#Source dragon of flow

[user-without-a-cool-acronym]

I know you're both ninjago and Epic the musical fan, so hear me out: God Games but instead of Athena, it's Lloyd trying to convince the Source Dragons to forgive Arin

YESSSSSS

There are slight allusions to something that happens in season 3 part 2 in this, as well as the name of one of the source dragons that is revealed there, so spoiler cut

Energy could be like Apollo, an easier entrance to the whole thing since Lloyd is his conduit

Then Motion as Hephaestus, still relatively easy

Life as Aphrodite and Strength as Ares

Flow as Hera, because we haven't seen her involve herself in the show yet in any way and there needs to be one for Hera

And finally for spoilery reasons: Focus as Zeus

[lexithequeenofgay]

Interesting... (Glen Lakin answered a question)

[the-ninja-legacy-whip]

Theoretically speaking, which Source Dragon do you think Surprise would fall under?

If we go by the logic of Surprise being 'derived' from Lightning, then it'd fall under the Source Dragon of Energy

If we go by the logic of Surprise's role in the overall elemental fabric of reality, then it would fall under the Source Dragon of Life

[zehrbear]

Bones and All

pairing : Dragon!Sylus x fem!Reader

cw: smut, monsterfucking, predator-prey, blood, double P in V, being restrained with his tail, reader has tits and a vagina, sylus wants to eat you :3

Sylus is obsessed with how soft you are.

He’s enthralled by the curve of your hips, the way you yield beneath his claws that leave hollow indents behind on your flesh with every squeeze. You’re his favorite possession, his greatest indulgence to hoard.

The reminder strikes him as he watches you lounging atop the velvet settee, oblivious and serene, against a backdrop of gold and glittering that gleam in the dim light of the cave. His reptilian gaze lingers, drinking in the way your body bends and twists, the natural grace of you as you stretch when you think no one is watching. The lazy roll of your spine, the shifting of your thighs, it all leaves his claws twitching with the need to claim you. He pictures your body beneath him, all pliant and willing, as he maps each curve. He imagines mouthing at your jaw, his lips grazing down your neck to drink in the scent of you.

You’re always so sweet. So soft. So warm.

So fresh.

The thought teeters on the edge of something darker. A place where the line between desire and hunger blurs into a bloody haze as he grapples with his conflicting feelings. As he finds himself unable to discern between his mate and his feed for the night. 

Your head snaps to the side when you hear the sudden shifting of gold, the sliding of coins that lay scattered across the ground against one another, as they do when pushed by something heavy. 

“Sylus?” Your voice is higher than you intended, raw with unease. 

There’s no response. His name echoes back at you, hollow and mocking before the sound suddenly stops. You turn sharply, pulse roaring in your ears, only to meet with nothing.

It doesn’t feel right. Every instinct screams at you to run, but your legs feel like they're in quicksand; lethargic, heavy, unable to move. It feels like you’re sinking into the gold beneath you shifting right below your feet. Your breaths come shallow, rapid, each one colder than the last as you look around for the source of your panic. That is, until your gaze lands on two scarlet eyes, wide and predatory, gazing right at you from the shadows before it disappears once more. 

He’s stalking you.

Coins spill and clatter, tumbling in a slow cascade down mountainous piles on either side of the cave’s walls. You spin again, your movements frantic, and it’s as if the shadows are alive - seeping into every crevice, pooling at the edges of your vision.

You feel him circling you. You swear you can when a brush of heat grazes against your arm, making you jolt upright. Your head jerking to the side to catch a glimpse of him, but once more, you’re met with nothing but the ghost of a touch and the roaring of your blood in your ears.

“S-Sylus?” you whisper this time, a breathless sound barely audible, and in that moment you don’t know if you’re calling for him to reveal himself or begging him to stay hidden.

A growl rolls out of the dark, low and resonant, reverberating through the cave and into your very bones. And in that moment, every part of you screams prey. The frantic thrum of your pulse, the quivers of your body, the way your breath comes shallow and quick betraying the fear you can’t possibly hide.

It’s intoxicating to him.

The world blurs as something crashes into you, an overwhelming force that knocks the breath from your lungs. The gold shifts violently beneath you as you’re thrown back, coins scattering and clattering in a deafening storm. Your body hits the ground hard, sharp edges biting into your skin. You gasp, chest heaving as panic flows through your every vein. 

Before you can even process it, he’s on you.

Sylus looms above you, all dark scales and burning lust, his massive form blocking out the light with a presence that eclipses everything else. A claw makes its way to your face, tilting it upwards and baring your neck to him as the other holds you down by the shoulder, pinning you down easily. You twist and squirm trying to break free, but it’s futile as his scorpion-like tail wraps around your middle, sinuous and heavy, and locks you in place.

His chest heaves, his breath hot and heavy against your skin as he lowers his face to yours. His eyes are blown wide, the red of his irises swallowed by darkness, fixed on you with a singular, unrelenting focus. He’s panting, his jaw unhinging just enough for his fangs to glint in the dim light as the slick heat of drool drips onto your skin.

You’re so small beneath him, fragile in ways that ignite something primal within his system. His jaws part as he leans closer, the sharp points of his fangs grazing your neck, teasing the delicate skin stretched thin over the artery thrumming wildly beneath. The sound of your racing heartbeat filling his ears and stirring up a hunger so deep it makes his chest ache.

The conflict burns in him, a raging fire that twists his hunger into something far more dangerous, a carnal need to consume you. Your soul. Your flesh. Your very bones. His tail curls tighter around your middle, possessive and unyielding, locking you in place like a predator fearing his prize might escape. You’re so soft, so flush with life, and it would be so easy to take that all away. To have you fill his mouth another way. To hear your cries warp into screams and see your wide eyes filled with terror.

His hips shift, pressing his arousal against you, the ridges of his twin cocks sliding along your trembling core. The slick heat of his pre smears against your skin, marking you in ways that send a shiver through him as his claws flex again, almost breaking skin this time.

It’s like your every nerve is alight; sparks flurrying throughout your body in flashes of electricity as you feel the weight of him pressing against you. Your cunt tightens as he moves closer, as he prods against your entrance, stretching you out with just the tip of him as your walls flutter around him and you grow lightheaded with fear, or is it anticipation?

Could this heady feeling a mix of both?

“You’re afraid.” He growls low, satisfied with the way you gasp and arch beneath him as if your body is betraying you.

The sound of his voice curls in your ear, cutting through the fuzz as his teeth sink into the tender flesh of your neck. Sharp points puncture the delicate skin, wrenching a cry from your lips as ruby beads spill and trickle down your throat in a warm, sticky stream. You tremble, caught in a storm of sensation- each spark, each bite of pain, tangled with a pleasure you can’t understand. One that thickens as he shifts his weight, as his hips roll against you with deliberate pressure and the burn of him stretching you open wrenches a choked cry from your lips. He shudders at the sound, growl deepening as his hunger sharpens and it takes everything in him not to give in, to tear you apart and savour the feel of your flesh between his teeth, your blood , metallic and warm in his mouth.

Soft, so soft, and so sweet.

Will she feel this warm when she’s no longer moving? 

As he sinks into your heat, stretching deliciously around both cocks despite the fear in your eyes and the tremors wracking through your body… as he feels the slick coating your inner thighs and your clit pulsing below the tip of his tail, he realizes the truth of it. 

This hunger of his will never go away, will always linger just beneath the surface where it threatens to break and envelop him completely. But this unbearable need to make you his over and over again, is stronger.

Though it’s too much, too overwhelming - your body still clings to him, greedily taking more as though you were made for this, for him. It’s a feeling that coils around you, binding and inescapable. Like a tail wrapped around your middle, tethering you together while he feasts on you.

The pull of something neither of you can suppress.

@awwitschuu <3

[lustlovehart]

Hard Stoned Gallery Dance

A/n: This was made like monthhsss ago, so I’m posting it as forgiveness for the lack of work i’ve been doing.

Pairing: [ Monster!Twst ] Malleus Draconia x Reader

Summary: Dancing is a beautiful past time, yet such a pretty act is ruined, when Malleus decides to let his affections for you run rampant. (Wc: 1.9k)

Warnings: Kissing & Licking, Murder/Death of Minor Characters (Not explicit), Possessive traits, Clinginess bordering obsession, a little blood, Biting/Marking

Your head leans itself on the rough surface of the stone wall. You’ve finished your objective for the day, so giving yourself this break is well deserved, ten minutes free of Crowley’s nagging is still freedom despite how it sounds. Your eyes can’t help but look up at the pretty blue sky, it stings to look at but you don’t mind the pain, seeing something so clear is worth it.

That cloud looks like a cat.

…

The taste of indulgence is quickly stripped out your grasp when the familiar sound of dragging stone resonates through the air, grating to your ears.

“Child of hunters, what may you be doing here?” His rock-hard face interrupts your view of the sky, green solid eyes look down on you as he casts a shadow on your visage.

Despite his body being made of pure stone, his eyes give a faint green glow, as if a bioluminescent moss grew there. His hair, his wings, and even his tail freely flowed as if he were just a regular Dragon hybrid. But alas, he is some sort of statue— Oh no not a statue, in his words a gargoyle.

You forgot about the difference one time and in turn, he gave you a 3-hour lecture on the difference between a grotesque and other gargoyles. Never again…

“I’m trying to hide from my boss.”

“Shall I be rid of him for you?” His mouth forms a little o as a small puff of a green flame releases from him.

“That would be a bad idea, I’d lose my source of income.” He quirks an eyebrow up at this., to be fair, you don’t think he has any clue what a “payday” is.

Despite his confusion, he lifts from his bowing form, a hand reaching out towards you in all its mossy glory. You’ve known him long enough to know what he wants.

A dance.

You don’t try to hide your exasperation as you take his invitation, albeit a bit slow. His stone body quickly pulls you up and into him. With how much tamer his form is compared to other beasts you know, it’s hard to remember that he’s part dragon, and even worse is part of the only few monsters who know magic.

So as of right now, this marks your third time dancing with one of the worst monstrosities currently on the bounty list. No maybe not one of the worst… From what you remember from Crowley’s ramblings (which isn’t much since you tune him out when possible) he’s probably the most dangerous.

You get the basic idea, but you’ve never truly seen for yourself why he’s considered so terrible. Is he not just a glorified water spout? Compared to a Kraken and an Incubus, surely his damage isn’t so grand to be warranted as the biggest beast to hunt.

“You’ll always be welcomed in my castle, you would not be short of accommodations either.” his hand rests upon your waist, pulling you closer than need be. His invasion of personal space is akin to a parasite leeching off its host, but you let him feed of you. Whether it’s from fear or a bond, you’re not decided.

Your movements are sluggish at best, but you can still remember the basic steps in the dance, your foot sloppily setting itself down where it should be, the occasional step on stone happening once or twice though.

“Considering the current state it’s in… is that even safe for me to walk in…? It looks like one good shout and the bricks holding the place together will crumble apart…”

“That is just the disguise we give it, as to not alert others of our presence. For you though, I’m willing to make it stand out if it makes you happy.” The hand lying on your waist retracts itself as he takes his other clawed limb and twirls you around, falling back into position when the spin is done.

“… I’ll think about it.”

“I’ll wait as long as it takes.” You know he’s not lying about that. You can distantly recall when a certain mystery monster had told you the tale of a longing dragon who perched himself at the opening of his window to wait for a certain hunter's return.

“Yes, he was so determined to be the first one to greet you, why he even stayed sat at the window for 5 months. It was quite endearing hehe.”

“Doesn’t it take hundreds of years for you to erode? Maybe it’ll take me 50 years to decide, by then I’ll be old and grey and you’ll be perfectly fine.” You take a step forward before the gargoyle's grip on your body tightens significantly, shrieking when he suddenly dips you down unprepared.

His freed hand takes your other arm and lifts it up to rest on his shoulder. Green sparkles are faintly flying around his lips as he slowly leans into the soft skin on your arm. His face leans in and presses chaste kisses on your limb, the gentle texture of his mouth catching you off guard as it tickles your body. Now you get it, he must’ve cast a spell to temporarily soften his lips.

He had attempted to kiss you once without taking this precaution, in turn, you gave him a face filled with discomfort at the stone texture that kept peppering you.

You can still remember the hurt face he had on when he saw your dislike towards his affections.

On his ninth kiss, his forked tongue peeks out from his mouth, licking a stripe up your skin. He finally lifts you up after the assault on your arm, his face only a few inches away from your own. It would’ve been quite the romantic atmosphere, had your nose not catch a sharp smell, and a horrible wretched one at that.

“You could be on your last breath and I’d still wait for an answer. But I hope that won’t happen.”

“Who knows, I work a dangerous job.” what is it?

The both of you twirl in unison despite the lack of music, your bodies in tandem as they move to just the sound of your surroundings. Though, your body is a little more sluggish than his own.

That stench… Is too familiar.

Eventually, your last steps fade out as you stop in your tracks.

“Is something wrong dear hunter?” Your grip on his shoulder fastens, if he was human you’re sure you would’ve broken his shoulder.

“What did you do?”

A smile is lit on his lips, his head tilting to the side, giving you such an innocent look, like he did nothing wrong.

“Whatever are you talking about?”

“The smell… Iron… This whole time I thought it was just the smell of the forest. But…” You swiftly pull a dagger out from your side, throwing it past his shoulder, the tip of the steel piercing into what sounded like wood.

He doesn’t turn back, only continuing to smile at you, as if you’re the only existing thing here, or more accurately, the only thing he cares about.

The bark of the trunk splits in half, falling to the ground, revealing the source of the stench. The top of the tree isn’t green, it’s red and brown.

4 pairs of hands stick from the leaves.

“You… What did you do Malleus–?!“ he’s quick to twirl you again, his grip on you tighter than it’s ever been. Despite your protests, he continues dancing as if you hadn’t seen anything.

You’re suddenly stricken with the memory of your first meeting with the beast, blood coating his mouth when he looked at you, pure admiration when he had finally met the muse everyone spoke so dearly of.

“Malleus, you—!“

“Tell me, dear human, was it not you who spared me?” He dips you down. “Was it not you who saw a beaten beast and allowed him to live?” He lifts you up. “Even as you walked away with a piece of stone you let go of one who’s rendered thousands over the years,” he pulls you in. “Dead” every action with your body is harsh, but not enough to hurt you, never enough to hurt you.

Because why would he ever wish to harm you?

He’d much rather smother you in affection, even when you’re exerting all your energy to kill him as he hugs you.

“It’s because you…”

“Looked so human?” He continues to keep you close, impossibly so, your skin melting into his, not from fawness, but fear.

“How did you know-“

“You’ve spared so many of us because we made you feel something in the moment,” he must be referring to everyone else… The look you gave him is dazed, caught up in the thought of every other monster you let get away. His fingers cage your chin in between them. “But don’t forget what we are.” Sparkles fly, temporarily blinding you.

When you open your vision, you’re greeted by the sight of Malleus, with the appearance of what he looked like if he was human, or at least similar to a human.

His skin isn’t rough and solid, his breaths are warm, and his hair is soft and pretty rather than a soft moss.

His eyes are a nice green, a pretty green. A color you would’ve enjoyed more had he been a human. Such a lively color shouldn’t be backdropped by crimson, yet, it is.

Behind him, several other trees collapse on themself, revealing the other tops, the same as the tree you had just seen. Views of stray limbs and vaguely familiar faces of hunters invade your mind, panic setting as you finally realize a question you should’ve asked long ago…

Why was Malleus so far from his castle?

Before you can react, your ears hear a faint whisper, eyes going heavy as little pings of thorns claw at your shoes. The last thing you see and feel, is his face leaning towards you, his finger loosening itself from your chin.

In a blink of an eye, he’s no longer the human you spared, but the monster you let escape back into the wild.

The fiendish of smiles is graced on his lips. Not because of evil, but because his smile, is so love stricken.

All because of you.

“Seems the little birdy fled the nest without permission.” Your eyes slowly flutter open, the familiar figure of a man bowing on top of you. “Now, I’ll forgive you as we weren’t expecting such a beast to appear-“

He’s immediately cut off in his sentence when a searing pain cuts through his chin.

“Augh—! How could you kick me after I spent precious time searching for you!“

“You’re the reason I’m here in the first place…!“

“I didn’t do anything!“ Despite your annoyance towards Crowley and all he stands for in your life, you can’t deny if someone had seen this scene play out in front of them, they would assume you two to be a father and his bickering child.

You attempt to stand to your full height, faltering at the pings of pain in your ankle. You suck in a breath, looking down as you nurse hurt skin.

There are briar thorns wrapped around your leg, a single rose adorning the stems, and a gentle green hue that contrasts the pure black of the floral life.

“Oh my, what were you doing last night?”

“… Night?”

“You’ve been gone for 36 hours my birdie.”

You don’t feel any different… Save for the prickle of thorns and fresh bite on your arm.

… Fresh bite?

Despite the indent, it doesn’t hurt, it’s like, he left it there as a reminder of your failures, at least to you. It could very well be his way of staking his claim on your heart.

“It’s a shame you didn’t get him when you could’ve, with your connections, you could’ve spared us a huge loss today…” you’re cruelly reminded of the people that lay to waste hidden in the trees. “We should let today serve as a reminder of what you must do.”

Crowley doesn’t look happy at the sight of so many employees who failed their jobs, yet he doesn’t look grieved either.

You… Truly, you wish you weren’t so softhearted during your missions. Maybe then, this could’ve all been avoided.

A/n: Like I said, this piece was from so long a goo, so i’m so sorry if the plot isn’t to anyone liking, but if it is, i’m happy you enjoyed it!!

[felassan]

Dragon Age: The Veilguard class gameplay. Warrior Rook, mage Rook, rogue Rook. [source]

"BE WHO YOU WANT TO BE Select from different races and combat classes, customize your appearance, choose your character’s backstory and begin your journey as Rook, Dragon Age’s newest hero. CHOOSE YOUR WAY TO PLAY Select from three classes (Warrior, Mage, and Rogue), each with two distinct weapon types and unique abilities you can switch between mid-combat. Experience new strategic depth as you combine fast-paced attacks, parries, and dodges with the companion ability wheel to exploit enemy weaknesses and seize victory with devastating combat combos. DEEP RPG PROGRESSION Level up your Rook and companions with their own skill trees. Choose perks and combat abilities as you climb towards more powerful specializations."

--

"WARRIOR Warriors command the flow of the battlefield. Some lay waste with sword and shield, while others use a two handed weapon to send enemies flying. MAGE Mages rain down fury with spells that incinerate, freeze, electrocute and crush. Some cast from afar, while others prefer close quarters combat. ROGUE The rogue’s hallmarks are quick movement and reflexes. Whether wielding a bow or dual swords, they use powerful, precise strikes for lethal damage"

[rayroseu]

IM GOING CRAZY THE COMPOSITION OF THIS CARD IS SURREAL HELLO I REVIVED

The point of view and Silver's character taking up majority of the canvas to symbolize this is HIS moment, The way he unsheathes his sword!!! On Dawn's sprite, it looks like its just a glowing light, but on Silver's art here it looks like a glowing metal !! THE WAY HIS HAIR FLOWS AND HIS ARMOR GLISTEN TOO THE NECKLACE AND AURORAL RING AT THE VERY CENTER OF THE PIC HE'S SO VIBRANT AGAINST THE DARK ATMOSTPHERE OF THE ART WHICH MAKES HIM MORE EMPHASIZED😭💖💞💖💞✨✨✨

HES SO COOL THEY ATE ISTG FINALLY ITS A CARD THAT TRULY HIGHLIGHTS SILVER AS A KNIGHT !!!!!

I also love the little details that his armor glows in a purple light, maybe not because of magic, but because one of Malleus' attack is a PURPLE FIRE, Silver's magic is light so ofc it'll reflect its surroundings (like with this card where he's surrounded by a dark pink mist probably from the smoke of the purple fire(?) on his armor and silver hair

The POV of this card also parallels General Lilia too.

worms eye view, focus on the weapon, one eye visible, 3/4 angle, fighting stance position, flowing hair, glowing cape--

Silver back in his last birthday card also said this line, very obvious but I'm still impressed at how this card really matched his new SSR

It literally has the same pose for both Malleus and Silver, the same composition and lighting, the final chapter is just Malleus and Silver possibly repeating the history that Lilia doesn't want to relive again, I feel like I'm gonna cry in the next chapter 😭💔💔💔

additional but I love the little sneak of Malleus' tail here, you KNOW ITS REALLY HIM BECAUSE OF THE TAIL END 😭💞💖 HE'S SO COOL IN HIS DRAGON FORM PLEASE DONT KILL HIM 💔💔💔💔

also side note Malleus' dragon wings have really translucent skin(?), I already knew their wings are semi see through considering this sprite of Meleanor with faded, pale colored wings, but with Malleus I guess its more translucent and more purple?? But it could also appear mkre translucent bcs his dragon form is behind a light source which makes it a bit look like its glowing--

I hope there'll be a trivia about his dragon form, I'm so interested how can he fly with such thin and translucent wings !! but I know they wont elaborate and they'll just magic it away for the explanation lol

side note but what i love the most about Malleus dragon form is that his wings looks like dragonfly wings with its transparent skin and root-like textures on them✨

Meleanor has them too? But her art is on Chibi form so her details on her dragon form is generalized (its the lines on her wings that suppose to signify the skin of her wings are crumpled and with root-textures like Malleus' has)

EDIT

ARMOR OF DAWN SILVER BEING A VOID MAGIC ATK LILIA DUO SSR CARD STOPPP ITS ITA A PARALLEL TO MALLEUS DORM UNIFORM SSR IM CRASHING OUTTT 😭😭😭✨✨✨✨

[konoharfts]

Look Alive Sunshine ~

New Bulletproof Hearts AU lore just dropped

Here, have Kakashi and Genma’s character intros and thumbnail designs and notes for 6 out of the main 7!!! (I’ve already posted Anko ;) )

(If this is the first Bulletproof Hearts AU post you’re seeing, for context this is my Danger Days inspired AU featuring the tokujo squad and also Kakashi :) )

And now for the official intro:

In the fallout following the Resource Wars , and shortly after we lost Kiri to the waves, the Senju company in collaboration with the Red Fan company establish Neo-Konoha, the new capitol of the remnants of the Land of Fire. A shiny new city free from the troubles of post-war faction life, and the dizzying desert heat.

Here in the city everything runs on chakra energy. No more nuclear or fossil fuels, that’s for the old-world now. By tapping into the “dragon veins” flowing through the earth chakra can be cultivated and converted into the fuel that powers all of Neo-Konoha’s beloved bright lights, hover-cars, gadgets, and gizmos. It’s even opened up the doorway to cybernetics and body-modification. With chakra being an energy source that resonates with life it’s never been easier to merge man and tech. Now, many new companies wanting to make their mark on chakra-tech industries have sprouted up, and Chakra City (Neo-Konoha) is very kind to those wanting to contribute to the expansion of the city, and the growth of the economy.

The city is split into three main branches. The tall buildings and neon lights of the inner-city, the seedy bars and backroom deals of the under-city, and the plastic smiles and white picket fences of the residential district. Everything inside the city walls is labeled as Neo-Konoha, and everything outside in the wide open desert plains is labeled as the Outer-Ring, where many live in the little non-radiated pockets of barely habitable land. Made barely habitable thanks to the over mining of chakra, causing the land to be drained of its vitality. Life in the O.R is rough, it’s a lawless wasteland filled with criminals, thugs, and the kindest and realest people you’ll ever meet. It’s the home of all of those who don’t belong inside the city walls. Those who were cast out, or those who chose to leave, and those who had no choice but to be born.

After the tragic death of chairman Minato Namikaze the Golden Era of Neo-Konoha has been replaced my Sarutobi Hiruzen’s age of radio silence, aided by president of ROOT Danzo Shimra who’s company specializes in keeping the people “in line”. A powerful regime threatened only by a newly established pack of desert rats out in the Outer-Ring consisting of two of Minato’s former bodyguards, the previous head of the intelligence division, a woman who’s more machine than human, a sickly smuggler, and more recently a once-double agent turned pink hearted. These anarchists call themselves Wildfire.

Operating out of an abandoned gas station from back in the old era of gas powered vehicles Wildfire’s unofficial leader Genma Shiranui runs a 24h radio station - titled S.E.N.B.O.N radio - where you can tune in to all of the greatest punk-rock hits AND get all the information you need regarding the movement of Neo-Konoha’s exterminators, soldiers, and SCARECROWs out in the O.R. How to best avoid them, and how to best blast ‘em to one of the four respectable levels of dead without sending yourself sky high with ‘em. Unintentionally Shiranui becomes somewhat of a guardian angel for the people struggling against the chains of oppression out in the wastes. What was once a station created to provide some musical escape with just a sprinkling of survival tricks turned into the stage in which the revolution is set.

In that same gas station that’s home to such an iconic station are all of the other main members of Wildfire. We’ve got Anko Mitarashi, who has a mechanic shop where she can do just about anything given the proper materials. Anything from mods to prosthetics, vehicle repair and customization, making whole new gadgets, and making cyber-cycles from scratch. Meanwhile, when he’s not out on an assignment Raidō Namiashi’s running the “convenience store” that’s really just a front for the whole fence thing they’re running. Ibiki Morino is used as the group’s ‘intimidation and muscle’ but when he’s not scaring Konoha dogs shitless he’s slaving over his pride and joy, a car that’s more modifications than car. Hayate Gekkō manages their connections to the smuggling routes and also makes it his life mission to act like the station’s cat. Agent Yūgao Uzuki, former SCARECROW assigned to take down the rebels, turned double agent, turned Wildfire loyalist tries to take charge of planning as much as she can. After witnessing the state of the leadership in the revolt rocking konoha she’s flabbergasted they accomplished as much as they did.

On the side of Neo-Konoha Kakashi Hatake, Mad Dog, agent #07, and Hiruzen’s top SCARECROW, is assigned to take Wildfire down. The group consisting of his old comrades and friends, before they turned traitor. With his soldier prowess and the use of the advanced AI program ‘B2’, created by Obito uchiha, Kakashi is the only individual able to stand against Wildfire, the question is, does his loyalty to Neo-Konoha and his trust in “Obito” outweigh the ache he feels. The niggling feeling that there’s something very wrong, something he’s missing.

This is not a tale about heroes. This is not a tale about glory. This is a tale about people. People living, and people dying, and people clawing their way through life, and people snapping at the hand that tightens the leash. There is no victor, there is no clean cut, just what is left when the fire burns through. The embers that sparked the Wildfire are doomed to fizzle out and die in the infancy of the flame. But as long as you stick around to witness the trees burn, they cannot claim it hadn’t happened at all. When a tree falls in a forest, tune in to the sound. Because remember, they can’t control you if you don’t give in to the silence.

Orrrrr

The tokujo gang fight against the oppressive fascist regime of Neo-Konoha while spreading chaos through the wastes and making Kakashi’s life way harder :)

So yeah, I hope that makes sense T~T it’s so late at night when I’m writing this I fear I may be too cryptic…. BUT PLEASE TELL ME YOU GET THE VISION!!

If anyone is interested in more lore feel free to ask anything <<33 I’m going to try and post some mini comics and blurbs for this AU often-ish (for art practice and also I want to push my brainworms onto y’all) so stay tuned?

Alright I think that’s enough yapping (for now ;) ) if anyone read all of that I shall give you one (1) soft little forehead kith :) 😙💋

Okay byeeee~~~

[ivypos-writes]

i have often dreamed of those fires

— aemond targaryen

summary: He’s a firestorm. Her skin burns in his hands.

Or, marriage is her first duty. The second comes in the insurmountable task of seducing her own husband.

warnings: 18+, aemond x wife, arranged marriage, soft and insecure aemond, and a horny wife, he’s touch-starved, sexual tension, first times, fingering, p in v, multiple orgasms, smut with a sprinkle of plot, and the plot is just seduction before the smut

word count: 7.5k

notes: giving in to the brainrot while waiting for s2. english is not my first language. all reviews are very appreciated! thank you for reading<3

(also available on ao3.)

MASTERLIST

She spends the first night of her marriage in solitude.

The bedchamber bears no resemblance to the one she owned all her life. The lights are subdued, and a darkness her eyes have yet to get used to rules over every corner. It’s spacious; kept immaculately polished, as befitting a member of the royal family. That’s who she is now, regardless if she feels the part or not.

Prince Aemond—her husband, her husband—left the walls of the room in a hurry, as though scorched by fire. It is a silly thought. He is a dragon prince, and surely doesn’t fear flames.

He seems to fear her, though.

They entered the bedchamber as instructed by tradition, not quite hand in hand, but not too far apart, either. Her ladies rushed after to assist her in undressing; to unpin her hair, letting the waves cascade down her back; to cover her skin with a slip of a dress, more translucent than anything she’d ever worn. She was then left in just the nightgown, with her cheeks tinted pink. Once the ladies deemed her prepared, she was abandoned by all but her husband.

Later came silence.

It must have been the tears that dissuaded him. Once they began to flow, all of Prince Aemond’s attempts to breach the distance between them ceased. She was too shaken to speak; before she could gather her thoughts, he had already left.

Marriage is her duty to the realm. To her family who strived to ensure the best possible match. Marriage is to become her battlefield, and her life, and if the gods are kind—oh, please, let them be kind—it would eventually become a source of joy.

Only she sits alone amidst alien walls and furniture, and there is no trace of contentment she might have once envisioned.

How is she to find happiness, she thinks bitterly, when her husband refused to touch her once?

“Husband,” she greets him, and her voice miraculously doesn’t waver.

He is standing in the entrance to the bedchamber, stiff and pale, with dark shadows marring the underside of his eyes. Pink scar peaks from beneath the leather eyepatch he seems to never part with. His robes are as black as they were every time they have seen one another. He wears darkness like an armour.

Prince Aemond isn’t carved in shapes of impudent rowdiness that she now knows his brother wields to compel attention. There is a quietude in him; a softness coming through the sharp lines of his features. He keeps his face artfully blank; most of the time, it doesn’t betray a single emotion. She does not attempt to look into his eye. She fears that all she’ll find there is repulsion.

“My lady,” he says. Not wife. “I shall escort you to the feasting hall. The Queen wishes for us to break our fast in her company.”

His words lack warmth, though perhaps she should not have expected that from him. Prince Aemond doesn’t seem to possess much fire at all, what with the stone-cold composure he seems to cling to. She wonders if it is only a masterfully crafted mask; if there are any flames deep beneath its layers, flickering and crackling.

She smothers her silent musings. Hurt still lingers inside her.

The Queen may be the only kind face within these walls. Princess Helaena seems to always be lost in her own mind; Prince Aegon is never sober, and on the rare occasions that he is, it seems best to avoid him altogether. She cannot search for a companion in her ladies, or servants, and certainly not in any man.

She is alone.

And her husband doesn’t even want to touch her.

Scarlet shame rises to her chest, and she hopes that it’s not painted all over her cheeks. The Queen will know. She will look at her once, and immediately she’ll realise that she remains untouched.

Perhaps she knows already, and it is the reason for her summons. Perhaps she means to scold her, and berate her, and shame her for all nobles in the Red Keep to see.

Have the servants scanned the linen sheets? She doesn’t recall anyone looking for proof of the newfound union, but surely, they must have.

She swallows her trepidation down and forces her face to remain blank. She cannot decline. It is her duty to obey the Queen’s orders, and this one, she is capable of fulfilling.

When the newlyweds walk down the corridor, it feels like they are miles apart.

Solitude is all she knows.

Her days are filled with nothing of true meaning. She is mostly left to her own devices, be it embroidery or soaking up the sun. She traverses the foreign walls; explores the royal gardens; consumes book after book, hungry for entertainment. Sometimes, she joins Princess Helaena and her children, and they sit beside each other in complete silence.

It is not a bad life. She is luckier than most, she knows, though this fact does little to dissipate her desire for more. She wishes to be alive. She wishes for her smiles to be genuine. To be more than the pretty wife of a prince made of marble.

In truth, she isn’t even that.

Her marriage is not a marriage at all—not in the eyes of the gods—and all the freedom she now has is fleeting. She may lounge about in the courtyard, and eat the best cakes in the entire realm, and read every book to exist, but it’ll take less than a moment for the privileges to be lost.

“My prince.”

She hasn’t called him husband again. They shared all of a dozen words since their wedding night. Prince Aemond is clearly intent on avoiding her company, choosing to spend his time in the training yard or the libraries, and it doesn’t appear that he has even an ounce of desire to change this routine.

He is halfway to the door. Her eyebrow arches.

“Are you leaving?” she asks.

She falls asleep alone and awakes in the same manner, but she never thought that the Prince abandoned the bedchamber completely. Before, she imagined that he slept little.

He didn’t. He simply slept elsewhere.

“I wouldn’t wish to make you uncomfortable with my presence.” He strides over to the door without once meeting her gaze, and his hands clutch a collection of books. “The bed is yours.”

Her voice is harsher than she intends when she spits out, “The bed is meant to be shared.”

The Prince stops in his tracks; she traces the line of his spine when he straightens.

It must be the first time that he looks at her. Not even the vows they exchanged prompted him to meet her gaze. The last rays of sun that crawl through the window turn the purple of his eye a warmer shade.

“Do you—” she begins, and the tip of her tongue wets her lips when they suddenly go dry. Her throat closes up. She pushes herself to continue, “Do you find me repulsive, my prince?”

He must. She has heard many stories of marriage—both good and bad—and none spoke of husbands that refused to touch their wives.

Surely, there must be something wrong with her. Perhaps it is her hair that he dislikes, or her nose, or her lips. Perhaps he imagined her to look completely different, and there is no feature she possesses that pleases him.

Prince Aemond says nothing.

She picks her next words carefully.

“I know that I’m not a wife of your own choosing.” Her hands fidget, and she grabs onto her skirt to keep them occupied. “Neither are you the husband I wanted.”

Warmth. Gentleness. When she was a girl, she pictured a man who would hold her in his arms without shame. She imagined true affection and devotion. It’s been long since ascertained that Prince Aemond is not that husband. That her dreams have always been just dreams.

He doesn’t meet her eyes, and she finds herself vexed by his continued insistence to remain detached. She searches his face for scraps of emotion and finds none. He wields indifference like a sword.

She cannot so easily yield.

Her voice drops; nails sink into the skin of her palms. “You must understand, my prince, that it is me they’ll treat with contempt, should they ever find out.”

And they will. Of course, they will. Her womb will remain empty, and soon they’ll point their fingers at it and pronounce it barren. Humiliation will be hers to swallow; disgrace will fall upon her head like a thorned veil. They will feel pity for the Prince, to be certain, but not for her. Never for her.

The Prince’s hands tighten around the books, but it is the only reaction she receives.

He must not care for her at all. Why should he? She is but a stranger.

But they are now bound to each other. Strangers or not, their lives are intertwined.

She pushes closer to him, and finally, finally he raises his head.

“An untouched wife is no wife at all. It’s a breach of my oaths.”

There is a trace of contemplation on his face. It comes with a crease between his eyebrows, and the slightest twitching of his lips. Prince Aemond lets out a quiet hum, and she must strain her ears to catch its sound before it’s gone.

When their eyes meet, her heart lights up in flames.

“I will not touch you when there’s nothing but fear in your eyes.”

He is gone before she can retaliate.

There is a shift in his demeanour, though it comes hesitantly; with reluctance.

Prince Aemond enters the bedchamber while she’s seated by the vanity. She now recognises the sound of his footsteps—light and unrushed, often reminding her of a predator on a hunt. Her fingers become motionless, weaved into the intricate plaits atop her head. She warily waits for whatever comes next.

They have fallen into a habit of keeping one another at arm’s length. There is a barbed line that divides them, and neither is willing to cross it first.

Fear. This is what he thinks rules inside her heart. He never let her refute—now, she thinks it would have been pointless to even try. There might have been fear that shrouded her expression, but it was never induced by him. She feared the pain, and feared the unknown, but never, never feared the Prince.

He must think himself appalling. Capable of evoking dread. The realisation hits her like a tidal wave. She recalls whispers murmured in shadowed corners, all vicious and biting; wonders how many of them he has heard before. The scar on his face has been there for years. The Prince must have endured constant torment.

Whatever it is that they see—monstrosity, abomination, hideousness—her own eyes perceive nothing of the sort.

Prince Aemond is quite handsome. In truth, he is so striking that her heart jumps out of her chest each time she catches a glimpse of him.

It threatens to jump out now, when she sees him meeting her gaze without the usual aloofness.

He takes a hesitant step forward.

She freezes.

They are never alone. She sees him when they dine, and when he trains, and when he’s lost in another book. She sees him in daylight. In crowds.

Never like this.

There is a silent resolution that she notes in the tight line of his lips. Aemond comes closer, and closer, and doesn’t stop until his heat trickles down her spine.

She holds her breath when his fingers weave in between the strands of her hair.

Prince Aemond’s face betrays nothing. She watches his reflection so intensely that she forgets to blink, and all the while he keeps his expression blank. His fingers are warm. Gentle.

Just hours before, they were holding a sword and aiming it at his opponent.

It certainly feels as if he put a sword to her own throat. She can barely breathe.

His movements are slow and careful. One after another, he unravels the braids, mindful not to tug at her hair. His skilled fingers smooth out the tangles, and every once in a while, they come to her scalp to caress it in a soothing manner.

She traces the curve of his jawline, and the mangled flesh, and the dark eyepatch. He looks rough and feels soft. He is made of contradictions.

When he takes out the last little pin, she breathes out.

It is the first time that he has touched her.

For a fleeting moment, their eyes meet. She wishes to wipe at the mirror, if only to make its image clearer. Has he always been this delicate? Is the glint in his gaze a novelty?

When he clears his throat and averts his eye, his intention to leave becomes explicit. Tension dissipates. This time, she makes no objections.

“Sweet dreams, my prince,” she mutters, and the answer comes in the soft closing of the door.

Her head emerges from beneath the water surface, and she greedily takes air in.

She has wasted her day on blissful procrastination. For the entirety of it, she remained inside the bedchamber, shielded from all eyes and gossip, obstinately rejecting the company of anyone who dared offer it. These people know nothing about her, anyway. Their wish to spend time with her is masterfully feigned.

Sometimes, she misses her home. She misses it so terribly that her lip trembles. She misses being known. Despite the passing time, she has yet to acclimate herself to the new reality. The Red Keep feels as cold as it ever has.

Would she be dismissed, she wonders, if they knew that her marriage was a farce? Would she be ruined, or given a chance to start over?

Perhaps she ought to confess the truth.

Or maybe—just maybe—she should seek out her husband and push him into a wall, and claim his lips until all restraint dies.

Her depraved thoughts seem to summon him.

Aemond enters the bedchamber in his usual manner, and immediately turns back towards the door once he catches sight of her state.

Her breasts peak from the foamy water.

Her skin tints red.

“You don’t have to leave,” she calls out.

The words are quick. Too quick to come across as nonchalant. She bites her tongue, but doesn’t take them back. Perhaps she has reached another level of desperation, and this is the only opportunity she gets to let it run free.

He is more dragon than a man. He cannot keep running from her in fear. She sees the moment that Prince Aemond seems to come to the same conclusion; his hand flexes at his side, once and then again. His shoulders become tense.

She is quick to bite back her smile when he turns around. He wouldn’t have seen it, either way, what with the way he keeps his eye stubbornly downcast.

As if she wasn’t his wife. As if seeing her bare skin was a sin.

Reluctantly, with his head courteously bowed, he moves to take a seat by the table, reaching out for a random book.

Water ripples when she sinks deeper into the bath. If he has no desire to see her, she will not strive to bear herself before him.

The silence is heavy.

“Did you go out for a flight?” she asks, itching to dissipate the suspense.

The Prince hums, as is his habit, and offers a slight nod. “I did. It’d been days since I last rode Vhagar.”

This is a part of him shielded at all times. He keeps it deep in the crevices of his heart—in its darkest, deepest corners. She doesn’t blame him for it. Even without understanding the nature of the fire in his blood, she recognises it as something private. Intimate.

But it is the first time that he spoke the name in her presence, and she cannot hold the reins of her unabashed curiosity.

“When you’re apart,” she begins, “does her absence feel like a missing limb?”

The Prince’s eye turns to her, and though they are far from one another, she is able to catch a glimpse of intrigue.

Briefly, she ponders whether anyone has ever dared ask him unpracticed questions like this. If there was someone who wanted to know him—his innermost beliefs and convictions, and his soul. If anyone attempted to push through the walls he has built around himself.

She supposes that the slightest widening of his eye is an answer in its own right.

Prince Aemond doesn’t immediately reply, and she bites her tongue. “Forgive me, my prince. It is not my right to ask.”

“You’re my wife,” he says simply. It is the first time he acknowledges it. “You have the right to ask anything of me.”

Keeping her bewilderment subdued, she arches an eyebrow when he nods to himself.

“It doesn’t.” Prince Aemond clears his throat, fingers fidgeting against the pages of his book. “It doesn’t feel like a missing limb. Even in her absence, I always sense her.”

It must be the most that he’s ever said to her.

The water has gone lukewarm. Goosebumps rise atop her skin. She could politely request that he take his leave in order to get out of the bath. She could.

She won’t.

“So a part of her lives inside you?”

He turns, and now they are facing one another.

Has the foam dissipated? She doesn’t dare take her eyes off of him, and so she cannot check. If the foam is gone, he can see the outline of her body. Does he see it?

No, she thinks. Surely, he would have already looked away.

“As does a part of me inside her,” he admits. “In more ways than not, we are one being.”

One being. Is this why he refuses to let her come close? Is it because there is no more space in his heart left for her to rest in?

It seems a plausible enough theory. In truth, all theories seem to be true when she’s wallowing in solitude and sorrow and rejection.

“It must be nice,” she murmurs, and this time she is the first to break eye contact, “to be known from the inside. Intimately. In the deepest crevices of your heart.”

Something in him changes. She catches it when she glances at him. The Prince’s hand abandons the book, and when he stands from his seat, she is sure that he’ll leave.

But he doesn’t. She gapes at him when he comes closer to the bath.

“Scoot over,” he instructs.

Her mouth parts, ready to sputter questions, but they all dissolve into nothing when she catches the intensity in his gaze.

She holds her tongue. No words could reflect the depth of her confusion.

Prince Aemond now watches her without past shame.

The scent of fire and smoke permeates the air, and she inhales it sharply. His heat engulfs her back in gentle flames, and she draws her knees to her chest, oddly bashful.

When she does as instructed, he is quick to put his hands on her scalp. A gasp falls from her lips at the touch.

He is washing her hair.

Does he hear her heart pounding? It’s so loud. So very loud.

“It does feel good.” His fingers weave through her hair. “Before her, there was no one who wished to know my heart at all.”

They dine with the Queen, and she engages in conversation with a desperate sort of enthusiasm. The past days have mostly gone in perturbing silence, and she yearns for the opportunity to erase it, even with idle talk. They speak of the gardens, and the ladies-in-waiting, and Princess Helaena’s children that seem to be growing more and more each day.

Aemond holds his tongue beside her, and the quietude in which he wallows no longer takes her aback. More often than not, his silence speaks for itself. All she must do is look into his eye to comprehend the words.

“Children are a woman’s greatest joy,” the Queen rambles on, and there is a softness in her face that takes away all remnants of the usual misery that she wields. “It is only a matter of time before you’ll find it yourself.”

She straightens her spine.

Words die inside her throat. Does she smile and change the subject? Does she confess that she will not find it—she’ll never find it—because her husband has no desire to be a husband at all? All protests and confirmations and pretty promises are insufficient. She thinks it is better not to speak at all.

She nearly jumps out of her seat when something warm engulfs the skin of her palm. It’s Aemond. He has taken her hand into his, and the way he holds her is both gentle and firm.

Do they not fit perfectly? Aemond’s hand is larger than hers; its lines are harsher. She lets their fingers lace together, and when she hesitantly turns her eyes towards him, she finds him already watching her.

He holds her gaze with unmasked expression, as if to say: this is me trying.

She is possessed by a surge of boldness.

The lights of the chamber are dimmed, and she is long prepared for the night. There is a tremble in her hands. She cannot discern if it’s one of trepidation or excitement.

Aemond offers nothing more than his usual greeting when he stalks into the room. It’s neither warm nor cold; as always, it’s not enough. She watches him stride towards the table, and he sinks onto the chair, hands reaching for one of the books.

He doesn’t truly read them. It took her a while, but she now sees right through his habits. Aemond repeats the same exact process every night. He sits with a book, and keeps his eye downcast, and sometimes—just sometimes—his gaze moves towards her when he thinks she isn’t looking.

Each day, he comes back not to read, but to see her.

Each day, she waits for him to act.

There are moments when they touch, and when their touches linger longer than they should. There are moments when he takes her hand into his, or brushes hair away from her face, or grabs her waist as he walks by. There are moments that she allows herself to push closer to the heat that he radiates.

She is tired of surviving on moments alone.

With her breath unsteady, she waits.

Aemond taps his fingers against the surface of the table, and she cannot help but observe the motion. His rings shine in the flickering lights.

“What are you reading?” she asks, keeping the buzzing anticipation on a leash.

His shoulders tense. She never interrupts his lectures.

The floors are cold beneath her bare feet. She keeps her pace slow. The distance between them shrinks, and soon she is standing right behind him.

Aemond’s heavy exhale hits her ears. She wishes she could preserve the sound.

With her shaky hands, she reaches for his shoulders. He is firm and solid; strong and warm. Scorching. When he says nothing—when he doesn’t move away—she lets her hold on him tighten. Just this once, she wants to touch him as though he was hers. Like a wife ought to. The way she never learned how to.

Emboldened by his stillness, she bends closer; their faces are at level. She brushes away the silver strands of hair that shield him from her, and soon she is free to take the sight of him in.

The line of his lips is thin and tight. There is a small, white scar on his temple. His skin catches the slightest hint of pink, and it crawls onto his cheeks in gradual motion. He is right there—right there—and her mouth is dry. She puts her lips to the soft skin of his cheek before she can hesitate again.

Aemond’s breathing turns rugged. She sees the rise and fall of his chest, quicker with every inhale. Her fingertips burn with the want to feel his heartbeat.

When she grabs the book he holds in a vice grip, he turns to her.

Their noses brush.

The air is gone. There’s nothing left of it. Her gaze trails from his eye to his mouth, and they’ve never been this close.

It takes the smallest tilting of her head for their lips to meet.

She is blinded. Flames flood her vision. Her heart bruises her ribs, and Aemond’s fire burns her tongue, and never before did she imagine that a kiss could leave her so ruined.

He is quick to match her pace. His mouth moves against hers with a brutal force; he breathes her in, and she catches the silent groan before it dissolves. She nibbles at his bottom lip, hungry for more, and when their tongues mingle, she no longer remembers her name. He’s sweeter than any cake she’s ever tasted, and she wishes to forever devour him—to never, never stop.

But then his lips are gone. Strong arms seize her hips, and he effortlessly moves her away from him.

She doesn’t understand. Aemond shoots out of the chair, and rushes towards the door, and she watches his shrinking figure—always, always watches him leave.

She senses his gaze on her skin.

An entire day has gone by, and she’s long since stopped expecting Aemond to return. Her heart has turned into stone. She forced it to do so.

And now he’s standing there. Watching.

“Am I not worthy of your affection?”

She regrets the obvious cracking of her voice, though there is little to do about it now. He isn’t deserving of the mask of collectedness that she could attempt to put on. She will not veil her hurt. Because he chose to cause it, he may well see its aftermath.

Aemond doesn’t answer. She knew that he wouldn’t.

“Is it because there’s no fire in my blood that you deem me below you?”

She turns, eager to see his features, and then almost wishes that she hadn’t. There is something broken about him. His face is ashen, marked by shadows of exhaustion. His lip quivers.

“I’m chained to you,” she half-whispers. “The least you could do is not tighten the shackles around my neck.”

“I never wished for it.”

“I never wished for it, either!”

There is a dull ache in her chest. The stranger before her won’t meet her eyes, and she loses her footing again, alone and tired and desperate for a change.

She won’t beg. She’ll never beg.

But she is not yet ready to stop pushing.

“You won’t even let me close.”

Aemond’s face crumbles, and she finds nothing in him but raw, agonising vulnerability.

“It is not easy to learn something so foreign.”

Her fingers find the lacings of his riding leathers.

They have succumbed to a heavy sort of silence. It stretches and grows; haunts their days and nights with equal intensity. She allows this quietude to exist with a trace of vindictiveness inside her bones. If one of them ought to break it, it is him.

As always, he prepares to leave with the first mark of sunset. She bites back all protests rising to her lips. She will not speak. Her words do little more than fall upon deaf ears.

She allows herself this much: crumbs of him, all stolen, when she stands close and brushes her fingers against his clothes. She ignores his scent, and his warmth, and the way her skin itches with the want to press closer.

Aemond’s eye scorches the skin of her cheeks.

He hasn’t moved away. She is glad not to have been forced to choke on scarlet shame—to have him flee her touch again would be the end to all the lingering remnants of hope. Aemond stands still and stiff, and she is half-convinced that he’s holding his breath.

She freezes in her tracks when one of his hands grabs both of hers into a gentle embrace.

The tips of his fingers are calloused. He strokes her skin with his thumb, and she clings onto the last of her composure, unwilling to melt before him.

A single touch. That’s how much it takes to shatter her resolve.

“You’re too good,” he says, and the words are little more than a whisper. “Pure. My hands could only ever ruin you.”

Her eyes find his, and she wishes she could decipher what remains unspoken by looking at him alone. She wants to know his heart and his mind. She wants to know all his thoughts.

Her greedy fingertips trace the lines of his palm. His hand trembles.

“How could something so gentle ruin?”

He has only ever held her with meticulous cautiousness. She knows his touch as tender and attentive. Warm. Doesn’t he see the shivers he evokes? Doesn’t he know that they come from fondness and devotion and the deep affection that she drowns in? He cannot ruin her. His hands are not capable of it.

Aemond doesn’t believe her. His vulnerability shows through the cracks of his usual composure. He tries to enshroud himself in indifference, but she has long since learned his mannerisms. The mask of blankness will not deceive her.

He attempts to tear his hand away, but she tightens her hold.

“Look at me, husband.”

It is a demand. Aemond must recognise it as such, because the lowered eye flickers and gives in.

Because she is a woman of weakness, she lets herself put a hand on his cheek. Her fingers hook under the strap of the eyepatch. She hears him gasp for air, and the sound reverberates in her ears like a prayer.

Her heartbeat is wild and strong, and she whispers, “Don’t you see? There is no fear in my eyes.”

The memory of his gaze induces odd tremors long after he departs.

The mattress dips behind her.

There is an onslaught of heat that spreads over her bare skin, though she has yet to discern what it stems from. The air goes still. Heavy.

It begins with a fingertip tracing the length of her forearm. The touch is featherlike—no more than a gentle stroke that lacks any pressure. So light. So light, barely even there, and yet at once she is consumed by flames.

“Husband,” she breathes into the night.

A rush of hot air hits her ear when he whispers an answering, “Wife.”

Aemond’s fingers traverse the expanse of the skin that isn’t covered by blankets. He moves from the side of her palm, through the nook of her elbow, higher, higher. His hand reaches her shoulders; fingers spread towards the outline of her collarbone, dipping into the crevices and searing a string of goosebumps into her skin. She holds her breath. Her heart pounds against her chest in violent patterns.

He smells of smoke. She wishes to inhale his fragrance until she chokes on it; until it fills her lungs and replaces all oxygen. Aemond presses closer to her, and she holds back a whimper when he moves his hand to her neck.

“I have neglected you,” Aemond murmurs.

“You have.”

“And now I must beg your forgiveness.”

Aemond’s hand closes around her throat, and she holds back a gasp.

Their bodies are pressed together. She exhales in surprise when she finds his forearms as bare as hers. He must have abandoned his shirt before crawling into bed.

Their bed. The bed that is supposed to be shared.

“I rather thought your constant neglect was deliberate practice,” she says, forcing her voice not to crack. “Why would you beg forgiveness for something you feel no remorse about?”

A gasp tears out of her throat when Aemond seizes her arm and flips her onto her back.

Their faces are close; closer than she thought they’d ever come again. In the pale moonlight, his features become soft and veiled. She wishes she could see him in sharp lights; wishes to trace every blemish and mark on his skin. This subdued version of him is not sufficient. She must imprint every part of him in her mind.

When he hums, her own skin vibrates with the sound.

She clamps her legs together.

“Yes,” he muses. “You have voiced your displeasure with astonishing fervour.”

Her lips part when one of his legs sneaks in between hers. He is quick to push her knees apart.

“As was my right,” she replies, and the words come out as breathless.

Aemond’s thigh is solid. She feels the flexing of his muscles against her own skin. Her nightgown rides up from the friction, and soon her calves are left exposed.

“You said you were chained to me.”

“And it was the truth.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Only when you pretend that you’re not chained to me as well.”

Slightly, slowly, she pushes her head up. His breath hits her cheek; her lips come so close to his chin that she could press them against it without straining.

Aemond’s fingers tighten their hold on her neck.

Their eyes meet, and it is fire clashing with fire. The purple gives way to a deranged darkness; Aemond’s face is unmasked. She looks at him and holds her breath. Looks at him until everything in the background blurs. Her trembling fingers reach to cup his jaw, and when they connect with the soft skin, he lets out a quiet gasp.

“I do it for your own sake,” he breathes out. “You know nothing about the depravities living in my mind.”

She trembles when his thumb comes up to caress her lips.

“So good. So pure.” Aemond trails the outline of her mouth, voice dropping with each word. “And yet you’ve instilled a madness in me that I can no longer quench.”

She wants to grab him by the neck and pull him closer. She wants their lips to press together; to meld into one, and turn to ashes from the force of flames. Does he know that she dreams of the shape of his lips? Does he know that her eyes trace it when he’s reading—that she now knows it by heart? His taste haunts her. Sometimes, she puts her warm fingers onto her mouth and imagines that the heat is him. Sometimes, she touches herself and imagines his lips nibbling on a different spot.

Keeping her scorching desire leashed, she remains still.

It is he who must cross the remaining distance. It is he who must light up the flames.

His hand comes up to her face. Her cheek tickles from his fingertips; lashes flutter when he brushes his thumb against them. She opens her mouth—to taunt him, or curse him, or beg. She only knows that she must say something. Anything. She cannot let this fire die. Her head spins and her skin tingles—

And then his mouth is on hers.

It is a hungry kiss. He aims to devour her. She moans into his lips when he bites down; he shifts his weight, and her skin burns underneath his body. Aemond holds her chin; tilts it to his liking, claiming her mouth with greed and lust and depravity. She forgets to breathe. There is no need for air when he’s this close.

Out of fear that he’ll try to move away, she wraps her arms around his broad shoulders. His skin is scalding-hot, and she cherishes the way it burns.

She licks his bottom lip, demanding entrance, and he is quick to oblige. Their teeth clink, and she pulls him closer, and soon their tongues swirl around one another, none willing to yield. He tastes like fire. She wants to swallow him whole.

They break apart when his fingers grab the fabric of her nightgown.

“I want this off,” he says, already hiking it up, impatient to leave her naked.

“Do you?” she teases.

Aemond is not in a mood for her games.

She gasps in surprise when something rips apart, and then she sees two pieces of white cloth hanging from his hands. He has ruined her gown, and seems to be awfully pleased with himself. She should make her displeasure clear—

He traces the outline of her lips with his tongue, and she forgets all about the robe.

“You’re so sweet,” he pants. “My sweet wife.”

His words push her to the brink of madness. Wife. Wife.

His eye trails from her lips to her throat, and lower towards her breasts. He looks at her peaked nipples, red and aching like her mouth.

One of his fingers brush against the pebble, and she stifles a moan.

“Look at you,” Aemond breathes, and his chest rises and falls with increasing intensity. “I barely touched you, and you’re already trembling.”

He must not realise the extent of his influence on her traitorous body.

She opens her mouth to tell him as much, but then his mouth travels down her throat and her breastbone, and soon replaces his fingers. He peppers her sensitive skin with kisses; nibbles at the flesh in the hollow of her bust. She quivers under his attention, hands finding the strands of his hair. When Aemond’s lips wrap around her hard nipple, she cries out.

His hand traverses up her thigh. Wantonly, she spreads her legs so that his hips can fit in the middle. He is quick to push against her—push until there’s barely any space left between them—and when she feels his rock-hard length, she forgets all about swallowing the desperate sounds. Her back arches, and Aemond keeps sucking at her breast, alternating between soft brushes of his lips and harsh bites of his teeth, and she is burning. Flames consume her whole.

She pulsates against him. Her walls clench around nothing—they’re empty, they’re empty, and she must be filled or else she’ll go mad.

“I want you inside,” she demands, nails sinking into his skin, too lost in her desire to veil herself with feigned innocence.

Aemond breathes out a laugh in response, and the warmth mingles with the cold saliva that he’s left on her nipple. She makes a strangled noise.

He raises his head, and there is a sudden sobriety in his expression. She knows its roots. Aemond insists on holding onto self-deprecation, and it is clear that he still doesn’t think himself worthy of touching her.

She will rip this doubt out, even if its thorns draw blood.

Her hands come up to cup his face.

With intensified ardour, she repeats, “I want you inside.”

Slowly, hesitantly, he rids himself of his resolve.

Her breathing turns rugged when Aemond grabs both her thighs, pulling them further apart. It’s dark, but he must see the way she glistens under the moonlight. Her cunt is dripping wet. She restrains herself from rocking her hips forward in search for friction.

“You do want me.”

She does. She does. She needs him, and she must be touched, and if he doesn’t bury himself inside her—

Her body jerks when Aemond’s fingers descend to her clit.

His touch is a firestorm. She shudders when he circles around the nub; all her rational thoughts die in flames. Aemond flicks his thumb back and forth across her clit with a firmness that has her panting. His digit is already slicked with the wetness pooling out of her entrance; his fingers gather the moisture and spread it over her pulsating lips. Her face and chest must be red with want. She wants him so much that it hurts.

A shaky moan tears out of her mouth when the pressure of his touch increases. Aemond speeds up his movements; it burns, it burns. She buckles her hips, and the muscles of his thigh tense, and he is watching her with raw wonder.

Aemond kisses her sloppily. The way their tongues brush against each other is filthy. She takes his bottom lip in between her teeth, and he grunts into her mouth, and his fingers don’t stop moving against her. The friction is euphoric. Before she knows it, it brings her over the edge.

She spasms beneath him, and he doesn’t let their lips part.

It is like reaching the stars. Like drowning. Like water given to someone dying of thirst. She’s suspended in a place without time; without faces that aren’t his. There’s just Aemond. His lips. His fingers.

He doesn’t slow until she cries out from overstimulation, and even then, he strokes her bundle of nerves in a featherlike caress.

“Touch me,” Aemond breathes against her shoulder.

Still reeling from her high, she is quick to oblige.

“Here?” she asks, hands trailing down his spine, and his answer comes in teeth biting her neck.

He’s softer than she ever imagined.

The way Aemond shudders underneath her palms makes it clear that he’s unaccustomed to tender touch. It breaks her heart into pieces to think of the boy he once was—the one so starved for love but unable to accept it, always, always thinking himself undeserving of it. It hurts even more to know that even now—even when they’re chest to chest, bodies bared and mouths connected—he believes himself unworthy.

He’s so soft. Hard. He is made of harsh lines and smooth dips, and her hands greedily traverse the expanse of his exposed flesh, hoping to prove that her desire for him has no bounds. She wants him as he is. She wants every part of him.

Aemond looks into her eyes, and the purples become blurry. “Your touch heals the rot inside me.”

She claims his mouth because she can. Because he is hers.

When he enters her, she is finally whole.

It hurts because it must. He pushes until the barrier inside her relents; he is slow enough to let her adjust to his length. Pain doesn’t take away the overwhelming sensation of being full. Her breath hitches, and Aemond is quick to steal another kiss before the sound dies on her lips. He kisses her once, twice—kisses her for so long that she forgets who she is.

His next thrust renders her dazed.

Aemond’s neck is slick with sweat. Emboldened—crazed—she gathers the dampness on her tongue. There’s a sound of skin hitting skin; he ruts into her with increasing force. She is not herself anymore; no longer recalls who she was before this. Before him. No one, she thinks. Empty, empty no one.

Her vision swims when his fingers find the spot where she aches most. Aemond sears the smallest of circles into her clit; one of his hands remains on her breast, and her eyes roll back from the onslaught of sensations. His cock thrusts inside her at an agonising pace. The stretch burns.

She begins to toe the line between lucidity and delirium, and he is there to carry her through the threshold.

Her fingers tug at his silver hair. Legs wrap around his waist with a crushing force. She holds him close, and he presses against her, and the sinful sounds that fall from their lips are surely loud enough to awaken the entirety of the Red Keep.

She doesn’t care. She doesn’t care. Now that Aemond is inside her, she never wants him to leave.

Aemond’s grunts become desperate. His movements are stripped of control, and she feels him sink his fingers deep into her hips. He holds her like he wants to leave bruises; pulls her closer with each thrust.

“Is this duty?” he whispers into her skin.

“No,” she is quick to answer. “It’s not. It’s not.”

This is something else. Something more. This is wildfire engulfing her heart; flames bursting through her bones. This is her body moulding into his in a perfect shape; lines blurring.

When his teeth sink into her shoulder, she knows that he is close. She rocks her hips against him, meeting each of his thrusts. She’s somewhere high above ground. She is flying.

“Inside me,” she rasps with the last of her breath. “I want your seed inside me.”

“Fuck.”

It sends him over the edge.

Her toes curl. Aemond’s movements turn wild, bordering on violent, and when he shudders and cries out and collapses, he takes her right with him.

There are stars inside her, and all erupt at once. She can do nothing but thrash beneath Aemond’s solid body; hold onto him so she doesn’t fall. She thrums with pleasure and pain and something else—something she cannot name—that has her gasping his name into the darkness. Aemond. Aemond.

He smothers the words with his lips on hers.

She cannot breathe. Air isn’t sufficient for her lungs. Aemond’s hands trail up her body, slow and exhausted, and soon he is cupping her face.

Their foreheads are pressed together.

All she knows is the colour of his eye.

Husband and wife. He holds her close, and their heartbeats match, and they are one.

[annie-creates]

Every last droplet

Pairing: Garrick Tavis x venin reader

Genre: fluff with a little smut

Words: 3700

Note: My longest one part fic so far is here! I have never written smut and this is my first try so please be kind. Please be aware not every detail might be completely true to the canon source material. Let me know what you think!

Aretia was safe, they told you. It’s protected by the mountains, the borders are far, nobody would dare to attack Aretia. And yet they did. The alarm bells rang since early morning, and before the sun rose, the city was covered in a battle, dragons, riders and soldiers filling every street, every abandoned house. You watched the chaos with doubt, the dread of fallen servicemen and screams of running residents filling your ears. So many have fallen, your friends, the enemies, even dragons. Yet after hours there was no end, no appeasement, no winning.

On the brim of your strength, you fall to your knees, nails digging into the burned soil of the field. You feel like you can’t go any more, and you know every other rider is probably in a similar state. Wounded, hurt, at the edge of their strength. Yet you keep going, because no other option can even be considered. You need to find the strength. The power to strike the final blow, the chance to end the battle. You know you can’t ask your dragon to provide that much, no dragon possessed this much power.

So you reach somewhere else. Into the ground under your fingers, through the tree roots and house foundations, under stones, river sources and mines. You reach so deep so can almost feel the heat of the earth’s core, looking for a spark, a string of power to borrow. You know this kind of power is forbidden, but in the desperation you face you don’t care. You’ll figure the consequences out when it comes to them. You search and search until you find it, the magnetic zest just waiting, calling you to use it, to just extend your finger and reach for it. It wraps around your palm, then your hand, and your whole body like a snake.

It is pain but it’s also power, it ruins you but builds you back up stronger. It burns every last vein in your body, but extends your feeling like you can touch every last stone in the city. You feel almighty, endless, like a force of pure power flow. It streams through you, reaching every last bit of your being. And then you snap. The wave washes over the city like a hurricane, takes your enemies down like mere puppets. It extinguishes the fires, leaving only smoldering smoke and the quietness of empty streets.

And then there was nothing. Nothing but you. An otherworldly power with no end and no limits. The deafening silence spreads. Nothing moves. The city is still and calm. For a moment, you’d think you’re the only human to exist. It seems like it. But then you let it leave. You don’t need the power anymore. You don’t need the help, the job is done. Your squad reaches you as the source of the power surge right in time to see the bloody red leave your eyes. You hear their gasps, see their horror-stricken looks. But you don’t care at the moment.

The city is safe. Your friends are safe. Your people are safe. And that is worth whatever cost they think you paid. Whatever consequences they’ll come up with for you. Will they be scared of you now? Hate you? Despise you? You can’t find it in yourself to care, still too high on the feeling of mighty force. You ended the battle. You won it. So why are they looking at you like you’ve just lost?

My dearest, what did you do? Your dragon speaks to you, but you don’t see the reason for their concern.

The assembly argues in the chambers, those uninvited patiently waiting in the hall. You can hear disturbed voices and screams here and there, the discussion dragging for hours. You’re all tired and battered, as are the people behind the closed doors, yet no one dares to leave. Everyone waiting with their breath hitched for your sentencing. You got off the buoyant feeling hours ago, the heaviness of your crimes fully weighting on your shoulders now.

You don’t miss how your teammates, the people you called friends just hours ago, keep their distance from you now, their alarmed looks oscillating between the door and you. The guard stands straighter, as if ready to detain you at any moment. You decide you’ve had enough. No matter what the decision is going to be, you’re sure somebody will tell you. So you leave the hall, everyone watching you surprised, and make your way to your room.

Your and Garrick’s room. He lived in this house long before you, but the day they brought you here, it was clear there was no other right place for you than his own bedroom. It honestly made relocation to the Riorson house much easier. You go about your night routine, taking the all-too-needed shower and changing into a thin nightgown. It helps to take your mind off things you don’t want to think of anymore. The door clicks about an hour later as you’re sitting on your bed, holding a book but not able to concentrate on the words, and not wanting to go to sleep without the man who was supposed to share it with you.

“So?” You encourage Garrick as he stares at you, you’d rather have the band aid torn off quickly.

“They couldn’t decide if they should let you… be here.” He admits finally, but it’s clear it meant something else. They couldn’t decide if they should let you live. “They’re scared.”

“Are you scared?” You meet his reluctant gaze and hold it with yours, so familiarly warm and amiable.

“Of you? Never.” This time he answers fast and surely.

As if to emphasize his words, he gets to bed with you, basking in your so familiar proximity. You didn’t scare him. He admired every single thing about you. How strong you were. How smart you were. How fast you’ve learned. How you never held it against him when he had to lie to you, or not say the whole truth. How you followed him blindly into the unknown, leaving Basgiath and your old life behind. How you helped everywhere you could, even if you didn’t know what it was for. How you didn’t question his decisions but always stood by him.

“I feel the pull. I hear the power calling me.” You admit quietly since his face is only a few inches away from yours. “But I don’t need it. It’s dull and uninteresting. And I don’t want it.”

That seems to settle him for now. You can hear the expecting hum of it, feel the pull it tries to grasp you in. The power would be there only if you’d reach for it. But you don’t want it. It doesn’t excite you, you’re not hungry for it. You don’t let it cloud your mind. You are enough. You and your dragon can take on anything you need. Garrick lays next to you, pulling you into the familiar embrace of strength and protection. This is what home feels like to you. Why would you reach for an endless power when all you need is right here, lying next to you in this very bed?

The next few weeks are nothing short of weird, filled with unsure glances and suspicious slander. Xaden goes hard on you, making sure you’re safe to be around, that you won’t channel forbidden powers under any circumstance. It honestly annoys you a little, but you understand why he’s doing it. He must protect his home, his people. And then, after every test he can come up with, he deems you safe. You didn’t notice you were walking on eggshells yourself until then. You could breathe much more freely and you stopped caring about what other people gossip about you.

The night you come back late from patrol, Garrick is already in bed in nothing but his sleep shorts. A carefree smile gracing his lips as he lowers the book he was entertaining himself with while waiting for you to come back. His own duties were done, and he could always use a little time to relax. But nothing beat the feeling of you coming home to him.

“Hi there, sweet thing.” He smiles at you, setting the book on his nightstand.

“You didn’t have to wait for me.” You roll your eyes on him with a playful smile.

“No, I didn’t. But then I wouldn’t be able to enjoy this.” Garrick agrees.

“Enjoy what?” You furrow your brows in confusion.

“Seeing you come home to me.” He admits, reaching for you as you already crossed the whole room.

His words soften you, reaching all the way from your heart to your very core. They touch every part of your being, the places his hands can’t roam. Damn you’d strip your own skin for this man, just so he can see you better. See all of you. Every little nerve end, because that’s how deep he’s rooted in you. As you swing your leg over his lap, pinning him to the mattress, the surprised gleam in his eyes is replaced with one of lust and anticipation.

“You are my home.” You admit before the first kiss to his lips that opens the floods of many that follow.

He grasps your hips, pulling himself up to discard your clothes piece by piece. Your hands roam his body, his muscles, his strong chest and broad shoulders. This man was like a sculpture of stone and marble, yet so incredibly sweet and soft at the same time. Your jacket falls to the floor, then your shirt, your pants and lingerie follows. You don’t waste time discarding the only piece of fabric that separates him from you, wanting to feel his touch on every part of your body.

You pepper his jaw with kisses, moving onto his throat as he massages every inch of your hips, butt, back and breasts. You moan into his apple, biting his neck and smoothing the flesh with your tongue. Your name falls off his lips, breathless and desperate as he fidgets under you, his hardening member poking you.

“You are everything I need.” You promise him with blown out eyes as you slowly sink onto him. “Everything I want.”

As you move on top of him, you lean on his shoulders for stability, as he squeezes your hips to help you bounce. You take your time at first, having nowhere to run, but with his heaving breath and beads of sweat forming all over you, you pick up your pace as if planning a cross-country race. You bend down to lay kisses from his chest all the way up to his jaw, heavy moans leaving his lips entwined with your name. The new position reaches deeper inside you, Garrick catching your ass to pound up into you, meeting your thrusts. You give him a sloppy kiss full of moans and teeth before your head finds its place in the crook of his neck.

Chants of ‘I love you’s and profanities fill the room, both of you chasing the high together. The thrusts are uncalculated but stimulating, the two of you reaching for the ecstasy closer and closer with every move. He frees one arm to circle your clit, eliciting a long moan out of you, which only spurs him further.

“Garrick I’m gonna cum.” You inform him breathlessly, gathering the energy to pick your head up and look into his eyes.

“I’m right there with you sweetheart.” He blurts out in between heavy breaths.

As you reach the high you bite his shoulder and arch into him, your sight flying to the ceiling. He burrows his face between your breasts as he pants loudly, reaching his own ecstasy in you and slowly helping you ride it out. Your vision clears from the red layer before you look down at him, his face completely calm and fucked out. Another kiss has him coming back to reality to you. He couldn’t imagine a better sight to come back to than your fucked out smile shining down at him.

“You are a piece of work.” He jokes, embracing you in his arms as he lays you next to him, enjoying the contact of your bare skin with his.

“Your piece of work.” You reiterate, snuggling into his shoulder.

After the long day you had, getting to fuck your boyfriend was the exact thing you needed to have a peaceful sleep. He hugs you to him, his strong body molding against yours, wrapping you in warmth and a sense of familiarity. You drift off to the sound of his even breaths and beating heart under your ear. In this moment there was not a single person in the world more lucky and grateful than you, no one more loved than you by the man in your bed.

The sun rays tickle your nose and you burry your face into the shoulder under your head on instinct. Your hand draped over the strong chest of your boyfriend slowly runs circles on his skin as you look up, your sight still glossed over from sleep. You’ll never get tired of waking up in his arms. He’s still deep into peaceful slumber, but your gaze catches on the bite mark you gave him last night. No, not a bite mark.

There’s something else on his shoulder. A white lip mark void of all color and pigment of his skin. The color drains from your face as you realize what you did. You must have channeled his own energy in your need to be closer to him than your skin would let you. The realization washes over you in a wave of uncertainty and fear. You made so sure there would be no calling, no temptation to give into, that you didn’t realize loving your man so much could guide you right into the place you desperately tried to avoid.

You quietly move from him getting out of the bed and slipping fresh clothes on. You couldn’t stand staying even a minute longer with what you did, facing the disappointment in yourself. Maybe you couldn’t outrun your own guilt, but you certainly could try. And you weren’t looking forward to anyone else finding out what you did, much less Garrick himself. If he didn’t before, he would certainly be afraid of you now, maybe even hate you. And you couldn’t blame him.

Avoiding him at breakfast, briefing, lunch and afternoon duties is easy, but over dinner he starts getting suspicious. It wasn’t like you to leave the bed before at least waking him up, much less to never see him during the day. That night you don’t come back to bed, Garrick having a bit of sleep only thanks to passing out of exhaustion. And the following days aren’t much better. He notices a few of your things missing or changing places, clear evidence that you found a way to come back when you knew he wouldn’t be here.

Are you sure this is the best approach of your little problem, my dearest?  Your dragon asks but you’re masterly ignoring them. You know, I’m sure the big one wouldn’t be too mad about your slip up.

And that’s why I’m not asking your opinion. So shut the fuck up. You growl at them as they growl back at your tone.

Watch your mouth. I’m not the source of your troubles Dear. They warn you before letting you be.

Garrick didn’t mind the mark on his shoulder honestly. It was a little unexpected, but it would show everyone who he belongs to and that’s a sentiment he couldn’t say no to. He knew, however, how anyone else would react to finding out what probably happened, so he hid it for your sake. Until he forgot during a sparring session with Xaden in the late afternoon, the open windows of the gym doing nothing to bring the hot temperature down.

“What’s that?” The always so observant Violet asks as he takes his shirt off.

“What?” He realized too late, trying to play it off dumb.

“On your shoulder.” Her accusatory tone brings the attention of everyone else and Garrick tries to hide it a bit, but there’s no escaping this conversation now.

“Did Y/n do that?” Xaden challenges with a frown.

“Maybe..?” Garrick tries weighing his options in avoiding a direct answer.

“Did she or did she not!” His best friend presses. “Garrick if Y/n takes energy from you she’s not safe.”

It may have sounded like a concern for his girlfriend, but Garrick knew better. He was there when everyone avoided her. He was there when the assembly argued about even letting her live. He was there when everyone treated her like the worst enemy, the girl who selflessly gave everything to protect them and their home. When she made the ultimate sacrifice for everyone else but herself. And this is what she got back for it? They were scared it wasn’t safe to be around her.

“I wouldn’t know. She’s probably so ashamed I haven’t seen her since.” Garrick argues back, his words shutting everyone up. “No thanks to you since y’all treat her like a weapon without feelings.”

The gym is so quiet all their sights switch from Garrick to the creaking door as they open, your shrunken form appearing in them. Your eyes lazily scan the room, widening in panic as you see them all staring at you. Without a word you run back out, but Garrick is already hot on your heels. Stupid idea, you made it without seeing most of them for the whole two weeks, sleeping slouched in the library chairs and camping out with your dragon, couldn’t you make it a little longer?

“Y/n wait!” Garrick shouts as he grips your shoulder, his strides longer than yours.

“What.” He turns you to him, but you keep your sight trailed on your shoes.

“Where the hell have you been?” You shrug your shoulders at that as if it wasn’t a big deal.

“I’ve been around, you know?” Your voice is full of anything but certainty.

“Why are you not coming home?” Garrick grips your chin gently, forcing you to look at him.

It’s the same warm calm eyes he knows and loves, only now are they full of fear and doubt. His heart breaks at that sight, he never wanted to see you broken, even if by your own doing. He needs to fix this, he can’t see you struggling when he could have helped it or prevent it at all. You wanted to snap back with the fact you are home, or that this isn’t a home to you at all, but you know what he means. His room, his bed. And with the look full of sorrow he gives you, you don’t have the heart for a witty remark.

“Sweetheart talk to me.” He pleads slowly.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” You admit quietly, afraid to break the moment and make him run away in fear when he finally realizes how dangerous you are.

“You said you’re not interested in the power. Did that change?” Garrick asks.

“No. Of course not.” You retort with a deep furrow of your brows, did he doubt you?

“Then why are you avoiding me?” He challenges.

“Because I can’t control myself with you.” It takes you a minute to respond but there was no denying the truth. “Clearly.”

“Yes you can. I’ve seen you control yourself for months now. And you didn’t change, not one bit.” Garrick assures you but it’s getting harder every day to believe him.

Listen to the big one, he knows what he’s talking about. Your dragon quips in.

This is not the best timing friend. You retort back.

He’s the one putting up with you, sometimes you need to trust the people around you to judge you best. They try to convince you. You are biased.

So is he. You argue back. He loves me. He could never let me go even if I was the worst venin there ever was and there was none of me left.

In that moment you realize you’re telling the truth you yourself refused to see though. Garrick loved you more than anything. He wouldn’t lie to you, he would never leave you, and were you to turn evil, he’d do everything in his power to prevent that. You needed Garrick in your corner, more than you ever needed him before. Garrick takes your clouded face in his palms.

“I love you Y/n.” He interrupts your train of thoughts. “I’m yours. I’d give myself to you even if you were to drain every last droplet of will and power I have. Even if you’d take every last string of life, I’d still be nothing but yours. Fully, truly.”

“Garrick don’t…” But your protests don’t stop him.

“I promise I’ll be there every day, at every step, every slip up you might have. Every doubt that may cloud that strong mind of yours I’ll chase away. I’ll be standing right behind you as you find your path, right beside you to fight your battles by your side, and right in front of you were anyone to try and take you away from me.” He kisses your forehead. “And were you to stumble I’ll catch you. Were you to fall, I’ll fall with you. I’ll be right there, as long as you let me, and even after that, as long as you need me. I promise you’ll never know a life without me.”

“I’ll always need you.” You confess through the tears wetting your face.

“Then I’ll always be there.” He promises without missing a beat.

You hide your face in his chest, his strong hug shielding you from the rest of the world. Even if you were to succumb to the power of darkness, even if the color of blood overtook your familiar calm eyes, even if there was nothing but a shell left of your body, Garrick would still be there. And were you to turn into darkness, he’d be your first follower. Because Garrick Tavis was nothing if not yours.

[kckt88]

Jilted.

Summary:

After Y.N is jilted at the alter she recieves comfort from an unlikely source.

Warning(s): Angst, Drama, Swearing, Alcohol Consumption, Mention of Infidelity, Smut, Kissing, Fingering, Oral Sex (F Recieving), P in V.

AEMOND x Y.N

Word Count: 8278

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated, do not copy/post to other sights without my permission.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @killua2dot0 @msassenach @xcharlottemikaelsonx @moonnicole @toodlesxcuddles @mamawiggers1980 @minttea07 @nommingonfood

Y.N sat on the soft grass, her knees pulled up to her chest as she stared out at the river flowing in front of her, the bottle of champagne gripped tightly in one hand.

It had been meant for a toast on what should have been the happiest day of her life—her wedding day—but now it served a different purpose entirely.

Her mascara ran in dark streaks down her cheeks, mixing with the tears that continued to fall as she wiped them away with an angry swipe.

She raised the bottle to her lips and took a deep swig, the bubbles burning her throat.

She wasn’t sure if the burning was from the alcohol or from the bitterness that welled up inside her. Jacaerys, she thought, her lips curling into a frown as his name echoed through her mind. Her fiancé—no, her ex-fiancé—had come to her before the ceremony and confessed to being in love with another woman.

He had left her here, heartbroken and humiliated, without so much as a second thought.

"Fucking coward," she muttered bitterly under her breath, taking another swig. He hadn’t even had the decency to tell the guests himself that the wedding was off.

No, he’d left that task to her, left her to stand in front of their family and friends and break the news.

The memory of their shocked faces, the murmurs of confusion and pity, was still fresh in her mind. She had never felt more embarrassed.

From the distance, she could hear the faint sounds of music drifting from the estate.

She had insisted everyone still attend, considering everything had already been paid for.

At least someone’s having a good time, she thought bitterly.

The life she had imagined with Jace, the children they had talked about, the future they had planned—it was all shattered now.

She let out a huff of frustration, bringing the bottle back to her lips for another long drink.

“How could he do this to me?” she whispered, her voice trembling. She thought they had been happy.

What had gone wrong?

As she wiped her face with the back of her hand, she heard footsteps approaching from behind. Her shoulders tensed, and she let out an annoyed sigh.

"I thought I said I wanted to be alone," she called out, her voice rough from the crying.

She turned her head, to see Aemond Targaryen, her ex fiancé’s uncle.

He stood there, his long silver hair shimmering in the moonlight as he casually leaned against a tree, lighting a cigarette.

He took a slow drag, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the evening air before meeting her gaze with his cool, ever-watchful eye.

He was dressed impeccably as always, but there was an unreadable expression on his face as he watched her.

“Well,” Y.N said, wiping away another tear and taking another sip from the champagne bottle. “Come to gloat?”

Aemond raised a brow, but said nothing for a moment, simply taking another drag before responding. “Hardly.” His voice was low, calm, as though nothing in the world could ever rattle him. He let the silence stretch out before he added, “Just thought you could use some company.”

Y.N snorted at that, shaking her head. “I’m not exactly great company right now.”

"Neither am I," Aemond replied dryly, his lips curling into the slightest hint of a smirk.

He moved to sit down beside her, still keeping a comfortable distance, the smoke from his cigarette curling up into the air.

She glanced at him, unsure whether to be annoyed by his presence or grateful for the distraction. “You don’t strike me as the comforting type.”

Aemond chuckled softly, the sound almost surprising in its warmth. "I’m not. But for you I shall make an exception” he said, glancing out at the river.

Y.N stared at the cigarette Aemond held loosely between his fingers, the smoke swirling into the air in lazy patterns.

Without a word, she reached over and plucked it from his hand, bringing it to her lips for a long, deliberate drag.

The familiar burn of nicotine filled her lungs, and for a moment, she closed her eyes, savouring the feeling she hadn’t allowed herself in years.

Aemond arched a brow, clearly surprised. "I didn’t know you smoked."

Y.N exhaled the smoke with a scoff, her lips curling bitterly. "I used to. But I gave it up because Jace didn’t like it." She took another drag, the resentment heavy in her voice. "But he’s not here, is he? So, fuck it."

Aemond huffed a low laugh at that, when Y.N offered him the cigarette back he shook his head, before pulling another from his pack and lighting it effortlessly. "Fair enough."

Y.N watched the flame briefly before taking another long drag from her cigarette, letting the smoke slip from her lips in a quiet sigh.

The music from the distant reception still played faintly in the background, a cruel reminder of the day that should have been hers.

“Has Jace’s mother and stepfather left yet?” she asked, the bitterness creeping back into her voice.

Aemond took a drag before answering, his tone as nonchalant as ever. “Yes. They couldn’t get out of there quick enough.”

Y.N scoffed, shaking her head in disbelief. “No doubt Rhaenyra’s gone to coddle her darling boy. It’ll all be my fault, of course. I drove him into another woman’s arms, or whatever bullshit excuse she decides to come up with.” Her voice was sharp with resentment. “Seems to be a talent of hers—blaming others for her sons’ actions.”

Aemond’s lips curled slightly as he glanced at her. “I’ve experienced that myself.”

Y.N knew exactly what he was referring to. Her gaze lingered on the scar that marred the left side of his face, the reminder of the day Jace’s younger brother, Lucerys, had slashed out Aemond’s eye when they were children.

Aemond had never received an apology. Lucerys had never been punished. Another one of Rhaenyra’s sons shielded from the consequences of his actions.

She took another drag, feeling the cigarette burn down to its end before stubbing it out in the grass. Her thoughts swirled darkly, anger and confusion twisting together.

She unscrewed the champagne bottle again and took a swig, then wordlessly offered it to Aemond. He accepted without hesitation, taking a drink before handing it back.

“There’s one thing I can’t understand,” Y.N muttered, staring at the bubbles rising inside the bottle.

Aemond flicked ash from his cigarette, giving her a sidelong glance. “What’s that?”

Y.N shook her head, her brow furrowing. “If Jace is in love with someone else, it’s obviously been going on for a while-why not just end things with me? Why ask me to marry him? Why go through all the planning, the ceremony, spending all this money—for it to end up like this?”

Aemond took a slow drag, his expression contemplative. When he spoke, his voice was cold and matter-of-fact. “Because he’s a fucking spineless coward.”

Y.N huffed in agreement, her lips tightening in frustration. "You got that right." In a sudden, angry gesture, she reached up and ripped the veil from her head, throwing it to the ground beside her.

The delicate fabric fluttered briefly before settling in the grass, forgotten.

Aemond stifled his cigarette in the dirt, watching her with a quiet intensity. Then he noticed the way her shoulders had started to shake ever so slightly, her body trembling from the cool breeze now settling in for the evening.

Without a word, he shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

Y.N blinked in surprise, turning her head slightly to look at him. “Thanks,” she murmured, her voice softening.

Aemond nodded, his sharp gaze lingering on her face. He noticed the fresh tears that were sliding down her cheeks, the pain evident despite her attempts to mask it with bitterness and anger.

For a brief moment, he hesitated, unsure if she would accept comfort from him.

He shifted slightly, reaching out but pausing just before his arm could settle around her shoulders. “Is it okay?” he asked quietly, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

Y.N gave a small nod, her voice barely above a whisper. “Yes.”

With that, Aemond wrapped his arm around her, pulling her into a warm, firm embrace. Y.N didn’t resist.

She leaned into him, burying her face into his shoulder as the tears came faster now, her body shaking with quiet sobs.

He held her tightly, letting her cry without saying a word, offering her the kind of quiet strength she hadn’t known she needed.

After a few minutes of quiet sobbing in Aemond's embrace, Y.N suddenly pulled away, furiously swiping the tears from her cheeks.

Her jaw tightened as she shook her head, her voice firm with newfound resolve. "I’ve shed too many tears over that man today, and I refuse to cry anymore."

Aemond, watching her closely, reached into his pocket and pulled out a neatly folded handkerchief. "May I?" he asked, his voice as gentle as it had been all evening.

Y.N hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Yes.”

Aemond shifted closer, lifting his hand and gently placing it under her chin, tilting her face up toward him.

His touch was unexpectedly soft as he wiped away the stray tears that still clung to her cheeks, dabbing at the streaks of mascara with deliberate care.

His fingers brushed against her skin, and for a moment, their eyes locked, the spark of something unspoken passing between them.

Neither of them moved for a moment, but then their faces inched closer, the tension in the air palpable.

Y.N’s breath caught in her throat, and Aemond’s hand paused under her chin, his gaze flicking briefly to her lips—

Then his phone buzzed, shattering the moment.

Aemond blinked, his expression shifting as he reluctantly pulled his phone from his pocket.

He glanced at the screen, his thumb brushing across it to check the message.

It was a text from Helaena: Heading home with Aegon. You coming?

Aemond’s lips thinned for a moment before he typed back a quick response: No. I’m staying with Y.N.

He waited a moment, then Helaena’s reply came through: Take care of her.

Aemond slipped his phone back into his pocket, turning his attention back to Y.N, whose eyes were still clouded with the remnants of her earlier emotions.

“Is everything alright?” she asked, her voice quiet but steady.

"It was just Helaena," Aemond said with a small shrug. "She’s heading home with Aegon and asked if I was coming."

Y.N gave a half-hearted smile, her tone self-conscious. “You can leave if you want to. You don’t have to stay with me.”

Aemond looked at her, his gaze unwavering. "I’ll stay if you want me to."

Y.N’s eyes softened at his words. “I’d like that”.

Aemond glanced down at the empty champagne bottle between them, an amused smile pulling at the corner of his lips. "We might need more to drink, though," he pointed out, his tone light as he lifted the bottle, giving it a little shake.

Y.N huffed a quiet laugh, the tension in her chest easing ever so slightly. "I’ve got a mini bar in my room," she said, standing up slowly.

She clutched his suit jacket tighter around her shoulders, the warmth of the fabric still clinging to her.

Aemond stood up as well, slipping his hands into his pockets as he gave her a small, knowing smile. "Lead the way."

Y.N met his gaze for a moment before turning toward the estate, her steps steady, the weight of the evening still heavy on her—but somehow, with Aemond beside her, it didn’t feel quite so unbearable.

As Y.N unlocked the door to her room, Aemond’s sharp eye immediately took in the sight before him.

The rose petals on the bed, arranged meticulously in the shape of a heart, a cruel reminder of what this room had been meant for.

The honeymoon suite. He glanced over at Y.N as she kicked off her heels without a second thought, crossing the room and draping his jacket over the back of a chair before heading straight for the mini bar.

"Don’t you have to pay for that?" Aemond asked, raising an amused eyebrow as he watched her pull out a handful of miniature bottles.

Y.N flashed him a mischievous smile. “Yes, but it’s not me paying. It’s Jace-he used his credit card to pay for the room-”

Aemond let out a genuine laugh, the sound rich and deep as he crossed the room. “Well, in that case-” He grabbed a handful of the tiny bottles, particularly all the whiskeys.

He poured them each a drink, watching as Y.N downed the amber liquid in one go, grimacing at the harsh burn it left behind.

Y.N sat down on the bed with a soft thud, laughing as Aemond handed her another drink. He tilted his head, curious. “What’s so funny?”

She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. “When I woke up this morning, I never imagined I’d end up in the honeymoon suite-with Jace’s uncle.”

Aemond smirked as he leaned against the bedpost, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “Could be worse. You could be with Jace.”

Y.N burst out laughing, shaking her head. “Yeah, and none the wiser to his cheating.”

Aemond’s expression darkened for a moment before he gave a slow nod. “Blessing in disguise, then.”

Y.N raised her glass, her eyes locking with his. “Here’s to spending the night in far better company.”

Aemond’s smirk widened. “Here, here.” They both downed their drinks in unison, the liquid burning all the way down, and Aemond poured them each another.

As the silence settled between them, Y.N leaned back slightly, her gaze drifting over him with a curious intensity. “You know,” she said slowly, “I always thought you didn’t like me.”

Aemond looked at her, caught off guard. “No-why would you think that?”

She shrugged, her fingers tracing the edge of her glass. “You never looked at me when I was around. Never spoke to me unless you had to.”

Aemond sighed softly, running a hand through his silver hair. “It’s not that I disliked you,” he said quietly. “I just-find it easier to push people away.”

Y.N tilted her head, her expression softening. “That’s not a healthy way to live.”

Aemond gave her a wry smile, his gaze flickering with something like understanding. “Neither is changing who you are to suit someone else’s idea of you.”

Y.N blinked at that, her brow furrowing in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Aemond took another sip of his drink before speaking. “I mean how you changed when you started up with Jace. You stopped being-you.”

Y.N scoffed softly, her eyes narrowing slightly. “What would you know about that?”

Aemond’s voice was steady, unflinching. “Oh, I know plenty. Like how you gave up smoking because he didn’t like it. How you turned down that dream job offer because Jace threw a tantrum about you being away too often. And how you stopped dyeing your hair because he didn’t like the colour.”

Y.N opened her mouth to argue but quickly closed it, swallowing hard as she looked away. “That’s not—”

Aemond cut her off, his voice firm. “What happened? Of course it is. You can lie to yourself, but you can’t lie to me. Any man who treats a woman like that is no man at all.”

Y.N looked down at her glass, biting her lip. “Maybe…”

Aemond scoffed, sitting down on the bed beside her. “There’s no ‘maybe’ about it,” he said, his voice low but insistent. “You don’t need to change yourself for anyone. You are perfect just the way you are.”

Y.N turned to face him, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You think I’m perfect?”

Aemond downed the last of his whiskey, his gaze intense as it locked onto hers. “Yes,” he said softly, his voice almost a whisper. “I always thought so.”

Y.N’s heart skipped a beat at his words, her pulse quickening as she leaned forward just slightly, her voice barely audible. “So, you wouldn’t change me?”

Aemond shook his head, his expression sincere. “No. I like you just the way you are.”

The air between them shifted, thick with tension as Y.N slowly leaned in closer, her gaze drifting to his lips.

Without thinking, she pressed a soft kiss to his mouth. Aemond froze for a moment, caught off guard, but then responded, the kiss deepening as something ignited between them.

After a breathless second, he pulled back just slightly, his forehead resting against hers. “I don’t want to take advantage of you,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with restraint.

Y.N shook her head, her hand cupping his cheek as she looked into his eyes. “You’re not. I want this. I want you.”

Aemond’s resolve crumbled at her words. He leaned in again, and this time, the kiss was urgent, filled with all the emotions neither of them had spoken aloud.

Aemond’s hands began to roam over Y.N’s body, his fingers gripping the fabric of her wedding dress.

In his desperation, he tugged too hard, the sound of ripping fabric breaking the silence. He froze for a moment, pulling back, eyes wide with regret as he muttered, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—"

But Y.N shook her head, a wicked smile curling at the corners of her mouth. "It's okay," she whispered, her voice husky with desire. “Rip it some more.”

Aemond’s breath caught, a soft laugh escaping him as he eagerly obeyed. His hands found the delicate silken fabric again, tearing at it with abandon.

The sound of buttons popping off echoed in the room, the gown splitting further under his grasp, until the once-pristine dress hung in tatters from her body.

His eye darkened with lust as he took in the sight of her, and before she could say another word, his mouth was on hers again, kissing her with a fervour that sent heat coursing through her veins.

Y.N moaned against his lips, her arms winding around his neck to pull him closer, pressing his lean body against hers.

As their kiss deepened, her fingers tangled in his long, silvery hair, tugging gently, and Aemond groaned into her mouth, his hips shifting toward her at the sensation.

Her hand trailed up to the leather strap of his eyepatch, her fingers brushing it tentatively. She broke the kiss just enough to whisper, “Can I take this off?”

Aemond stiffened for a moment, hesitation flashing in his eye. "It’s-unsightly," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t want to scare you."

Y.N shook her head softly, her thumb brushing over the strap reassuringly. “It’s okay-you could never scare me”

He closed his eye, giving a small nod of consent, and Y.N carefully removed the patch, letting the worn leather slip from his face.

She gazed upon him, her breath catching as she took in the sight of the jagged scar that bisected his face, the brilliant sapphire gleaming where his left eye once was.

Y.N didn’t flinch or recoil. Instead, she reached up, cupping his face gently in her hands.

She pressed a soft kiss to the scar, her lips brushing over it with reverence, and whispered, “You are so beautiful.”

A single tear slid down Aemond’s cheek, and he pulled her into another kiss, this one tender and full of unspoken emotion.

Y.N responded with equal fervour, her hands running down his chest, fingers slipping beneath his shirt, feeling the hard muscle underneath.

As their bodies pressed even closer together, her hand drifted lower, fingers brushing over the bulge straining against his trousers.

Aemond’s breath hitched, a low groan vibrating in his throat as she cupped him, the pressure sending a rush of heat through him.

“I need you” exclaimed Aemond quietly as he pulled Y.N into his arms and ran his nose up and down her cheek, his hot breath tickling her skin.

“Then take me” whispered Y.N as the rest of her ruined dressed slipped from her body.

“Not wearing a bra, you naughty girl” muttered Aemond as he pressed a firm kiss to Y.N’s shoulder and directed her to sit on the bed.

Aemond’s singular blue eye roved over Y.N’s body, thinking how beautiful she was.

“Open”

Aemond smirked as Y.N obediently opened her mouth; he ran his thumb slowly over her plump lower lip before slipping it inside her mouth.

Without further prompting Y.N closed her mouth and began to suck, her tongue sliding along his thumb, Aemond watched as a small trickle of drool made its way down her chin.

He leaned forward and ran his tongue over her chin as Y.N continued to suck the thumb he had in her mouth.

“Such a good girl”

He removed his thumb and grasped Y.Ns chin, holding her mouth open as he leaned forward and spat in her open mouth.

“Swallow”

Aemond growled as he watched Y.N obey and swallow, her eyes never leaving his.

“Give me your hands” ordered Aemond as he slowly slipped off his tie and his shirt.

Y.N placed her wrists together and held them towards Aemond.

Aemond pressed Y.N backwards, so she was laying on the bed, he loomed over her as he hooked his long fingers on the tie and moved her arms above her head.

“Aemond” gasped Y.N.

“Don’t move your hands” said Aemond sternly.

Aemond pressed a series of delicate kisses to Y.N’s neck before he nipped at her ear lobe.

“Be a good girl for daddy” whispered Aemond as he moved his lips to hers.

Y.N whimpered as Aemond pulled away and began moving down, pressing kisses and running his tongue over her body as he went.

Aemond could still smell vanilla infused lotion that she had no doubt massaged into her skin earlier in the day.

When Y.N began squirming, Aemond knelt down beside the bed, reaching to remove her knickers, he bunched them up his hand before he pressed the white lacy material to his face, inhaling the scent of Y.N’s arousal, his eye rolling into the back of his head.

After stuffing the underwear into his pocket, Aemond slid his hands up Y.N’s smooth legs and held open her thighs as he moved forward and teasingly pressed his nose against her slick folds.

“A-Aemond”

“Hm, so wet for me baby” rasped Aemond.

“P-Please”

“Please-what?” asked Aemond.

“Please daddy. I’ve been so good” moaned Y.N as Aemond’s mouth descending on her cunny.

Ravenously, he pressed into Y.N’s core with his tongue, in and out.

Remembering that Aemond had ordered her not to move, Y.N clutched the bedspread above her head, her fingers digging into the fabric.

Aemond withdrew from her soaking wet core and lashed hard at her clitoris with his tongue, pulling on it with his lips.

He was hard, fast and brutal, alternating between her assaulted bundle of nerves and drinking deep from her cunt.

Y.N ground down on Aemond, hard; his tongue speared deeper inside her, and she felt the warm curl of her peak approach.

“That’s it come for me baby” urged Aemond, his fingers reaching forward to caress her pearl.

“AEMOND” screamed Y.N arching off the bed as she peaked.

“Hm” muttered Aemond as he pressed a series of kisses to Y.N’s inner thighs.

“P-Please A-Aemond. Need you” begged Y.N.

Aemond rose from the floor, his chin shining with her slick, he smirked as he swiped the back of his hand over chin and then ran his tongue over his hand, savouring the delicious taste of Y.N.

Aemond reached forward and manoeuvred Y.N onto all fours, pressing her face into the mattress,  as she braced her weight on her arms.

Y.N was a delectable sight indeed, her arse in the air, her wet cunt on display, gods he needed to be inside her, but first he reached over her body and quickly untied her hands.

Throwing his tie over his shoulder, Aemond squeezed the meat of her arse before he slapped her, delighting in Y.N’s squeal of surprise.

He then bent forward to press a series of kisses to her glorious arse, his large hands kneading the soft pale flesh, before he sunk his teeth into her.

“AEMOND” squealed Y.N.

“Hmmm”

“P-Please Aemond” whispered Y.N, her voice slightly muffled as she pressed her face into the mattress.

Aemond stuck his finger in his mouth before he ran it over her puckered hole.

“Is this alight?” breathed Aemond.

“Y-Yes. Put it inside me. I can take it” whimpered Y.N.

“Tell me-Tell me if it’s too much” replied Aemond as he slowly pressed his finger inside her.

“Ooh Aemond, yes. Please. More” babbled Y.N as he moved his finger in and out before adding a second.

“Your doing so well-my darling” moaned Aemond as he moved his fingers inside Y.N.

“I want you-please Aemond”

“Now baby, I’m going to fuck you until you scream” said Aemond, delighting in the way Y.N began nodding and whimpering.

“Y-Yes” whimpered Y.N

“FUCK” groaned Aemond as he removed his trousers and took his cock in hand and began rubbing it along Y.N’s wet folds.

“Please, daddy. I want it-I want you, please don’t make me wait anymore” begged Y.N.

“Fuck, that’s it” moaned Aemond his hard length filling her cunny in one smooth stroke.

“God. Yes. Aemond” moaned Y.N, his fingers in her arse and his cock deep in her cunt was so good.

Aemond began to thrust in and out of her in deep achingly slow thrusts, his fingers moving in rhythm with his cock.

“Harder-more-please” wailed Y.N

“My dirty girl” growled Aemond, his fingers moving faster.

“Aemond-” whimpered Vaelynn.

“That’s it-take it-take all of me” muttered Aemond as he removed his fingers, and grabbed hold of Y.N’s hips and increased the pace of his thrusts.

Y.N took one of Aemonds hands that was on her hip and brought it to the back of her head.

Knowing what Y.N wanted, Aemond placed his hand on the back of her head and pushed her face into the mattress, her back arching.

His cock reaching deep inside her as he moved with such ferocity it could rival an animal, his long silver hair sticking to his sweaty back.

Aemond then grasped both of Y.N’s arms and held them behind her back as he pounded into her, the sound of his hips slapping against hers echoed around the room.

Y.N’s cries of pleasure were muffled by the mattress, her face buried in the soft fabric.

Her body arched in response to Aemond’s relentless rhythm, each cry escaping her lips in a series of desperate moans that reverberated through the room.

Aemond’s grip on Y.N was fierce, his movements relentless. He drove into her with a force that seemed almost brutal, but Y.N took every thrust with an almost frantic eagerness.

Her body trembled under him, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she surrendered completely to the intensity of their coupling.

“Fuck-that’s it” moaned Aemond.

He released Y.N’s arms and then took hold of her hair, twisting his fingers into her messy tresses before he pulled her backwards, her sweaty back colliding with his chest.

Aemond held Y.N tight too him as he fucked her, his cock reaching deep inside her.

One hand grasped her hip, his blunt fingers digging into her flesh. Whilst his other released her hair and moved to her throat, squeezing gently.

“Give it to me please” pleaded Y.N her head lolling back onto Aemond’s shoulder, her arm reaching behind her to tangle in his hair as their lips connected in a messy, passionate kiss.

Aemond felt his balls draw in; his peak was approaching.

But he didn’t want to finish like this, he wanted to see her face as she came around his cock.

Aemond withdrew, ignoring Y.N whimper of protest as he rolled her onto her back and slipped inside her again.

Y.N wrapped her legs around Aemond’s waist, drawing him closer as he began to thrust inside her, his cock reaching deep inside her.

“A-Aemond, I’m close-please” begged Y.N.

He snaked a hand down Y.N’s body and played with her clitoris, teasing it with his fingers.

“Oh gods” moaned Y.N as her whole-body began to shake.

“Come for me, love” breathed Aemond, his thrusts starting to jerk.

He was close. So close. Just a little more-

Y.N screamed as her desperately needed peak exploded from her body, making every limb tremble as her body bucked around Aemond’s cock.

Aemond’s own peak nearly took him off his feet. The sensation took over his body as he spilled rope after rope of his seed, he had no recollection of what he did or said for the good minute it took for his peak to crest, then subside.

He had never come so hard in his life.

For a moment he held himself over Y.N’s body, as his cock softened inside her.

After a few minutes Aemond gently pulled out and rolled onto the mattress beside Y.N, he reached forward and enveloped her into a tight hug.

“I-I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“Not at all” replied Y.N smiling.

The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room as Y.N slowly stirred awake.

She felt the warmth of Aemond's body pressed against hers, his arms wrapped securely around her, holding her close. For a moment, she just lay there, taking in the strange turn her life had taken.

Yesterday, she had woken up believing she was about to marry the man she thought she’d spend the rest of her life with. But instead of the dream wedding she had envisioned, Jacaerys had cruelly abandoned her, leaving her humiliated and heartbroken.

And now, here she was, wrapped in the embrace of his uncle, having spent what should have been her wedding night in a completely unexpected way.

Y.N bit her lip as she thought back to the events of the night before. She could still feel the ache of Jace’s betrayal, but perhaps Aemond had been right—it was a blessing in disguise.

Better to have been spared more pain in the long run. As hurtful as Jace’s actions had been, Y.N knew deep down that the relationship had been built on shaky ground.

She had been bending herself to fit into his world, while he had been unfaithful and deceitful.

Her mind drifted to the night she’d spent with Aemond. A smile tugged at her lips as she remembered how incredible it had been.

It had been a long time since she had felt so wanted, so fully satisfied. Shamelessly, she couldn’t help but think that Aemond’s prowess in bed far surpassed Jace’s by miles.

The thought made her giggle softly to herself.

Aemond stirred beside her, pressing a lazy kiss to her shoulder. His voice was still heavy with sleep as he asked, “What’s so funny?”

Y.N turned slightly in his arms, her smile widening as she looked at him. “Just a thought I had.”

Aemond hummed, his interest piqued. “And what would that be?”

Y.N smirked, biting her lip playfully. “How skilled you are in bed,” she teased, watching as a small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, though his cheeks flushed a faint pink.

He chuckled, brushing a strand of her hair away from her face. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice soft yet filled with amusement. “Not too bad yourself,” he added, his tone teasing as he pressed another kiss to her shoulder.

Y.N rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help but feel a little flutter of satisfaction at the compliment.

She shifted in his arms, feeling his warmth against her skin. “Do you fancy some breakfast?” she asked, her voice light. “I can order room service.”

Aemond’s lips grazed her shoulder again, and he hummed in consideration. “Sure,” he said, but then he shifted, his hard cock pressing against her body. “But in a little while-there’s something else I’d rather have first.”

Y.N giggled as she felt his hard cock pressed against her, his desire unmistakable. She turned her head to meet his gaze, eyes bright with amusement and anticipation. “Oh?” she teased, her voice playful.

Aemond leaned in, his lips brushing against hers, the heat between them quickly rekindling as his hand slid down her side, pulling her closer.

“Mmm,” he murmured against her lips, “definitely.”

Y.N giggled again, wrapping her arms around his neck as she kissed him deeply, already feeling the sparks of another passionate encounter beginning to ignite.

Perhaps this wasn't the wedding night she had imagined, but in Aemond’s arms, she felt a sense of comfort and desire she hadn’t known she was missing.

And as they lost themselves in each other once more, Y.N realized that maybe, just maybe, the unexpected turns in life could lead to something far better than what she had planned.

Y.N sat across from Aemond at the small table, the remnants of their breakfast spread between them.

The atmosphere was quiet, but not uncomfortable, until her phone buzzed, vibrating against the table. She glanced down, her face stiffening slightly as she saw Jace’s name flashing on the screen.

Without a second thought, she rejected the call and set the phone back down, picking up her fork as if nothing had happened.

Aemond raised an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you answer?”

Y.N shrugged, keeping her gaze on her plate. “I have nothing to say to him. If he’s calling to apologize, he can stick it up his arse.”

Aemond huffed a laugh, his lips twitching in amusement. “Fair enough. But you’ll have to talk to him at some point, won’t you?”

Y.N shook her head, her expression firm. “Not really.”

Aemond frowned slightly, curiosity evident in his face. “Don’t you live together?”

“No,” Y.N said, taking another bite of her food. “We still have our separate apartments. We planned to move in together after we got married.”

Aemond cocked his head to the side, a hint of confusion on his face. “That’s a little odd, isn’t it?”

Y.N let out a small sigh, her fork stilling on her plate. “At the time, I didn’t think it mattered. But looking back-I guess it was just Jace’s way of keeping his affair hidden. Separate lives, separate apartments. Made it easier for him to lie.”

Aemond noticed the sadness in her eyes, the way her posture slumped ever so slightly as she spoke.

Reaching across the table, he gently took her hand in his. His thumb grazed over her knuckles, and his voice softened. “If you wish to forget what happened between us last night and this morning, I’ll understand.”

Y.N looked up at him, shaking her head immediately. “No,” she said firmly. “I don’t want to forget. I just-I’ve realized I’ve been living a lie for so long and I’ve spent years with the wrong man.”

Aemond smiled softly, his grip loosening as he let go of her hand. “The right man is out there somewhere,” he said, his voice low and sure.

She smiled at his words, though there was a flicker of something deeper in her eyes. Checking the time on her phone, Y.N bit her lip in thought.

“What are you doing?” Aemond asked, sensing her change in mood.

Y.N hesitated for a moment before answering, “I, uh-was the one who paid for the two-week honeymoon in Italy. It was supposed to be a surprise for Jace, but obviously, he’s not going anymore.” She gave a soft, bitter laugh. “But I’m not about to waste all that money. I still plan to go. The flight leaves later tonight, so I’ve got time to go home, grab my suitcase, and head to the airport.”

Aemond nodded. “That sounds nice.”

She was quiet for a moment, her mind clearly racing, before she suddenly blurted, “Would you like to come with me?”

Aemond blinked, surprised by her offer. “Me?”

“Yeah,” she said, her voice growing quieter. “I have an extra ticket, after all-”

Aemond hesitated, an apologetic expression crossing his face. “I’m grateful for the invite, truly, but I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

The embarrassment was immediate, and Y.N could feel her cheeks burning. “-Oh, it’s okay,” she said quickly, forcing a smile as she pushed her plate away. “I-I shouldn’t have asked.”

She began fiddling with her fingers, her appetite suddenly gone. Aemond watched her closely, noticing the way her mood shifted, her body tensing with the sting of rejection.

His gaze followed as her hands moved to her engagement ring. Without a word, Y.N slipped it off her finger and placed it gently on the table, the small band glinting in the morning light.

“Have I upset you?” Aemond asked softly.

Y.N shook her head, though her eyes remained downcast. “No,” she said, her voice wavering slightly. “It was my mistake. Last night was obviously just a one-time thing, and I let my imagination get the better of me.”

Aemond’s heart sank, guilt gnawing at him. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, though he knew his apology would do little to ease her pain.

“There’s no need to say sorry,” Y.N replied, wiping at her eyes discreetly as she gathered her things. “It’s my fault.”

Aemond’s chest tightened as he watched her silently cry, her movements hurried and full of hurt. She stood up and walked over to the corner of the room, grabbing her ruined wedding dress, now nothing more than shredded fabric, and threw it into the bin without hesitation.

Once all her things were packed, she picked up the spare plane ticket—the one meant for Jace—and crumpled it in her hand before tossing it in the bin as well.

The tears were falling freely now, though she tried her best to keep her composure.

Y.N turned to Aemond, her voice barely above a whisper as she said, “Thank you-for everything,” before quickly leaving the room, the door closing softly behind her.

Aemond sat at the table, his fingers toying absentmindedly with the engagement ring Y.N had left behind.

The silence of the room felt suffocating, and the more he thought about what had just happened, the deeper the pit in his stomach grew.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had just made the biggest mistake of his life.

His mind drifted back to the first time Jace had introduced him to Y.N. He remembered the surge of jealousy that had ripped through him, a sensation so raw and unexpected.

Jace had Y.N—and he didn’t. She had been more than just beautiful, though her beauty had certainly caught his eye.

It was her intelligence, her wit, and her infectious laugh that had captivated him. He could still hear it in his mind, the way her laughter lit up a room and made anyone within earshot want to join in.

Aemond had tried to bury those feelings. He had told himself over and over that if Y.N was happy with Jace, then so be it. He cared about her enough to wish her well, even if it meant stepping aside.

But the more he tried to forget her, the harder it became. His feelings for her had been relentless, unyielding, and he hated how they refused to fade no matter how many other women he took to bed.

None of them had been her. None of them even came close.

When Jace and Y.N’s wedding had been announced, Aemond had dreaded the thought of attending. The idea of watching her marry his nephew, of seeing her in a dress meant for someone else—it had been too much.

He’d almost convinced himself not to go. But in the end, he had decided it would be the perfect opportunity to say goodbye, to let go of whatever foolish hope he had clung to for so long.

Then the wedding had been called off. The moment he had heard about Jace’s cowardly confession, something inside him had snapped.

He had always disliked Jace, but now, now he hated him.

Jace had cheated on Y.N, broken her heart, and abandoned her on the day they were supposed to be married.

The bastard had left her alone and humiliated in front of everyone. Rhaenyra and Daemon, of course, had rushed to coddle their darling son, leaving Y.N to fend for herself.

It made Aemond sick.

When Y.N had run out of the room, her voice thick with tears as she insisted that everyone should still enjoy the reception, Aemond couldn’t just stand by. He had to find her. He had to know she was alright.

And when he did find her—sitting by the riverbank, her hair a mess, mascara running down her cheeks—she had still been the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

But seeing her there, so broken and alone, had torn at something deep within him. He knew she didn’t have any family left to lean on, her parents long gone, and her grandmother recently passed.

She had no one. So, he had sat beside her, intending to comfort her, to offer whatever solace he could. He never expected how the night would turn out.

It had been one of the best nights of his life.

Taking Y.N to bed hadn’t just been a fleeting moment of lust. It was something Aemond had fantasized about, but actually experiencing her, feeling her trust, her passion—it had been indescribable.

The way she responded to him, the way he could bring her pleasure—it was something he had dreamed of for so long, and the reality of it was far better than he ever imagined. Even that morning, waking up with her in his arms, he had felt something he hadn’t in years.

But then he had ruined it. He had ruined everything.

His words, his hesitation—they had shattered the fragile connection they’d built in the span of one night.

He replayed the scene over and over in his mind, the way Y.N had pulled away from him, the hurt in her eyes when she asked him to come with her to Italy.

He cursed himself for not saying yes. He’d watched as she silently cried, throwing the wedding dress in the bin, discarding the plane ticket, and leaving him behind with nothing but regret.

Aemond stood up suddenly, his chest tight as he walked over to the bin. He reached in and picked up the crumpled plane ticket, smoothing it out in his hands.

As he stared at it, the weight of the decision he knew he must make pressed down on him.

Y.N stood in the queue at the airport, clutching her passport and boarding ticket. Despite the whirlwind of emotions from the last 24 hours, she was determined to make the most of this trip.

It was supposed to be her honeymoon, but now, it was a chance to truly move on from Jace—and perhaps even from Aemond.

The thought of him stung more than she wanted to admit, but she knew she had to clear her head, away from all of it.

The boarding attendants had just opened the doors, and people began filing onto the plane. Y.N took a deep breath, ready to step forward when suddenly, she heard her name being called.

Her heart skipped a beat. She turned, and there he was—Aemond, rushing toward her, his long strides quick and desperate.

Before she could say a word, he was in front of her, wrapping his arms around her. His apologies poured out between kisses—on her forehead, her cheeks, her lips—as he held her tightly. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he kept saying, breathless and frantic.

Y.N blinked in surprise, her brain trying to catch up with what was happening. "Aemond, what—what are you doing here?" she asked as he finally pulled back, his eyes full of urgency.

Aemond took her hand and gently pulled her out of the queue, leading her to the side. "I would've gotten here sooner, but I couldn’t find my damn passport,” he explained, almost laughing at himself, “and then I had to pay to change the name on the ticket.”

Y.N stared at him, still trying to comprehend. "But you said it wasn’t a good idea—coming with me," she reminded him, her voice tinged with confusion. “What changed?”

Aemond let out a breath, shaking his head. "I shouldn’t have said that," he admitted, regret heavy in his voice. "Because I’m a complete idiot."

Y.N crossed her arms, raising a brow. "You can say that again."

He smiled, but it was fleeting, his eye soft as he looked at her. “I’ve spent too many years watching from the sidelines, Y.N. Letting my feelings fester and pushing you away because I thought it was the right thing to do. I thought you were happy with Jace, and that was enough for me. But I was wrong. And I know it’s probably going to take time, but I want to prove to you that I can be the man you deserve.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “Years?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Aemond nodded. “Years. But I kept it to myself because-I thought you were happy, and that’s all I ever wanted for you.”

Before Y.N could respond, the flight attendant interrupted. "Ma'am, are you getting on this flight?" she asked, her voice professional but expectant.

Y.N looked back at the attendant, momentarily torn. She handed over her ticket and passport. “Yes,” she said, glancing back at Aemond.

As the attendant checked her details and nodded, Y.N turned back to Aemond, her heart racing. “What about you?” she asked softly, her emotions all over the place.

Aemond’s hesitation lasted only a moment. He met her gaze, and the vulnerability in his eye was unmistakable. “Please,” he said quietly, “give me a chance.”

The attendant turned to Aemond. “Sir, are you getting on this flight as well?”

Y.N smiled at him, her expression softer than it had been earlier. “Yes. He’s coming,” she said confidently.

Aemond's lips lifted in a relieved smile as he handed over his ticket and passport. The attendant checked his documents and smiled back, nodding as she cleared him to board.

As they walked toward the plane together, the reality of it all sank in. Aemond draped his arm over Y.N’s shoulders and pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head.

For the first time in a long time, Y.N felt something close to peace. Maybe this trip wasn’t about running away or moving on anymore.

Maybe it was about finally finding what was meant to be.

Two years later, Aemond stood tall and proud, his eye never leaving Y.N as she walked down the aisle toward him. She looked radiant, her smile glowing under the warm sun, her white dress flowing like waves with each step.

Aegon walked beside her, grinning as he gave his brother a playful wink when they reached the altar.

The sound of the sea crashing gently against the shore created a perfect backdrop for their beachside wedding. The sky was clear, the soft breeze carried the salty air, and everything about the day felt like a dream.

Aemond held out his hand, his heart swelling with love and disbelief that this moment was finally here.

As Y.N took his hand, their eyes locked. He stared at her, his chest tightening with emotion. She was everything he had ever wanted, and now she was about to become his wife. He mouthed softly, "I love you."

Y.N blushed, her smile growing even brighter as she mouthed back, "I love you too."

Their small, intimate ceremony had only his siblings—Helaena, Aegon and Daeron—his mother Alicent, his grandsire Otto, and a few close friends. It was exactly how Aemond had always imagined it. Simple, quiet, perfect.

The priest began to speak, but Y.N’s mind briefly wandered, filled with gratitude for the strange twist of fate that had led her to this very moment. She thought about Jace jilting her two years ago and how, in hindsight, it had been the best thing that could have happened to her.

If not for that heartbreak, she wouldn’t have Aemond. The man who now held every piece of her heart, who made her feel seen, valued, and loved in ways she never thought possible.

As they exchanged vows, hands tightly clasped, Aemond’s thumb brushed gently over her knuckles, a silent reminder of his unwavering devotion.

Even during the ring exchange, they couldn’t stop smiling at each other, their gazes filled with tenderness and joy.

Everything felt so right. Aemond slipped the ring onto her finger, and she did the same, feeling the warmth of his skin as he squeezed her hand in reassurance.

When the priest finally proclaimed them husband and wife, Aemond wasted no time. He cupped her face in his hands, pulling her in for a deep, passionate kiss as everyone cheered softly around them. His lips moved against hers, full of love, full of promise.

When they finally parted, his voice was filled with pride and happiness as he whispered, "Mrs. Targaryen at last."

Y.N laughed, a sound so joyful it made his heart leap. "At last," she echoed, gazing up at him with all the love in the world.

As they stood there, hand in hand, the sun setting behind them over the ocean, they both knew that this was only the beginning of their forever.

TBC

[nyaskitten]

Guys imagine... imagine Conduit Wojira... her amulets could possibly be Dragon Icons or at least objects imbued w/ Source Dragon Energy for Flow and whichever one made Wind... maybe that's why it was so hard making a replica, the Amulets were divinely made and thus impossible to fully replicate... guys guys GUYS I AM COOKING HERE..... what if like FSM, she was responsible for granting elements to mortals... maybe she got corrupted Idk...

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

Could we get some more Dragon!Ford POV sometime? 🥺 I love how you write him and it's so intriguing to get to know what's going on in his head.

Sure! I love dragon Ford and his ability to logic away his insane behavior. Here's his POV from chapter 2!

Ford grumbled as he followed Fiddleford through the castle hallways, eyes locked onto his Stan's wriggling form. He didn't look happy to be tucked under his friends arm, which was understandable. Fiddleford had very uncomfortable metal limbs, nothing like Fords own warm, very strong and protective, scaly claws. Really, he should be the one carrying his Stan around, much more comfortable and safe.

He'd let it go for now. Fiddleford was his friend after all, (and his servant) and therefore could be trusted to take care of his Stan. Plus Ford was still annoyed by his Stan's insistence that he wasnt himself, like six fingers were a normal dragon had.

Eventually they made it to the dining room, and Fiddleford set his Stan down on the chair at the head of the table, what used to be Ford's spot. His brother wasted no time in trying to jump up and run off, and he watched in amusement as Fiddleford grabbed him immediately and put him right back.

“Please don’t make this difficult Stanley,” he said, holding Stan’s shoulders down “Just. Sit tight here, and I’ll explain what’s going on.”

“Fine,” his Stan growled, as Ford came over to stand over him, “but it better be good! I lost my horse to this thing!”

You didn't lose to me, Ford growled back, it ran off. His Stan hunched down in his chair, arms crossed and glaring at Fiddleford.

“Alright, where to begin,” Fiddleford said, as he sat down on the chair to his Stan's left and set his arms down on the table, “Well to start, how much do you know about your brother’s research?”

“Absolutely nothing. Haven’t seen him in a decade.”

I'm sorry my Stanley, Ford crooned, setting his head down on one of his claws so he could gaze at his brother better, I promise, I'll take better care of you this time.

His Stan leaned away from him, resting his arm on the arm of the chair. Poor thing, all alone out there all by himself. Ford would do much better from now on, make sure no one tried to come and snatch him.

Fiddleford sighed, “ That's. Not great. See, Stanford was looking into the source of all magic, and it led him here. I won’t get too into the details, but the past year he’d been looking into breaking curses. He thought there was something here blocking the flow. And there was. And he set it free, leading to,”

Fiddleford waved his hand at Ford, and he huffed. It wasn't his fault Bill turned him into a dragon, he hadn't even known that was a thing Bill could do until it was already done. And Ford had been on the right track, before Bill got too sure of himself and showed his true colors.

“But before he went all scaly, he went into a… fit of paranoia,”

Do you really need to phrase it like that to my Stanley? Ford growled, even as Fiddleford glared back at him.

“Don’t get huffy! There’s no other way to say it!”

You could say I was being threatened! Ford growled, then he looked over at his Stan, willing his brother to understand his feelings. His Stan just glared at him, making those feelings even sadder. His Stan shouldn't be glaring at him while Fiddleford made exaggerated claims about what he was doing.

“Anyhow, the point is he sealed all his research into curse breaking and magic, along with his labs. No one but him can access it, and it’s not recognizing him like this. We’ve been a bit stuck to be honest.”

“That’s where you come in!” Fiddleford smiled at his brother, a large grin that his Stan seemed to flinch away from. Ford glared at his friend, then tried to move his head closer to comfort his Stan.

“OK, say I believe you,” his Stan said, leaning further away , “How am I supposed to get you through Fords magic mumbo jumbo. I don’t know anything about enchantments and crap.”

Well that was a blatent lie if Ford ever heard one. His Stan might not have grasped the more complex aspect of magic, but Ford had blabbered enough as children that his brother should have a rough understanding about how it worked.

“You don’t need to know anything!” Fiddleford said, excited, “See your blood-”

Ford blinked as his brother moved, vaulting over the side of the chair, scrambling over his claw (and his Stan was touching him! Willingly! A part of him rumbled in delight at the tiny points of pressure from his Stan moving across him) then started sprinting back towards the door. Ford watched him for a moment, delighted at seeing his brother look so alive, then used his tail to sweep across the room and gently drag his brother back to him.

Fiddleford had taken the time to stand up and walk over, grabbing his Stan by the back of his cloak and set him back in the chair. His Stan took a few deep breaths (and really, he must be terribly out of shape if sprinting such a short distance winded him) then tried to slide out under the table. Fiddleford, who hadn't moved, grabbed him again, lifting him into the air while his Stan flailed.

His Stan had always been slippery and hard to catch.

“You can’t have my blood!” he yelled, kicking at its chest and trying to push away, “I will not be a part of any more blood rituals!”

More? Ford perked up at that, eyes narrowing as he thought about what blood rituals his brother might have been involved in, before the conversation continued and he was distraced by his Stan kicking Fiddleford in the face.

“Blood rituals? What? No, I just-” Fiddleford frowned, then held his Stan further away so his legs couldn't reach. “There’s no blood rituals happening here. If I set you down, will you listen to the rest of what I’m trying to say? I don’t want to have to tie you to the chair.”

“Sure,” his Stan growled, glaring. Ford recognized the look, one he'd seen many times over the years as his brother lied and schemed to get out of trouble and do what he pleased.

His Stan was always so free, not tied down by the expectations of others. Normally Ford loved that about him, but right now he needed his Stan to at least pretend to listen to Fiddleford so that he could sneak him back to his room later.

He's going to try and run again, Ford grumbled, watching his Stan's eyes as they narrowed and scanned the room.

“I’m sure it’s fine Stanford, he just said-”

Fiddleford barely had the chance to let go before his Stan was gone, sprinting past him away from Ford. That wouldnt do, of course, his Stan should never be too far away.

Ford chuckled as Fiddleford tied his Stan to the chair. It took several attempts, and seeing the expression on Fiddlefords face everytime his Stan managed to wriggle out was priceless. His Stan had always been hard to pin down, even for Ford.

Eventually his friend managed to do it, tying both of his Stan's arms down and wrapping it around his chest so all he could do was kick his legs. He'd allow it for now, while his Stan was still adjusting to his new home, but once he'd gotten settled Ford would have some words with Fiddleford if he tried it again.

His Stan wriggled some more, then brought up his legs and kicked at the table, pushing the chair back into Ford's neck.

“Ha! Take-Ugh!”

So small you are, Ford crooned, as his Stan yelled and tried to pull away from Fords lick. His Stan was so dirty, and would need a proper bath at some point so that everyone could appreciate him better. Ford licked him again, trying to get his hair to curl nicely, then chuckled as his brother squirmed.

“Are you two done?” Fiddleford asked, sounding tired. His Stan scowled, then flinched as Ford licked him one more time.

For now, Ford clicked, but he'll need to wash up later, when we're done here. He settled his head back onto one of his claws, then went back to admiring his Stan's grumpy expression.

“As I was saying, your blood should be near identical, being twins, so hopefully it should unlock everything. All ya’ gotta do is put your hands on few things. No blood rituals.”

“Uhuh, just touch some stuff, and then I can leave?” Stan said, eyeing Ford. Ford smiled, watching his brother as he tried to free one of his arms from the chair. Fiddleford sighed, shifting loudly before resting his arms on the table and twisting his hands together.

“I’d love to send you on your way, despite your,” he grimaced, “delightful company. But Stanford’s not gonna let that happen, at least not while he’s like this. You should be free to go once we fix him.”

He's not going anywhere! Ford clicked, trying to shove his face into his Stan but only managing to bump the chair. It wobbled for a moment, before Fiddleford reached out and steadied it. Ford glared at the man, offended he'd think Ford would let his Stan fall over.

"Yes, he is Stanford,” Fiddleford said, “you can’t keep him here forever, and you won’t want to when you’re yourself again.”

Yes he would. Ford would keep his Stan with him forever and ever. He was His Stan after all, they were twins! There was nowhere his Stan was supposed to be than safely tucked into their home, where no one could come and snatch him. Being human shaped again wasn't going to change that.

“In the meantime,” Fiddleford continued, giving him a mean look, “we’ll set you up with some rooms and find something to feed you. We haven’t had, ah, human company in a while, so I’m not too sure what’s in the kitchen.”

“Wait,” Stan said, eyeing the Fiddleford even as his arms continued to try and wiggle free, “what about the knights, don’t you feed them anything?”

“They don’t need to eat,”

He doesn't need a room, Ford clicked, reaching forwards with his front claw he wasn't laying his head on and using it to drag his Stan closer, he's staying with me. There's more than enough room in the treasury for the both of us.

His Stan yelled, probably from surprise, then kicked his legs as Ford rested his chair against him.

“No, he’s getting a room,” Fiddleford shot back, sounding annoyed, “He’s a person, he can’t live like that. There’s nowhere for him to sleep in there either. And look at him, you’re freaking him out,”

“Hey! I’m not-”

Ford rolled his eyes, then turned to look at Stan fully. His Stan wasn't scared of him! They were brothers! There was nowhere safer for his Stan than right here next to him.

His confidence wavered as his Stan froze. His brother was staring at him with wide eyes, face pale and shoulders starting to hunch the longer they made eye contact.

Ah. He was afraid. Afraid of Ford.

It hurt a part of him he hadn't realized was capable of hurting. His Stan should never be scared of him, of Ford. Ford was his big brother, the one looking after him now that he was so small and fragile. Anyone who realized how magnificent his Stan was would jump at the chance to take him away, and it was Ford's job to stop that from happening.

But Stan didnt belived Fiddleford that he was himself, only saw a giant dragon who'd snatched him for a horrible reason and not the great reason Ford had. Ford wilted as his brother kept watching him, too scared to move. He crooned sadly, then looked away. Then he wilted more as he heard his Stan let out a sigh of relief.

He gently pushed the chair back, giving his Stan some space, then set his head back down on his claw. His Stan scowled back at him, and Ford knew he'd be crying if he could.

“I know you don’t like it, but it is what it is,” Fiddleford said, patting his snout.

I suppose, he chirped, watching his Stan sadly. Fiddleford kept talking, but Ford tuned him out, thinking. If his Stan was so scared, then he'd have to work on showing his Stan how trustworthy and safe he was. Show his Stan how Ford understood how special he was, and that there was no where he should be then right here with him. They had a truly grand home after all, with plenty of roaming space, a very impressive hoard, and several servants companions for his Stan to talk to and get socialization from, so he wouldn't get lonely.

What other dragons had this kind of set up? None of them. Because they were dead.

Eventually Fiddleford untied his Stan, and Ford followed them as his friend led them through the halls towards one of the upper rooms. His Stan asked several questions, eyed a lot of the different halls, and hummed noncommittally at all of Fiddlefords responses.

Ford had no doubt his brother would be out of the castle before morning.

When they finally got to his Stan's 'room' (and inwardly Ford scoffed. His Stan's room was in the hoard with the rest of Ford's treasures) Ford leaned down and inspected it as best he could. While all of the rooms meant for heavy traffic had been designed with dragons coming in and out in mind, most of the personal rooms had not. More than half of the castle had become inaccesbable to Ford after he turned into a dragon, and it irked him that Fiddleford would put his Stan in one of them.

Not that the larger bedrooms would have Stan sized furniture, but at least then Ford could come in and make himself comfortable.

He watched his Stan inspect the bedroom, then eyed the large window across from him. His Stan was scared of heights, but he was also the sneakiest and most cunning of all Stans. It was possible all the questions had been a diversion, and he'd show off how brave and wonderous he was by climbing out the window while Fiddleford was making dinner.

Part of him wanted to warn Fiddleford, make sure his Stan stayed nice and warm inside.

A larger part grinned at the thought of scooping his Stan up again, then sneaking him back into his room. There was a chance his Stan wouldn't get out after all, and while the thought of finding his Stan outside while it was starting to get cold out made him want to snarl, the thought of having his Stan all to himself in the treasury made a larger part of him grumble in pleasure.

When Fiddleford came back out to shoo him off to dinner, Ford only grumbled a little before making his way back to the treasury. He told one of the knights to bring him all the blankets and pillows from one of the unused halls, then quickly scanned his treasure for a Stan sized chest. It needed to be large enough for his Stan to spread out in, but still small enough Ford could curl around it while they slept.

He eyed a few of them, before finding one that seemed a good fit. Dumping all the gold out, he lifted it into the air and eyed the inside, scanning for splintered wood or rusted hinges. Finding nothing, he set it down on a pile of coins and stuffed it full of pillows and blankets until it was near bursting.

There. Much better than that other chest. That other chest was an embarrassment really, not nearly soft enough to hold his Stan like this one.

He nodded, then spread his wings and took of, careful not to knock over his new Stan chest as he made his way out through the back entrance. It was a series of caves Bill had repurposed to let his hoard of dragons fly in and out of the castle so they could drop all the gold they'd stolen directly into the treasury. There was only one exit, and all the branching pathways were booby trapped. It came out near the back of the castle, in the form of a vertical shaft Ford climbed out of that was surrounded by pitch black walls and had a single large balcony Bill used to stand on and watch all the dragons fly in and out of, as well as toss people into.

A grim history, but also the only way for Ford to easily get in and out of the castle, since the front doors were no longer usable. He'd sort of accidentally broke them from throwing Bill out so many times, and Fiddleford had to strain to push them open even a crack.

Ford climbed out onto the roof, shook himself, then spread his wings. He launched himself off and spread his wings, breathing in the cold air as his inner fire roared. The storm would be here, probably sometime in the next three or four hours. He'd have to fly to the closest farm, eat a cow or two (or three) then get back before it hit, scanning the road in case his Stan did manage to sneak out.

(And if he knew his Stan, he would. His Stan was so sneaky like that)

Aaaaand thats chapter 2!! Dragon Ford continues to be delusional and possessive! Plus an explination on how Ford gets in and out without using the front doors. There's just a big hole that leads down and then bends into the treasury. Intruders that tried to sneak in through it had to climb the castle walls, sneak past all the dragons and Bill, avoid all the false side paths, then huzzah! The treasure! That wouldnt leave the castle and was also littered with cursed items! Giving Bill even more monsters to command or people to laugh at as misfortune struck.

It occurs to me that i should probably put this on ao3 for those non tumblrs. Hmm. Look out for extended chapter 1 and this coming soon.

[thefadecodex]

Our first real exposure actually beings with the Grand Oak tree in DAO! (Thank you @meganooooooooooooooo for pointing this out!)

Players began to notice a distinct cadence in Solas's speech during interactions in DAI. Notably, when he recounts moments from the Fade, his voice occasionally takes on a rhythm and tone reminiscent of a hymn or chant, evoking the cadence of "Hallelujah," specifically the K.D. Lang cover.

(note: @the-northern-continent does a great breakdown of the Hallelujah cadence vs iambic pentameter in this post. And @liaragaming does a good breakdown of Solas speaking in that cadence in this post.)

This has led The Fade Codex to theorize that this cadence reflects a dialect used by spirits—an ancient, rhythmic way of communication that blends emotion and intent through a deliberate structure. The 6/8 musical framework of the K.D. Lang Hallelujah cover. This framework prioritizes reflective pacing, 1-2-3 / 4-5-6 measures, and allows secondary stresses to create an emotional cadence.

This concept is further explored in Dragon Age: The Veilguard through various encounters with spirits. Below are examples that demonstrate this rhythmic, almost lyrical, pattern in their speech:

The Anxious Spirit (A Spirit of Comfort) - Arlathan Forest

"Trapped. Can't get out. It hurts. It's dark. Please. They didn't know what to do. They didn't want to die."

TRAPPED. CAN'T get OUT. It HURTS. It's DARK. PLEASE. They DIDN'T know what to DO. They DIDN'T want to DIE.

"Stop the thoughts. Stop the fears. Quiet, please. Make it quiet."

STOP the THOUGHTS. STOP the FEARS. QUI-et, PLEASE. MAKE it QUI-et.

Eulogy (Originally a Spirit of Compassion) - Minrathous

"Something larger stirs. Calling the desperate. I cannot see what."

SOME-thing LARG-er STIRS. CALL-ing the DES-per-ATE. I CAN-not SEE what.

"Know the hope you bring Dock Town thwarts it. And may you continue."

KNOW the HOPE you BRING. DOCK TOWN THWARTS it. AND may YOU con-TIN-ue.

"As you found their names, I felt them whisper through the Fade."

As YOU found their NAMES, I FELT them WHIS-per THROUGH the FADE.

"My own name changed. I am now Eulogy."

My OWN name CHANGED. I AM now EU-lo-GY.

Hope Unyielding - Hossberg Wetlands

"Light glimmers the surface. Flowers break through snow. Hope unexpected. I am such."

LIGHT glim-MERS the SUR-face. FLOW-ers BREAK through SNOW. HOPE un-EXPECT-ed. I AM SUCH.

"No. But nor was I forever."

NO. But NOR was I for-EV-er.

Pluck - Hall of Valor

"What foul-hearted spirit tugs at the corners of your lips to turn them down so?"

What FOUL-heart-ed SPIR-it tugs at the COR-ners of your LIPS to TURN them DOWN so?

"Greetings, Mourn Watcher. You are a long ways from Nevarra."

GREET-ings, MOURN Watch-er. YOU are a LONG ways from Ne-VAR-ra.

Emmrich (to Pluck)

"Hail to you, child of Valor. As voice of our lightless shores, I pray your blade may never sunder."

HAIL to YOU, child of VAL-or. As VOICE of our LIGHT-less SHORES, I PRAY your BLADE may NEV-er SUN-der.

Pluck

"You honor me. Few remember the old ways."

You HON-or ME. Few re-MEM-ber the OLD WAYS.

The phrase "the old ways," as used by Pluck, is believed to reference this rhythmic, cadenced speech. It’s a pattern steeped in intent, echoing the emotional resonance of the Fade itself.

Grand Oak - West Brecilian Forest

(image source)

What manner of beast be thee that comes before this elder tree?

What MAN-ner of BEAST be THEE that COMES be-FORE this EL-der TREE?

Ahhhh, yes, I remember thy kind. So brief of life and all but blind to the peril you cause, the lives you take, such chaos is down within thy wake.

AHHH, yes, I re-MEM-ber THY kind. SO brief of LIFE and ALL but BLIND. To the PER-il you CAUSE, the LIVES you TAKE. Such CHA-os is DOWN with-IN thy WAKE.

This dialect may serve as both a form of communication and an expression of a spirit's essence, allowing them to convey ideas, emotions, and purpose in a way that transcends mere words.

This theory deepens our understanding of how spirits interact with mortals and each other, highlighting the unique and poetic nature of their existence.

[thestoryteller-thedreamer]

The Lack of Lore in Dragons Rising

Warning:

This is a really long essay rant about Dragons Rising. You probably won't agree with all, or even most of what I have to say, and that is totally alright. This is just my take on Dragons Rising so far.

Also, I have not seen any of the new leaks for Season 3 Part 2. All of my issues could be resolved in those episodes for all I know. I do talk about things that happened in Part 1, so if you haven't watched Episodes 1-10 of season 3 and don't want them to be spoiled, maybe don't read this post.

Anyway, I've warned you. What you do next is your own decision.

Dragons Rising has introduced us to all of these interesting concepts in the past fifty episodes. The Forbidden Five, the Source Dragons, the wolf masks, the prismatic blades, shatter spin, rising dragon technique, the missing characters, and the freaking merge itself. All of them feel like they connect in very nuanced and intricate ways with the already established ninjago lore, but we are given none of their history, only the action scenes that utilize them. Which is starting to feel less like a mystery and more like an oversight. 

Let’s go back to Season 1 of the entire show. Right off the bat, we are introduced to the Serpentine. The main characters give us a bit of exposition in the form of bickering in the first episode, describing the Serpentine, their role in Ninjago history, and the mystery/ legends surrounding them. We continue to get a glimpse into the various Serpentine tribes, including their abilities, their power structure, their intertribal relations, and their desires within the first few episodes. By the midpoint of the season, Wu has revealed the backstory of the Great Devourer as well. And it doesn’t feel like too much exposition is going on. The season, for all of its other flaws, flows fairly smoothly and is full of action.

In Season 2, we meet the Overlord, and are immediately given his history with the First Spinjitzu Master. In Season 3, though not a lot of new lore is added, returning characters and the new technology of the Digiverse are both explained to some extent. Both seasons 4 and 5 handle the lore excellently, at least in my opinion. We are shown the histories of Garmadon and Wu, respectively, continuing to see glimpses of their troubled pasts as the season goes on, without feeling left in the dark for too long. Similar things can be said of most, if not all, of the other seasons. 

However, in Dragons Rising, we are given none of that. 

The characters claim to have a backstory (Egalt and Rontu say the Forbidden Five are an evil “unlike anything you’ve ever seen”) but what we are given is so lackluster that it feels forgettable. Part of what made the Forbidden Five so boring in Season 3 is how little we know about them. Most of our information comes from posts by the writers, not the actual show itself. Their powers are barely explained, the relationships between all of them other than Nokt and Rox (the two siblings) aren’t even present, and I have no idea why they want Thunderfang or what they plan to do to the merged lands. Conquer them? Destroy them? Declare the doughnuts must be eaten every third Tuesday of the month? I don’t know! Older villains, like Garmadon, Harumi, Morro, Chen, Aspheera, Kalmar, Unagami, and Nadakhan all had very clear, if also very misguided, goals. I don’t know what these new villains want! Gosh, I can’t even keep their names straight. They have really cool designs, but I get Zarkt and Drix confused all the time. 

Not to mention, the Forbidden Five were built up as the greatest evil in all the merged lands, only to be immediately defeated by Thunderfang. Creating an even more powerful villain for our heroes to face would work if the writers actually raised the stakes. As it is, these latest villains don’t feel anywhere near as threatening as those that actually came with a cost- Lloyd having to fight his dad, Zane dying to the Overlord, Nya merging with the sea to defeat Wojira, even all of the cubing that happened while in Prime Empire. Like the entirely evil Oni, they work really well as a background threat, but as soon as they appear in action, they are pretty underwhelming (and both the Oni and Thunderfang were defeated by a fancy Spinjitzu move). I think it would be more beneficial if the villains stopped threatening the entire world, and instead honed in on something more personal, such as hunting down one of the main ninja for revenge or something, or trying to steal their powers so everyone is “equal” (aka, Legends of Korra). 

Or the villain isn’t even a real villain, but they are trying to keep the ninja from something they want, like figuring out the secrets of the Merge, finding the truth about Wu, or recovering Jay’s memories. Lowering the world stakes and raising the personal stakes could actually be far more gripping than constantly raising the bar for who is the ultimate evil. 

Okay, so what about the Source Dragons? It feels like the writers go back and drastically change everything we already know about the First Spinjitzu Master and Firstborn. It gives me the same whiplash sensation I had finding out that Lloyd was part Oni and part Dragon. In hindsight, Lloyd’s heritage is an interesting concept. And so are the Source Dragons! But right now, it feels like my entire understanding of Ninjago history is falling apart at the seams. Not to mention, we don’t get a dramatic Mystake storytelling moment for the Source Dragons. We are told they exist and are super powerful and supposedly give everyone their elemental powers… but not much else. Where do they live? What makes them so powerful? Why did they decide to give powers to people like Cinder and Zeatrix? Why do the Source Dragons give evil people their elemental powers? How could they refuse to interfere with mortal affairs unless they are being threatened, especially since doling out powers that way could be the cause of some of Ninjago’s problems? 

Oh, and will the show ever care to discuss the Wolf Masks? How did Ras get his hands on them while he was busy in Imperium? At this point, it seems like he has a backup plan for a backup plan for a backup plan for a backup plan (Dragon Icons with Arin to make up for Nokt betraying him and using the elemental powers for himself to make up for the blood moon ritual not going as planned to make up for Beatrix not doing what he wanted to make up for his tribe kicking him out.) What is this guy’s deal? And how did he get an entire army of faceless, nameless soldiers to wear his masks and help him take down the world? In Season 4, at least Chen offered his followers the appeal of a snake cult on a tropical island. I’m seeing none of those benefits for Ras’s minions. 

And don’t get me started on the Prismatic Blades. What the heck are these things? They are made from “soul energy?” Has someone been harvesting souls to turn them into swords? Why does looking through them allow someone to see invisible demogorgon soul sucking spirits? How did Rapton, not to mention Dorama’s puppet, get his paint spattered pinchers on one of those things? What is up with the sword that shattered during the tournament? If these are the only things that can bust Thunderfang free, why weren’t they hidden better? Or if they were, how were they found? At least in S1, when the ninja were searching for the Fangblades, we were given a bit more explanation. We had a fancy map with their locations, a Clutch Powers bit where he “found” one and turned it into a trophy, a dramatic battle in an erupting volcano… Yes, they fight over the prismatic blades. But the fight locations don’t feel important the way they do in S1 of the original show. 

Ooh, and what about the missing characters? Crystallized ended with an absurd number of side characters all teaming up to help the ninja rebuild their monastery. At the start of Dragons Rising, they are not only gone, but forgotten. We’ve had a few beloved side characters make guest appearances- Dareth, Fugidove, some of the elemental masters at the Tournament of Sources… but the others haven’t even been mentioned. I think it would be ridiculous to try to fit everyone into the plot. This ensemble show has a cast swollen way past anything reasonable. But maybe give us a cameo of Harumi living her life, or Skylor running her noodle shop or Benthomar and Vania being the best king and queen one could hope for. Give us Garmadon and Vinny walking through the crossroads, and an angsty teen Unagami addicted to his phone, and Nelson jealously watching Arin fulfill his life dreams. It can take place in a quick fly by, where their relationship to the ninja isn’t explained, but older fans have a moment to freak out and scream at the top of their lungs when they see their babies for a few seconds. 

Now for the Merged Lands. Yes, this is a kid’s show. But I feel like after several years (which, btw, why are they so vague about the time span? They are always like, the merge happened “several years ago,” but never give us an exact date, and it drives me crazy!) the different combined realms would have formed some sort of political understanding. We are given no glimpse into how Ninjago decides to interact with Imperium, or the Cloud Kingdom, or the Wyldness. At the very least, I would have expected some reaction to Imperium declaring the ninja as enemies of the state from Ninjago. How dare the foreigners try to capture their beloved heroes?! Only the Ninjago City police and the *new ninja* are allowed to put them in jail! We have no interactions between them, or even reminders that old businesses and characters still exist. (NGTV news, the mayor, that police commissioner with the twitchy eye…) It feels like Ninjago’s culture has been erased, and none of the other merged lands have become prominent enough to replace it. The beautiful city that gets destroyed every other season and feels a little bit like home when I see it on screen isn’t relevant any more. 

The show really wants to have new lore. It hints that it is there, it tries to dump it on us in repeated blasts of the same boring exposition. But I honestly can’t see it. Or maybe I just can’t get excited about it because it doesn’t feel personal enough. Unlike the earlier seasons, where villains targeted the ninja specifically because of Wu and Garamdon’s past, or trying to steal their powers, the heroes are so detached from this current wave of baddies that it doesn’t seem to matter. Saving the world for the sake of saving the world is good and all. But you know what is great? Saving the world for the sake of saving your friend. Stopping the villain merely because they kidnapped someone you love or tried to steal your teammates powers or broke your brother’s heart or made your already elderly teacher even more old. 

The lore is connected to the world, not the characters. And if it doesn’t matter to the characters, then it really doesn’t matter to the audience. 

[felassan]

Dragon Age: "In #DragonAge: Vows and Vengeance, you'll get to meet all our companions before they joined the Veilguard - including a gentleman necromancer 💀 Subscribe and listen wherever you get your podcasts. Premieres August 29: [link]" [source]

This tweet mentions that the moments of the companions' lives depicted in the podcast are from times prior to them joining the Veilguard and therefore the events of the game.

Text in the notebook reads:

"Something's gone wrong. The dead stir more easily than they should."

Maybe we are looking at Emmrich's notebook here? ^^ it sounds like something isn't right in the Grand Necropolis and with the Veil/the dead in general. (I wonder if this is part of the reason why in the release date reveal trailer, there are giant undead skeletons causing a stir). In Nevarra/the Mortalitasi, they believe that when someone dies a spirit is pushed out of the Fade into the mortal world. In exchange, they invite those spirits to inhabit the empty bodies left behind. This is common orthodoxy for the Nevarran populace. when a spirit leaves the Fade, it crosses the Veil. when the Veil is thin (or weak or damaged..), demons and spirits can escape more easily into the waking world. once they do, they sometimes possess corpses. since we need to guard the Veil in this game and there's a Veil-tearing Lyrium dagger around (plus who knows what else Ghil and Elgar'nan and whatever else are doing to it..), it makes sense that if the Veil is damaged/at risk, more dead would stir and more easily than they should do. (in TN, Lord Penrick Karn's funeral procession was interrupted by his corpse's premature possession). you can see why a Mourn Watcher like Emmrich would be motivated to join a group dedicated to guarding the Veil.

The anatomical drawings here track, Nevarra has unrivalled knowledge of anatomy. <- DA:TV spoilers at link.

The notebook also reminds me of Grim Anatomy.

These numbers look to appear twice on the pages:

"7197 | 3.85715 7198 | 3.85721 7199 | 3.85727 | 6 7200 | 3.85733 | 6"

What do they mean? could it be a calculation, or a code?

And can anyone make out what the flowing script on the left hand page says? ^^ I wonder what language it's in? Whether it corresponds to a spell? it also reminds me of this exchange from the 'Meet The Companions' panel at SDCC, as it relates to Emmrich:

"Lucy: And I hear as well that Emmrich gets, I mean, you’re all gonna get some fantastic lines, but I hear that Emmrich has some quite spectacular ones. You, Nick, you and Ashley, I would love to hear about the process of, was it difficult to get like some of those tongue-twisters, and? Ashley: Yeah, Sylvia the lead writer basically was like, ‘Ash, you’re gonna need a dictionary for all of the sessions with Emmrich’, it’s like, 'Okay!’. And we get there, you just nailed them all, like 'shduhfejdkjjdhdjdhfjehfjkhehe into the Fade’. Nick: Well, I don’t know if I nailed them all, that’s very kind of you. But, there was some serious tongue-twisters there, and, but it’s great, it’s great to be in the booth, and to be given a challenge like that, and. Yeah, it’s fantastic, I mean that’s what I love to do, so it was great to be just gifted that."

[source]