#Visage. |Forged by Fire.

[feuerwizard]

caleb “ask me about my cat” widogast

[onigiram]

TAGS. i didn't like the other ones asjbfjbsdjgb

[dxffusionmagus]

ラブでハッピーなクリスマスしてくれ〜！ || by @chitosemoon

[foamiers]

＠foamiers tags!

[verncnduke]

tag dump

[magicwithered]

Delissandro learns that he loves Colin. Deli also learns he loves Karna. These loves, he learns, are different but no less impactful. Both he also learns, more than a little painfully, a little too late. 

His love for Colin is tinged with boyhood and want. He wants to be known. He wants the meatlands to be free. He wants to aid in the war and play the political games that his mother refuses to do so. He wants and he’s willing. If he believed in The Bulb, he’d might even say it’s his destiny. 

So he names Colin his Skald. His trustworthy advisor. He wants Colin. He doesn’t know in what way yet. The man ten years (at least) his senior. He’s but a boy. He has no idea what up or down is. How to quantify his want, how to understand his want. He wants. So he must have. This is something he is unwilling to compromise on. 

Colin is his Skald. He is close to him, always. That makes Deli happy. His Skald is never apart from him. They are always close, always talking. Two years is more than enough time to form a bond forged in fire. So he thinks. 

Deli wants Colin with him. Colin, however, does not want to be apart of Deli’s plans. Not anymore. A bond forged in fire, he thinks, too bad the welding was thin.

His love for Karna is a slow thing. Anything else, and it would be weird, anything more...he wishes that there was more. He doesn’t notice it at first. Of course he doesn’t. Each time he sees her it’s hard to reconcile the person she’s become in the years they have been away from the person she was before. She is a 14 year old girl, and then suddenly she is 16, and then suddenly it’s been five years and she’s nearing 21. Each visage is different from the last. Hungry, rotting. Hungry and lanky. Hungry and beautiful. 

He calls her Skald, but inside she is just Karna. Her name ricochet's around his brain every time he lays down. Every time they win a battle together. Every time. It circles. It crescendo’s. Karna, Karna, Karna. 

Deli knows about want. He’s never been good at figuring out what it means for him. It tangles with his missing limb, his old want for his Skald Colin, when he was but a boy. It changes and morphs. But there is war. 

Ultimately, he wants to be slammed down big style. This he thinks, is the crux of the problem. He’s never been slammed down big style. That is what he truly wants.

With Karna.

Not Skald Karna. Just Karna. Karna who always comes when he calls. Karna who gave him her eye. Karna, Karna, Karna, Karna.

Within the same moment he realizes that he wants Karna she is gone. 

Deli loves his Skald. Deli loves Karna. These both are the same type of love. But, as he watches the sun rise over the horizon of the meatlands, he comes to both these realizations much too late. 

[xxdemonicheartxx]

Most common funerary burials by flight:

Putting this one below the cut due to death mentions and burial descriptions I understand this can be a topic of discomfort no matter how vague one is when speaking on it <3

Arcane: opalization, the body is taken and layed in the shallows of intensely magic rich pools in a resting position, where it will rapidly opalize in a matter of weeks or months due to the volitile arcane energy of the land, sometimes individual scales are opalized instead and the rest of the body is cremated to be scattered amid their favorite place of study

Earth: mummification, the body is taken and embalmed, richly doused in spices, oils, and linen wraps, the organs removed are in canopic jars that resemble the dragon's own visage. Some earth mages practice petrification of the body as well upon request. Another practice is glass blowing cremated remains into colorful works of art, often colorful globes of glittering glass or glass sculptures of the deceased's visage

Shadow: the body is often cremated and the ashes greatly compressed into logs or bricks, before being soaked in spores and water to allow the mushrooms the the tangled wood to reclaim them and take them home. Other practices include burials or creating wrought iron burial markers. Celebrations of life are held around these burial sites

Light: due to the.... emperor problem.... graveyards have rapidly been destroyed and the fear of merging with Luminax sits like a stone in the heart of every imperial. Cremation is the most common practice as of now but celestial burials used to be common practice where the sun would always be able to touch you even in death (also known as sky burials) a new practice adopted from the earth flight includes taking these cremated remains and turning them into glass suncatchers

Plague: plague dragons believe that returning to the land you've survived is a must, dying of old age is a great achievement!! Often the body is returned to the land, buried or laid to be reclaimed by the ecosystem. Some more sentimental dragons or close loved ones will save scales or tan parts of wing membrane to carry close to their heart

Nature: burials are the most common practice, continuing to feed the shrieking wilds, some pathways have small markers or idols where loved ones frequent so that they can continue to pay homage in the labyrinthian jungle

Ice: ice dragons actually do not freeze their deceased, instead they take parts of membranes and tan them before tattooing a depiction of their loved one into their own hide, complete with a name, date of birth and date of death, its too cold to dig in this land so they cremate the remains and scatter them amid the tundra so in spring they can help the flowers return. The tanned memento is kept with a clan's priest, shaman, or spiritual leader with the rest of them, under expert care

Fire: forge pyres, often when fire dragons die their own heat resistance can make cremation a difficult process. So their remains are given to forge masters who are capable of reaching intense heat, working bellows and feeding the flames until the body is reclaimed by the flames. Other practices include caldera funerals, where the body is taken to be sunk in the lava of volcanoes or lava floes. Sometimes blackened skeletons can be reclaimed by loved ones in doing this

Wind: sky burials. The body is taken high up and laid under open sky for the sun and the wind to reclaim, it is believed that in doing this their spirit may continue to soar. Also refered to as celestial burials

Water: sinking of the body in designated graveyards is a common practice, often referred to as a burial at sea. Tiny tiny fragments of the dragon are often kept to be artificially put into oysters so that a pearl can be formed from their loved one's remains. Another practice is water cremation or Alkaline hydrolysis is another practice that is starting to gain traction

Lightning: the desert sand is not suitable for proper burials and grave markers aren't reliable in the shifting expanse, often the body is dehydrated first before undergoing electrical cremation, with no fluid the body will burn rapidly, the ashes then mixed with sand are placed amid one of hundreds of electrical storms with a tall metal rod in the center of the remains. To be struck by lightning turning them into "fulgurites" or "fossilized lightning" these unique and intimate structures are then returned to loved ones to be kept similarly to an urn

There are always exceptions to funeral practices. Dragons like obelisks and imperials often require additional care in the event the obelisk returns to stone or cremation is not an option for the imperial but these are the common or most popular practices in each region (non cannon)

As always I'd love to hear your own headcannons and takes too!!

[goodeapple]

someone could come love me, if somebody knew me (aemond t. pwp o.s.)

AS IT WAS PROMISED, SO SHALL IT BE BESTOWED.

"Aemond has a dragon dick, send tweet."

pairing : Aemond x Ysilla (Rhaenyra'sDaughter!OC)

warnings : Pretty tame I'd say- handjobs, slight oral play, fantasy of exhibitionism, Aemond's dark little mind & his big ole dragon dick.

word count : 3,000+

title from "fue mejor", Kali Uchis & SZA

Ysilla’s line of sight darts to his crotch, peering intensely at the leather holding him in. She stares, gaze unbroken and unbothered, even as he fidgets under her scrutiny. 

“Can I see it?”

Her inflection is curious, lacking a lustful lilt and somehow, that makes this all the more humiliating. 

“I am not a thing for you to study, wicked girl.” The Dragon Prince snarls. He feels heat pulsate in his face. As if he is a monster, reduced to the oddity of his anatomy instead of the man, the scholar, the fighter he has fashioned himself to be by his own will and his own way. But now, he is nothing but a butterfly pinned in place as strangers pick him apart with a sickened curiosity. The socket of his absent eye aches wildly, a sympathetic partner to the abnormality between his knees.

“Pleaseee, Uncle.” His niece’s pleading compels her to her feet, her fingers lacing together to bring a begging fist under her chin. Her heart-shaped face is cherubic, lips parted in a prayer that Aemond wants to answer with his tongue. Or better yet, his cock. The vision of that, of him feeding every fat inch of his pole downdowndown her throat, until she would choke on him and make sweet tears roll down her cheeks… it seems so real, so well within his limits to make true. 

Aemond snorts, tossing her a disdainful look, one he musters from his very tangible dislike for her and those she holds closest. 

“Don’t beg, Silli, it doesn’t suit you. I said no- I’m positive you’ve never heard that before, but I’m not your papa.” His sneer twists his thin lips down, transforming his regal visage into something ugly. “I won’t give into your every whim just because you bat those pretty eyes at me.” 

Ysilla gazes blithely back at him, swaying on the balls of her feet. Her dress flutters around her ankles, the delicate chains wrapped around the fragile bone there catching the candlelight. She’s barefoot- curiously. Her amber satin slippers were shucked off at the door before she had sunk into the too big chair in the center of his room. To quite simply make herself comfortable- to carve out a space wherever she lands, is a trait Aemond finds irritating but commendable. 

At once, an impish smile illuminates her face, her irises lavender in bloom. “You think my eyes are pretty?” 

Aemond bottles in a groan, gritting his teeth in exasperation. Such a little brat. 

“That’s swell because… I think yours are pretty too, Uncle. Especially your hidden jewel.” Ysilla draws closer and closer, and the walls seem to cinch around them. She shouldn’t be here- he may be her blood but Ysilla is unwed and young and beautiful beyond her means. He should have sent her away when she came knocking, a small bound journal promising something of importance to him, her ticket into his den. Giddiness had manifested in the trembling of her fingers and he couldn't lie- he was intrigued. If only to watch Ysilla’s fire extinguish when he paid no thought to whatever had caught her fancy. 

“I dreamt about it last night. It adorned my crown- not my tiara- my crown as Queen. Nestled front and center, staring down any man, any woman, who kneeled before me. Guarding me, protecting me, loyal… to me.” 

Aemond puts desperate distance between them, her words striking a match within him.

Ysilla’s spiraling locks threaded through the Conqueror’s Crown, refined but still imposing, seated on the forged throne. Aemond gleaming in white, a striking savior at her side, first Lord Commander of the Queensguard. And even when he cannot be there, his jewel watches over all. An All Seeing Eye. He does not replace his surrogate orb. It be a piece of himself he shells out to shield her, and then, when they’re together, he’s comple-

The back of his knees meet resistance and he stills, refusing to bask in the jasmine gust brought forth by his niece’s closeness. She brings her palm to his jerkin covered chest and presses- urging, asking. Aemond stares down at her. She’s so tiny compared to him, so much smaller, weaker but she might as well have a blade to his throat.

He gives, settling into the armchair, wishing to become one with the buttons and the stitchings. When she drops to her knees, it is with a grace that is ingrained in her, blended into every shift of her body. 

“I want to touch you, Aemond. I want to make you feel good.”

Her hand creeps along, fingertips dancing over his clothed thigh, conquering the distance to his laces like a soldier riding through a battlefield. Aemond feels himself start to surrender, a loss he will still win as the heat from Ysilla’s palm leeches through the hide of his breeches. He’s warm all over, tongue heavy in his mouth, words too much to muster. Beads of sweat lick their way down the nape of his neck. 

Ysilla stares at him, her chest level with his knees. There’s too much light in here. He can see every delicious inch of her. No shadows to hide in, no darkness to dim her. She’s all propped up and on display in the late evening sun beaming through the balcony doors. Every beauty mark dotted along her spun sugar skin is penciled in by hand from the Gods, each strand of blackblue hair dancing away from the heat of her blistering surface. It makes this dream too real. He doesn’t know what he’ll do when he blinks and she blows away like a puff of smoke. He breathes out, nerves spiraling in his stomach and spreads his knees. 

Aemond doesn’t make a habit of looking at himself. He washes and dresses with a detachment perfected over the years. When he realized how he differed, when his voice dropped and his bones stretched him to the brim and something else grew right along with him, he had floundered on how to handle it. 

Who was he supposed to ask? His mother was out of the question- Aemond would rather crawl through smoldering embers after scooping out his other eye before he went to her. Aegon was self explanatory; his brother’s failed attempt to drag him down the Street of Silk was enough humiliation to last a lifetime. He toyed with the idea of going to Ser Criston or his grandfather, and some days it did seem tempting but his shame always held him tight by the throat. He was already different, already looked down upon with a pitiful gaze and whispered poor Prince Aemond, such a waste and no eye, no prospects, no future. He didn’t feel like piling on to his already stacked deck. 

“You have to… yeah, and then untie me from, right, just like that.” The back of his eyelid and the pitch of his patch are a comforting darkness as he cycles through the prayers in his head. Warrior, grant me the strength to emerge- no. Mother, I ask your mercy- definitely not. Father, may you judge me justly. Yes, it’s solid, spans the points he needs to make. Aemond settles on it and repeats it, backwards and forwards as the tension imprisoning him in his breeches releases and he feels something spring up and off the flat plains of his abdomen.

“Aemond… Uncle, look at me.” He sucks in a breath through his teeth, ending his litany. It’s no use, his Gods are not listening. He hopes, he regrets, and he caves as he looks down at his lap.

The tip of it curves into a point, not sharp but defined. Blunt thickness runs through his shaft, until the base of him flares garishly into a hard knot. It’s as long as his forearm and thicker than his wrist. He always seems to be at attention, at mast at every surge of adrenaline, every lingering puff of perfume, every dashing neckline of Ysilla’s gowns when she curtsies- no, reign it in. A viciously red mushroom-tapered head splits to allow a bead of excitement to form and trickle down the lengthy march to his stones. He winces, his cock giving a readied pulse as his niece’s palm settles over his groin. 

“Oh, Gods,” Ysilla looks upon him with a wonderment he’s never seen. It stills the air in his lungs. “Aemond, you’re beautiful.” 

Shamefully, that sends him whimpering, the honeyed praise in her tone wrapping him in a caress that stokes the heat in his belly. She glances up at him with a gentle curiosity, but her attention quickly returns between his legs as he jerks from her proximity and the damp warmth of her exhaling breath. 

“Ooohhh, he’s happy to see me.” Her grin is wicked, a toothy pluck of her mouth. Her cheeks are pinker than the Dornish dress Baela gifted her on her nameday last week. 

Cheeky brat. 

Ysilla hocks spit into her hand and Aemond grimaces. Being raised with only brothers has certainly left an impression on her. It's not oil but it’ll do in a pinch. Her fingers are lithe and thin, hands dainty already but seeing one trying to wrap around him? It’s laughable. It’s arousing- painfully so. 

“You didn’t let me finish earlier.” Now that he has nothing to do but listen, his crafty little niece seems to have taken advantage of his predicament. Aemond can’t help but feel a tiny bit impressed. “So when I found the book in the Dragonstone stacks, after I cleaned off the layers of dust, I read all about the many men in Targaryen history who have been… afflicted by this… hardship. Aegon the Conqueror, Maegor the Cruel- which may have played a part in the six wives- but the last documented entry was well over 50 years ago. A tale forgotten to time and dismissed all the same as just another peculiarity with our family. But this Aemond…” she pumps him slowly, demanding his attention, making him bow for her even when she’s the one on her knees. 

“We are closer to Gods than to men. By our dragons of course, but by this as well! You are something special, can’t you see that?” He likes to hear her excited. Her passion is appetizing, drawing him in to take a bite.

His ego perks up at her attention, but so does his pride. Dragons don’t like to share. Aemond doesn’t like to share. “How do you know if it’s not just me who's been ‘afflicted’?”

Ysilla shrugs, and he doesn’t know her well enough to tell if she’s being untruthful. “I’m very thorough in my research. Just not as quite… hands on as I’m being with you. You’ve always been my favorite uncle.”

Aemond could take her by the hair, twist it nice and tight around his fist, rise to his feet, keep her down on her knees where she belongs- not just there but with him and thrust down her throat until he taps her heart.

“Did you ask my brother the same way you’re asking me?” Aemond growls, nudging at her knee with the side of his boot. He wants to touch her but he has to be careful. His resolve is thinning by the minute and he fears that if he can actually feel her- the suppleness of her skin, the silkiness of her hair, he’ll give way and start something that cannot be undone. 

“Nope, I asked Helaena. Girls talk, Aemond, especially over a flagon of wine.” She elbows his thigh in retribution, but it’s gentle and frivolous and the smile she gives him is all teeth. Fuck, she’s lovely. 

Aemond’s hips jump off the chair, chasing the heat of Ysilla’s hands. She smirks, stroking him softly, the delight in her eyes dimming down to lusty pools of amaranthine.

“So you’re doing this out of what, kindness?”

“I like to think of it more as academic curiosity. But, if I can help you become more comfortable with this part of yourself and maybe even aid your future wife in the process, well that’s just all sugar then, isn’t it?”

“I won’t marry, I will bear no children. I might as well take the Black.” Aemond recites, his tone bored to tears. His future fizzled out to ash once he realized there was no way in any Realm that he could ever properly lay with a woman. He couldn’t, wouldn’t damn any wife to a hopeless tomorrow. Occupying himself with other things helped- he’s a resourceful man. After all, great men never got anywhere by thinking with their cocks. 

Ysilla’s brow furrows and her jaw ticks, an unhappy look passing over her face. “Never say never, Aemond.”

His dick pulses, and Ysilla’s eyes go wide, feeling the might of him in her own grip. She raises her gaze back to this face, and the dazzlement there makes him feel taller than tales. 

Aemond smirks, his straight laces loosening. “I like when you call me that.” 

She pumps him, tightly, and he shivers, a gasp slipping through his drooping jaw. There’s a burn at the base of his spine, a familiar one he would entertain only when his needs raged a war within him.  

Her lips are pouted, shimmering in the dusk drawing the room into darkness. He wants to see the stars sparkle over her skin, the moon crest over her breasts in a gauzy beam. Wants to peel off every offending layer until she’s naked, slick and soft and starving for him and the beast between his legs. 

A stranded curl sways in front of her eye, caught in her fanning lash. His fingers twitch, starting forward before he anchors his nails through the furniture’s stuffing and right down to the frame. Ysilla’s tongue flicks out, wetting her parched lips.

“Do you want to touch me?” 

She wears the crown as she rides him, the Throne Room’s chandelier haloing her dramatically. He’s not sure if they’re alone- the embrace of her hand about his throat keeps his attention on where it is demanded. On her. If there are any stragglers stupid enough to hang around, what an honor it is for them to witness a mating, a claiming. The Dragon Queen taking what’s rightfully hers, for the Gods and everyone to see. 

“No.” 

“You’re a liar, my Prince.” That’s even better than his name, fuck him. 

“I think you want to touch me. I think you want to feel me. I think you want to see… just how far… I’m willing to go.” One solid lick of her tongue, from the root of him to the tip, sends him careening over the edge. Aemond gasps raggedly, a man broken apart. His cock jerks, nearly knocking him in the jaw. Thick ropes of creamy pearl stripe his chest and coat his throat. 

His niece milks him, left hand rubbing up and down his shaft, feeling the veins jump and throb against her palm. And the right, fucks sake, the right squeezes around the flared part of him and the tremors jolt right down to his sack.

“Mmmm, good boy, Aemond.” 

A final burst of cum bubbles up and over the tip of him, and he tries not to shout. Sweet relief blankets the scald from his peak, and the Prince can breathe with a newfound ease.

Ysilla spreads her fingers apart, and his spend webs between them in a milky film. Aemond can’t be sure what she’s thinking, how she’s feeling. But what he certainly doesn’t expect is for her to bring up her fingers to brush at her mouth, plush lips spreading to peek out her tongue. He catches her wrist before she can commit the act, and if he bruises her with his grip, she deserves it for her lustfulness. 

“Don’t.”

Ysilla studies his face, weighing if she can push her luck some more tonight. She concedes, peppering a butterfly kiss across his knuckles, wiping her soiled hand on the fur under her knees. Aemond’s chest tightens and he can’t understand why her simple kiss sends him blushing more than her fist around his cock. 

“Next time, then.”

Hunger nips at him harshly, all the ways they can come together, and cum together, flashing through his mind. 

“There will be no next time-”

“Mmmm, I don’t know if he agrees with that.” She presses her puckered lips just shy of his wet slit, and his hips buck from the sensitivity. Her giggle is demented and a dark part of the silver prince wants to push something down her throat to shut her up. 

“Don’t you have something better to waste your time with? Aren’t you supposed to be looking for a husband?” Aemond rumbles, slouched in his seat. All tension drained from him, his legs weak and wobbling from the force of his climax. He feels as if he is up in the clouds, no dragon necessary. 

Ysilla sniffs, tossing her hair over her shoulder with a twist. “I will marry whomever I tell my mother I have accepted. And if no one has caught my eye, we will try again next year.” 

She maneuvers him back into his breeches, and if Aemond were a lesser man, he’d whine at the loss of her smooth touch. The leather suffocates him immediately and it feels so wrong. 

“Who better to guide me in the art of pleasing my husband,” Ysilla looks deep into his eye as she speaks the title, and the Prince feels caught, “whomever that may be, than you? No mere man will ever compare to you, in this aspect.” Ysilla finishes his laces off with a bow, hands tucking behind her innocently as she sits back on her toes. 

“In any aspect.” Aemond thinks he means to snarl in a self-righteous manner, but it’s clear to his own ears what he intends. The thought of Ysilla being on her knees for another, warm and wanting and welcoming for someone that is not him, blazes him with envy.

Ysilla beams, and Aemond feels like a trout swallowing the worm- hooked, reeled, and gutted.

“I’m glad we have an agreement then.”

.

.

.

[admistedenslush]

Eve’s Curse - Aemond Targaryen/Reader

Summary: In paradise, you and Jace live peacefully until a fallen angel disturbs the peace.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

With bare feet, you stand in the dirt under the towering tree, whose shade shields you from the hot rays of the sun.

You embrace the evergreen intimately, with your right cheek and breasts pressed against the trunk, feeling the hard coarse surface on your skin.

Small cracking noises and rustling of the woods disturbed your tranquil mood. Looking past the tree, you take a careful glance at your surroundings.

You didn't even realize you were holding your breath until your pounding heart ached in your chest.

A wave of unfamiliar emotions washes over you, disrupting the calm that once defined your existence. As your stomach clenches, you spin around, searching for your beloved Jace.

As you whirl around, your eyes widen with alarm at the sight of a tall figure standing before you. Before you can let out a scream, his massive palm clamps over your mouth, taking your breath away.

As your lips grew warm, an unfamiliar sensation. The trickle of your saliva under his hand intensified the burning, creating a discomfort that you resisted the urge to react to.

Instead, your unwavering gaze remained fixed on the captivating man standing before you. There was an undeniable allure in his presence, his beauty radiating, that held you captivated.

Noticing the tears welling in your eyes, the man withdrew his hand from your mouth, understanding the profound impact his touch had on you.

“An angel's touch can set a mortal ablaze,” he murmured, his voice tinged with an air of mystery.

Intrigued, you took a shallow breath, your voice barely a whisper as you responded in wonder, “An angel?

The man looked down at you; he smiled with a glint of laughable pity in his eyes, muttering sweetly 

“Looks like your master couldn't keep a tight leash on you?”

The man's sardonic grin betrayed his condescending thoughts as he found the humor in an otherwise dim-witted exchange.

Your throat caught up with the collecting saliva in his mouth, spluttering before you could even plead for mercy.

“Faint of heart, dear girl?”

With a quiver in your voice and a furrowed brow, you timidly pose the question, “Who are you?”

His smirking visage seemed to glow with amusement as he hummed in response, offering his answer with a glint in his eye, “Thank you for inquiring. I go by the name of Aemond, my dear.”

“Aemond? The fallen angel? The foe of the gods?” you spoke with a hint of newfound confidence, seeking confirmation.

Enraged and consumed by anger, Aemond grasped your throat, robbing you of breath again, and leaned in close to your face, his lip in a snarl.

“Soon, you will come to understand who the true enemy is. The gods, who forsake their creations out of fear of their knowledge,” he declared.

Gasping for air, you spoke through his tight grip.

“You are the one who denied my race and refused to submit to Jace,” you choked out.

“Why should I bow down to a mere mortal, composed of nothing but dust and clay?” he replied, his voice dripping with fury. He continued,

“He should worship my scorching flames, for I am forged from fire, a force too mighty for that boy to ever tame.”

His thick hand wrapped around your throat, ignited a soft, involuntary moan to escape your lips. As you yearned for release from the exhilarating tension that coiled within your being, you pressed your thighs together, seeking solace in the delicate embrace.

Aemonds eyes shimmered, forgetting his anger. “But you enjoy it, don't you, my dear? You relish my touch.”

You were left breathless, unable to even contemplate Jace's whereabouts. The fallen angel released you from its grip and directed its gaze back to the grand tree.

“Tell me, what did the gods reveal to you and the boy with mousy hair concerning the saplings of Eden?”

You studied the man with caution, your thoughts still somewhat fuzzy, longing for the warmth of his touch.

“They warned us against consuming the fruit.”

Aemond, displaying his ever-growing cunningest, retorted with a sly smile, “So, the gods told you that you can't eat from any tree in this splendid garden?”

You responded, your innocence shining through," We may enjoy the fruit of all the trees except for one. The Gods warned us not to partake of the fruit of the tree in the center, cautioning that touching it would lead to death.”

Aemond glanced at his feet before meeting your gaze once again. With a mischievous twinkle in his eye, he declared, “You see, this whole idea of the forbidden tree, it's all just a sham. Can't you see that? It's meant to scare you into denying yourself earthly delights. You won't die. In fact, the gods know that once you take a bite, your eyes will be opened, and you'll ascend to their level, understanding the realms of good, evil, and desire. They won't have control over you anymore.”

Then, he added in a low tone, “Don't you yearn to experience genuine pleasure? You enjoyed the way I touched you… what if I were to show you even more?”

You coyly concealed your hands behind your back, offering Aemond a sweet smile as you looked up at him through fluttering lashes. “Do you think we should ask Jace to join us as well?” you teased, a playful edge to your voice.

Aemond, reveling in the game, trailed his fingers through your hair, tilting his head ever so slightly. “Oh, my dear,” he purred, his voice dripping with his cunning charm, “that sounds positively wicked. Let's make it a delightful trio.”

[evolutionsvoid]

The ancient dragons were once revered, but are now reviled in the wake of the betrayal. Yet, even as they are labeled an enemy of the Church and despised as heretical beasts, there is one thing that remains unchanged: their power. Though hated, folks still admit that the dragons bear incredible strength and abilities, their ancient bodies and blood possessing qualities unseen anywhere else. Even as people spit at their name, there are many who secretly wonder if it would be possible to harness this primordial strength. So when the great beasts were slain, and their massive corpses fell to the earth, this enemy was violated once more as factions hurried to plunder the carcasses and take these gifts for themselves. Out of the scavengers who fed on this death, none are nearly as famous, or successful, as the Antiquaries.

The Antiquaries are an arm of the Academy of Veritas Mundus, those tasked with uncovering the past and harnessing the primordial. They seek the secrets of the ages before Ichor, and the beings who flourished in these eras. The dragons are no doubt a great obsession to them, as they are the living embodiment of these ancients times. So when they were slain and left to rot, the Antiquaries descended upon the carcasses like ravenous shrews. They stripped many dragon bodies down to the bone, and then made off with those as well. Any great dragon who perished on or near Academy territories were quickly devoured by these eager researchers, their scales, bones and Eitr whisked away to their countless laboratories.

Though it would appear that no one has truly mastered the power and Eitr of the ancient dragons, it is clear that the Antiquaries are the closest to achieving such a feat. Though their research is closely guarded, much like a lot of Academy work, the end results can be clearly seen. One need only see or hear about the Dracomatons to know that the Academy has uncovered something incredible behind their barred doors.

The Dracomatons are creations of man, artificial life that has been forged and built. The Antiquaries have taken the pieces of dead dragons and found a way to cobble them into a lesser, but far from powerless, form. Dracomatons are constructed from a special material that the Academy invented, known as "verdigris." The process to create such a substance is known only to the Academy and fiercely guarded. If one is to spot someone who doesn't belong to the Academy in possession of such an thing, then you know they stole it or stripped it off a corpse. The little anyone has figured out about verdigris is that it is made through some sort of fusion of dragon scale and ivory, but only true ancient dragon scales. It appears to use the very blight that coats them, scraping the curse from these immortal scales and binding it with high quality bone. The resulting material is not as strong as true dragon scales, but it is still very durable and certainly far more plentiful. It is how they are able to create so many strange and powerful constructs which bear the visage of these ancient beasts.

One such dracomaton is the Huo Long, a soaring slithering serpent construct whose presence is an omen of fire and chaos. A long body built of verdigris scales and powered by yellowflame, it uses this fire to weave through the sky and spew burning bolts upon foes. Though the permanent snarl of its maw can vomit forth a hail of flame, these spits of fire are not nearly as lethal as some would believe. They may scorch holes in armor and burn flesh, but those with decent protection and quick thinking can survive this rain. The true power of this breath weapon is the panic and chaos it can cause. The sight of these twisting automatons in the sky already put folk on edge, and when they start spraying flame onto battalions does fear take hold. Mounts and other war beasts fly into a panic at these flames, the sting of their bite causes soldiers to lose focus and flail about, and dry battlegrounds can easily erupt in an inferno. The Huo Long are tools of fear and disarray, turning crude armies of hastily trained soldiers into stumbling screaming fools.

The Huo Long dracomatons are constructs built mainly for battle, be it a siege weapon or a burning omen to clear the way for the Academy's horde. When the Church faltered with civil war, the Academy saw their chance and thus their many inventions were turned to tools of violence. In rare cases have some folk witnessed a few of these constructs serving as guards on Academy grounds. It would seem their fiery maws may be too destructive for their creators' liking, worrying that these guard beasts may wind up burning down what they are meant to protect.

Due to their materials being born from dragon scale, it would seem they have inherited more than their visage. It has been observed that Huo Long left inactive for a period of time grow stiff and slow, requiring minutes of movement and warming up to regain their flexibility and grace. Perhaps the curse that doomed the dragons lives on in a way within these dracomatons, threatening those who wield it with the same fate. In that way, it would seem that they are closer to true dragons than one would imagine. However, one with a sharp eye need only look upon the yellowflame in their eyes and teeth to see that no trace of Eitr is within. The lacking of Primal Flame's tinge betrays their artificial nature and that these are machines merely wearing the skin of the ancient beasts.

-----------------------------------------

"Huo Long Dracomaton"

Not only do we got animals mutated into dragons, now people be building dragons!

And thanks to @Lediblock2 for the term "Dracomaton" because my genius self was coming up with words like "automdragon"

[malky-tea]

It's time for the Third House. Fundamentals. House of Fire and Stone. Annunaki. Malefactors.

Mummu, Visage of the Forge.

Another Visage, essentially self-created. Like Qingu they appeared after the Fall. They appeared out of the need to oppose the heavenly host, somewhere to protect people, somewhere to do evil. Basically, it's business as usual. Dardail was the kind of man who uses new knowledge to protect those in need. He's always been a softy. A big warm rock. Before the Fall, Dardail labored to build one of the many mountains. Afterward, with his stone hands and lava flowing through his veins, he forged armor for protection and weapons for the Iron Legion.

After the Abyss, he took over the body of a young programmer who neglected to take care of his health. The guy was literally burned out at work, and Dardail took over the ailing body. He was used to being big, so he gained muscle mass and joined the local Reconciler faction. Yeah, he's a big, kind guy. Yeah, he's all about protecting the weak. But good has to be able to fight back against evil and have fists. Now many Fallen would think thrice to say anything against his companions…

[zorejar]

Of young maid Olysam and the King Serpent / Оповідь про Олисам-дівку та Царевича Змій

A nebokrajan etiological myth explaining how humankind discovered fire and got themselves a soul. English and Ukrainian versions below:

OF YOUNG MAID OLYSAM AND THE KING SERPENT 

It happened when creation was new; when first men didn't yet have a soul and lived amongst beasts, and died like beasts. A man and a woman had a daughter, a young maid whose name was Olysam. She was their only child and they loved her much, and she was of great joy to them. 

The creation was new, and so they knew only summer and never had they saw a winter; but nevertheless, winter came. And they saw how weeds died and animals hidden, and they didn't know how to find food, and their home and garments were unfit for the cold. And so they knew they were to die soon, and the wife got very ill. 

And the daughter said: Don’t you despair, my beloveds, for I will go to the Brass mountain, where the Serpent King resides; I will go to his mountain and I will take him as my husband, and you will be named his mother and father, and he will save us, for we are his kin. 

Man and woman cried, as she was their only daughter and she was of great joy to them; and the girl cried, for she didn't want to take a serpent as her husband. And so they fashioned her in bride garments, and they laid her on a boat, and gave her trinkets, and sent the boat across the river. And Olysam laid in a boat for three days and three nights, until she crossed the river to the other side. She took her trinkets and knocked on the Brass gates, and a voice asked her: ‘Who are you, intruder, knocking on my Brass gates, when it is not your time?’ 

The girl said: ‘I am Olysam, the daughter of man, and I came here to take the Serpent King, the Lord of the Soul, as my husband.’ 

'Why would you want a serpent as your husband, girl?' 

'For my family is dying and only he can save them, and I have nothing else to give.' 

'Come and look at me, then.'

And so the Brass gates opened, and the girl wandered forward. And she saw a palace of great beauty, and a husbandry of great wealth, and on the throne there sat the Serpent King. He was an old man of frightening appearance; his beard was long and green, and all kinds of weeds were entwined in his hair: wyrmwood and sage, and thornapple, and periwinkle; his neck was long and scaled, like that of a snake, and his face was golden, and he himself glistened like a gem. 

‘Do you still wish to take me as your husband, girl?’ he asked.

‘Your visage frightens me beyond any words’ she said ‘But I will do it, if you save my beloveds’

‘If you take me as your husband, and I take you as my wife, then you shall never return to the world of men’ he said ‘For when you share a meal and a bed with this world, you become a part of it’

‘I agree to it still’ she said ‘If you save my beloveds’ 

The Serpent King marveled at the girl’s fortitude. He ordered his serfs to forge a flame in mountain’s deep, and he gave it to her in a golden basket. 

‘You will now return to your beloveds, Olysam, the daughter of man’ he said ‘and you will give them my flame; and with it you will light your houses, and fright the beasts away, and lure them into your traps; and when you kill them, with my flame you will cook their meat' 

‘But what of our marriage?’ the girl asked.

‘From now on, when a man dies, he won't return to earth like a beast would. Instead, he will enter my husbandry as a spirit; that is our marriage. And you shall be the first to die, Olysam, daughter of man, and the day of your funeral shall be the day of our wedding."

***

ОПОВІДЬ ПРО ОЛИСАМ-ДІВКУ ТА ЦАРЕВИЧА ЗМІЙ

Сталося це тоді, коли іще світ був новим; коли людина не мала ще душі, а жила серед звіра, і вмирала, як звір. Були собі чоловік та жінка, і була у них донька, молода дівка, що звали її Олисам. Була вона в них єдиною дитиною, і вони нею дуже тішились. 

Отож, світ був новим, і людина тоді знала тільки літо, і не знала вона зими; але зима прийшла. І побачили люди, як усохла рослинність, і сховався у норах весь звір; і не знали вони, як знайти їм їжі, а їх дім та одежа були непридатні для холоду. Зрозуміли тоді люди, що скоро прийде до них смерть, і жінка вже занедужала. 

Тоді сказала донька: — Не журіться же ви, мої любі, бо відправлюся я до Мідної гори, де володарює Царевич змій; туди я відправлюся, і візьму його за чоловіка, і назветеся ви його батьком і матір'ю; і доведеться йому тоді нас врятувати, бо не зможе він залишити у біді свого роду. 

Заплакали тоді жінка із чоловіком, бо то була їх єдина донька, і вони нею дуже тішились; і сама дівка заплакала, бо не хотілося їй брати змія за нареченого. Тоді одягли вони дівчину у весільний стрій, і поклали її у човен, і поклали із нею усякого добра, що в них було, і пустили човен по ріці. Пролежала Олисам у човні три дні та три ночі, аж поки не пристав він до берега. Тоді взяла вона усе добро, що при ній було, і постукала вона у Мідні ворота. І спитав її голос: — Хто ти, чужинко, що стучить у мої ворота, коли ще не настав її час? 

Відповіла тоді дівка: — Я Олисам, людська донька, і я прийшла взяти Зміїного царевича, Господаря душі, за свого чоловіка. 

— Чого же ти волієш узяти змія за свого чоловіка? 

— Бо родина моя вмирає, і лише він спроможний її врятувати; а більше дати йому мені нічого. 

— Заходь тоді, і роздивися мене, як слід.

Відчинилися тоді Мідні ворота, і дівчина увійшла. І предстали перед нею палати великої краси, і господарство великого достатку, і на престолі перед нею возсідав сам Царевич змій. Був він старим чоловіком химерної подоби: борода його була довгою та зеленою, і були у неї уплетені цвіт-зілля різного виду: шавлія та полин, і дурман, і барвінок; шия в його була довга та луската, неначе в змії, і обличчя в його було позолоченим, а сам він виблискував, наче смарагд.

— Усе ще волієш взяти мене за чоловіка, дівко? 

— Подоба ваша химерна, і страшить мене так, що словом не скажеш, — зізналася Олисам, — але я піду на це, якщо ви врятуєте тих, що мені любі.  

— Коли візьмеш мене за чоловіка, а я тебе — за жінку, то не повернешся вже до світу людей, — сказав він, — Бо розділивши з цим світом їжу та ліжко, назавжди залишишся його частиною. 

— І на це я піду, — відказала дівка, — Якщо ви врятуєте тих, що мені любі. 

Зміїний царевич дивувався її стійкості. Він наказав своїм служкам скувати пломінь у гірських глибинах, і дав його дівці у позолоченім кошику.

— Ти повернешся до своїх рідних, Олисам, донько людини, — сказав він, — і ти принесеш їм мій вогонь; і моїм вогнем ви запалите оселі, і моїм вогнем ви будете гнати звіра в свої пастки; і коли ви уб’єте звіра, моїм вогнем ви зготуєте його м’ясо.  

— А як щодо нашого шлюбу? 

— Із цього часу і надалі, як вмре людина — не повернеться вона до землі, як то робить звір. Натомість, увійде вона духом в мої володіння; це і буде наш шлюб. І ти будеш першою на смерть, і день твого хорону буде днем нашого весілля.  

[thefilmed2008]

It’s my birthday (kinda) and as such I’m releasing LOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEE.

CREATION

In the beginning The White Stag, a being of untold justice and righteousness birthed three daughters into existence. He named the three after their defining traits, the first he named Nayru due to her cunning and wit, the second he named Din after her fierce drive and immense power, and the third he named Farore for the love and courage that radiated from her being. Upon those folk he bestowed a world to bringeth to life and to defend from outside evils, and upon this blasted world the three daughters descended, Nayru didst create the laws that all living and non-living beings abide by, Din didst shape the valleys, mountains, and dark places of the world, and finally Farore birthed man and beast and plant to populate the world and beest fruitful. The White Stag, seeing that this was valorous, didst doth decide to cautel a man and imbue him with a fragment of his power and righteousness, he named this man Link after his link to the world that his beloved daughters didst hath't crafted, and he didst put into his soul a love of all things. And yet, after seeing the worketh that their sister and father had done Din and Nayru didst doth becometh discontented and jealous. They didst doth beginneth birthing their own children in secret, Nayru birthed the quaint goddess Hylia whom she didst charge with protecting the fair folk of the world, she then birthed the palmy and divine Wind Fish, a trio of protectors for all other races. Din employed the magma and fires of creation and didst maketh the Demon clan, beings to eventually usurp the world from the fair folk and pave the way for humanity, next she didst grind and didst doth cut the boulders of volcanoes to maketh the Gorons, whom she imbued her craftsmanship and heartiness. She then forged a vessel for her strength and jealousy towards her sisters’ creations, she named him Demise. Sensing upcoming destruction, Farore crafted a scheme and didst invite her sisters to forge something together. Once they didst meet, Farore didst set about planning the vessels she had envisioned, Din forged the shape of three golden triangles while Nayru didst carve words of power into their visages. Once the deed was done Farore dubbed it the Triforce. She then revealed her deception to her sisters and didst trap their faculties and forms into each of the three pieces, sealing those folk hence still. Once The White Stag learned of the fate of his beloved daughters he didst weep believing those folk to beest dead. As he wept, his gouts of sorrow fertilized his dimension and didst maketh it flourish with life. His final act was to moveth the Triforce into this new dimension as a way of bringing peace to his suffering, after this he didst tire and didst enter a slumber that shalt not end till the end of days.

[supremeuppityone]

Writing exercise #1

Procrastinating on all my Klaroline WIPS. Here's a quick writing exercise that I hope to turn into a Klaroline one-shot sometime.

The might of the Forbes’ forge was spoken in the same breath as that of fanciful legends. The skill of the Forbes blacksmith was attributed to Master Forbes’ belief in the old ways. Klaus had been skeptical when he first heard such praises for a mere mortal in the rundown taverns that dotted the land, but his own quest had borne no fruit and his need was far too great to dismiss.

            He wrinkled his nose in distaste at the blacksmith’s thatched roof, his vampire hearing easily detecting the rustle of vermin skittering to and fro. Master Forbes must take his payment in trade with the villagers rather than coin. With a sigh of irritation, Klaus knocked on the crooked, dusty door, reminding himself that a bit of restraint might be in order as Master Forbes was well-known in this land, and his brutal death would draw unnecessary attention. Frightened whispers spoke of Mikael slaughtering Varangian princes far off villages of Novgorod and Pskov. But one could never be too careful in these uncertain times.

            A quiet voice broke the threshold spell that bound his vampiric nature and he stepped inside, taken aback by the sumptuous furnishings and gold-threaded tapestries that lined the surprisingly expansive chamber. It was a clever illusion of a derelict peasant’s hovel to hide the obvious riches inside. What sorcery is this? Narrowing his gray gaze at the hooded figure stoking the fires of the clay hearth, he asked suspiciously, “What are you, Master Forbes?”

            A leather gloved hand continued to grip the iron tool as the figure turned around, tossing back the hood to reveal blazing blue eyes and the lovely visage of a creature with delicate pointed ears. “Not a ‘master’. The rest is...a bit complicated.”

[kikaitales28]

OC SHOWCASE #0

HYVANN: Gyganos soldier

Origins

=3044 A.D. the 30th Gaian Century=

Humanity was the in the middle of a great era, an era of understanding, growth, and independence thanks to the efforts and sacrifices of many across the years. From this prideful spirit came the desire to venture into the many unknowns that besieged our world and beyond, with one of the first steps being earthbound in origin, the formation of the Southern Cross government in the Antarctic continent of the South Pole; from which many scientific studies and expeditions across the icy caps and snow filled fields of the pole were carried out by insightful scholars in the field. Unfortunately...this desire would prove to be one of the first steps into a drastic shift for our race and our future...

In the Eve of Christmas, a group of scientists would uncover...a creature of great size, and with it a forgotten den...a temple, filled with never-to-be-seen markings and artifacts that belonged to an unknown civilization! Like locusts they took what they could to their homelands for further inspection outside the harsh Antarctic soil, unknowingly triggering the rise of a foreboding force of great power and vile design.

Much to the terror and dismay of the science division of the UK plus the company backing them up, "Nina", their so-called mistress of secrets..woke up from a prolonged slumber and wasted no time in bringing fire and ash to these foolish humans. Simultaneously via a special telepathic/Synaptic link...triggered a special command to the temple to rise back up in the South Pole! The Swarm known to this day as the ZARKRYGON had thus made contact with humankind and has turned the once "prosperous" city of London and most of the UK into a Hive fortress, and so was the South Pole with the rise of their Babel-ish Tower of Bioengineering.

In response, plus several alliances forged for the salvation of Earth, from which the past was brushed off, would see the kickstart of Project Talos; from which the Gyganos Soldier Battalions were formed and deployed across the globe as the ultimate force of defense and offense against the many odds stacked against them by the Zarkrygon Swarm!

The Gyganos Soldiers

[PS: Due to the highly secretive nature of their development, most if not all of the information regarding to their origin is highly secured and only accessable for high command, so unfortunately we won't be able to learn the creation, therefore birth of these Mecha Goliaths and therefore Hyvann's birth]

•Height: 100 [approximately]

•weight: 737 [approximately, without equipment]

•Occupant Accommodation: none

•Physique/build: outside of their bulky appearance seen in combat, one of the most interesting details about them is that behind their Masker Plates..hide an androgynous visage that we can't quite pin down why was this design applied in the first place [we can't deny however that it ain't pretty or awe inspiring to see].

•Equipment: [we only have data in regards to standard equipment, but suffice to say that it is known that they have more than what you see here]

•Speed: Despite their bulky and clunky appearance, the Gyganos Soldiers are fast troopers, often throwing off enemies by the fact that something that hulking shouldn't be moving "that fast" on the battlefield! [Speed: Approximately 50-70 km sprinting]

•Strength: still to be determined/ambiguous, but they definitely pack a strong punch! Stronger than any known artillery or machinery in Earth's history and of course surpassing humans by design.

Hyvann [Pronounced as Hi-van]

Hyvann comes from the 118th Battalion known as "Leviathan", as previously said their origin/birth is unknown/classified outside of the propaganda/news coverage which claims "the Gyganos Army are the culmination of Engineering and A.I., all in perfect synchrony to build the ultimate warrior against the ultimate foe." What we do know well about Hyvann is somewhat of a shared trait the Gyganos Army have with each trooper, that is a life-like personality but for Hyvann's spotlight in this file we know that they're a modest, grounded, and introspective individual, composed even in the most harshest of environments; however that doesn't mean they won't just idle and when the moment presents itself, they can dish-out a rather "snarky callback" on the scene, a juxtaposition between being humble and poised.

Unfortunately, that's where we'll end this file by wishing Hyvann and their Battalion the best of luck.

Godspeed, and may Gaia light your way...

Behind the Scenes

•The Gyganos Army/Hyvann, their aesthetic is heavily inspired/influenced by the incredible work of Mech/Art Designer Makoto Kobayashi of Dragon's Heaven & Armored Core fame, going with that blend between Biology and Machinery that in the end produce a dream-like yet functional fusion with his Mecha; all in part thanks to French Artist Moebius being an influence seen in his illustrations.

•Hyvann, if described with all honesty is essentially my take on Shaian from Dragon's Heaven, that mellow yet big presence, almost like having a "big mech papa" or "chunky bud" if that makes sense [unless you've seen the OVA].

•In-Universe Newspaper snippet: I added a shout-out to DeviantArt artist & good buddy of mine, Feyzer for being a great dude in helping me out whenever I advance on my Original Works; he came up with the nickname "Nina" for this <X)

Link to his page if you want to check him out

[PS: I will make a post exclusively focused on the Zarkrygon and "what we know about them so far"]

I'm open for honest feedback and your thoughts on the comments below ^u^ 👇

[fellpurpose]

“My fell teacher!”

Selena struck a pose seldom seen. With her hand splayed over her visage, arms crossed over her body, and her leg lifted in teetering balance, her one unobscured eye pierce through the corridor. Finally, I’ve found him. Let’s do this. She played up a convincing smile.

“I challenge you to a duel of the fates! Come, test your malevolent powers against my chosen steel, the fierce Skywalker Saber, its blade tainted by the blood of many a powerful foe! Lo, my prowess has been forged in the fires of Mustafar, from which no soul returns unscathed! Let my blade seek its vengeance, piercing through your defenses in a morbid imperial march! Come at thee, Odin Dark, scion of darkness, whet my razor-edge!”

behold! a fiery-haired challenger approaches, brimming with hubris and folly! such eagerness in the face of foolish exploits....

"ha! not a bad start." he brandishes a hand, more than eager to play along. "but your words resound like the wails of lost souls, seeking purpose in a futile quest. you DARE to brandish the skywalker saber, yet FAIL to grasp its true power! the fires of mustafar may have tempered your blade, but they have also seared away your reason. do you truly believe that a mere weapon, no matter how storied its history, can stand against the darkness that RAGES through my veins? your steel may thirst for vengeance, but it is nothing compared to the SOUL-SHATTERING ABYSS that resides within me. count thy blessings, for i still regard thee as a friend rather than a veritable adversary. were you a true foe, i would unleash untold DEVASATION upon you with but a whisper, shattering your feeble defenses and rendering your saber asunder."

odin chuckles darkly.

"but if this is your wish...then COME, MISGUIDED SOUL! witness the true might of the obsidian darkness. let us dance this dance of fate, but know that your steps lead only to hellish oblivion."