that no longer serve you.

Use challenging situations as opportunities for deep transformation.

Rebuild stronger foundations after a period of upheaval.

Trust that chaos often clears the way for new opportunities.

17 – The Star ⭐️

Key Themes: Hope, inspiration, healing

Ways to Embody This Energy:

Focus on healing emotional wounds and nurturing your inner light.

Cultivate hope and positivity in difficult times.

Align with your higher purpose and trust the universe’s guidance.

Inspire others by staying true to your authentic self.

Practice self-care and healing routines that nourish your body and soul.

18 – The Moon 🌙

Key Themes: Intuition, illusion, subconscious

Ways to Embody This Energy:

Explore your subconscious through dreams, journaling, or meditation.

Be mindful of illusions or false perceptions in your life.

Trust your intuition, especially when clarity is lacking.

Embrace uncertainty and mystery without fear.

Seek emotional clarity through inner reflection.

19 – The Sun ☀️

Key Themes: Joy, vitality, positivity

Ways to Embody This Energy:

Celebrate your successes and share your joy with others.

Embrace childlike wonder and enthusiasm in your daily life.

Focus on positive thinking, even in difficult times.

Connect with nature or physical activities to boost your vitality.

Shine your light on others, offering support and positivity.

20 – Judgement 📜

Key Themes: Rebirth, accountability, higher calling

Ways to Embody This Energy:

Reflect on your past actions and learn from them.

Take responsibility for your choices and their consequences.

Seek out your higher calling and align your life with it.

Focus on personal and spiritual rebirth through self-awareness.

Make amends or seek closure where necessary to move forward.

21 – The World 🌍

Key Themes: Completion, wholeness, fulfilment

Ways to Embody This Energy:

Celebrate the completion of major life milestones.

Recognize your personal growth and sense of wholeness.

Integrate lessons from all areas of life into your being.

Embrace your interconnectedness with the world around you.

Seek new opportunities for growth and expansion, even after reaching your goals.

22 – The Fool 🤪

Key Themes: New beginnings, trust, adventure

Ways to Embody This Energy:

Take risks and embrace new opportunities with optimism.

Trust the universe to guide you, even when the path is unclear.

Live in the present moment and enjoy life’s adventures.

Be open to unexpected experiences and possibilities.

Follow your instincts, even if it means stepping into the unknown.

© cazshmere 2024 [All Rights Reserved]

[marsprincess889]

Yoni animal observations

I did something similar with nakshatras. This is them in a very simple way. This is based on traditional associations as well as my own observations of real life and art. 💕 The word "yoni", as well as meaning the female reproductive organ, also means "origin". Yoni animal represents the instinct of the nakshatra and ultimately, reveals its true core nature.

Also, disclaimer: it's very sad that I have to say this, and apologies if you're not one of those people, but if you're going to correct anything in this post by writing one or more long paragraphs of why you think I'm wrong, you might as well just start your own blog or make your own post about the subject. I've been observing yoni animals for years and I'm kind of sorry if any of this offends you, but I'm not trying to attack anyone personally, or even a specific placement (nakshatras in this case), cause that's just dumb. Of course, everyone is free to express their opinions but please do it politely and have some respect for the person who took their time to gain and share knowledge. It's very easy to correct others, it's very hard to be faultless yourself. So, factual corrections are always welcome(say someone got someone's chart placement wrong, or they have written a factually incorrect association, like if they were to write that Jyeshta is fierce as opposed to sharp/cruel in nature.), but, once again, everyone's view is different and so either respect mine or don't write anything at all.

With that being said, you can now enjoy this post💕

Horse yonis

Ashwini and Shatabhisha

Keywords: activity, simplicity, masculinity(solar/yang), independence, healing.

Straightforward people. They might tend to have black and white thinking, can be very blunt with their delivery and definitely prone to "deafness": not hearing others' views. Simple and utilitarian, goal-oriented. Their presence might not be really noticed until the moment they suddenly speak up about or act on something. Love to point stuff out. Either quiet or very precise while speaking. Not aggressive but can be combative. Most likely will oppose someone before making peace. Independence>sharing. Don't like anything "unnecessary", love to get to the point.

Elephant yonis

Bharani and Revati

Keywords: slow, authority, time, timelessness, strength, transitions, protection, completion, gentleness, complexity, depth.

Not revealing their innermost selves, only revealing it to a select group of people, if to anyone. They attach meaning to things based on their experiences. Protective and gentle with each other, closed off to most of the others. Very private. Not really concerned with trends. Observant but not quick to act. Can have many sides to them that some others might fail to understand. Have an air of wisdom, but not that of arrogance. Still, they are the most likely to knowingly take the high road but still protect their peace, making them very exclusive, although it's never for show. Defensive but quietly so. Accomodating to some degree on the outside, there's always more to them than what's obvious. See the bigger picture in every situation. They have a certain quiet strength and power. Nurture is important to them. Do not appreciate unnecessary aggression and try to dominate over anything they consider harsh/crude.

Sheep yonis

Krittika and Pushya

Keywords: precision, structure, minimalism, choosiness, contained.

Do not like excess in anything. They have a sense of balance, usually in almost everything. Prioritize sctructure and basics/essentials. Like clarity and clear-cut lines in their lives and around them. Can be snappy, but in a passive-aggressive way. Not harsh in a heavy/overwhelming way but still harsh about details. Have a soft demeanor with strangers and acquaintances, sometimes even people close to them in everyday life but can judge them quietly. Neutral to friendly on the outside, but if they have uncomfortable emotions they try hard to release them quietly/without much fuss. Might bottle up resentment in result. Very utilitarian and practical.

Snake yonis

Rohini and Mrigashira

Keywords: enjoyment, ease, materialism, basic awareness, growth, progress, sensory indulgence, instincts.

Very placid and calm. They focus mainly on material things but can live without luxuries, and can also share them, although privacy is very important to them. Very aware of their surroundings and their own presence. Attuned to their senses. Can get easily attached to people and things. Can exhibit selfish tendencies(or that's how it looks to others) when they feel like their desires are ignored, but Rohini and Mrigashira each do it differently.

Dog yonis

Ardra and Mula

Keywords: upheaval, critical point, rebelling, release, change, anchoring.

Tense but not frail. Might look tortured sometimes. Do not like to and probably even cannot focus on details, at least not how it's traditionally done(different to each situation). Like to display their individuality in one way or another. Dark humor or sassy comebacks. Either quiet or very loud, but either way, opinionated. If they're neutral then they're opinionated about being neutral. Can be kind of nihilistic but at peace with it. Contrarian and unapologetic. If they don't care about something you can't make them care. If they do care, they care intensely.

Cat yonis

Punarvasu and Ashlesha

Keywords: accumulation, buildup, purity, safety, protection, preservation, cycles.

Concerned with what influences them, not so much what they put out. Self-focused but also highly aware of others' needs. Can adapt to surroundings and can change their behavior based on what they need or really want. Not unkind but laser-focused on the boundaries. Always keep their cards close to their chest, not out of malice but simply to preserve their safety. Look more unnaproachable than they really are, and know more than they share with most.

Rat yonis

Magha and Purva Phalguni

Keywords: dispersion, creativity, planting seeds, the self.

Can be egocentric. Prideful and nonchalant. Love to show off. Might be aware of surroundings to some degree but even if they are, they rarely care. Getting what they want is the priority, along with self-expression. Not very moralistic, don't care much about labels. Sometimes they can be too detached. Will almost never catch them crying in front of others, although they can be dramatic if they want and can, without a problem, attract their dwsired attention. Their happiness is more warm and generous than loud and euphoric. Might have a poker face, they rarely show strong emotions. The strongest emotion I've seen them express is that of defensiveness, and that's not even an emotion. When they get defensive it's almost always because something has touched their pride or triggered their ego. Focused on what they can do.

Cow yonis

Uttara Phalguni and Uttara Bhadrapada

Keywords: stability, the long-term results, natural, softness, power/influence, unity, calm.

Stubborn. That's the only defense they have, because otherwise they're very soft. Naturally honest. They have an effortlessness about them that feels easy to be around, and they are pleasant to be around but not accepting of everyone. They avoid people they don't like from early on and stick to the ones they consider better. Not hesitant to defend themselves or people close to them, but not quick to waste that energy on just anyone, and when they do become defensive they still maintain "the high ground". Backing their allies and fighting proudly is natural for them. Again, very stubborn, so they rarely, if ever, give up on something important. Although they're tough, they're not sharp or cruel. They are mostly in a state calmness and assuredness rather than anxious defensiveness. Very fixed and comfortable in their ways.

Buffalo yonis

Hasta and Swati

Keywords: materialism, gain, comfort, strength, feminine(yin), ease.

More attached to material things than other yonis. Individuality is defined through connections and surroundings. Love comfort and ease. Interdependence>independence. Can be curiously neutral and accomodating. Self-focused but not selfish. Often phlegmatic and slow. Genuinely caring but can be cunning. Not the most direct people. They will let others know their views but won't push them aggressively on others. Almost everything about them is filtered through that neutrality.

Tiger yonis

Chitra and Vishakha

Keywords: building, gradual, defensive, expression, buildup.

The most defensive. Can look sweet on the outside but are not all soft. Can range from extremely forgiving to extremely vengeful. Aggression comes out while speaking. Rarely, if ever, present in a state of calm melancholy. They moreso go from happy/fun to agitated. Focused on development/building, and always look for more than what's natural for them. Witty but emotionally so. If they're highly agitated, it's very hard for them to exercise restraint in the moment. Not that direct in general but unfiltered during critical moments. It's easy for them to put on a mask, whether out of neccessity or just for fun. Can be very judgemental. If they're not aware, it can make them act in a "mean" way when they feel not their best.

Rabbit/Deer yonis

Anuradha and Jyeshta

Keywords: society, organization, status quo, responsibility, transpersonal, maturing.

Very non-aggressive on the inside, despite how they might look. Naturally have endurance and a sense of responsibility. Can be judgemental but also understanding. Love to give advice. Competitive but respectful. Can become arrogant. Love everything "classic" but want to establish their own, new structures. Choosy and sometimes exclusive. More warm than they appear, and capable of more emotions than how it seems. Often traditionally intelligent. Have a very civilized behavior.

Vanar yonis

Purva Ashadha and Shravana

Keywords: flow, alliances, connections, support, creation and preservation.

Good at reading between the lines, anything too structured is harsh for them. Otherworldly aura/mannerisms. Most likely to posses what others might consider as "quirks". Value their own individuality and uniqueness. Seeks to be different from what they consider boring, normal or basic. Not very reactive. When they get defensive, they get quiet. Can romatisize sadness and melancholy. Capable of seeing both sides but are often willingly biased.

Mongoose yoni

Uttara Ashadha

Keywords: independence, solitude, practicality, victory.

Truly neutral and unbothered. Value honesty and integrity. Not attached to material things at all. Easy to be around but their regal nature might put some people ill at ease. Naturally take on leadership positions. Might feel lonely but won't trade solitude for tiring/uninteresting company. Value practicality and simplicity, and are practical themselves. Surprsingly warm and feeling in certain moments, but can also be uncaring towards others.

Lion yonis

Dhanishta and Purva Bhadrapada

Keywords: notoriety, flashiness, power, aggression, pride.

Very unfiltered and loudly so. Unashamed and bold, proud. That pride and confidence fuels their calmness, but they can lack patience. In everyday interactions they can look very unreactive but if something "triggers" them, they will not hesitate to be a little(or not so little) aggressive. Love to spread their influence. Might strongly dislike anything that looks subtle and quiet to them, as it arises distrust in them. Rarely, if ever, use/appreciate sarcasm. They prefer directness. Can slip into being a bully, or can become a proud voice for others.

[tinytarotandtea]

「 ✦ PICK A PILE✦ 」

What Part of Your Life Should You be Focusing Your Energy on?

Masterlist GET YOUR PERSONAL READING HERE <33 Directions: Take a moment to breathe, calm down and focus as you choose a picture from above. From left to right is pile 1, 2 and 3. Then Scroll down to your pile! Please remember to only take what resonates with you and leave the rest 🫶

Pile One -

Cards Pulled - The Wheel of Fortune • Knight of Swords • Knight of Pentacles.

Hello there, my sweet pile one!

The Wheel of Fortune suggests that you're entering a time of change, and it's time to embrace the shifts happening around you. Be it a new direction, opportunity or simply a turning point, your energy is best spent enjoying the cycles of life and trusting that this is a meaningful moment.

The Knight of Swords encourages you to act boldly as these opportunities and changes arrive. This isn't a time to hesitate or overthink your actions. Go after what is calling you with confidence and clarity. Use your voice and make a move.

But the Knight of Pentacles is offering a gentle reminder to stay grounded and persistent with your actions. Remain responsible even as you chase forwards with momentum. Keep showing up and keep building. Lasting success requires both courage and commitment.

GET YOUR PERSONAL READING HERE <33

Pile Two -

Cards Pulled - The Queen of Swords • Six of Wands • Ace of Pentacles Reversed.

Hello pile two!

The Queen of Swords calls on you to embody clarity, honesty, and discernment. You may be processing old wounds or trying to find your footing after emotional heaviness. This Queen encourages you to cut through the fog. Communicate your truth clearly, set strong boundaries, and trust your inner wisdom.

The Six of Cups suggests healing from the past might be part of this process. This might mean releasing old patters, childhood memories, or emotional echoes that prevent you from fully feeling in the present. You don't need to forget where you came from, but it's time to focus on who you are now.

The Ace of Pentacles reversed points to delayed opportunities or a shaky start when it comes to building something new. It could be that healing or self-work has begun, but hasn't had the foundation it needs yet. Your energy should go towards stabilizing that foundation. Make practical, grounded choices that support your growth, even if they feel slow.

GET YOUR PERSONAL READING HERE <33

Pile Three -

Cards Pulled - Page of Swords • Nine of Pentacles • Two of Pentacles

Hello pile three! <3

The Page of Swords encourages you to lean into your curiosity and hunger for knowledge. Ask those questions and explore new ideas. if there's something you want to study, start, or speak on, now is the time. Stay open to learning new things, even if everything still feels a little uncertain.

The Nine of Pentacles reminds you to invest in your independence and self-worth. You energy is best used building a life that is fulfilling on your terms. This is about personal success, self-sufficiency, and taking pride in what you are creating for yourself. There's no permission or validation needed.

The Two of Pentacles shows you might be finding it challenging to focus on both of the above at the same time. You wonder how you can stay open to new experiences and curiosity whilst also tending to your inner stability. Your energy is best spent creating a harmony between the those two parts of yourself — the one who wants to grow outward, and the one who needs to be nurtured inward.

Psst — want a more personal and a more in-depth reading? You can get one here for just £4.44 ($5.95)

[diorkittys]

yoga lessons ˚ ♡ ⋆｡ teacher!ramattra + [human] reader

synopsis : being late to your teachings with your bhikkhu wasn’t unbeknownst to either one of you. though, maybe you should’ve studied up a little more on your poses. it’s okay, your teacher will remind you lazy work does not go unpunished. maybe that’s not a punishment in itself.

—TW : smut , female body parts , mentor and student (not an age gap, i promise) , size difference , hittin it from behind , dom! ramattra , exhibitionism , slight dumification , slight overstimulation , yapping

‘sleeping in’ was a foreign concept in the monastery of the monks. you were expected to be up ‘before the arrival of surya’—the sun himself. Although, that wasn’t necessarily a problem anyone there faced; an unspoken rule of awaking at 4:00, meditation until 5:00, and chanting before 6:00… all to be fulfilled to begin your day.

early mornings didn’t phase you anymore, it was to be assumed regarding the fact you live with the monks. And so whilst everyone finished their routine, you had an extra step: teaching. Bhante Ramattra took you under his wing as his novice 6 months ago, when you had fled to the monastery in search of spiritual guidance and inner peace… as most do. He was a stoic mentor with a gentle soul; and he was always gentle with you. you figured he, as a bhikkhu, however, was like that to most. it was still nice to perceive it as your own.

“Namo tassa bhagavato arahato samma sambuddhassa.” you finished your daily prayer, taking in a deep breath, and standing from your place on your cushion. in about 5 minutes you would be late to your lessons with your bhikkhu.

you hurried to put on your robes and make your way to the gardens of the monastery. you passed by various monks walking the halls, taking a quick bow with your hands together to each one. you finally reached the scenic path to the gardens, feeling the cold cobblestone nipping at your socks. bhante ramattra sat on an intricate-patterned mat in a clearing of grass. his back straight and turned against you. you approached quietly, seemingly tiptoeing on the meadow.

“late again, my lotus?” you cringed, scrunching your nose. how could you sneak up on someone who’s practice is higher understanding? and his endearing nickname only seemed to make you more awkward.

“only by a minute or two this time. you can’t blame me if my reasoning is prayer.” you sat on the mat draped in front of him, noticing his loose robe showing off his chest plate. you let your eyes wander for a brief second.

“a moment delayed is an opportunity for patience and reflection… have you practiced either of the sort during your travel here?” if ramattra’s eyes shown, they would be staring deep into yours, quizzical and smug.

“well, what about you? you weren’t very patient for my arrival..”

“in questioning, we uncover the path to wisdom. in your case, i see no benefiting outcome in questioning me, besides a failing grade.” ramattra folded his arms.

“since when am i graded?” you giggled.

“i am your mentor; i grade you by progress, not by numbers.” at this point, ramattra has begun his dhyana mudra practice, joining his thumb and index together as a way to get rid of the headache in front of him. “now, have you rehearsed your yoga poses i gave as homework. i would hope you took this seriously as today’s lesson encompasses the custom.”

“yes, i think i have them all perfected.” you started on your warmup stretches, pulling your leg, then the next, to your sides. “excellent. are you confident to demonstrate your teachings?” you nodded and even with an expressionless face, ramattra seemed pleased.

you started with a simple locust pose to begin—balancing on your stomach, neck bent upwards, and hands stretched behind your back. your bhikkhu hummed in contentment, “very well, my lotus. now form into a cobra stance.”

again, the pet name only made your body stutter and for a moment you had blanked on how to do such a pose. ramattra is observant, he was taught about even the smallest body language from an early start of his own teachings—he noticed.

your black out didn’t last more than a second, though, and you pressed your pelvis to the floor, steading your weight on your hands. the omnic watched as you faced the sky, adam’s apple bobbing when you swallowed. 

again, ramattra hummed, watching the muscles of your back push together. “you’re doing well. i see my instructions didn’t fall on deaf ears. switch into fish pose.”

“you know,” you strained, falling onto your hands and rolling on your back. “these names don’t have any correlation to the pose itself. who came up with them?” you propped yourself on your elbows and awaited a response.

“matsyasana. that’s the original sanskrit name. we haven’t fully completed your language lessons yet, so we will stick to the westernized name of the position.” the omnic looked a bit displeased with the naming himself, but he was considered more traditional, so you assumed he didn’t like the newer adaptation.

“but how does it resemble a fis—er.. matsyasana? all i am doing is arching my back—what matsyasana have you seen do that?”

ramattra let out a raspy chuckle, and it brought a sense of pride that you could get that out of him. you liked the sound… even if it was a bit robotic and rough; almost like it was new to him too.

“you seem to keep ahold of your humanistic, logical ideals; embrace the current of life’s flow with a light heart.” your bhikkhu sighed, “but, if you must know, the pose resembles the graceful arch of a fish jumping out of water.”

ramattra stood to sit at your side, placing a metal hand under the palm of your back; he put his other on the cavity of your chest, gently forcing your rib cage to stick out. “like this.”

you looked up at your mentor, he looked down at you… and for a moment you could’ve sworn you both couldn’t look away. but in the second he was above you, he was now back to where he sat. it was probably—most likely, in your head.

the pose was difficult and hard to keep. your breathing wasn’t very steady as your body contorted in almost 180 degrees. “try not to focus on the position, instead focus on each exhale, releasing your struggle.”

“…easier,” you huffed, eyebrows furrowed, “…said than done.” ramattra tried to think of another way he could find you strength, but something in front of him was blurring his thoughts…

your breasts were perked up by the way your back stretched, laying on your chest oh, so perfect, and so vulnerable. something inside ramattra was whirring—electronic signals zapping circuits and tangled his wires.

he’s never… he’s never felt so hot before; maybe it was a malfunction.

but your chest kept heaving as your breathing deepened. your mouth was slightly agape as you tried to hold together, on a tiny thread. and your little noises were only stirring on this… feeling inside him even more. no, it couldn’t be a malfunction; he knew his sensations were purposeful. but, by devine presence, what kind of monk would he be? still holding onto the chains of lust, how foolish.

and yet, here he was, allowing himself the pleasure of watching you, watching you struggle, watching your body with desire. so lost in his own selfishness, he didn’t even hear your pleas.

“bhante ramattra? bhikkhu? please… am i finished?”

you were so strained. maybe this was a test? why else has your bhikkhu let you hurt without lesson?

ramattra snapped out of it, now feeling slightly guilty for letting you writhe in pain. “my apologies, lotus. you may lay out of pose.” he didn’t have to tell you twice. letting your body drop to the floor in exhaustion.

“i’m sorry.”

“for what?”

you let yourself calm down before continuing, “i’ll admit, i didn’t practice that position as much as i should have.” your mentor shook his head. “learn from this experience, and with a sincere heart, your efforts will blossom.” although, ramattra knew it shouldn’t be you to take the blame.

…

“are you restful enough for another demonstration?”

you nodded. ramattra was satisfied.

“marjaryasana.” he spoke, finding your readiness to speak more sanskrit endearing.

you remembered from previous teachings that ‘marjaraha’ meant ‘cat’ and you understood it to start a cat pose.

you planted yourself on the ground with your hands, balancing on your knees and lifting your head to the sky. you expectingly awaited your bhikkhu’s approval… but he said nothing.

“you’re missing something.”

“this is a cat pose, is it not? marjaraha?” what could you possibly have done wrong? you may have messed up your last instructions, but you were certain you had this simple one down. your continuous practice the night before being a witness.

“your sanskrit is correct; i’m proud of your remembrance—but your posing is lacking.” ramattra stood from his spot to come kneel behind you. “allow me to help.”

the large omnic loomed over you. from an outside perspective, it looked as if a wolf engulfing it’s prey.

but ramattra wasn’t a ravenous creature, at least, from your understanding.

he took two big hands and gripped your waist, bunching up the fabric of your thin sanghati; ramattra would have to have a word with you next time on wearing the correct number of robes.

“bend.” he commanded. gesturing to the small of your back. you obliged. you were warm all over besides the chill of his metal holding you in place, which hardened your nipples through your clothes.

you wondered if this explicit position was all but innocent… surely, your wise mentor didn’t have any further intentions; you couldn’t hold yourself to that high regard… that didn’t stop your lustful thoughts. and anyone with common sense could stumble into the garden and most certainly view it just as suggestive as you… right?

you kept silent, letting the bigger man behind take the lead and guide you. he pressed against your skin until your arch was just to his standards.

you were almost positive that you could feel warmth radiating from how close his crotch was from your ass… that is, if a robot could emit such a thing.

“perfect.” he finally spoke. the bhikkhu admired his work from above.

you were afraid to respond… partly because you didn’t want to scare him away, and partly because you felt that if you opened your mouth, a long, suppressed moan would come out instead.

so you sat there, on all fours, back arched, unmoving, trying—desperately trying to squeeze your thighs together as best as you could to maybe satisfy this need you craved.

biting your lip, you stifled a pathetic whimper as ramattra’s thigh grazed over yours. how wrong this must be. a novice lusting over their bhikkhu… in a place of respect and religion. siddhartha, guide you now…

ramattra noticed your quietness, bending down closer to your head. had he made you uncomfortable? were the tensions thick for you too? he’ll admit his grip on your waist was rather tight; the plush skin beneath your garments was enticing.

you were… small compared to him. you allowed him to touch you and you obeyed his words. very obedient. and now comes the remembrance that you were practically all his. his novice. his responsibility. his student.

and you were a very good student.

“what’s wrong, my lotus?” he asked, hovering over you. “is this pose too much for you than the last? i would’ve expected this one to be easier.”

you shook your head. your shoulders were stiff now, especially with that whirring, raspy voice his speakers emitted behind your ear.

“in silence, we give, but in words, we convey. should we revisit that lesson again?”

his words were teasing. ramattra slid his metallic fingers up your torso, just enough for the skin of your back to peak out.

you shook your head again. he squeezed.

“no…” you shivered, berating yourself for the unsteadiness of your words.

“no, what? perhaps a deeper dive into honorifics sometime the-“

“no, bhante ramattra.” you blurted before he could finish. “…sorry, bhikkhu. i didn’t mean to come out disrespectful.”

“mistakes are life lessons. now listen to your teacher once more and bend down on your arms.”

this craving could not be denied any longer. ramattra should listen to his… perhaps, vile instincts and have you here, right beneath him. how foolish he has accepted himself to be in this moment of need, because he did, in fact, need you. his star novice; much to learn, but he knew you had so much to give.

where in his circuits he’d be wired to lust, who knows. but after all, sentience was a gift to be held… and to be cherished. no amount of enlightenment could take the selfishness out of living.

it was clear now to the both of you that this was not so unrequited. that this back and forth game, that no other monk and apprentice shared, was not out of the blue, but a slow burned 6 months.

of course, you did not disobey your bhikkhu. you, ass up, face covered by elbows, awaited ramattra’s instructions, or actions.

the large omnic let his hands travel down the small of your waist, down below your naval. his other hand let way, bunching your beige attire into a fist. but he stayed a second longer, observing.

“tell me, lotus, are humans naturally this sensitive? i’ve barely touched you and you’re quivering as if it were snowing.” ramattra chuckled.

it was true. a simple graze was enough for you to be fully at his mercy. embarrassing, really, but one look from this monk could have your knees buckling. did he not realize how enticing he truly was? you can only imagine how many yearn for his attention—but no villager has ever had it; he’s been to busy teaching you.

“just… cold.” what a believable response.

“cold? the sensors in my fingers speak otherwise; you’re burning up.” he continued, “a lie is temporary refuge for a simple answer. you’ve been rather deceiving today—something you did not learn from me.”

“how have i? i know better.” you furrow your brows. this is… frustrating. speaking when all you want to do is scream the omnic’s name. waiting when he knows exactly what he’s doing. was this really a time for discussion?

“you should have told me sooner that you have had selfish thoughts. these are things that will lead you astray from your higher path.”

“i-“ he cut you off.

“i am no fool; i see how you look at me. how you react to the small things i do. how you stutter and play with your fingers when i look down at you.”

ramattra slowly slides his middle fingers along your slit, coating himself in your arousal. you stifle a whimper, burying your head in your folded arms.

“for thoughts like those, you could be casted out of the monastery. it is frowned upon to hold a bhikkhu in such low regard.”

long fingers split you open and felt you inside. each circle on your swollen clit was a jolt of hot pleasure through your body. your sounds were lewd—moans rolling off your tongue like your prayer this morning.

“it’s a good thing i like you so much; otherwise, your consequences wouldn’t be so… nice.”

does he ever stop talking? isn’t it apart of monk code to be listening instead of boastful? his voice is sexy though, you thought. as long as he keeps reassuring this was not at all one sided, it’s not a problem.

ramattra was toying you, using your venerable feelings as a way to touch you the way he wants. touching and pressing—and you could’ve sworn his robotic fingers had a sort of buzz to them. but this was torture, and he knows it; you needed him elsewhere.

“bhikkhu… please.”

“please what, lotus?” his movements were slower now, giving you just enough to want more.

“what do you need?”

“you,” you huffed, “inside me… please.”

ramattra dragged his long digits across your pussy, stopping at your hole and pressing down. you let out a guttural moan, shoving your ass forward for him to continue. he slowly pushed himself inside you, basking in the way you choked on your voice. whole body tensing and then relaxing all in a second.

“right here?”

“right there.”

he pumped in and out, curling into the spongy spot that had your hairs sticking up. his other hand pushed your garments out of the way, feeling you up—goosebumps littering your skin from the cold.

you slightly swayed from his movement, fingernails pressing into the rug below you so hard it almost hurt. but, you couldn’t focus on anything besides the full feeling you got from his fingers knuckle deep inside you, and then that empty, needy—pleading feeling your pussy sent all the way to your head when he pulled out. a back and forth that eventually fried any coherent thought you could have formed; sensory overload that made your skin buzz and toes curl.

your previous nervous and shameful scenarios of anyone being able to find you like this—to see one of the most disgraceful acts performed inside a sacred monastery, still stuck somewhere in the back of your mind. by divine presence, how awful! you would surely be cast out—you and your bhikkhu, just like he said. could even buddha be enough to guide you back astray?

and yet, here you were almost worry-free. for some reason that hadn’t been discussed, you felt as if… protected—safe with your bhikkhu behind you. as though bhante ramattra truly wouldn’t allow anything to happen to his precious student—and you were the most precious in this moment.

ramattra’s free hand moved from the fabric of your robe to the mound of your breast. he lingered beneath your nipple for a minute, almost like hesitation… too much for his artificial hormones to handle. after all, this was fairly new to omnics—like testing the waters to see how far he could make it before short-circuiting.

he let the quiet air sit still for a brief second, hearing the ever-present squelches sounding from beneath the two of you, and your breathless noises, before speaking.

“i would be deceitful to say you were the only one sneaking lustful glances, my novice… i have… wondered… how you must look coming out of the shower, or behind closed doors when we say ‘goodnight’. i’ve pictured you bare, as dishonorable as it sounds.”

another pump inside you.

“although, you leave nothing to the imagination when you don’t wear your proper attire—i assume there’s more than just me whose thought of you like that… but, i wonder… if you dress like that just for me.”

his voice lowered; it sent a new chill down your spine, and a new whimper out your plush lips. ramattra leaned even closer to your ear, hunched over you.

‘ramattra wasn’t a ravenous creature’, you thought, but right now, you worried he might actually devour you.

his movements slowed. again, keeping that tortuous pace that barely gave you what you need. just enough for you to whine and groan.

“i wouldn’t put it past you; i’m surprised you haven’t begged me onto you before now—so needy, you are… practically clung to me.”

he lowly chuckled, in his own robotic, whirring way.

“and my teachings can’t be that good, no… my lotus… you’ve needed me.” “ah!” you sharply gasped, teeth digging into your lip when your bhikkhu hit a particularly sensitive spot.

the monk’s hand now pushed past his previous hesitation, coming to grope your breast, fondling the plush skin. you heard the slightest grunt come from his speakers, if at all. his middle and index capturing your nipple and pinching.

“oh, fuck!” you moaned, furrowing your brows.

ramattra, again, chuckled, “i haven’t heard you curse since the beginning of your teaching… might i add that to the list to revisit?”

you groaned, “is this really—erugh!—the time for judgement?” the monk shook his head, “there is no place for judgement at any given moment; i do not judge you, my lotus, far from it. i admire you.”

ramattra curled metal into the tip of your cervix, slightly spread his fingers, then curled again.

“is that not obvious?”

maybe you were see-through—had he made that comment in a normal circumstance, you surely would’ve stumbled on your words. picturing it now with heat blooming across your pretty cheeks, nervously toying with your pinkies as if that’s the highest regard anyone could’ve held you at.

prized student, but now also, ramattra’s worship.

the omnic switched from fondling your sensitive breasts to trace his hands over the skin of your chest… then your waist, then below your navel, pressing ever-so-slightly to feel the indent of himself inside you. it was almost like he was trying to remember you; perhaps, scared that this might be the last of this lesson—that he’ll never get to see his student like this again, so he will savor it.

the metal of his thumb stretched out to your clit, pushing on the bundle of nerves to see how’d you react, which you would respond with a mewl of his name and he’d take that a sign to continue.

he started carefully, then gradually began the same pace he was fucking you with. ramattra huffs and holds onto you a little tighter when your once coherent moans turned into a mess of crying, whining, and blurts of ‘bhikkhu!’.

you felt a familiar, sickly sweet feeling bubbling in your tummy, flowering to your chest, and burning your inner thighs. your desperation had a mind of its own, and you arched your back farther than you thought you ever could. your pretty ass pressing more into your mentor’s crotch, fingernails bracing yourself. your blissful noises shortened and choked on each other as your mouth hung agape.

with another teasing pull of ramattra’s fingers, coming almost all the way out before shoving back inside your dripping cunt, you tipped over. that sweet, hot, white feeling coating your entire body, prickling the crown of your head to the tips of your toes. you orgasmed… hard, coming undone right beneath your bhikkhu, all for him to see.

your knees quivering, body too heavy to carry now, but ramattra had a firm hand to your navel, keeping you up for him to pump his, now cum-coated, fingers through your high. and when the slightest graze to your g-spot had you jolting, he stopped, setting you down gently and running his hands down the sides of your waist once more before sitting back on his knees.

you heaved your breaths, sweat glistening in the sunbeams through the trees, clothes tousled almost purposefully around you. ramattra would mutter a comment about how you look celestial, astrology hanging from the droplets in your hair.

it took a moment to get your bearings, and even 5 minutes later, you’re still tired and sore and hung up on the fact your teacher, who you no idea reciprocated your feelings, had fucked you so hard and passionately next to a statue of aurora ten feet away.

ramattra placed a hand on your back—the same one used to pleasure you, would you ever look at it the same?—but, nonetheless a hand and you were grateful it was made of metal, cool to the touch.

��yathā tvaṁ mām āvaśyakaṁ, tathā aham api tvāṁ āvaśyakam.” ramattra muttered, quiet and soft. you wondered how an artificial intelligence could muster up something so human sounding.

you peek up at him, the side of your face still pressed against the mat. he dragged a finger down the disks of your spine, tilting his head. you question, “i’m sorry, bhante ramattra, i haven’t gotten that far in my studies; i don’t understand.”

“and i wouldn’t expect you to, my lotus. but in unknowing lies the seed of understanding—soon, lotus, you’ll be able to read between my lines—like a flower holding the promise of fruit. i will teach you much more.” he promised. you stare at him; he stares back.

suddenly, you pushed yourself up with your hands, gathering your disorganized fabric to cover your chest. you were in the middle of the gardens of the monastery. you fucked in the middle of the gardens of the monastery. “oh, siddhartha—oh, shit!”

“what is it, novice?” ramattra watched as you frantically dressed yourself in your sanghati. you turned to him with wide eyes and a flustered face. “we just fucked in the gardens!” you whisper-yelled.

your bhikkhu did not respond in the panicked way you thought he would’ve. no. instead, the monk began to laugh, more of a chuckle—well, more of a buzz—whatever noise equates an omnic laugh.

“i assure you, lotus, i will not let harm or discrimination come your way. you’re safe with me. besides… the clock strikes the time for afternoon prayer; no one must have walked our path.”

and that lifted a weight off your shoulders. was your entire public display lewd and dishonorable? absolutely. but something tells you this is one of many more lessons to come… and you’ll simply have to get used to it.

notes: “yathā tvaṁ mām āvaśyakaṁ, tathā aham api tvāṁ āvaśyakam” - “i’ve needed you as much as you’ve needed me”

[anotheroceanid]

I'm writing that Athenide lore fic like it's a myth book. I mean, it's more like a Athenide page on a greek mythology website, because I'm not fully sure about my approach to it yet, but the idea is keeping it very open... If that makes sense? Idk. It's 5pm, I need some sleep. But here it go. (Now I'll sleep)

PERSE was the goddess of loyalty, seafarers, sea warfare, demigods, olive oil and destruction¹, among other debated domains². She is depicted as a girl in marriageable age, sometimes in a bridal attire or wearing a laurel wreath, carrying an olive branch in her right hand and a sword in her left hand. She is associated with the Roman goddess, Fides. She is the daughter of Poseidon and Athena, conceived without sex, during their contest for the city of Athens. While her mother was a patron, Perse was the living representation of the city, though her cult was successfully exported around the Mediterranean through sailors. Being the only child of Athena³, she was more commonly referred to as Athenide, for her actual name was rarely invoked vainly. Very much like swearing to Styx, speaking upon Perse’s names was taken very seriously. Once she was mentioned, no lie could be told. Willing or not, whatever said before or after the goddess’ name became a promise—breaking it would be the same as cursing oneself. Athenide’s cult had five main branches that can be easily traced—Athenide of the City (Polias), the Athenide of the Children (Kourotrophos), the Bride Athenide (Nymphia), Warlike Athenide (Areia), Athenide of Good Sailing (Euploia). Other cults(4) have been identified, but their practices are unknown due to lack of sources or the secrecy of their rites. The Polias aspect was exclusive to Athens, for there was her birthplace. Athenide was, for all that matters, the first citizen of Athens, she could not be stolen from the city. Other regions could venerate her, but the city and the goddess were conjoined. The festivals and rituals to Athenide Polias were all tied to the city, they could not be replicated anywhere else. Another important cult was of Athenide Kourotrophos, associated with parenting. Athenide famously raised two gods when they were still mortals—Dionysus and Asclepius—but also participated direct or indirectly in the upbringing of other heroes, so she was believed to protect kids from great dangers. Besides, her cult often crossed Apollo’s and Artemis’, both protectors of children, to honour Athenide was considered a way to please the twins. Though Athenide herself never married, her most widespread and represented version of her is Nymphia: Athenide, the eternal bride—waiting for a betrothed. The matter of Athenide’s hand in marriage is recurrent theme in myths, though no man was ever proven worthy of her. Her bridal aspect was revered as the ideal bride. Mothers would pray for her to help their daughters marry gentle man, families would asks for virtuous brides for their sons, her name was invoked in wedding ceremonies, and a part of the bride’s dowry should be offered to her. Athenide Areia was represented following her mother to war—Wisdom brings Loyalty into battle. She represented the pact every warrior had with their land, that their loyalty would be repaid with victory and a safe return to home. The Romans became particularly fond of this concept, and Perse Athenide became Fides, who represented absolute loyalty to Rome above all else, and they invoked her name before every battle. Desertion was a crime punishable by death and after death, as one could not lie upon the name of Fides. In her aspect of Athenide Euploia, she protected anyone who was in the sea. Before travels, long or not, a offering for Athenide was expected in exchange for a safe journey—one in each port where the ship docked. Despite the exigence, this seemed to be the least “expensive” of the cults, as the sailors would gift the goddess with self-made crafts and trinkets from their travels. It is unknown why, but this is the most “child-like” aspect of the goddess. Euploia is often represented as a young girl, usually with her father, leading to the conclusion that the sailors were gifting her with the same toys they’d give to their own kids, should they ever return home. While other aspects existed, their cults are mysteries, as extensive literature about Athenide was mysteriously lost across the centuries.

[lizzyiii]

just read “his lady love” and i’m completely obsessed with your writing, i definitely need a part 2 for that please 😭😭😭

His Lady Love (2)

pairing | aemond targaryen x vampire!mikaelson!reader

word count | 3.8k words

summary | you return to westeros, to find that the young prince has become a man and his burning infatuation with you has not died out and you reconnect with helaena

tags | no warnings? usual mention of targaryen incest (but let's be real, everyone who reads hotd fanfic has now normalised targcest), and child marriage (my poor bby Helaena), filler

note | oh my god, y'all 😭. idk what I was thinking with that dramatic ass mikaelson reveal. as we all know the reader is never described, but as we all also know the mikaelsons are white af. so I'm making it clear that the reader is NOT mikael's daughter, leaving the reader's description and race unknown, esther was busy getting her freak on and her real father will never be disclosed. because in my mind the reader or y/n is and will always be a curly-haired, brown-skinned baddie....so each to their own. AND I'm pretty sure this is going to be a series cause for the life of me I am unable to make a oneshot without further exploring a story.

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated ✨

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 — 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

Five long years had stretched into nearly two thousand sunrises since Aemond Targaryen last laid eyes upon you. Each passing day weighed heavily on his soul, a slow burn of a thousand bitter memories. Some days, the tempest of his emotions roiled within him, bidding him to hate you—for your departure, for the way you had vanished from court like a wisp of smoke, leaving only echoes and shadows in your wake.

But the flames of that hate flickered and faded, giving rise to a deeper yearning, a gaping void where love had once flourished. Even now, after all this time, your spirit held his heart captive, stolen under the very nose of fate when you chose to forsake the realm.

In the wake of your absence, thirteen year old Aemond had become a specter haunting the hallowed halls of the library, pouring over tomes and scrolls in a frantic quest for knowledge of House Mikaelson—a house that seemed to dissolve into the mists of myth with each turn of the page. The histories were silent, and when he turned to his elders, the lords and ladies of the court, their ignorance stung deeper than any sword. Your name was but a whisper lost amongst the louder clamor of dragons and destinies.

Desperation guided his steps toward the Queen’s solar, where his mother resided. He pressed forth, demanding answers of her, yet it was peculiar; though he sought her wisdom and guidance, she seemed to have forgotten the very reason of why she had made you one of her ladies-in-waiting. Her brows knitted with confusion as he spoke your name, her big brown eyes clouded with a nostalgia she could not place.

Yet Aemond could see it in the gentle curve of her lips, in the way her gaze drifted past him, as if searching for a phantom. She missed you, that was clear. Her heart held a chamber of memories crafted from your offered comfort amidst the whispers of court intrigue, from the grace of your presence that had brightened the darker days.

The weight of five relentless years bore heavily upon Aemond Targaryen. Through trials of fire and blood, he had forged himself anew, emerging both mentally and physically formidable. He was now the most skilled swordsman within the keep’s sturdy walls, a warrior of such caliber that even the esteemed Ser Criston Cole would struggle to match his prowess. Secluded in the dim light of solitary training grounds, he immersed himself in the ancient tomes of philosophy and the illustrious history of House Targaryen, dedicated to honing his mind as keenly as his sword.

Yet in this relentless pursuit of strength and mastery, the warmth of his heart had withered, leaving behind only the chill of calculated ambition. His facade, meticulously crafted, rendered him cold and unyielding — a visage so fierce that even the bravest souls flinched at the thought of meeting his gaze directly.

Thus, it was with a jarring dissonance that Aemond entered his sister, Helaena's solar that day. It was a ritual he had come to cherish against the backdrop of his darkening spirit, visiting her and the twins for a fleeting moment of respite. However, as he stepped across the threshold, the air thickened and his breath caught in his throat.

Helaena sat with delicate artistry upon a chaise, embroidering threads of vibrant colors while keeping a watchful eye on her children. But it was not the familiar sight of his sister that seized him. No, there, in the heart of the chamber, stood his mother, Queen Alicent, holding the hands of a woman whose features were obscured from his view. However, even with your back turned, he recognized you and your unmistakable figure.

Alicent’s large, expressive eyes caught his, shimmering with an emotion he had not anticipated. “Aemond,” she uttered softly, the sound piercing through the tension-laden silence.

With the calling of his name, you turned, and the breath in his lungs faltered. The years stretched out like an endless tapestry between the two of you, but as he beheld you standing there after all this time, it felt as if no time had passed at all.

Five long years had passed, and in that span, Aemond had transformed. His once-boyish frame had hardened, each line of muscle now finely chiseled, his stature soaring to a height that eclipsed yours. He had shed the skin of youth and emerged a man forged by the fires of ambition and vengeance, yet he could feel a familiar tug at his heart as he stared at you.

But you… you had remained untouched by time’s relentless march. Your face, flawless and luminous, bore no marks of age; not a wrinkle nor blemish dared mar your smooth skin. Your form he remembered was preserved in perfection, your hair framing your figure in the same glorious waves that had enchanted him years ago.

You were the embodiment of memories he cherished, the same as ever.

For a fleeting heartbeat, Aemond dared to believe you were but a haunting mirage conjured by his yearning heart. If not for the watchful eyes of his mother and sister resting upon you, he would have thought himself lost to despair, ensnared by the fantasies of his own making.

An eternity seemed to stretch in the daunting silence that enveloped the two of you, the world around forgotten as each of you engaged in a quiet, yet profound examination. Your eyes sparkled like the night sky in the light of the day, and when you smiled—the same saccharine smile that had once filled his heart with joy during the innocence of his childhood—it left him breathless. “My prince,” you spoke softly, your voice dancing in the air, “how you’ve grown.”

In that moment, something within him shifted—a profound balm against the bitterness he had nurtured like a dark plant within his chest. All the resentment, the stinging remembrance of your abandonment, and the shadows of sadness that once clouded his thoughts dissipated at the mere sight of your smile. His throat was dry as a winter's night, thoughts scattered like ash on the wind, and yet, the corners of his mouth began to lift involuntarily, mirroring the warmth radiating from you.

Mikaelson.

A name that struck terror into the hearts of countless souls. Yet, here, in this strange realm of Westeros, where dragons soared and the icy dread of White Walkers loomed behind the walls, such fear was but a whisper lost to the winds. No, this land, though foreign and fierce, offered you sanctuary—not the kind woven from solace and warmth, but the kind fortified by distance and the absence of your cursed siblings.

Here, there were no vampires lurking in the cloaks of night, nor were there werewolves howling beneath the pale moonlight. Instead, there were dragons, fierce and resplendent, and direwolves, proud and wild. Most crucially, there was no Mikael—a freedom that tasted of hope amidst you heart's turmoil.

True, you thought often on whether you should have brought your siblings along, for Mikael would never find this place. Yet, a heavy foreboding gripped you; you understood all too well that the Mikaelsons (Niklaus) very presence would shatter the fragile peace you sought. Westeros was far from a land of plenty, riddled with poverty and further burdened by the cruel fate of women, yet in its chaos lay distance.

So, you fled, slipping away into the shrouded embrace of night, abandoning the only family you had known—or, more accurately, what was left of it. It was the sixteenth century, a time when hope flickered dimly in the eyes of men and women alike. You had not laid eyes upon Finn since Niklaus, in his relentless wrath, had condemned him to a tormented existence, and staked a dagger in his heart. Kol fared no better; his defiance had earned him Niklaus' ire, leaving him to face the very same fate that had befallen their eldest brother.

Months had slipped by as you braved the tempestuous seas, each wave an echo of your desperation, each gust of wind whispering promises of a new beginning. You had set sail toward the edge of the earth, guided by an insatiable yearning for freedom—until at last, you had discovered Westeros.

You had arrived in Westeros with an unyielding ambition, your ethereal beauty concealing a fierce determination that allowed you to easily compel your way into the court of Queen Alicent Hightower as one of her ladies-in-waiting. The smell of dragonfire and the whispers of civil war clung to the air, a distinct reminder of the foreign heritage of the Targaryens.

The first time you had seen one of the great beasts aloft, its shadow sweeping across the land, leaving you breathless and in awe. Dragons were an embodiment of the Targaryen power, but alongside that power lurked a shocking underbelly of normalized incestuous unions and the festering decay of traditional familial bonds. For a girl raised among the Mikaelsons, who had danced among the vices of immortality, this was both familiar and grotesque.

Your new world was laced with intrigue—rumors skittered through the halls like restless spirits. The whispers spoke of Princess Rhaenyra and the seed of doubt surrounding her claim to the Iron Throne, the barbs of scandal raised even higher by her many alleged bastards. These complexities intrigued you, compelling you to observe from the outside, where the machinations of power were far more amusing than any political play you had encountered in your old life.

Queen Alicent, though esteemed and regal, bore the weight of her flaws almost indiscernibly, like a cloak of gold marred by rust. From what you could tell, the Queen wielded herself like a pawn—her father being Otto Hightower, an unseen puppeteer, tugging at the strings of her choices. Maternal instinct flickered in Alicent like the candle flames that lit the chamber at night; she faltered and stumbled but made an earnest effort to nurture her children as best she could, though in your opinion she had failed miserably with Aegon. And yet, her fund of effort, a raw and poignant endeavor, resonated with you. The Queen was imperfect, yet within that human frailty lay a semblance of motherhood that Esther Mikaelson had failed to give you.

Thus, in your role as one of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting, you discovered a sanctuary of sorts. The court became a twisted labyrinth of alliances and betrayals, yet amidst the swirling intrigue, you found comfort in Alicent’s earnest attempts at kindness towards you.

In the two years you had spent in Westeros, you had found solace in the delicate friendship you created with Princess Helaena—a rare gem among the Targaryens, whose sweet and gentle spirit seemed devoid of the cunning that defined her kin. Helaena's quiet understanding struck a chord deep within you, reminiscent of a time before death had twisted your mind. Once, you too had lived in a world that felt like a dream, until Niklaus tore down the veil of your innocence with his ruthless reality check. He had carved fear into your heart, reminding you of the darkness that lurked within the world.

But as you observed Helaena, an overwhelming sorrow enveloped you. The Queen's decree to betroth the princess to Prince Aegon sank like a stone in her gut. Aegon—a broken soul, defined by indulgence and ambition—was a force of chaos that echoed the wickedness of their own familial bond. In many ways, he reminded you of Kol, with his infectious charm and volatile spirit, yet where Kol harbored a flicker of love beneath layers of darkness, Aegon radiated a depravity that sent shivers down your spine.

Your heart ached at the thought of Helaena being shackled to a boy so unworthy of her light. The specter of Aegon’s reckless nature loomed large, and you feared for the princess's fate. You could see it clearly: with every passing day of their union, Helaena’s spirit would wither under the weight of neglect and cruelty, her gentle soul extinguished in the fires of a loveless bond.

And then there was Prince Aemond, the second youngest son of Alicent's brood—a striking boy marked by a fierce determination to embrace his responsibilities as a prince. You often felt a pang of sympathy when you witnessed the relentless taunts from Aegon and the scornful jeers of his nephews, sorrow swelling in your chest at the knowledge that he was the only Targaryen without a dragon to call his own. And it was hard to ignore the tender glances he cast your way, his violet eyes lingering on you whenever you graced a room.

However, nothing could have prepared you for the sight of Aemond standing at your door during the elusive hour of the wolf, his ethereal silver hair, tousled and framing a face streaked with tears, the light of hope dimmed in his now singular violet eye. Fury ignited in your core when he confided the harrowing tale of how Aegon had dragged him to the Street of Silk, that dark sanctuary of vice—your heart shattered for the innocence that had been ripped from him, for the heavy shame that now clung to him, marked by his brother who should have looked out and protected him. By now, Aegon was six-and-ten, he should have gleaned wisdom from his years, yet he chose the path of cruelty instead.

In an effort to soothe the wounded prince, you opened your heart and your arms to him. You conceded to his requests, bathing him with tender care, allowing him the sanctuary of your presence as he lay beside you. Your intentions were pure, untainted by anything but the desire to comfort a boy you had come to deeply care for.

And yet, with a heavy heart, you turned your back on Westeros, your mind haunted by the echoes of family. In that fleeting moment of vulnerability, you found yourself yearning for the bonds that had once defined you. The Targaryens, ensnared in their web of resentment and betrayal, made it clear that true loyalty and love were rare treasures. Their familial discord stood in stark contrast to the fierce devotion of your own bloodline. For all the chaos wrought by the Mikaelsons, love remained their unyielding anchor.

Niklaus, with his volatile nature, was both feared and revered by you; yet, beneath that fierce exterior lay a soul tormented by the shadows of his past, perpetually haunted by the specter of abandonment. Finn and Kol, locked in eternal slumber by Niklaus’s cruel whim, lay undisputed in their coffins, yet your brother stood sentinel over them, unwavering and steadfast. The thought of returning to him was chilling; the mere sight of you would surely earn a dagger in your own heart.

You resolved to escape, to steal away before Queen Alicent could impose a husband upon you like a gilded cage. It was meant to be a brief respite, a momentary retreat from your burdens. You had once believed that seamlessly integrating into the intricate tapestry of Westerosi society would be a simple endeavor. Yet, the relentless weight of expectations proved stifling. Each encounter demanded a dance of delicate grace, a façade meticulously curated to meet the desires of those around you, and in turn, it drained your very spirit.

Thus, you sought solace in the sun-drenched lands of Essos, a realm that defied the rigid conventions you had grown weary of. Essos was a land of vibrant colors and broken norms, where the sun shone unabated and the very air seemed to sing of possibility. Gone were the burdens of being gracious and demure, replacing those restraints with the intoxicating freedom to explore the wild tapestry of cultures sprawled before you. In a realm filled with mercenaries and traders, where the scent of spice mingled with the salty sea air, you couldn’t help but feel invigorated.

Shame washed over you like a cold wave, a sharp pang of regret settling in your chest as you sat in Princess Helaena's solar, surrounded by the laughter of her twins, Jahaerys and Jahaera. The children, mere five summers old, served as a vivid reminder of your absence; Helaena had brought them into the world at the tender age of fourteen, while you had been lost in the allure of Essos. Your own selfish pursuits had drawn you away from Westeros, leaving your dear friend to navigate the tides of motherhood without your companionship.

But now, fate had drawn you back to Westeros, though the reason for your return eluded you—perhaps it was mere curiosity, or a desire to witness the Targaryens as they embarked on a path toward their own ruin. Perhaps it was simply the lingering comfort of a maternal embrace that Queen Alicent had once offered you. One thing remained certain: you were back, unchanged yet bound by the curse that clung to the Mikaelsons. You still appeared as you had, forever encased at the tender age of six and ten, the same age at which you had died nearly six centuries ago.

The twins were a study in contrast. Jaehaerys, the young prince, was somber and introspective, casting shy glances your way from beneath the curtain of his silver hair. In contrast, Jaehaera exuded a lively spirit, her laughter as bright as the morning sun. She was a sweet girl, eager for your attention, her small hands clutching her beloved dolls as she beckoned you to join her in playful realms of castles and grand adventures. Every so often, Jaehaerys would join in, indulging his sister’s imagination by taking on the role of a fierce dragon, albeit with a reluctance that made his quiet demeanor all the more endearing.

“I have missed you,” Helaena said softly from her place on the chaise, delicate fingers working through the intricate patterns of her embroidery, her gaze never leaving the fabric.

You met her gaze, a frown momentarily shadowing your features, your heart tightening at the sight of her. A small, bittersweet smile tugged at your lips as you replied, "As I have missed you, princess. I offer my sincerest apologies for my prolonged absence."

“But you have returned, and that is what matters,” she replied with a tranquil certainty, her expression unwavering.

With a nod, you maintained your tight-lipped smile, the corners of your mouth struggling to lift fully. “Indeed, I have, and I hope to stay here for as long as fate allows.”

As you resumed your playful moments with the twins — Helaena’s voice broke through the lighthearted chaos as she called your name. “Pray tell, how old were you when you came to court?”

Your lips pursed gently as you recounted, your tone tense but soft, “I was but six and ten years, my dear princess.”

An oblivious smile spread across Helaena's face, illuminating her features. “And yet you appear unchanged, as if untouched by time’s passage. Like a Lepidoptera,” she remarked, her imagination weaving images as vivid as the embroidered fabrics around her.

Your brows knitted in puzzlement. "A what, my princess?"

"A Lepidoptera," she patiently repeated, her eyes shimmering with youthful curiosity. "It is a classification that encompasses butterflies, which remain breathtakingly lovely until the end of their days."

A bittersweet pang echoed within you at her words, for you were destined for a far different fate, cursed to wander the shadows as a creature of the night. Yet, you offered a slight nod, managing a soft, "Thank you, my princess," as you absorbed the weight of her innocent compliment.

“And yet, I cannot claim to have missed you as intensely as Aemond has,” Helaena mused, her gaze distant as you idly threaded your fingers through Jaehaera's shimmering locks of silver.

“I’m afraid I don’t quite grasp what you mean,” you replied softly, masking your understanding with a facade of innocence.

“I believe you are quite aware,” Helaena said softly, a melodic note in her voice, her smile lingering with a teasing warmth, “Aemond has loved you since he was a mere boy.”

You cast her a sidelong glance before adopting an air of nonchalance. “Love is a weighty term for one so young, Princess. Surely, it was nothing more than a fleeting fancy.”

Helaena shook her head, her needlework a steady rhythm in her hands. “No, I do not believe so.”

Deep down, you didn't believe so either. Ever since your return to the depressive halls of King's Landing, a sensation had accompanied your every step—a watchful gaze lingering upon you. Aemond had worked to keep it hidden, but your heightened senses revealed the quiet intensity of his interest, as vivid as the summer sun.

There had been numerous revelations awaiting you upon your return to the Red Keep—the prideful births of young Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, the scandal of Rhaenyra and her uncle Daemon's elopement, and the grim decline of King Viserys's health, shadows stained upon the Iron Throne. Yet, the most haunting transformation was that of Prince Aemond.

Aegon had blossomed into the drunken sleaze you had always anticipated, a replica of the whims that dictated his every choice, but Aemond—oh, how he was the exact opposite of what you had envisioned. The youthful boy, once soft and unassuming, had unfurled into a striking figure, sharpened like the blade of a Targaryen sword, each line of his form etched with the harshness of time and expectation. His stature now towered over you, his presence immense, a tempest contained within the boundaries of a man’s body.

He seemed to carry within him a quiet fury, a storm beneath the surface, and it stirred something deep within you, a memory of that boy who had once been desperate for approval and had hope for a dragon. His boyish softness had been replaced by the resolute presence of a true dragon, a stark reminder of the power and peril that resided within his bloodline.

[monstertreden]

◡̈⋆🅷🅸(●’◡’●)ﾉ!! saw that requests for writing is open, so I would like to politely and gladly request this 🤍

mutual pining with optimus prime and human fem reader!! and if possible, the timeline in the bumblebee film (2018) please. optimus is confused about the blossoming feelings he has for reader and seeks help from bumblebee since he has been on earth longer and assumes he knows better haha!! bumblebee is like his wingman :3c

sorry for yapping, but this is my request please and thank you 🥹🫶🏻 have a good one!!! <33

☁︎ RAINY DAYS ☁︎

-Reader: FEM reader  -TW: none -Character: Optimus Prime (Transformers 2018 movie) -Summary: Optimus develops a quiet, protective affection for a human companion, treasuring their moments together. -Word count : 1453 -A/N: Ahhh this was so cutee!! I've tried my best, anon! :) It took me a bit to polish this one just trying to catch Optimus character better :3, hope you like it! . . . I love big robots.

The Prime stood in quiet contemplation, his optics flickering with the weight of his thoughts. Today the "Autobots base" was noiseless, except for the only sound in the room that came from a small TV. Its screen casted a faint glow, as his loyal companion, Bumblebee, zapped through various channels, each displaying what he presumed was human entertainment. The great leader of the Autobots had faced countless battles and made decisions that shaped the fate of Earth itself. Yet, now, he was confronted with a challenge that left him uncertain… his growing affection for a human.

He turned his helm towards Bumblebee, who was still tinkering with a small rectangular device, undoubtedly another human invention. The scout's dexterous servos moved with precision, his curiosity for human culture evident in every motion. That curiosity he had for humans was something else, Bumblebee had always been adept at understanding humans, particularly one individual who had become dear to the scout’s spark, a connection Optimus couldn’t quite wrap his helm around.

"Bumblebee, my dear friend." Optimus's voice rumbled inside the shed, to which the scout beeped in acknowledgement, blue optics lifting from the small device he held. For all his wisdom and experience, Optimus found the nuances of such personal connections… elusive, particularly when it came to matters involving a certain earth native. "I find myself in need of your counsel…” his voice steady but laced with an uncharacteristic hesitance. “…might I ask, how does one get acquainted with an earthling?”

Bumblebee's optics brightened with amusement. Lately, he had seen the Prime’s subtle shifts once he got closer to their human friend. To see the unshakeable pillar of their team, a leader who rarely wavered, seeking guidance on something as deeply personal as affection, from him! Knowing full well that too much teasing could get him grounded, once again, by the big boss, he suppressed a teasing comment.  

Shifting between radio stations, Bumblebee spoke "—that’s it!—might as well spend quality time with her—boss!”

The idea of approaching a human affectionately weighed heavily on Optimus. Deep down he was lost in thought, the alliance between humans and Autobots came first. However, this particular human had earned his respect, and gradually, he found himself warming up to her presence.

It was unexpected…

Ever attuned to his leader's demeanour nuances, Bumblebee softened his  veiled teasing, followed by his next suggestion “---You all go for--- a Joy Ride!---”

Racing with a pick-up truck? That would be too risky, perhaps even impractical. His alt mode was functional, built for resilience and reliability, not for speed or flashiness, neither a sports car nor a sleek vehicle.  It was a step he could take, though at his own pace.

"I thank you, dear friend" Optimus said, a note of gratitude in his voice. "Your insight is... most valuable."

.ᐟ.ᐟ

The sky had darkened, thick clouds gathering as a gentle rain began to fall. Subsequentially, the steady rhythm of the droplets intensified, each drop falling heavier than before. Amid the relentless rain, another sound broke through the downpour. It was the distinctive hum of an engine, accompanied by the sharp, glowing brilliance of the four headlights piercing through the rain. The pickup truck stood resolutely by the side of the road, its metallic frame shimmering as droplets clung to its surface.

The truck had been waiting patiently for an indeterminate time as then, through the haze of rain she appeared, huddled under a small red umbrella. Illuminated by the soft glow of a streetlamp, Optimus watched as she approached, her steps careful on the slick pavement. Once she reached his side, the door unlocked with a quiet click, inviting her inside. “Finally—” trembling, she climbed into the passenger seat, the door closing firmly behind her.

Inside, she was enveloped by the warmth of the front seats, a stark contrast to the cool rain outside. She set her umbrella aside and leaned back in the seat, with a contented sigh. "Thanks a lot for picking me up, Optimus" her voice resonated in his spark “I’m terribly sorry, I hope I didn’t make you wait too long under this damn rain! I swear, my weather said it was going to be cloudy...totally not this??”

"It is no trouble," Optimus replied, his voice a gentle rumble through the speakers. “I wouldn't want you walking in this kind of weather, you might get hurt. Never hesitate to give me a call, little one.”

Soon enough the engine started, and they drove in comfortable silence, the rain creating a soothing backdrop. Optimus found solace in these quiet moments, the presence of his human companion filling the space with an unspoken connection. He relished the opportunity to simply be near her, to share in the simplicity of the moment. This was his kind of “Joy ride”, a serene, intimate experience far removed from the high-energy adventures Bumblebee often took part in.

As they neared her home, the glow of streetlights casting soft halos on the rain-slicked road, she turned slightly, her gaze thoughtful. "You know," she began "I’ve always appreciated how you make time for me. It means a lot."

Optimus's spark swelled with an emotion that, despite his longevity and vast experience since he first came online, he was still learning to fully understand. "Your companionship brings me a sense of peace," he admitted, the sincerity in his tone unmistakable. "It is a privilege to be a part of your world."

Her hand reached out, soft fingers brushing against the dashboard in a gesture of affection. “And it's a privilege to have you in mine, truly"  she whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the engine. She knew he could hear her, loud and clear, even if he didn’t respond immediately. There was a quiet understanding between them, one that was broken by his warm voice, drawing her attention.

“Would you like to hear some stories, my little friend?”

.ᐟ.ᐟ

An hour had passed, her eyelids grew heavy and she found herself lulled by the light sway of the truck. It was a rare moment of peace in a world often filled with chaos. Here, cradled in the safety of Optimus Prime, she allowed herself to drift into a peaceful slumber, trusting completely in the steadfast guardian who was carrying her home.

“---This brings many memories in my circuit” Optimus mused softly “The first steps we Autobots took on your lively, vibrant planet. It’s a bittersweet feeling, filled with nostalgia…” His words trailed off as he realized she had succumbed to sleep, her form gently resting against the cushion seat. “oh…” His words had continued longer than he intended. She had fallen asleep, her head resting against the cushioned seat.

His engine hummed quietly as he turned the corner by her house. With a slow, deliberate movement, the Prime transformed. His massive frame shifted awkwardly, yet he was careful enough to avoid any disruption.

With utmost care, his servos extended towards her,  cradling her sleeping form. She stirred slightly but did not wake, her trust in him evident in her relaxed posture. As if in the hands of someone who would never harm her.

Attentive optics caught sight of the slightly open window. Soon, Optimus approached it, parting it with a click, careful not to make a sound. The rain had all but ceased, leaving the night air cool and fresh. With ultimate precision, he laid her down on her bed, tucking the blanket around her in a gesture that felt almost human. He lingered for a moment, his optics soft, his gaze filled with a tenderness that reflected his deep sense of protectiveness. She was safe here, in the comfort of her own room, sheltered from the outside world.

He stood there for a moment, his optics soft as he gazed at her peaceful expression. "Goodnight," he whispered, his voice a deep murmur. "May the stars always guide you."

.ᐟ.ᐟ

As he quietly stepped back from the window, miraculously avoiding breaking the glass, the Prime remained near her backyard, his massive form casting a shadow over the wall of her house. The soft hum of his systems settled into a quiet vigil, ensuring her safety throughout the night. There Optimus found solace in the knowledge that, for now, as long as he was with her, she would be safe and sound. With the Autobots' base under control, he decided to linger near her home, keeping a watchful optic on her,  a silent but devoted promise of protection and care.

The faint light of the stars reflected in his optics as the night enveloped him while he transformed back into his vehicle mode.

Tomorrow would be another day.

[t-a-a-1]

Counting Stars

Special Chapter: To You, A Million Years From Now

TFP Optimus (Nemesis) x Female Reader

Summary: Nemesis Prime writes a letter about his life to someone unknown.

A/N: Lots of yearning, jealousy, delusions, craving, fluff. All that good stuff.

TW: Death of important characters? Idk

2k

Counting Stars

To you,

Who is it? Who is walking among the river of memories?

Holding into the hope of meeting what they desire ...

I don't know when these feelings started.

    I am unable to locate an exact moment.

Was it on February 3rd when she smiled at me for the first time? On July 7 when we observed the starry night? Or perhaps on December 21 when she held my servo with her soft hand?

    I am not certain, I wished my processor could remember but I can't. I find myself to be more pathetic as the time passes. My years have started to show. The scratches in my chassis were more visible and my paint job is not as shiny as it used to. I had stopped taking care of myself and now I begin to wonder ... Does she even like any of it? Me?

How could she ever? She's a human and I am an old robot. A tired one. I must be disgusting to her and I don't blame her. And my personality? There's much to be wished for. I don't laugh often nor enjoy jokes nor understand them. I lack any sense of humour and yet all I want to do is to make her smile when she's with me.

I find myself annoyed at times when the things I want to say cannot be processed through my glossa. An occurrence that happens whenever she lays eyes on me.

In my lowest moments, I wanted to dislike her. I must admit. She had taken every single corner of my processor. Leaving me with nothing but her. Every minute, every second, she's there and not even in my dreams I am free from this torment.

I shouldn't feel like this.

I still don't fully understand how I was chosen to be a Prime. I don't consider myself to be good. How could I when I have sent so many soldiers to meet their end? Although I was an archivist, I am not wise, I lack wisdom many times. I only make decisions hoping for the best results. I am neither the strongest as Megatron has proven he could outbest me even at his worst.

So ... Why me? Why was I given such a burden? Why did Primus in all of wisdom choose me to bear the responsibility of leading what's left of my race? When all I wanted ... All I ever wanted—

"You wouldn't let anybody else suffer with the title of being a Prime."

    No. I would. She's wrong. I am not that good. I am not that kind. So, please, don't look at me like that.

"And I think that's what makes you worthy."

I would give it all up.

If it meant I could have the one thing I wanted.

And it's standing right in front of me. Smiling at me with eyes that have more stars in them than the entirety of the universe.

And yet she knows ... That I wouldn't. That is all a lie. No matter how much I tell her that I am not as gentle as she believes me to be. She just knows.

How ... How can you be so certain?

I am not worthy of being a Prime ... And much less, of being someone who loves her.

But what if ...

If I am devoted to her? Worshipped her? Oh, her, her, her ... how much I adore her. Words are not enough.

Does she remember that time she changed the style of her hair and put paint in her face, adorned her body with shiny fabrics? I was baffled, awed at her beauty. The greatest artist is whoever created her and I, a mere spectator.

She wasn't a perfect portrait. But she was made for me. In every detail made to my liking. In every imperfection made to be loved just by me. Only me.

But I am but a shadow

And she's light.

But the darkness protects me. From the cruelty, the mockery. In darkness I can bask myself in these feelings. Enjoy them without restrictions. Without the fear of rejection. Of her and what others may think. I would have been fine living like this. Admiring her from afar as she will only be mine to adore.

Until he showed up.

I was a fool to believe I was the only one who could admire her being.

He would steal her attention. Taking her to human places I could only dream of visiting with her openly.

    Of course she would choose him. Why wouldn't she? He can give her all the things a human may want. Take her to small pretty places, places I couldn't go into. Give her flowers that don't witter because unlike me, he is delicate enough to hold them. Most importantly, he can give her a family.

How dare he? How dare he steal everything I wanted? All of my dreams and hopes–

"I think I like you ... No, I love you, Optimus."

Primus.

Please.

Please.

Please.

Do not let this be a dream.

Please. I beg you.

Do not take her away from me.

Who is it? Who is walking among the river of memories?

Holding into the hope of meeting what they desire ...

    To the lack of my better judgement, I let her stay by my side and I'll be at hers.

As the time passed I began to wonder if I was allowed to be this content. Sometimes I was hit with the realization that she won't be living for as long as I did. I considered the many possibilities of what to do once she is gone. Even going as far as asking of her preferences. Would she want me to go offline alongside her? Because I would do it in a spark-beat. And I think deep down I wished for her to ask me that.

"I am just happy that you'll live longer than me ... I won't have to deal with the grief."

Then I thought ... between her and me, I prefer to be the one to suffer. For all of eternity if that meant she won't ever have to go through the pain of losing a loved one.

"Besides, you have to take care of our Sparkling once I am gone."

    And just like that ... I fell in love with her all over again.

And till this day, my spark has only known her and it continues to only adore her.

My joy was greater than my need to fulfill my duties and slowly I wanted to forget them.

But I couldn't.

I couldn't just retire and forget about the spilled energon, all the sacrifices.

But now that I think about it, maybe that's what Primus wanted. Maybe, just maybe, her carrying a Sparkling was a sign for me to forget about everything. Of the war. Of Cybertron. Of the fallen ones.

I should had run away with her.

"I'll give you the mercy to say goodbye."

    I will never forget the blood coming out of her. Human blood was a strange liquid, smelling like metal. But was irreplaceable, unlike Energon. Yet, in my delusion, I wondered if I could give her all of my Energon to her.

"Our Sparkling ... Optimus,"

    I couldn't move.

MECH and what little is left of Silas, had held her captive. Only a few days was enough for them to bring me to my feet. I knew it was a trap but what was I supposed to do? I thought I was strong enough to save her. That's all I wanted. I lead my team to a trap, one impossible to escape.

It was only Ratchet and I and the two of us were too useless. I couldn't move, nor speak. MECH had poisoned the air in the hangar, only affecting the Autobots.

The situation didn't fully register in my processor ... Until I saw Silas inside Breakdown's rusted body.

    Putting one of his pedes above her.

No.

No.

No.

No.

No.

No.

No.

No.

No.

No.

No.

No.

No.

No.

No.

"Please ... Save our Sparkling–"

    She couldn't even finish her sentence.

Blood. Everywhere. It had reached my faceplate.

    And as Silas lifted his pede, I still had hope. That she might be there.

But instead, nothing.

    Everything that she was.

Her hair. Her eyes. Her smile. Her laugh.

Her.

It was gone.

    I don't remember much after that.

Next thing I knew, I was with Ratchet in a special cell. It seems he had been talking for hours to me but I just didn't listen. I don't think I was even capable of hearing anything at all.

Until Megatron showed up.

    "I never thought it would end up like this."

I didn't look at him.

"You must know that not even I could ever harm what was Cybertron's first Sparkling in milenia."

"... Was?"

    Ratchet asked.

I heard steps walking closer towards me. Until Megatron stood in front of me. He bent down and put a small circular object on the floor.

"I couldn't get there before they dismantled him ... This is the only thing I could save."

    I picked it up. It was a Spark-Keeper. The outer metallic shell that was supposed to be protecting my Sparkling's spark. Empty. Lifeless.

"Optimus, I've made a terrible mistake," Megatron said. "I gave Silas a power he couldn't control. My arrogance and pride blinded me, making me unable to see the monster I created."

    My Sparkling. Where is he? He should have been born by now.

"This mistake cost the Cybertronian race its future ... And I am responsible. Now I see ... Now I understand everything you said."

Where is she? I want to see her. She should be resting. Probably at the base. I need to go back soon.

"Let's end all of this. Help me defeat Silas and MECH ... And after, we can all just go home."

Home. That's right. She must be with my Sparkling at home. I should bring her something pretty. Maybe I should pick out many sunflowers on the way.

"Let's go to Cybertron and rebuild it ... New life shall rise."

    My Sparkling, her ... They are waiting for me. I need to go. I need to see them. Where are they?

"Do not let (Y/N)'s sacrifice be in vain."

    Until this day ... I can't find the words to describe the pain I felt when I heard her name.

"D, old friend" I called his old name as I activated my battle mask.  "You shall never speak her name again."

    I shot him.

I saw his life come out of his optics. I took out his spark and crushed it.

I walked out of the cell, Ratchet did not say a single word.

I killed every single Decepticon and human I encountered.

    And after I was done I went to where the last of her remained. Just a red stain on the floor.

    The entire base was on fire. The Autobots, the ones who had come from the vastness of space and the ones who hid on Earth had caused a commotion. One I did not oppose anymore. The news of my Sparkling's massacre had spread just as quickly as the fire. With that came indignation. Hate. The hope of co-existing as one ... gone.

"You won't be able to control them anymore."

Ratchet had found me.

"A war is bound to happen with the humans and rest of the Decepticons. Once again."

    There was a pain in his voice that I never heard before from him. Yet, I didn't care. I only thought of my selfish wish.

"Would you please ... Kill me?"

    I heard steps coming closer to me. My optics were still focused on the stain on the floor.

"No."

"Why?!"

    I finally looked up at him. His optics were no longer blue.

"Because if you die, you won't be able to remember her."

Ratchet bent down to put a servo on my shoulder-plate. I couldn't tell what he was thinking, this must be the first time I was unable to do so.

"You need to keep fighting," he said, and finally, I listened. "You can't undo what you've done ... But you can embrace it."

"The pain, can you feel it? The feeling of having everything taken away from you?"

    And that's when I understood. Genuinely understood Megatron for the first time. Is this how he felt when he was thrown into the gladiator pits to fight his comrades, killing each of them? Just for mere entertainment?

For how long was I blind? Blindfolded by my own privilege? Fighting for freedom that only those on the winning side will get to enjoy?

    All this time ... Everything. It was all a lie.

"I am tired, Optimus," Ratchet spoke to me once again. "We either give up now ... or we can burn it all."

    That's exactly what I needed. I wanted to share my pain with the world. It was too big and too heavy in my Spark. I wanted to get rid of it, of these feelings, of the guilt, the incompetence.

But that wasn't me.

It wasn't me.

And the realization hit me. I had already done the unspeakable. Whatever sanity I had left, they took it.

I no longer was Optimus Prime.

I was free.

I was free of the burden, I was free of the responsibility. Finally, Finally! I could be whatever I wanted! I was free to be whoever I chose to be! I am this! This is what feels right! This is what I was supposed to be, this is who I am!

I  turned on my Comm-Link, making sure everyone could hear me.

"This is Prime speaking," I stood up. The fire consumed the place more and more. But I didn't care, I walked around the hangar and destroyed everything I saw. A rush of power, strength goes through me. "Fellow Autobots, the human race and the Decepticons have taken from us our last hope. It is to my most sorrow to inform everyone that the countless opportunities given to both were in vain. I couldn't save her ... nor my Sparkling, Cybertron's hope."

    I felt something pulsating inside of my chassis and as I opened it, I took out the Matrix of Leadership.

It was this thing's fault. The reason I became a Prime. The reason I had to follow honor and moralistic ideologies. It was because of this responsibility bestowed on me that I had lost her and my Sparkling.

If only ... I had run away with her.

"But with their deaths, we are no longer tied down to the chains of morality and fake principalities! We are free! Free to do as we please!"

I continued to bask in my madness, things falling down around me, embracing who I had become.

"Destroy everything you can! Claim what you need! Fight for what you wish for!"

    And finally, the Matrix disappeared from my grasp. Granting me, after so many years, the only thing I have ever truly wanted.

"THIS ISFREEDOM!"

    I shot the wall in front of me, opening a path. Coming out of the flames, I met my Autobots, ranting my name. Everything around us is crumbling and falling apart. Never had something felt so right.

"Prime! Prime! Prime!"

"I send this message to the Autobots who remain scattered across the universe. I am reclaiming a new home. A new start for our race. Earth will no longer belong to humanity but to us! One shall stand and one shall fall."

    That was the last time I saw Bumblebee. Among the crowd, a horrified look on his faceplate. Ultra Magnus was there too. Arcee and Bulkhead ... all of them with that disappointed look. They are here.

But ... where is she? Where is my Sparkling? Where are they?

Where are they? Are they home? Are they waiting for me? I want to see them soon.

"Optimus ...."

I turned to look at Ratchet.

"I am no longer that," I told him. "I am free to choose now."

Now, I've become mad. Drunk on sorrow, lost in pain. But I had become what I have always been. What I chose to be. With this letter, I grieve who I once used to be. But I am no longer that.

And I don't regret it.

Because now I only live to hate him. To despite and destroy whatever he believed in.

But now I wonder ... Who is that in the back of my processor?

Who is it? Who is walking among the river of memories?

Holding into the hope of meeting what they desire ...

    Is it my dearest waiting to meet me? My Sparkling with his hands raised up, waiting for me to hold him?

No. No, it's not.

It's you, Optimus Prime, what's little is left of you.

I can't wait for the day you completely disappear.

    But I can't let you go. Because it is you who she once loved. And I'll be damned if I were to lose whatever little is left of her. It's you who hold her memories. But I'll hold you prisoner, mine to torture.

Optimus, I hope you'll forever live with the pain and regret only you deserve.

As I have.

Goodbye forever, Nemesis Prime A Million Years From Now.

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.

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A/N: I was in Japan visiting my college friends so that's why the long wait. There is much I need to write! But I feel encouraged to keep writing!

It was quite strange how I wanted to approach Nemesis. Since I had never written about him before, I had to think of ideas and motivations for his character. I felt like it was quite gruesome so that's why I didn't go into extreme detail of what had happened to Reader and the Sparkling but I am sure you all can assume since it was directly mentioned.

I didn't want to get much into his mind either and left some things into interpretation as I prefer for the readers to make their own conclusions with the information they have since I think ... that's more fun?

A part of me wants to feel bad for Nemesis but I am not sure. I truly write this just as it comes and see what fits better for the story.

Next chapter we'll see how Optimus is doing without the reader and the Sparkling.

Maybe we'll explore more of the human-cybertronian conflicts that happened after Optimus became Nemesis.

And of course more Nemesis longing for you and all that good stuff.

I want to thank everyone who has read this so far! Thank you and I hope you'll be here till the very end!

If you have any questions, comments, concerns or requests you can send me a message or inbox me on tumblr! @ t-a-a-1

Thank you and until next time!

Previous:

https://www.tumblr.com/t-a-a-1/776307342250803200/counting-stars?source=share

Next: Soon

[flowerandblood]

The Price of Pride (13/?)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, unprotected sex, targcest stuff, smut, the angst, sexual tension, imprisonment, abuse of power ]

[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

They were betrothed.

He never thought that marriage would be something in his life that he would look forward to with contentment – he knew that his destiny would be to wed the daughter of some pathetic lord who wanted a bite of the cake that was the Crown and the Iron Throne.

He couldn't imagine himself in the role of a husband: a man courting the heart and love of his wife, falling asleep and waking at the side of some foreign woman who would suddenly invade his space.

He thought then with relief that indeed, in their wisdom, the measters had acted properly for centuries, giving spouses separate chambers so that they could live apart from each other in peace, except for their duties of bringing their inheritance into the world.

And then he abducted his cousin.

He enjoyed observing her from the distance as she practised archery – in the breaks between sparring with Ser Criston, he watched as she stood sideways to a target in front of her and with a calm, gentle expression on her face, pulled the string to her soft cheek, suddenly letting go, her arrow hitting the center of the target straight on.

He realised that he didn't feel the need to run away from her, as he did with Floris, because she never invaded his personal space – she never tried to follow him, she never begged for his attention, his word or his gaze – she simply existed and graciously allowed him to wander around her, which for him was a refreshing sensation.

He longed to know her, longed to be close to her, but on his own terms – the fact that he decided for himself when he approached her, when they spoke to each other, when they lied in bed together, gave him an surprising sense of freedom and lightness.

Another man might have taken her approach as indifference, but he knew it was otherwise – he could feel it in her fingers clenching on his bare, sweaty skin as he pounded into her with low grunts of pleasure, hear it in her sweet, helpless moans, see it in the hot, warm gaze of her doe eyes.

She spared him no tenderness when they were alone – on the contrary, she was sweet and smiling, beautiful in her wonderful nudity, making neither of them ashamed of their negligee or their desires anymore.

"What is it?" He asked, looking intrigued at the jug with which she had walked into his chamber, wearing nothing but her nightgown and a light blue robe thrown over her shoulders, smiling from ear to ear.

She lifted her chin high, as if proud of herself, a joyful contentment in her dark eyes from which he felt a pleasant warmth in his chest.

For some reason, she was never afraid of him or his cool demeanour, of what he would think of her or how he would react.

His little dragon.

He sighed and twisted in his place, putting the book he had prepared for her aside, lying on his bed in only his breeches, used to the fact that they both no longer even pretended that she was coming to him for anything other than to spend the night with him.

True, he still taught her, but usually only after they had satisfied their desires, lying in each other's arms, reading together short stories written in Old Valyrian.

He looked at her calmly as she approached his bed and reached for one of the metal cups, pouring into it a pleasantly scented, steaming liquid that had a light, brown colour.

"When I was a child I often had trouble falling asleep. My nanny would then bring me warm milk mixed with honey and ground grains brought from distant Essos. I tried to prepare it the way she did and recreate that taste." She said and took her first sip.

She smiled and licked her full, pink lips that gave him the sweetest kisses every night, her face expressing a kind of melancholy.

"I want you to taste it. It's delicious, it's sweet, it's warm, it soothes the nerves and doesn't dull you, unlike the poppy milk you drink." She said softly, handing him the cup.

He took it from her hesitantly and sniffed the contents first, wondering if she might have added poison to the contents – however, he decided that after all, she had tasted it herself first, and the drink did indeed smell good.

He took a tentative sip and swallowed, feeling the smooth taste of milk, honey and something else that melted pleasantly over his tongue combine into a wonderfully delicious whole.

He blinked, thinking he felt like drinking even more.

"These are very expensive cocoa seeds. I found out you have them in the Red Keep, the cooks sometimes add them to cakes. I ground them by hand for you. Do you like it?" She asked uncertainly, as if some part of her feared he would be disappointed and not share her enthusiasm.

"It's delicious. Very tasty indeed." He confessed, handing her the cup, and she smiled happily in the way he loved, her eyes shining warmly as she took another sip, handing the vessel back to him.

"I'm glad to hear it. If you want, I can prepare it for us for a good night's sleep. There are no side effects." She said lightly, and he hummed under his breath, taking another sip, deeper this time, and licked his lips, feeling the wonderful taste of the liquid spill over his palate, a pleasant warmth in his stomach.

"Come here." He hummed, putting his arm around her, and in some natural reflex she clung to him, cuddling her face into his cheek.

"We must decide who will lead you down the aisle." He said calmly, running his free hand down her back, the other hand passing her the cup.

She looked at him surprised and blinked.

"Isn't it obvious? My cousin, Lord Royce. He was like a father to me." She muttered, surprised by the question, swallowing a deep gulp of the liquid, passing the cup into his hand.

He looked away and swallowed hard, feeling a tightness in his throat.

"It's impossible, hāedar." He said coolly, drinking the contents of the vessel to the end – he felt her place her hand on his chest, looking at him in disbelief.

"Why? He despises Daemon after what he did to my mother." She said in pain.

He licked his lips and set the cup down on the table next to his bed, feeling his heart pounding like mad.

"He remains a vassal of House Arryn. He is the head of House Royce, which rules Runstone, and that means he won't be able to attend our nuptials. Even if he had received an invitation, he will not arrive." He said, finally looking into her eyes, meeting her horrified gaze full of pain and disbelief.

"He will arrive. Of course he'll arrive, it's my wedding." She muttered in a breaking voice, clasping her hands on his shoulders, stroking them as if to convince him and herself.

"This would mean opposing Lady Arryn's allies. Daemon is in Harrenhal and will burn them once he learns of their treachery. I am sorry, zaldrītsos." He whispered, and she rose from her seat and moved towards the door, startling him completely.

"Hāedar. Hāedar, come back here." He said, standing up behind her, grabbing her arm and turning her around before she could open the door.

"I don't need anyone. I'll walk down the aisle myself." She said coldly, not looking him in the eye, trying to pull away from him – he put his arm around her waist and her body slammed against his, her breath caught in her throat.

She pressed her lips together, her eyes red from the tears she refused to let flow.

"I understand your grief. My grandfather is on his way to King's Landing at my command. He will become my Hand. If you will allow me, I would like him to accompany you on this journey." He muttered, pressing his nose against her warm, soft cheek.

Don't go, he thought.

"He's a stranger to me. I don't want him or anyone else." She growled with rage, finally closing her eyes and bursting into an angry, mournful sob.

"Since he is my grandfather, he is also yours. Our father is dead. Our brother lies in bed, unable to rise. It must be him, hāedar." He whispered, stroking her cheek with his thumb, wanting her to finally understand that there was no longer such a thing as her family and his family.

Now there was only their family.

She swallowed hard, looking up at him in shock, her lips parted wide as if it took her a moment to realise what he was trying to tell her.

"Do you understand what I mean, zaldrītsos?" He asked, stroking her chin with his knuckles, and she nodded, snuggling into his chest like a small child.

He exhaled quietly, feeling relieved, enclosing her in the tight embrace of his arms, placing warm, loud kiss on the top of her head.

"– that's my girl – come here –" He hummed and caught her under her hips, lifting her up – her legs crossed over his back, her arms thrown around his neck as he carried her to his bed and lay down with her.

"– I – I'd rather not –" She mumbled in a breaking voice and he kissed her forehead, understanding what she wanted to say to him.

What she needed now was comfort, the tender embrace and safety of his arms, not for him to fuck her.

Though he would never say it out loud, he understood it better than anyone.

"– shhh – sleep – I won't take you, sweet girl –" He whispered into her ear, combing his fingers through her soft, dark hair – she snuggled tighter into his body at his words, her lungs leaving a quiet, sweet sigh.

They fell asleep in each other's arms with their legs intertwined, their faces sunk into each other's bodies in an embrace that was strangely tender and natural, as if they had spent their nights like this not for months but for years.

He dreamt he was a child – he was lying in his chamber the night he tamed Vhagar, howling in pain, feeling his freshly sewn eyelid stripped of its eyeball pulsate, all swollen, tears of horror, grief and sadness rolling down his face.

Where was his little sister?

Why was she not with him?

Why was he alone?

"Hāedar," he seemed to call out in a weak, squeaky, childish voice towards the door, "hāedar, I am scared."

"Lēkia."

He shuddered and pulled himself up on his bed, sitting up, panting loudly as if he had made some great physical effort, cold sweat on his back, his cheeks hot with tears. He glanced sideways, only after a moment realising that someone's hand was stroking his arm – he looked at her sleepy, sweet face, her pleasant, fresh scent filling his nostrils.

"Why weren't you by my side then?" He muttered, feeling himself quivering all over, picking at the cuticles around his fingernails exactly as his mother always did.

He couldn't remember why she hadn't come to him then.

He couldn't remember her face when she was a child.

Their moments together.

Why?

His not fully awake mind could not comprehend it, a heavy grief filled his heart.

She blinked and shook her head, wrinkling her eyebrows, clearly not understanding what he was referring to.

"What do you mean? When?" She asked, her gentle fingers cupping his cheek, her thumb stroking his wet skin seeing that he was crying.

"That night. When I lost my eye. Where were you?" He mumbled, looking at her reproachfully, and she swallowed hard, her brow arched in pain, her dark eyes big with sadness and affection.

"I was very far away from you then, brother, living alone in Runestone." She whispered, and he froze, suddenly remembering who she was, feeling ashamed.

He turned his head away and swallowed hard, laying on his side with his back to her, hugging his face to the pillow, wishing he could sink into the ground, make her simply forget this pathetic, childish outburst of hysteria on his part.

He felt her lay down behind him, a pleasant shiver ran along his spine as her fingers began to run up and down his arm.

"How old were you then?" She asked quietly, nuzzling her face into his hair, her breasts, her legs and womb snuggled into his back as her hands embraced his waist.

His palm involuntarily lowered to hers, his fingers running over her pleasantly smooth, soft skin.

"Nine. Maybe ten. I can't remember anymore." He muttered, and she swallowed hard – one of her hands entwined her fingers with his, the other rose up, stroking his chest, circling around the area beneath which his heart lay.

"Gods, that must have been so painful." She whispered, and he hummed under his breath.

"Mmm. This was the price the gods set for me for Vhagar." He said, and she twisted in her place, rising slightly, looking up at him over his shoulder, her warm breath enveloping his cheek.

"What do you mean?" She asked, and he sighed.

He'd never discussed this with anyone.

Not like this.

"They teased me, you know. Luke. Jace. Aegon. Because I was different. Because I didn't have my dragon. They gave me a big pig with wings and mocked me. They tried to stop me that night too. But they failed." He whispered, feeling a squeeze in his throat, his heart pounding like mad while his thumb stroked her hand.

She was silent for a long moment, but he could hear her uneven breathing, as if she was shocked by what she had heard.

Don't take pity on me, he thought.

Don't give me advice.

Don't try to be my mother.

"Did your brother ever apologise to you for it?" She asked quietly, and he burst into a sudden, short, low uncontrollable laughter.

"Aegon? A king would apologise to his faithful hound? That's what he called me. The hound that barks when he fucks his whore." He sneered and licked his lower lip feeling her embrace him tighter, her nose pressed into the soft skin of his cheek, making him close his eyes, delighted by her closeness and tenderness.

"Does it reflect badly on me that I now regret that your brother did not die in the dragon fire?" She whispered in his ear and he opened his eyes and sighed, his lips parted slightly in a grin of satisfaction.

"No, zaldrītsos. Your soul is pure. Filled with concern for your elder brother." He murmured with contentment, raising their entwined hands to his lips, placing a warm, long kiss on her skin.

She was on his side.

His little sister.

He felt the need to put his feelings into words, but was unable to get them out. Instead, he turned towards her and looked at her – her gaze was warm, full of understanding and care he so desperately needed.

He twisted with a soft purr on the bed and slid his arm under her body, embracing her at the waist, his other hand lifting to her warm, silken cheek. He smiled with the corner of his mouth when he saw her close her eyes, her long lashes glistening in the moonlight as she snuggled her face into his palm.

"Just a few more days, sweet girl. A few more days and everything will be as it should be. I have ordered a larger bed to be placed in my chamber so that my wife will spend all the nights of her life in comfort." He said lightly – she giggled and leaned in, placing a tender, gentle kiss on the tip of his nose from which he felt a pleasant warmth in his chest.

"All of them? Be careful what you wish for, brother. Desires sometimes come true." She said with a glint in her eye from which he grabbed her and turned her with him, forcing her to lie on her back, his lips finding hers in a loud, sticky, greedy kiss of their fleshy lips.

They just kissed lazily for a while, the rustling of their bedding and the quiet clicks of their saliva spreading around them like a whisper, their hands trailing tentatively over their faces, hair, necks and shoulders in gestures that were filled more with tenderness than desire.

He lay down beside her and sighed heavily, embracing her tightly, and her body clung to his instantly, her face sunk into his chest.

"Sleep."

He knew that not everyone in the keep was pleased with his independent decision regarding his betrothal. His mother accepted it, expressing neither objection nor her blessing, while her brother, and his uncle, was more harsh in his judgement.

"You need allies and a fleet, nephew, not a mistress." He told him when they were left alone, approaching him after the finished military meeting he and Criston Cole had chaired.

He looked away and licked his lower lip, then chuckled under his breath as he looked down at his fingers.

"My mistress is Daemon Targaryen's daughter and brings a dragon as a dowry for our army, which means more to us than an unstable pact with the Greyjoys. Meleys has fallen, as has her rider. Daemon is in Harrenhal. Rhaenyra is alone, and Sheepstealer is bigger than Syrax." He said calmly, and his uncle sighed heavily.

"It has come to our attention that three of the bastards have managed to ride dragons great and mighty. Capable of facing Vhagar." Said Gwayne, and he looked at him surprised, feeling his lip clench in rage.

Three?

"Perhaps you should take more than one wife then, like Aegon the Conqueror. Apparently a young girl called Nettles is regarded by Daemon as his daughter, though some whisper that not even the Targaryens would put their cock in their child. And so, opinions are divided on their relationship. Apparently it was because of her that Rhaenyra sent him back to Harrenhal." Said his uncle.

He closed his eyes and bowed his head, burying his face in his hand.

The news that their advantage in the sky was melting again made him furious, but it was the vision of his betrothed if she found out that Daemon had taken a young girl into his care that filled him with dread.

Was she capable of enduring even more humiliation?

"Be careful with your words, uncle. I warn you not to try my patience and forbearance again. You may leave."

Indeed, Gwayne no longer broached the subject of their upcoming nuptials in his presence, however, to his fury, he dared to approach his sister in public.

He stopped, seeing their silhouettes facing each other in the courtyard, his uncle's body taking a step too far towards her. He moved in their direction – his hāedar caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye, her calm smile meant to assure him that she was in control of the situation.

He, however, was furious.

"Hāedar. Skorion massitas (what happened)?" He asked coldly, looking at her expectantly and she threw him a soft, amused look.

He knew she could easily see how tense he was, and her attitude was meant to make him cool down and not explode.

"Aōha kēpus jaelagon naejot gīmigon lo nyke gryves aōha riña iemnȳ nyke (your uncle wants to know if I am carrying your child). Nyke udlitan zirȳla bona gaoman gīmigon daor (I answered him that I do not know)." She said without hesitation, and he closed his eyes and turned his head away, feeling his jaw clench in rage.

Who was he to ask her such brazen, intimate questions, reprimanding her in front of others, demanding answers from her as if she were his subject?

"Henujagon īlva, hāedar (leave us, little sister). Jikagon naejot ñuha tistālion (go to my chamber)." He said matter-of-factly, and she nodded and left them alone without a word.

When he looked at his uncle, Gwayne sighed and raised his eyebrows, as if to tell him that he was to blame himself.

"You're straining my patience." He said through clenched teeth.

His uncle rolled his eyes.

"The whole court knows about what you are doing. What was inappropriate about my question? It is merely my pure curiosity as to when the heir to the throne will come into the world." He said lightly, and he grinned in a way that made Gwayne freeze.

"You'd better concentrate on watching over your sister, and my mother. I don't want any more siblings, if you are aware of what I have in mind, much less from an illegitimate bed. I, as her son, will not rebuke her that the Dowager Queen cannot afford to fuck her own sworn protector. Mmm, I leave this matter to you." He hummed and turned away, leaving his uncle with a look of disbelief on his face.

As he walked into his chamber he felt the frustration of seeing that, despite his command, his betrothed was not there – he sighed, pouring himself a bit of wine into his goblet, thinking that perhaps she wanted to take a bath first, as was her custom.

He had no objection to her coming to him still wet and hot, smelling of floral oils, tasting of pure sweetness under his tongue.

However, after the hour he had spent on the book dedicated to the Riverlands and Harrenhal he had lost patience, knowing it had taken too long.

She had never defied his orders before, nor did she seem to be upset with him, so he began to worry that perhaps something had happened to her.

That was why he finally went out into the corridor and walked a few steps to her quarters, opening the door wide – he stopped, looking at her in disbelief when he saw that she was lying on her bed, staring blankly ahead, dressed exactly as before, a small piece of parchment lying next to her body.

A letter.

Who had delivered it to her without his knowledge?

"Hāedar." He said, hearing the guards close the door behind him with a loud clatter of wood.

She did not move or look at him, as if she had not noticed his presence.

He approached her slowly and reached for the rolled parchment, seeing only a few words on it.

Congratulations on your betrothal Kepa

Kepa.

Daemon.

He felt a wave of heat and cold pierce his body at the same time, the sweat on his back and the constriction in his heart testified to the panic rising within him, which immediately turned into rage.

"Where did you find this? Who brought it to you?" He growled, walking over to her, turning her onto her back and pressing her to the bed with his palms.

"Fucking speak. Shall I kill all your servants?" He hissed coldly, and she swallowed hard, looking up at him at last.

"Lysa told me that one of the guards instructed her to give it to me. According to him, it was supposed to be a letter from you, an expression of your affection." She whispered, and he pressed his lips into a thin line, feeling that he was not breathing, but panting with rage.

"Lie." He hissed, and she shook her head.

"No. I know Lysa. She described his appearance to me accurately, and I know he is the man who keeps watch over your chambers. He has heard everything, Aemond. He has passed on to him what you teach me, what we say. That word, kepa, is his mockery of me. He knows that it was not he who taught it to me, but that I know it and I understand what it means." She muttered, tears of pain, sadness and grief one after the other running down the sides of her face, her full lips parted in a ragged, drawn-out breath.

She was broken.

He swallowed hard and closed his eyes, burying his face in her hand, trying to calm himself.

That there were spies in the Red Keep was obvious, he thought, however, that after what had happened to Jaehaerys the fucking Lord Strong had, as assured, made sure they were all caught.

It appeared that rats were still prowling around them.

"Come here. Come. We'll go to my chamber. You will look at the guards and tell me if any of them fit the description. Don't tell anyone about the letter." He said, grabbing her in his arms and lifted her up, holding her under her buttocks. She threw her arms around his neck and nodded, and he took the parchment in his hand and headed off with her to his quarters.

His guards gave them uncertain glances as they opened the door to his room for him, but they did not say a word. When he laid her down in bed and looked at her he saw that she shook her head.

"It's none of them."

So we can sleep soundly, he thought and sighed heavily, undoing the buckles of his tunic.

For now.

He grabbed the dagger lying on the table and slipped it under one of the pillows, just in case.

"Undress." He commanded.

Let them hear it, he thought.

Daemon and all of Dragonstone.

Let them hear about what he is doing to his daughter.

She looked up at him and nodded, following his lead. When he finally pulled off his breeches and removed his shirt over his head, he saw the blush on her face, as if the sight of his bare body and the fact that he desired her surprised her.

For him it had become natural – his manhood reacted to her proximity and the sight of her without the participation of his will, pulsing greedily in the desire to unite with her.

She raised herself on her elbows as he knelt on the bed before her, his hands loosening the ribbon at the end of her long, complicated braid.

"Untie it." He said, and she smiled sweetly, sitting down in front of him – his hands slipped her nightgown off her shoulders as her hands reached back, curl by curl untangling her hair, letting it fall freely down her back.

Looking at her, at her slightly parted, swollen, glistening lips, at the hot, soft gaze of her dark eyes, at her long lashes, at her smooth face, at her bared body, her shapely breasts and puffy nipples, he thought she was graceful and sweet.

That she was beautiful.

He raised his hand slowly, admiring her like a nymph attending to her daily routine, his fingers stroking her silken, plump breasts in a lazy, soft motion.

"– I crave you – as you can see –" He gasped and rolled his hips so that his erect, hard manhood rubbed tentatively against the space between her thighs – they both sighed as they felt the material of her nightgown was damp, and when he lifted it up he saw the entirety of her pink, glistening womanhood, leaking from her wetness like a stream.

They were silent, tensions all around them, his gaze fixed on what was only his, letting his thumb run over her soft, fleshy folds.

"– ah –" She sighed as he began to lazily tease her small, sensitive bud, the source of her pleasure from where she was melting before his eyes.

"– will you resist me? – will you scream? –" He asked, rocking his hips back and forth, sinking the tip of the fat, smooth head of his cock into her tight slit again and again – her thighs spread wide apart in response, her hands on either side of her head, her gaze locked on the spot where their bodies met, watching what he was doing to her.

"– no, my King –" She whispered, and he looked at her, feeling a wonderful shiver run through him.

My King.

Her words were a betrayal, but a sweet one.

"– your words are punishable by death –" He gasped, feeling his breath grow heavier – they both sighed as he sunk deeper into her warm flesh, each time with the movement of his hips sliding out almost all the way, hitting the same sweet spot deep inside her again and again.

"– punish me then –" She muttered, panting hard, his eye grew large, the need to follow her desires unstoppable.

"– mmm – indeed, I don't want any harm to befall my sister for her words spoken in… ecstasy –" He exhaled, her head tilting back with a sob of pleasure as he forced his way deep into her slick, hot cunt with one, fierce push, each following thrust just a loud smacking of their hips against each other.

"– ah – g-gods, oh, fuck, fuck, yes, save me –" She whimpered, throwing her hands over his shoulders as he leaned lower, imposing an aggressive, sharp pace on her, pounding into her like there was no tomorrow with the loud clicks of her wetness, crushing her body to the bed, which began to creak loudly beneath them.

He looked down, watching in awe as he opened her little cunt wide on the thickest part of his swollen erection, feeling the way her warm, throbbing muscles enclosed it greedily, sucking it inside, begging for his seed.

"– confess your guilt – confess your sin to your betrothed –" He breathed out, grasping her buttocks in his hands, shifting positions so that he lifted himself up on his knees, groaning in pleasure along with her as he felt her from a different angle, savouring the wonderful, ravenous squeezes her walls were giving him.

She looked up at him with effort, quivering and writhing beneath him, her lips parted wide in heavy breaths, her fingers clenched on the pillow under her head while their bare skin slammed against each other with sticky splats.

"– I'm not being faithful to King Aegon, but to his brother – ah – I'm letting him use my body in spite of – i-in spite of the fact that he's not my husband –" She mumbled out with difficulty, just as he being on the verge of fulfilment, sweat running down their hot, naked bodies, his cock all soaked from her wetness, engorged as if it was about to explode inside her.

"– these are indeed grave sins – do not fret – your brother will guide you – fill you with his seed so that you will be pure again – shhh, I know – I know –" He exhaled as she cried out loudly.

She came on his manhood so hard that tears ran down her cheeks – her cunt began to clench around it in spasms of her pleasure, her eyes closed, her eyebrows arched as if he had caused her pain.

He tilted his head back and sighed when, after a few sloppy, sticky, messy thrusts, he reached his peak deep inside her with a loud grunt of satisfaction, feeling strong, invincible, desired, loved.

"– lēkia –" She mewled, panting hard, and he lay down on top of her, hugging her close, her fingers quickly clenching on his back – he could feel her hard nipples, pressed against his bare chest, his cock and her walls pulsing for a moment longer in shared delight and relief.

"– protect me – protect me from him –" She mumbled out.

He swallowed hard and leaned in, placing a warm, tender kiss on the top of her head, his broad hand stroking her hair.

"I will take care of everything. Do not fret. Sleep now and rest." He hummed and she nodded, snuggling into him tighter.

He let her fall asleep in his safe embrace, he, however, looked ahead and thought hard about what he should do with this letter and the informations he had.

Should he kill his guard, or should he interrogate him, torture him to squeeze out of him who he was working with?

Would he be able to get through him to Daemon, to his weaknesses and desires?

Rhaenyra had more dragon riders.

Their advantage was melting once more.

He needed to retake Harrenhal from their hands as quickly as possible, to force the Vale and the rest of the Riverlands to kneel.

He only fell asleep in the morning from exhaustion, snuggled into her warm, soft body, her scent affecting him in the same calming way as the embrace of her arms.

He was awakened by her touch – he hummed, feeling her lazily stroking his hair, his face in natural reflex snuggled between her soft, warm breasts.

Every gentle movement of her fingers, her calm breath, the beating of her heart beneath his cheek was a completion of wholeness for him, something he shared only with her, a closeness that was nothing but a pure need.

They both flinched and pulled away from each other when suddenly the door to his chamber opened wide – he looked there and opened his mouth, furious, wanting to ask who had dared to step inside without permission, his voice, however, stuck in his throat when he caught sight of his grandfather's silhouette walking towards his bed.

Otto stopped halfway and sighed loudly, as if he was disappointed but not surprised – his hāedar quickly covered her breasts with the material of her nightgown, looking at him questioningly, not understanding why he remained silent.

"I was hoping, my grandson, that I would find you alone." His grandsire said serenely, raising one eyebrow in an expression of passive disapproval.

He licked his lower lip, glancing at her uncertainly, her eyes big with terror.

"Henujagon īlva, hāedar (leave us, little sister). Kesan māzigon naejot ao tistālion tolī (I will come to you room later)." He said calmly.

She nodded, quickly grabbing her leather tunic and breeches lying on the floor, stepping around his grandfather without a word, disappearing after a moment behind the door.

He sighed heavily and leaned his back against the bed frame, covering his hips with the fur, looking ahead with a dispassionate expression on his face.

He had done this on purpose.

Nothing his grandfather did was without meaning.

"I heard you wish to become a husband." He teased, putting his hands behind his back, calmly stepping closer to his bed.

"Have you come to dissuade me from that idea?" He asked, turning his head away, for some reason unable to look at him.

He felt humiliated because he saw him in a helpless position, his face cuddled between her breasts, her embrace that he so craved.

He saw his weakness.

"No." He said, surprising him completely. "I came to ask how you can be sure she's faithful to you and the Crown."

He snorted under his breath, grabbing a small rolled piece of parchment that lay on the table next to his bed and threw it in his direction.

Otto halted, and the expression on his face changed – his eyebrows straightened as if he was intrigued, but he did not reach for the note.

"Go on. Read it. She didn't hide it from me." He said defiantly, but his grandfather just looked at him, his gaze gentle.

"I don't need to. I know what it says."

He stared at him in disbelief, feeling his heart stop in his throat, the unpleasant tightness in his stomach making him run out of air in his lungs for a moment.

"Daemon never wrote to her." He muttered.

His grandfather hummed.

"I wanted to see how she would behave. To be honest, I'm positively surprised. I was certain she'd be hiding it for a while, terrified of what you'd do to her and her servants when you found out." Otto said lightly.

He pressed his lips together, feeling that inside he was boiling all over with rage.

"You bribed my guard to spy on me for you?" He hissed through clenched teeth, feeling like a small, deceived child again.

His grandsire laughed at his words.

"I didn't bribe him. I ordered him to watch over my grandson and keep me informed of what was happening in the keep in my absence. Did you think that I simply abandoned you? That I no longer cared about you?" He asked with furrowed brows, stepping closer to his bed.

He swallowed hard, looking away from his eyes, too piercing and wise, feeling like he was ten years old again.

He was silent.

"What happened to your brother. Did you have anything to do with it?" Otto asked finally.

He closed his eyes and shook his head, grinning broadly.

Of course he thought he had something to do with it.

"No. But I don't delude myself that you will believe me. My brother thought he knew everything better and didn't listen to the advice of those wiser than himself." He said lightly.

Otto hummed under his breath.

"Are you planning to follow in his footsteps?" He asked matter-of-factly.

He swallowed heavily, feeling his jaw clench as hard as if it was going to burst.

"I'm going to marry her. It's already decided."

"That's not what I mean."

"Then what do you mean?" He growled, looking at him angrily, impatient and embarrassed that he was having such a conversation with him while he was standing over him lying in his bed, bare.

"If you wish me to become your Hand, you must not make the mistakes of your brother. You must listen to the advice of people more mature and wiser than yourself." He said, and he felt the corner of his mouth twitch in a grimace.

"Listen to advices, yes – but do not think that I do not know you and your gift for manipulation." He said and turned his head away. "I know, however, how devoted you are to our family. Mmm, I wish you to be the one to reassure my betrothed – explain to her your intrigue and your reason for it. I expect you to take her father's place during our nuptials."

His grandfather was silent for a long time, looking at him thoughtfully.

"Yes." He said in a way from which he felt a cold sweat on his back. "I will gladly speak with her alone."

[cami040405]

Firstly: Oh em gosh, I'm actually so in love with your writing style it's crazy and thank you a thousand <3

Secondly: Okokok, can I please request Bo Sinclair and Thomas introducing their family to their (Fem or GN) s/o that is their total opposite and/or similarly; Vincent and Carrie introducing their family to their bff!Reader that's their total opposite? Feel absolutely free to do only one of these/include whoever else you'd like to write for, please and thank you sm in advance love ♡

SLASHERS WITH A S/O WHO IS THEIR OPPOSITE

Summary: Imagine Bo Sinclair, Thomas Hewitt, and Carrie White introducing their S/O to their family who are the complete opposite of them.

Includes: Bo Sinclair, Thomas Hewitt & Carrie White

A/N: I'm sorry for the delay in writing this request, I was recovering from wisdom tooth surgery, but anyway, I hope you like it, your ideas are always great. :3

Bo Sinclair

"The Storm and the Sunlight"

The sun had just begun to dip behind the skeletal trees surrounding Ambrose, casting the whole town in an amber glow that made the waxy silence feel even heavier than usual. Bo Sinclair leaned on the hood of his old truck, cigarette dangling lazily from his lips, boots dusted with gravel. The engine still ticked behind him, cooling with little pings and hisses that were the only noise—aside from your voice.

“Bo,” you said softly, fingers laced nervously in front of you. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

You looked so out of place it made his jaw tighten. White sundress, soft curls, kindness practically bleeding from your pores. A gentle soul in a graveyard.

He took a drag and exhaled slowly, eyes squinting at you in the light. “Ain’t about good or bad, sugar. It’s just time.” A pause. “They’re my family. And now… you’re too, right?”

You smiled at that, the kind of smile that made Bo’s insides itch. Not because he didn’t like it—but because it was too good. Too clean for the kind of man he was. For the place you were stepping into.

The doors to the old church creaked when you stepped inside. Dust swirled in the air like ghosts. The pews were empty, except for Vincent in the front, working silently on a wax figure. His hands moved with eerie grace, focused, methodical. He didn’t look up until Bo cleared his throat.

“Vin,” Bo said gruffly. “Got someone I want you to meet.”

Vincent turned his head slowly. His mask caught the amber light like glass, his head tilting with curiosity.

“This here’s my girl,” Bo added. “She’s… well, she’s different.”

You stepped forward—nervous, but not frightened. Your eyes didn’t recoil at Vincent’s appearance. You didn’t flinch. You smiled, gentle and warm, like spring melting snow.

“Hi, Vincent,” you said sweetly. “I’ve seen your sculptures. They’re… breathtaking.”

Vincent stilled. That wasn’t a word people used around them. Not without fear lacing it. But you meant it. He could tell. Bo watched, arms crossed, chewing the inside of his cheek. He expected Vincent to turn away, to ignore her like he did most strangers. But instead, his brother gave the slightest, most careful nod… and reached over to uncover a small half-finished wax sculpture—an animal figurine. A gift in his own language.

Bo was stunned.

Later, Lester showed up, as he always did, uninvited and covered in whatever he’d been dragging through the woods. He eyed you like you were a hallucination.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Lester laughed. “Bo, you bring home a Sunday school teacher?”

You didn’t snap back. You didn’t wrinkle your nose. Instead, you chuckled, brushing hair behind your ear. “Not quite. But I do love animals. Do you have dogs?”

Bo tensed, expecting Lester to say something dumb. But instead, Lester’s eyes lit up. “Hell yeah, I do! Wanna meet ‘em?”

“Of course,” you beamed.

Bo stared, not saying a word. He wasn’t used to watching someone soothe the madness around him. You didn’t tame it—you didn’t try to change anyone. You just was, like a cool breeze cutting through a humid storm. When night fell, you sat on the Sinclair porch, and you leaned your head against Bo’s shoulder. His arm wrapped around your waist without thinking.

“You sure you’re not scared of us?” he murmured.

You were quiet for a moment. “I think there’s good in all of you… even if the world doesn’t see it. You protect each other. You’re loyal. That means something.”

Bo swallowed hard. “You know what we’ve done. What I’ve done.”

“I’m not stupid,” you said, your voice soft but firm. “But you’ve never hurt me. You don’t scare me, Bo. You confuse me sometimes. You frustrate me. But you also love me… in your own way.”

He looked at you, something raw and unspoken in his eyes. You were sunlight in a coffin. And maybe he didn’t deserve you, maybe you’d end up cracked and jaded like the rest of Ambrose—but for now, you were his

And God help anyone who tried to take that from him.

.

Thomas Hewitt

The old Hewitt house creaked under the weight of the Texas sun. Dust floated through the air, making golden beams from the few cracked windows. Thomas stood silently by the doorway, his massive hand engulfing yours. You were a vision compared to everything inside — clean, bright-eyed, the complete opposite of the world he came from.

As they stepped inside, Hoyt’s voice echoed from the kitchen. 

“Well, well, well... What did we get here, Tommy boy?”

Thomas tensed immediately, his shoulders stiff, but you squeezed his hand in silent reassurance.

Hoyt sauntered into the living room, wiping his hands on a dirty cloth, his eyes raking over you like you were something he'd never seen before. You stood your ground, even though your fingers tightened just a little around Thomas's. Your smile, though small, was steady.

“Hi... I’m, um, Y/N,” you said politely. Your voice was soft, almost too pure for the grime-stained walls around you. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Hoyt chuckled, the sound low and sharp. “Nice, huh? Ain't nobody nice around here, sweetheart. You sure you're in the right place?”

Thomas grunted low in his chest, a warning. His free hand twitched toward the chainsaw by the door, but you stepped forward before things could escalate, brushing your fingers lightly over Thomas’s wrist.

“I’m exactly where I want to be,” you said, so gently it almost startled Hoyt into silence.

Monty rolled in from the hallway, his old wheelchair squeaking. His sharp eyes scanned you from head to toe. “Pretty little thing. Bet you ain't used to dirt under them nails.”

Thomas lowered his head in shame, but you just smiled—brighter this time—and knelt slightly so you were at Monty’s level.

“I can get used to it,” you said. “Family’s more important than clean hands.”

Monty barked a surprised laugh and patted you on the shoulder with a rough hand. “Well, hell, maybe you do belong.”

From the kitchen, Luda Mae finally emerged, wiping flour off her apron. Her mouth pressed into a thin line when she saw you, wary at first. But you stepped forward and extended both your hands like a prayer offering.

“I brought something,” you said, pulling a small, neatly wrapped loaf of bread from her bag. “I made it myself. I thought maybe... we could share.”

There was a beat of silence where the whole house seemed to hold its breath. Thomas stared at you, his heart hammering in his chest like a drum. He couldn’t believe it — you weren't just tolerating his family; you were offering them kindness.

Luda Mae took the bread carefully, her weathered face softening. “Well, aren’t you just somethin’ special,” she murmured, her voice catching in her throat. Thomas felt your hand brush against his again, like a silent thread tying you to him, to this broken home he never thought you could accept.

As the evening wore on, you listened to Monty's long-winded stories, even laughed at Hoyt’s twisted jokes when appropriate, never letting go of Thomas for long. You helped Luda Mae set the table, humming under her breath — a soft sound that filled the hollow spaces in the house like sunlight through the boarded windows.

Later, after dinner, Thomas found you sitting on the porch swing, your head resting against the chain, staring up at the stars.

When he sat beside you, the swing groaned under his weight. He didn’t know what to say — he almost never did — but you turned toward him with that same soft smile and tucked yourself into his side without hesitation.

“They’re rough,” you whispered, “but... they’re yours. That means something to me.”

Thomas’s throat tightened, an unfamiliar burning behind his eyes. He wrapped his arms around you carefully, like you were something fragile he didn’t want to break.

In the dark, under the endless stretch of sky, he realized:

For the first time in his life,

something gentle had chosen to stay.

.

Carrie White

Carrie stood nervously by the old iron gate outside her home, twisting the strap of her worn dress between her fingers. Her heart raced as she waited, feeling like at any moment, the world might split open just for daring to do something so bold.

And then she saw you.

Striding down the cracked sidewalk, head held high, a spark in your eyes that never seemed to dim. You were everything she wasn’t — fearless where she trembled, loud where she whispered, fierce where she was soft. You smiled as you saw her — a real smile, wide and warm, and Carrie's cheeks flushed pink immediately. She shifted from foot to foot.

"You look beautiful," you said without hesitation, reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind her ear.

Carrie lowered her head, the praise too much, too overwhelming, but it filled something inside her that had been empty for too long.

"Y-you sure you wanna come inside?" she stammered. "Mama... she’s... she’s real strict."

You only grinned, fearless. "I’m not scared."

Carrie’s breath caught in her throat. Maybe you should be, she thought. But she couldn’t say it. She didn’t want to push you away.

You held out your hand, palm up.

"Come on, Care. I’m here for you."

With a trembling breath, Carrie slipped her hand into yours, and together, you stepped into the lion’s den. The house was dark and heavy, the air thick with the smell of old wood and something sharper — fear, maybe. Religious icons stared down from every corner. Carrie's shoulders hunched automatically, but you walked tall, squeezing her hand in silent support.

From the kitchen, Margaret White emerged, her face pinched and tight as a clenched fist.

"Who's this?" her voice sliced through the air like a knife.

Margaret’s eyes raked over you, judgmental, suspicious — you, with your leather jacket, your confident gaze, your very existence defying everything she believed in.

Carrie shrank slightly, but you stepped forward, your smile unwavering.

"I’m Y/N," you said brightly. "I’m Carrie's friend. It's real nice to meet you, ma’am."

Margaret's mouth twisted. "Friend?" she hissed, like it was a dirty word.

Carrie’s heart thudded painfully in her chest. She waited for you to back down, to leave, to abandon her like everyone else.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you slid your arm gently around Carrie’s shoulders, anchoring her, steadying her.

"I care about her," you said simply, your voice low but strong. "A lot."

Margaret recoiled as if slapped. "You'll drag her down into sin," she whispered, voice trembling with fury. "You’ll open her up to wickedness—"

"Or maybe," you interrupted, voice calm but cutting, "I'll lift her up. Help her see she deserves to be happy."

Carrie's eyes widened, tears prickling at the corners. No one had ever — ever — defended her like that.

Margaret’s hands clenched into fists at her sides.

"Get out," she snapped. "Both of you."

You nodded coolly. "Fine by me."

Turning to Carrie, you softened instantly. "You coming with me, sweetheart?"

Carrie froze — torn, terrified — until you gently touched her cheek, your thumb tracing her skin as if she were something precious. And in that touch, she found something stronger than fear: hope.

Carrie nodded, her small hand slipping into yours once more. Margaret screamed, a high, keening sound that rattled the walls, but Carrie didn't look back.

Not this time.

Outside, the night air was crisp and new against her skin. Carrie shivered, not from fear, but from the thrill of freedom.

"You okay?" you asked quietly.

Carrie looked at you — your fire, your light — and for the first time in her life, she believed maybe she could be more than the scared little girl trapped in the shadows.

"I am now," she whispered, and smiled — a real smile, small but brave.

And as you both disappeared into the dark, Carrie clung to you, the total opposite she never knew she needed, the spark that might just save her from the storm brewing inside.

.

[moonlight-joy]

The Dragon’s Bargain

Fandom: House of Dragon

Summary: When duty binds you to marry the fire and fury of Daemon Targaryen, his unyielding ambition and magnetic presence force you to confront the line between destiny and defiance, as you stand on the precipice of a union that could either empower you or consume you entirely.

Pairing: Reader/Daemon Targaryen

The chamber was cold despite the roaring fire in the hearth. You sat stiffly on the velvet-cushioned chair, your hands resting in your lap as the gravity of your father’s words settled over you like a stormcloud.

“You will marry Daemon,” he had said, his voice steady, betraying neither joy nor regret. “It is a match befitting our house, and one that will secure our bloodline's future.”

Your breath hitched, though you willed yourself to appear composed. It wasn’t fear that clawed at your chest—not entirely. It was the knowledge of what such a union truly meant. Daemon was no stranger to you. He was fire and fury, a man who bent the world to his will without apology. Marrying him would be no small undertaking; it would be a plunge into the inferno.

“Have I no say in this matter, Father?” you asked, your voice calm but laced with steel. “Or has my fate already been sealed?”

He gave you a long look, one that spoke of duty and resignation. “It is for the good of the realm,” he said simply. “And for you. Daemon has insisted… and he has assured me you will not regret this.”

Assured him. The words echoed mockingly in your mind. When had Daemon Targaryen ever been known for restraint, much less assurances of comfort? Still, you knew your father’s decision was final. Resistance would be futile.

You sat there long after he left, staring into the flames as they consumed the wood with a hunger that felt all too familiar. You knew it would not be long before Daemon came to claim what he believed was his.

---

The wait was not long.

When the door to your chambers opened, you knew it was him before you turned. His presence was unmistakable, a force that drew all the air from the room. He strode inside without hesitation, his silver hair catching the flickering light of the fire, his dark eyes fixed on you with a predatory gleam.

“So,” he drawled, the corner of his mouth curling into a smirk. “You’ve heard the news.”

You stood, refusing to let him loom over you while you sat. “It seems I’ve little choice in the matter, my prince.”

“Daemon,” he corrected, his voice a silken command. He took a step closer, and though you held your ground, you felt the heat of him, like standing too close to dragonfire. “You should practice saying it. Soon enough, it will be the only name you’ll need.”

You lifted your chin, meeting his gaze with as much defiance as you could muster. “You seem quite pleased with yourself,” you said, your tone cutting. “Did you have to twist my father’s arm to make this happen?”

Daemon chuckled, low and rich, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “Twist his arm? No,” he said, his smirk widening. “I merely showed him the wisdom of aligning with me. The Targaryen way is stronger when we are united, niece. Surely you see that.”

He reached out, his fingers brushing your cheek. The gesture was surprisingly gentle, though it did little to quell the storm inside you. “You will be my wife,” he murmured, his voice softer now, but no less commanding. “And more than that, you will be my queen. Together, we will remind the world of what it means to fear the blood of the dragon.”

“Queen?” you repeated, your breath catching. “What are you saying?”

Daemon’s smile darkened, a glint of ambition sparking in his eyes. “Your father has named you his heir. With you by my side, we will have both the crown and the dragons to claim what is ours. This is no mere marriage, my dear. It is destiny.”

Your stomach churned at his words, at the sheer audacity of them. And yet, there was something intoxicating about his certainty, his unrelenting belief that you belonged together, that together you could conquer the world.

“You speak as though I have already agreed,” you said, your voice trembling despite your attempt to sound firm.

Daemon stepped closer, his hand sliding down to grasp yours. His touch was warm, almost searing, and you couldn’t pull away. “You will agree,” he said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You are mine, little dragon. And I am yours. The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be.”

He raised your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. The act should have felt tender, but it only heightened the tension thrumming between you. His lips lingered, his gaze never leaving yours, as if daring you to deny him.

Your heart thundered in your chest, your thoughts a chaotic mess of anger, fear, and something far more dangerous—desire. Daemon was a man who burned with intensity, who drew you in even as you longed to escape. To marry him would be to bind yourself to a tempest, to risk being consumed by his fire. And yet…

“What happens if I refuse?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Daemon’s smile returned, sharp and knowing. “You won’t,” he said simply. His confidence was maddening, infuriating. But it was also infectious. “You are a dragon, just as I am. We are meant to fly together, not apart.”

The fire crackled in the hearth, the only sound in the room as his words hung in the air. He released your hand, but his gaze remained locked on yours, waiting.

And you realized, with a sinking feeling, that he was right. Perhaps you had never truly had a choice at all.

Please support my work with like and comment

[lixies-favorite-cookie]

Rewrite the ending

-Just once, let him rewrite the story; Just once, he promises you will never have to watch the same ending again.

Paring◦ felix x mommy issues!reader

Genre ◦ smut with pain

Warnings ◦ The reader is described as having mommy issues though the argument is very brief so it can connect with more people, angst, talk about knives, PIV sex, CONSENT, ngl this is just some passionate lovemaking, tears during sex, references to the princess bride the greatest love story of all time I will die on this hill,

Taglist ◦ @thetoastghost222, @ur-fav-lvr, @velvetmoonlght

A/N ◦ This is literally a story solely based on an experience I just had with my mother and needed something to comfort me while I have a mental breakdown 😃 also if you liked this man I have mommy issues I severely need reassurance 😭

can somebody please tell me if this is convoluted because I tried to make it poetic but I don't know if I just made it messy. THANK YOU.

Soundtrack ◦ Family Line by Conan Grey, Cover me by Stray Kids

~cookiecreates 🍪

The screen flickers off.

The velvet curtains close.

The world fades to black.

The End

Your ribs crack open, heavy sobs echoing through the gaps of your unfolded bones. Your hands make purchase around your shredded soul, the warm liquid of your sorrows trickling through your splayed fingers like the shadow's phantom finger tracing the lines of your melancholy, dusting over the hill of your cheeks. 

One more time.

Just one more time.

You rewind the tape-

The velvet curtains stutter open.

The screen flashes white.

Just one more time.

How many times could you watch the same movie before you realized the ending would never change?

You rewind the tape-

How many times could you lick her love off the edge of a knife before you realize the blade will never dull?

You slide the tip across your tongue-

Just one more time.

Please.

Just pretend to love me one more time.

"For once, can you admit that you're wrong?" you snap, attempting to steady your rising voice. 

You've been arguing with your mother for centuries, your breath grating across your throat like grains of sharpened sand. Talking to her was like bouncing wisdom off a wall; it will only ever come to bite you in the ass-

"I did what I had to do to teach you discipline; you were unruly-"

or punch you in the face.

"I was nine!" you shout, a weak and wounded cry. "Nine!"

How could she not see that?

"I did it because I loved you."

She rips your heart out of your chest, only to dust a gentle finger underneath the curve of your jaw; her sweet smile coaxes your lips open; she was your mother, and yet, with a wicked gaze, she draws her fingers together—you choke, a thick river of blood flows onto your tongue like a bitter stream of a thousand broken promises.

There was so much you wanted to say to her.

"Maybe you should reevaluate your definition of love."

"Maybe you should have just been a better daughter."

"Only she could spread sugar across your skin before feeding your soul to the ants."

The signal of an ended call rings through your ears as the world fades to black.

The velvet curtains close.

The screen flickers off.

The movie sputters to a stop.

The End

All you wanted to hear was I'm sorry.

All you have ever wanted to hear was I'm sorry.

You are far too entranced with the stillness of your spine to hear the door creak open, Felix’s hesitant footsteps carefully creep closer. It is only when he mumbles a soft, saturnine "sweetheart" that you finally feel something-

"How did it go?" Felix believed the strings of your souls were so intertwined, the two of you experienced emotions the way an instrument feels the thrum of a cord; but as your heart pumps with an intangible amount of anguish, maybe even for you, some feelings were simply too subjective to share.

It is only when your heart has been crushed by fingers made of feathers do you start caring a lot less about the hands made of knives.

How desperately he wishes he was a human with hinges, where he may unscrew his soul and allow your eyes to gaze upon his walls, with the knowledge that they were only ever painted with the thought of you.

He would not hurt you-

Please, collapse into him, just once-

Let him prove that you will never have to fall again-

Wordlessly, thoughtlessly, your hand chases his touch, a million different uncompleted sentences dissipating as soon as your skin connects; your fingers beg, hold me, even as your mouth shutters shut, dusty rivulets cascading across your cheeks like the desert's silky sand.

You were empty.

so, so, very empty-

Felix's soothing hands lock underneath the bend of your knees, pulling you into his warm embrace with a rush of unregistered movements.

You rewind the tape.

Just one more time.

You needed to be reminded of what it was like to not constantly live with the echo of a hollow soul.

Just one more time.

You needed to be reminded of what it was like to hear something other than a deafening crescendo of pure contempt.

Just one more time.

"Please," you have lived so much of your life caught in a perpetual state of emptiness, for once, you wanted to remember what your body was like before your mother bore you with the heavy burden of broken wings.

"Touch me," you shove the palm of his hand into your core, pleading with so much of your soul none left to protest. He gasps into your mouth, his face scrawled with worry, the etch of a million different fears drawn into the deep lines of his forehead.

Just once

Let him rewind the film

Just once

You will never have to watch the same ending again.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" Though his words are unsure, his actions tell a different story; tender hands massage the length of your thighs, reluctantly begging you to open up, to unfold your deformed ribs, where he will fill your hollow bones with the type of love you have only ever yearned for.

Just once.

"I need you."

You need him more than you need your heart to beat, your lungs to breathe; you need him more than you need the birds, the bees, the ground, the trees—

He lays you upon the silken sheets with such soulful kindness that your glassy eyes almost break; his heart thrums with the promise of I love you and the vow of I'll make you fly. His hand dips into the band of your shorts, pleasure peeking out from the shadows of your mind, only ever bobbing its head long enough to fill your skin with a minute tingling sensation—like running your hands under hot water after a long day in the snow, but it was not enough.

"I need you," you gasp into his mouth, his throat desperately sucking the sound in. His eyes widen ever so slightly, his features stricken with a sudden tightness, a burdened tonnage; you were handing him your heart with the hope his hands weren't made of blades, and the idea of the utter trust you have put in him to do that makes his stomach flip.

Just once—

He will prove it all to you.

"As you wish," nostalgia flutters in your veins as you reminisce the sentence pulled straight from the greatest love story ever told. His nose nudges the column of your throat as he presses a peck on your flesh, drifting his arms down to unceremoniously pull off his pants.

Even with such a simple act, he makes the effort to remind you that he is here.

He takes his time removing your clothes, fingers sliding across your skin with a delicate intimacy, a tender reverence; his lips trace the lines of your seams until your very atoms are etched with his name.

I hate her

I love you

I love you

I love you

He coupled every leak of anger with a river of love, kissing your limbs until all your body could remember was the pureness of his ardor.

"Are you ready?" he whispers against your skin, lining himself with your entrance, all he needs is a word to finally sink himself in. Your eyes are glassy, gazing up at him with such an unadulterated passion, a pure amount of pain—this will tear you apart, and he promises with every fiber of his being, he will put you back together.

"Yes." You have lived most of your life with the heavy burden of a body’s broken wings, and it isn't until Felix’s crafted hands finally crease your ribs that you realize origami can only emerge when you fold it up, the way a bird can only fly when it falls.

You are an amalgamation; so much of your soul is lost in his lips you don't know where he begins and you end, but when a rush of pleasure tingles up your spine, you don't care.

The world is tangled somewhere on the edge of in-between space and time, melding together into a mushy, gushy substance that slips through your fingers as they lace in his raven locks. You pour all your pain into the slit of his lips, where he sucks in every drop, leaving no room for your protests.

You were both overcome with a flood of delicate feelings—the passion that surged with the twists of your heartbeats began to be too much to bear; as his hips ruthlessly rut into yours, you cry out, chasing the edge of a daydream. So close, so close, so—his lips taste like I love you and his tears like I'm here. You can only hear the crash of your soul shattering before his ginger fingers sew you back together.

The juxtaposition of that orgasm was astounding.

You both slam down into the earth at the same time, holding each other's tired bodies as the ground swallows you up.

His arms lock around your head, quivering as he struggles to hold himself up, droplets of tears land on your cheeks as they dip down the slope of his nose. He was so perfect-

so, so, very perfect.

Your mouth raises to kiss a tear clinging to the tip of his nose. He chokes, squeezing his eyes shut. You both are thrumming with tension, overflowing with emotion; before you can even blink, he is pulling you to his chest, naked and sticky, he holds you closer than you have ever been.

It is through the tears of others that we remember we are alive.

Just one more time.

Rewind the tape and let him kiss your shattering soul with the knowledge that has already rewritten the ending.

Just once-

Collapse into him.

Let him prove that this story really is—

The End  

©CookieCreates (posted: August, 12th 2024) All rights reserved. Do not translate, copy, or claim my works as yours! I only post on this platform so if any of my works are elsewhere, report and notify me immediately.

~cookiecreates 🍪