#like WHAT- ''its because its passed down from my bloodline-'' WHAT-

[shipstorms]

so many sentences sunday

tagged by @astronomical-light!! and going with their stalag theme...except mine doesn't seem to be going anywhere so here is a whole chunk.

"Tell me," Gale says.

"Can't."

"Y'gonna do this again?"

"Oh my god. Leave it alone, Buck. I'm not planning on committing suicide by Krauts, isn't that all you need to know?"

"No," Gale says stubbornly. "No, you said there's something else."

"That was the hooch talking."

"Bullshit. It doesn't whip anything up that's not already there."

John gives him a look of overexaggerated shock. "Gee, good point from the teetotaler," he says, snapping with one big paw of a hand. The noise is thick and seems to have its own gravity, dropping straight down like a magnet into Gale's core. 

Gale laughs, even though it's not funny at all. Or, it's funny in a skewed inside-out upside-down kind of way, anger contorting to pass itself off as such. He's had a lifetime of anger. Bloodlines of it, probably. But that anger around John tends to get repackaged and spit out as something else entirely. 

He presses the heels of his palms against his eyes, fighting back whatever it is that wants to come spilling out, thinned and watery with drink. This was the problem with giving in a little -- it was never just a little. He should've left, or otherwise attempted to manipulate this exhaustion into a good night's sleep. Instead he's anchored to the ground and getting pulled deeper into quicksand in front of the one person who shouldn't be seeing it.

"Hey," John says, serious now. "C'mere." 

He peels Gale's hands away. Gale blinks at him. John appears blurry around the edges; whether from the hooch or from tears, he doesn't know, but both are humiliating possibilities. Gale knows what he must look like. How the whatever it is is staining glassy and hot around his eyes. Unsuccessfully, he tries to wrench out of John's grip.

"Quit fighting me," John says, and Gale grunts, "Thought that's what you wanted."

John moves then, rising onto his knees and leaning to clamp Gale's hands to the floor while simultaneously swinging one leg over to straddle him. He's quick about it. He's always been so quick. 

"You want to give me what I want?" he asks, barely hovering above Gale. "I want you to mean it." 

"I fucking mean it," Gale bites out. Another attempt at freeing himself goes dead as soon as it starts and he orders, "Let me go," struggling in earnest, but John's too heavy and strong to do anything except flop around like a panicked fish. 

Anger crosses over into fury, and then to desperation, and then finally to fear. In the scuffle, his hips brush against John's leg for a heartstopping second and Gale channels his efforts at escape elsewhere, shoulders wracking ineffectively, a desperate whip of his head back and forth. When he lifts his hips again, John puffs an irritated burst through his nose and the fear curls right back around to anger, ends fusing, tying all of it together into a neverending loop. 

Helplessly, Gale does it a third time. Something in John's expression shifts. He meets Gale's eyes, lit only by murky moonlight. They shouldn't look as bright as they are.

A fourth time, right up against the inside of John's thigh.

As if by instinct, John sinks down a few more inches, knees spreading wider on the floorboards, easing the way for a fifth, and then Gale loses count. The only reason he stops is because John settles his whole weight into Gale's lap and ruts up on him with a single, firm drag that has Gale knocking the back of his head on the wall once more. He's fully hard now. So is John.

John is still staring. Gale wants to claw at his own face. Beg him for something he can't even name. 

"What are you thinking about?" John asks softly, and Gale gasps, "I don't know. I don't know, I don't -- "

"Buck. Jesus. Breathe for a second." 

Gale tries to obey. John stills; waits for his breaths to slow before rocking in his lap and Gale's mouth drops open, though he's able to suppress any noise down to a rough exhale of air. He feels as though he's been thrust bodily through a portal, a sudden clarity pricking his nerves to life like he's jumping out of his fort all over again, the groan of steel whipped away for total silence. 

Into the quiet, John asks, "You settled yet?"

"John," Gale says, voice hoarse.

"I asked you if you're settled." John punctuates this with another deliberate thrust, and Gale closes his eyes, unable to continue facing this reflection of himself, except on John it manifests as it should -- heavy eyelids, lips wet where he keeps licking them. 

Abruptly, he stops. Rolls back onto his heels and rises, casting a terrible shadow over Gale. "Get up." When Gale doesn't move, John kicks at the sole of his shoe. "Come on, get up."

[dapperrokyuu]

Character who's so gender ultimately says they dislike that theyre so gender and implies that its something beyond their control, so its kind of an L on the author. 😔✌️

[alohajix]

Marked by Midnight

Main Masterlist

Marked by Midnight’s Masterlist

Summary: In the fog-drenched town of Willowridge, [Y/N] has always felt the pull of the supernatural. She doesn't know why-only that it thrums beneath her skin, whispers in her blood, and haunts her dreams. She's spent her life searching for answers, for meaning in the symbols and shadows that call to her... and then she meets him.

Harry Styles is the last living heir of a bloodline the world believes to be extinct. A hybrid born of vampire and wolf, he's lived in silence, hidden behind the iron gates of Styles Estate, a crumbling estate thick with history, power, and curse. He doesn't take mates. He doesn't fall in love. Not anymore.

But fate doesn't care for rules.

When she stumbles into his world, a bond awakens between them-raw, ancient, irreversible. What begins as curiosity spirals into obsession. And as secrets unravel and darkness rises, one truth becomes terrifyingly clear: she was his long before they ever met.

And now... she may never leave.

Warnings: tension, obsession, biting, blood play, smut, strong language, supernatural themes (full warnings listed per chapter).

Words: TBD

author note: I'm just dropping this without warning. If someone starts asking questions, you guys haven’t heard from me, okay?? I'm sorry it was awful 😂 but since the first chapter is out in a week, I wanted to treat you with a little something since you guys are the best supporters out here. Thank you for reading me everyday, it means so much to me. Please enjoy this little gift from me to you, I love you 🫶🏻

***

Prologue — Marked by Midnight

Harry’s POV

I felt her the night she was born.

Not in any way that made sense—not in the sound of her cry or the weight of her breath—but in the shift that settled beneath my skin, a subtle crack in the air, like the world had tilted ever so slightly and left me standing at its edge, aware of something I could not see, but could no longer ignore. It was faint, quiet, the barest flicker at the base of my spine, as if a thread had been pulled taut between us, invisible and ancient, humming low with a truth I didn’t want to face.

The bond.

I knew it for what it was the moment it stirred.

It wasn’t the first time. It wouldn’t be the last.

But this one—hers—felt different.

It wasn’t a blaze, not then. Just a mark, soft and persistent, pressing into a part of me I had long since tried to numb, and I told myself it meant nothing. That I could walk past it. That I didn’t have to feel it grow.

I didn’t want it.

Not because I feared it wasn’t real, but because I knew—deeply, irrevocably—that it was.

I have lived long enough to know that bonds are not gifts, not promises, not salvation. They are chains, silent at first, but pulling tighter with every breath until you can no longer tell where you end and where fate begins. I’ve seen it before—the way it devours—and I wanted no part of it.

Not again.

Not with her.

So I let the years pass, keeping it buried beneath centuries of practiced silence. And still, I felt her—softly, distantly, like a shadow at the edge of thought, like a name I’d never spoken but had always known. Her dreams brushed mine when I wasn’t careful. Her fears echoed through me when the nights grew too quiet. I learned to push it away, to lock the bond down so tightly that I almost convinced myself it would fade, that she would live her life untouched by me, that whatever force had tied us would one day lose its hold.

But the bond never fades.

It waits.

And now, it has woken.

Stronger. Closer. Demanding in a way it never was before.

The mark has surfaced again, this time in her hands, her skin, her blood, and I know what that means. She’s no longer distant, no longer the girl in the dark corners of my mind. She’s here—or she will be soon—and the bond that has whispered for years now roars.

It doesn’t matter that I stayed away, that I tried to keep her free from this. None of it matters now. The bond has claimed her, as it has claimed me, and I can feel her moving closer with every breath. I can feel the weight of what’s coming, and the truth I have run from longer than I care to admit: I was never meant to resist her.

And I won’t.

I can’t.

Because bonds like this don’t break. They only tighten, pulling everything into their center until there’s nothing left untouched. Nothing left unburned.

I’ve kept her safe by pretending I wasn’t already hers.

But now, the time for distance is over.

She’s coming, whether I’m ready or not.

And I don’t know if I will save her—or if I will be the one to break her.

***

@cloudyluun @gem1712 @dipmeinhoneyh @idk1990 @harrrrystylesslut @sparxx27 @likea-silhouette @fangirl509east @starryhaze-crystal @mads3502 @run-for-the-hills @twinklaei @belgianblondee@pbandnutella @maudie-duan @cat-loves-music @harrystyleshotwife @angeldavis777 @matildasatellite

[alexanderlightweight]

Could I ask for something in the the worth of a life vs or in the guided by my unchained heart vs? I don't really have anything specific so I'm fine with anything

akjenflakjn yes. you can. please do in fact. here is the next part for when Alec is mostly out of danger and Magnus dealing with the misunderstanding Jace and Izzy are dealing with. I hope you enjoy!!

first part of the worth of a life (I just realized probs most people don't know the plot so its: asmodeus asks for magnus to break the parabatai bond instead of for Magnus' magic. in order for Magnus to save Jace. because Asmodeus thinks Alec will break up with Magnus for the 'betrayal'. so no Magnus losing his magic

<3 lumine

-

the worth of a life

Alec wakes for a second time and wishes he didn’t. He would have held his breath until unconscious if it weren’t for the way his body automatically relaxes as the realization he’s safe and in Magnus’ arms hits him.

Adamas can be fatal for anyone with a deep or harsh enough wound.  

Even shadowhunters.

It is very rare to recover from a wound made from adamas.  Even if the arrow hadn’t been stabbed completely through his chest and out his back, the arrow itself still pierced his heart.

Alec’s body is in upheaval, his very being wrought with the feeling of agony at having been betrayed by one of his own blades. To have it wielded against him in such a way is an anathema.

Shadowhunters, especially ones from gifted bloodlines, did not easily relinquish their weapons.  Often they were heirlooms, passed down between the children who were drawn to them. 

Giving his bow to Magnus, even to save his sister, was comparable to blasphemy and the only reason it’s not considered treason is because none of them thought it plausible and Magnus didn’t follow through.

Magnus was completely right when he said the Clave never imagined downworlders being involved in their own personal events and customs or using their own personal laws, so they’ve left a plethora of gaping hools and easily manipulable loopholes.  

Even better, the Clave can’t change them before they are implemented and they can’t stop Alec and Magnus because they prepare all the work and research ahead of time so while the Clave scrambles to find and change rules before Magnus and Alec can use one, it’s no use.

There are thousands of rules that they just assume aren’t feasible, when really they’re just waiting to be used. The Clave’s bigotry is so intense that it’s a weapon easily used against them.

Magnus and he are in charge every time they use a law against the Clave, the Clave just hasn’t realized it yet.

Despite his thoughts turning from his injuries to admiring the man he loves, Alec remembers again the night and he sighs, pressing a kiss to an exhausted — no doubt because he traveled to Edom, saved Jace, rescued Alec and then helped heal him — Magnus brow.  He carefully — because it hurts to breathe and move and even the beating of his heart aches with an echo of pain —  nuzzles closer and shuts his eyes.

When Magnus feels like waking they will. Until there and probably even after, there is no place he’d rather be than here. 

In Magnus arms.

As Alec drifts back to sleep his thoughts wander and a part of his cauterized soul aches, but it’s strangely not the worst pain he’s felt from it and while it comes and goes it doesn’t overwhelm him..

—

Magnus wakes with the magical buzz of an alert telling him his phone is ringing from an allowed contact. He answers it without looking only to hear quiet, wavering sobs that he recognizes.

“Jace?”

“Magnus—” Jace’s voice is raw and devastated and Magnus mentally sighs as he realizes he’s not going to be able to sleep any longer no matter how exhausted he is.

“What?” 

“Please, I know I have no right but let me see him. Let me see his body.”

Magnus blinks rapidly before he realizes just what is going on and it’s only with the knowledge that the wards will let him know if Alexander’s condition changes that he leaves the room.

“Jace, listen to me. No, do not start begging, just shut up and listen to me.” There’s a moment of unsteady breathing before quiet and Magnus sighs, “Alexander is still alive, Jace.” Across the phone there’s a relieved rattle that sounds nearly inhuman in its relief. “He’s struggling and barely made it, but I assure you that  he’s alive. The parabatai bond didn’t survive the owl being purged from your body and the magic that it took to do so.” Which, while a small omission, isn’t an outright lie either.

It was simply the price of success rather than a side effect. 

However unless Jace specifically asks, Magnus will keep his mouth sealed. Perhaps it is a bit petty, but even when Alexander outright asked Jace and Clary hadn’t told him the truth. If Jace ever asks, Magnus will at least tell him the truth.

There’s no words, just harsh drawn out silence and Magnus is beginning to worry he’ll need to send a fire message to Isabelle since Jace is crying now.

Raw sobs so loud that Magnus has to pull the phone away from his ear with a frown. He understands the relief, the purge of emotions if Jace had thought Alec dead, but he’s too tired to suffer through the sound.

“Jace, Jace I don’t have time for this so pull yourself together.” Because Magnus doesn’t have time. This isn’t callousness. Magnus simply doesn’t have energy for it. He went to Edom, returned and survived a deal with his father, saved Jace and then Alec before portaling them home and summoning Catarina before they spent over twelve hours healing Alexander.

He needs to eat and sleep and recover his magic so that he can keep Alexander safe and breathing and his wounded and raw heart beating. “I think I understand what happened, the parabtai bond snapped for you, it did for Alec as well. If I hadn’t cut off the shaft and held the arrowhead with magics, the convulsions of the bond breaking could have finished killing him. Except while I could confirm to him that you were alive and the owl gone, you had no way to know he was still alive.” 

Magnus ignores the whimper his words cause and continues, “but he is alive. Catarina and I have removed the adamas and are trying our best but we both know that adamas wounds rarely heal, even for nephilim.” 

Iratze’s are useless in the face of angelic weapons.

“I, Magnus, you know I’m me now. You purged it away yourself, can I come? I can be there in ten minutes, please I need to see him.”

“Jace.” Magnus' voice deepens with exhaustion the seriousness of his next statement, “I understand that seeing Alec is what you honestly need and want. However it cannot not happen.  Not only does Alexander remain in a very delicate state even after both Catarina and I exhausted both our potions and magics and rituals, but he’s barely stable.”

“He hasn’t asked for me?” Jace sounds devastated and Magnus reminds himself that he is playing therapist because of Alec.

“He hasn’t barely even spoken yet, Jace. Not since I first found him and only again right after we stabilized him. He asked after you, immediately. However he hasn’t woken up since. That he woke up once at all was a miracle, his heart wasn’t as steady as it should have been when he slept the second time. Again, Catarina and I barely have managed to keep it beating as the adamas went directly into his heart. I truly don’t know if he’ll ever fully recover or if he does, when.”

On the phone Jace’s breath hitches in another sob but Magnus will not hesitate.

He’s too tired and raw too.

“Because of that, I don’t know how his mental state is yet, Jace. Of course he still worries and cares for you, but he also showed me that the parabatai bond was gone again, for good this time he said.  There’s a wound there that was patched before and then somewhat mended but now the very seams have ripped. Between that and your face being the same as the one who taunted and nearly murdered him, I’d rather not shock his heart or his head. Not after both the physical and emotional trauma he’s been through.”

Magnus knows that Jace would love nothing more than to fight him on this. He’s itching for any kind of a brawl, verbal or physical if Magnus knows him — and unfortunately he does.  But Magnus is speaking facts, not antagonizing  him. Even if his words manage to do both.

“Tell him to call me when he wakes up.” Jace’s voice is unsteady, but it’s clear he’s trying to do his best, for Alec this time.

“Once he wakes properly, I’ll tell him to call you when he’s ready. Whenever that is. Also convey to Isabelle, if she and Clarissa aren’t already listening in to this call,” a small wet laugh proves him right. Even if it’s quickly covered by the soft clap of a hand, “that they are also not allowed to visit. This is not an attack against you, Jace or a punishment. This is simply to ensure he survives.”

There’s quiet now and then a silence.

“Jace agrees—” It’s Isabelle’s voice now and it’s hoarse and wobbly but sincere, “he’s a little overwhelmed but that’s the relief.  We understand Magnus and will listen, we just want Alec safe. If anyone disagrees, I’ll change their mind.” From the way she speaks, Magnus knows that it will be in a bloody, eviscerating way. “As much as I want to be there too, I won’t let myself or anyone else get in the way of Alec healing this time.”

Her voice trembles and Magnus wonders if she’s remembering how Alexander nearly died when trying to find Jace via the parabatai rune. How he’d screamed in agony and went down when it disappeared the first time — not that they were told the truth of why — and how badly Alec’s been struggling since Jace’s possession.

“Thank you, Isabelle.” He allows himself a sigh of relief, “the wards are up not only for protection but stability but to decrease fluctuations.  Even Catarina isn’t leaving, she just moved her home to the floor below me so it could be included in the wards, which is where Madzie stays right now.”

“Wouldn’t it have been easier to just stay with you?” 

“Even Madzie can’t be around him right now, Isabelle. The possibility of her magic wanting to reach out and heal him is too strong and her control too limited. We are taking no risk, my dear. Not with Alexander.”

There’s a pause as she reflects upon his words and he hears her murmuring something indistinct to Jace and Clarissa for a moment.

“Thank you, Magnus. For everything. Saving Jace and keeping Alec alive. Thank you. We’ll all keep out of your way until you let us know Alec’s ready. As for the Clave, I think it’s time that we step up and protect Alec this time.”

-

AN:

magnus isn't going to lie to Jace (because that's what Jace did when Alec asked him if he died) but he's not going to supply info. If Jace wants to truly know he can ask and Magnus will tell him exactly why the parabatai bond was broken but also Jace will accept the price because one, he knows you cant exactly negotiate with a greater demon and 2) Magnus saved both his life and Alec. jace would not have handled actually murdering Alec even if he was mind controlled well. but also Jace is find accepting it as a consequence of the owl being gone because he knows the bond has been fucked since he died. so its not going to come up really.

the bond can't be redone, I think clary might offer to try with her runes but that's... you don't force a bond and shed be using her powers to force it and neither want that. also Alec no longer wants it back. if he could have mended it then yes, but despite how much he cares and loves Jace its been nothing but agony after agony for a while now. he barely remembers what a healthy bond feels like after all the pain and betrayal and the last memories he has of it are the distorted fucked up feeling that the owl induced with nightmares etc.

so Alec is just. it's broken so many times that it's clearly not meant to be. no thank you. and Jace doesn't want anything else fucking with his body or brain because clary's runes can sometimes have side effects etc. Jace needs to be alone in his own body and soul to recover and remember who he is, without the bond thanks to Lilith and the owl and at one point Jonathon/Sebastian, fucking with him.

Magnus does not know that the reason Alec is still asleep is because he woke up and exhausted himself with 'thoughts' (waking up and using your brain after trauma is exhausting) and needed to refresh.

[kckt88]

Imzadi VI

Summary:

As the King passes, rats invade the Red Keep and Aemond's anger erupts when he makes a discovery.

Warning(s): Angst, Drama, Language, Uncle/Niece Incest, Kissing, Oral Sex, Fingering, P in V, Multiple Positions, Knotting, Death, Blood, Violence.

AEMOND x O.C NIECE

ALPHA/BETA/OMEGA DYNAMIC

Word Count: 7505

A.N - 'Imzadi - Beloved'

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 @darylandbethfanforever9 @killua2dot0 @msassenach @xcharlottemikaelsonx @moonnicole @zenka69 @aemondsbabygirl @aphroditesblunt @iamtoriasworld @persephonerinyes

The corridors of the Red Keep were nearly silent at this late hour, save for the soft clinking of Ser Erryk’s armour as he escorted Lucaera back to her chambers.

The dim torchlight flickered against the stone walls, casting shifting shadows that seemed to stretch and coil with each step.

Lucaera flexed her fingers around the dragonbone hilt of the dagger still clutched in her grasp, its weight a reminder of the truth—Aegon’s dream, and the prophecy that bound their bloodline to the fate of the realm.

Ser Erryk said nothing as they stopped outside her door. His face was unreadable, though his sharp eyes flickered briefly to the dagger in her grip before he turned back to resume his post.

Lucaera nodded once in acknowledgment before stepping inside, closing the door softly behind her.

The warmth of the room greeted her first. The hearth fire burned low, casting a golden glow across the chamber.

And then she saw him.

Aemond sat in the armchair by the fire, long legs stretched out before him, his chin resting against his hand as he stared into the flames.

His usual mask of cool indifference was absent; instead, his face was drawn in thought, the flickering light reflecting off his sapphire eye.

The moment she entered, his gaze snapped to her, sharp and piercing. He was on his feet in an instant, crossing the room in long strides.

He cupped her face without hesitation, tilting her head back so he could study her. His fingers were warm against her cool skin, his grip firm but not harsh.

“I felt your anger,” Aemond murmured, voice low and edged with concern. “Your upset. It was strong—stronger than anything I’ve felt through our bond before. What happened?”

Lucaera parted her lips to speak, but Aemond’s attention suddenly dropped to the dagger she still held. His eye darkened, confusion flickering across his face.

“Why do you have that?” he asked, his tone careful, yet laced with something deeper.

She glanced down at the Valyrian steel blade, its weight heavy in her palm.

“Viserys gave it to me,” she said simply.

Aemond’s brow furrowed as he took a step back, “Why would he do that?”

Lucaera inhaled deeply, steadying herself. “Because of a dream-”

“A dream?” questioned Aemond.

Lucaera took a deep breath, and Aemond remained utterly still as his Omega began to explain the dream that had driven Aegon the Conqueror to take Westeros—the warning of a terrible winter, of darkness and death sweeping from the distant North and the belief that only a Targaryen, would be strong enough to unite the realm, and stand against it.

Aemond’s expression didn’t shift as he listened, but she could feel him through the bond—his mind working, analysing, and questioning what she was telling him.

When she finished, silence stretched between them.

Then, at last, Aemond spoke.

“Do you believe it?” His voice was quiet but firm.

Lucaera turned to the fire, her grip tightening on the dagger.

“The secret is in the steel,” she whispered.

With deliberate movements, she unsheathed the blade and placed it in the flames.

The room was silent but for the hiss of heated metal, the dagger’s edge quickly glowing red, then gold. And then, like magic, the words appeared.

Aemond stepped closer, the firelight casting long shadows across his sharp features. His gaze flickered over the ancient inscription, lips parting slightly as he read the words.

"From my blood comes the prince who was promised. His will be the Song of Ice and Fire"

Lucaera withdrew the dagger and laid it carefully on the stone hearth to cool. Then, she turned to Aemond.

She could feel the conflict inside him—confusion, disbelief, and frustration.

Slowly, she stepped toward him, pressing her hand flat against his chest. “I know it’s a lot to take in,” she said softly. “But this secret has been passed down from King to heir for generations. As future King, it is your duty to protect it. To carry it forward-and pass it on to your heir when the time is right”

Lucaera then slid her other hand down to her stomach, resting it over the small life growing within her.

Aemond didn’t move. He stared at her, his face unreadable.

And then, finally, he spoke.

“If this secret is passed from King to heir-” His voice was quiet “W-Why did Viserys tell you and not me?”

The question hung between them like a sharpened blade.

Lucaera met his eye. She knew there was no gentle way to say it.

“You know why-”

The moment the words left her lips; Aemond’s whole body tensed, his fists clenching at his sides. And then—rage.

It slammed into her through the bond, sudden and overwhelming, like fire spreading through a dry woodland.

Lucaera gasped, her breath hitching as the sheer force of it hit her. It was too much, too fast—she staggered back a step, her instincts forcing a soft, distressed whine from her throat.

Aemond went still.

The sound struck him like a blow.

She was afraid.

His omega—his mate, who was carrying his child—was afraid of him.

Aemond’s breathing was ragged as he forced himself to calm down. He fought to push back the fury clawing at his insides, the raw, gnawing open festering wound of his father’s rejection.

And then, the anger gave way to something worse.

Pain.

Lucaera felt it through the bond, deep and aching.

Aemond turned away sharply, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked as though he might break his teeth. His hands trembled at his sides.

“I was never enough-” he murmured, more to himself than to her. “No matter what I’ve done-”

Lucaera stepped forward. Carefully, she reached out, running her hands up his chest, her touch light but insistent.

Then, she pressed her face into the crook of his neck, her lips hovering just over his mating mark.

Aemond went rigid for a moment, and then, slowly, he melted.

His arms wrapped around her, his grip tight, his body sinking into hers. He inhaled deeply, his chest rising and falling with the scent of apples, cinnamon, and milk—her scent.

“Why am I not enough?” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

Lucaera took a small step back and cupped his face, forcing him to look at her.

“You listen to me,” she said fiercely. “You are more than enough. You claimed Vhagar when you were just a boy. You lost your eye, and you took that pain—and owned it. You, Aemond Targaryen, are a man worthy of being King-”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. A single tear slipped from his eye and ran down his cheek.

“You really think that?” he murmured.

Lucaera’s grip tightened.

“I don’t think,” she said. “I know-”

Aemond exhaled sharply, pulling her into his embrace once more, his arms locking around her.

Lucaera let the silence settle before she spoke again, her voice softer now.

“It doesn’t matter what Viserys said or thought-”

Aemond pulled back just enough to look at her. His expression darkened slightly. “What do you mean?”

Lucaera exhaled, searching his face before speaking.

“We both know that Viserys is not long for this world,” she said softly. There was no cruelty in her words—only truth. “Soon, he will die. And when he does, you will be King-”

Aemond’s jaw tightened. He knew it. He had known it from the moment Viserys had named him heir, whether the old man had meant it or not.

The wheels of fate had already begun to turn and there was no stopping them now.

Lucaera lifted her chin, her fingers trailing down his cheek, along the sharp line of his jaw.

“Your legacy,” she whispered. “Your reign, it will begin-Aemond of House Targaryen, First of his name-”

“I will not be a weak King,” he murmured, his voice like steel wrapped in silk. “I will not be like him.”

Lucaera’s fingers curled into the fabric of his cotton shirt, anchoring herself to him.

“I know,” she whispered. “And neither will our son-”

Aemond inhaled sharply as he cupped her face again, gentler this time, his fingers tracing over the curve of her cheek.

“I will build a world where our boy will never have to question his worth” Aemond vowed, his voice thick with emotion. “Where he will never feel like I did”

“I know you will” replied Lucaera.

“Every pup that I sire upon you; will know of my love- this I swear to you as my wife, My Omega and my Queen-”

Lucaera smiled, pressing a kiss to his lips—soft, lingering, and full of unspoken promises.

"Let me have you tonight," Aemond whispered, his voice a hushed plea, filled with longing and vulnerability. "Let me forget the world, if only for a few hours. Please-"

Lucaera looked up into his eye, her own filled with a mixture of love and desire. She could see the depth of his need, the raw emotion that he often kept hidden from the world.

In this moment, he was simply Aemond, a man seeking solace in her arms.

"Yes-" she breathed, her voice barely more than a whisper but carrying all the affirmation he needed.

Aemond's gaze softened, a flicker of relief passing through his features as he gently cupped her face in his hands. He leaned down, capturing her lips once more.

Aemond hooked his arms around her thighs and pulled her to the edge of the bed.

Lucaera gasped as Aemond smirked at her before he spat on her cunny, before he lowered his head and pressed into Lucaera’ core with his tongue.

She clutched the bedspread above her head, her fingers twisting into the fabric, her hips undulating against Aemond’s face.

Aemond withdrew from her soaking wet core, licking at her pearl with his tongue. He was hard, fast and brutal, alternating between her assaulted bundle of nerves and drinking deep from her.

Lucaera ground down on Aemond; 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 Lucaera arching off the bed as she peaked.

“Hmmmm” growled Aemond as he pressed a series of kisses to Lucaera’ inner thighs.

“P-Please A-Aemond. Need you” begged Lucaera.

Aemond rose from the floor, his chin shining with her slick, he smirked as he swiped his fingers over his chin and then placed them in his mouth savouring the delicious taste of his wife.

He moved up Lucaera’ body pausing to grasp hold of her left breast as he ran his tongue over the peaked rosy nipple.

“Oh-“ gasped Lucaera.

“I can’t wait until these are filled with milk-” growled Aemond as he moved to her right breast and sucked it into his mouth, his teeth grazing against the peaked flesh.

“O-Oh-Aemond-” whined Lucaera arching against him.

“Issa jorrāelagon-Issa glaeson-ñuhon” growled Aemond as he seized Lucaera’ lips in a ferocious kiss, his hard cock throbbing against her thigh (My love-my life-mine).

Aemond wrapped a hand around his cock and slowly ran it over Lucaera’ wet entrance, she began squirming impatiently against him as he continued to tease her, running the head through her wet folds.

“P-Please, I want you. Oh-” exclaimed Lucaera desperately.

“Hmmm” rasped Aemond as he positioned himself at her slick entrance and began to slowly slip into her.

Lucaera arched off the bed and Aemond couldn’t help but look down and watch as his cock slowly slid into her-

Aemond started to thrust slowly, trying to prolong the feel of his wife squeezing his cock.

"Faster, Aemond" begged Lucaera.

"Patience, issa dōna" chided Aemond as he ran his nose up Lucaera’ neck and nipping at her mating mark (My sweet).

“Yes, Aemond, just like that-" panted Lucaera.

Her hands ran over his arms, over his shoulders, and down his back. Her nimble fingers mapped his back muscles and then went down to his arse and gripped him - pressing him into her harder.

 “Gods, Lucaera" grunted Aemond, speeding up slightly.

"Fuck me, Alpha. Fuck me with that big, cock of yours. You feel so good-”

Aemond groaned loudly, knew exactly what his wife was doing, but he couldn’t help himself. She wanted faster, and he was going much faster now.

His pace kept increasing with every filthy word that dropped from his wife’s luscious lips. Now he was quickly thrusting in and out, shaking the bed, the headboard banging loudly against the stone wall.

Aemond shifted Lucaera’ legs onto his shoulders and wrapped his arms around her thighs, squeezing them together as he thrust his cock into her soaking wet cunny.

Lucaera folded her arms above her head as she moved her hips, meeting Aemond thrust for thrust.

“Aemond! I’m going to-to peak. Oh, fuck!” screamed Lucaera.

“That’s it baby-peak for me” breathed Aemond as he felt her clenching around his cock, as her pleasure exploded.

Aemond could feel the tension building in his abdomen, but he didn’t want to spill his seed. Not yet.

Not even waiting for her peak to fully subside, Aemond moved Lucaera’ legs off his shoulders and manoeuvred her onto all fours, she whimpered as his cock slipped out, but he leaned forward to press a series of kisses to her glorious arse, his large hands kneading the soft flesh.

“P-Please Aemond” whispered Lucaera, her voice slightly muffled as she pressed her face into the mattress, and arched her back, presenting herself to him.

Aemond growled at the sight of his sweet Omega bent over in front of him, her slick running down her parted thighs, gods if he didn’t know any better, he would have thought she was in heat.

Their bond pulsed with such intense arousal and love that it overwhelmed Aemond as he took his cock in hand and quickly sheathed himself inside Lucaera once again, his eye rolling into the back of his head.

“FUCK” groaned Aemond.

“God. Yes. Aemond” moaned Lucaera as he began to thrust in and out of her in deep achingly slow thrusts.

Lucaera took one of Aemond’s hands that was on her hip and brought it towards her head.

Knowing what his wife wanted, Aemond placed his hand on the back of her head and pushed her face into the mattress. His cock reaching even deeper inside her as he moved with such ferocity it could rival an animal.

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

Her screams of pleasure muffled by the mattress.

 “Fuck. Lucy-that’s it-that’s it” moaned Aemond, his long silver hair unbound and sticking to his back.

He took hold of Lucaera’s hair, twisting his fingers into the messy dark braid before he pulled her backwards, her sweaty back colliding with his chest.

Aemond held Lucaera tight too him as he fucked her, his cock brushing against the spot inside her that made her shake.

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

“Give it to me please” pleaded Lucaera her head lolling back onto Aemond’s shoulder.

Aemond could feel the tension building in his abdomen again, as he thrust his cock inside Lucaera.

“I want you to come on my cock again, but not like this-” muttered Aemond as he once again withdrew from his wife’s wet heat and propped himself up against the headboard.

“-Aemond” exclaimed Lucaera breathlessly.

 “Ride me-” replied Aemond as he pulled Lucaera on top of him. His hand moving to his cock, rubbing it along her folds before she sunk down and completely engulfed him.

 “Oh” gasped Lucaera as she rolled her hips against Aemond’s.

“That’s it baby, take it. Take all of me”

Aemond placed his hands on Lucaera’ hips and marvelled at his wife as she rode him.

Lucaera dug her nails into Aemond’s chest as she moved her hips against his, his cock hitting the sweet spot inside her perfectly.

“A-Aemond” moaned Lucaera as he sat up, moving his hand to her breast again and taking her nipple into his mouth, his teeth gently grazing the rosy bud.

“Let go baby, I can feel you clenching around me” exclaimed Aemond, as he moved to the other breast and lavished it with the same attention as the other.

Lucaera’s thighs began to burn, as she felt her climax approach, if her husband’s face had been sculpted by the gods, then his cock had been given to him by the devil who ruled the seven hells.

It was sin incarnate and Lucaera was ready to let it claim her fully, her husband had possessed every fibre of her being and she revelled in it.

 “AEMOND” screamed Lucaera her vision going white as she peaked.

Her husband threw her back onto the bed his cock never leaving her warmth as he pounded into her, her legs wrapped around his waist, trapping his body against hers as he chased his own end, the knot at the base of his cock swelling.

“God. Lucaera” groaned Aemond as he thrust his knot inside her and he exploded. The knot locking them together as his cock throbbed and twitched as he finally spilled his seed, collapsing on top of his wife, breathing hard.

It took a good while for Aemond to regain his senses, he had needed that. Needed her.

Meanwhile his wife was laid underneath him completely blissed out. Her heart pounding in her chest.

“I love you ābrazȳrys-” whispered Aemond as he slowly ran his nose along her neck (Wife).

“Se Avy jorrāelan valzȳrys” replied Lucaera (And I love you husband).

Aemond then paused as he heard the purr coming from her, and it made him smile, he wanted to hear more, it was such a wonderful sound that she made.

So, he pressed his lips to Lucaera’s neck, and to his delight, she purred again.

Aemond knew immediately that his Omega was happy and content. His chest swelled with pride, as he kissed Lucaera’s neck again, his teeth grazing against the sensitive flesh.

Their bond pulsed with love and affection and Aemond had never felt so happy and content and in that moment, nothing mattered more to him than his Omega, and the pup she carried within her.

“Nyke kostagon daor umbagon naejot rhaenagon ao byka mēre” whispered Aemond as he reached down and slowly ran a hand over her stomach (I can’t wait to meet you little one).

“Konīr iksis iēdrosa mirri jēda naejot jikagon gō īlon rhaenagon īlva rūs” replied Lucaera (There is still some time to wait before we meet our babe).

Aemond nodded and smiled as he nibbled Lucaera’s mating mark- eliciting more purrs from her.

Suddenly a fresh wave of desire and arousal pulsed through their shared bond and Aemond knew their night of indulging with one another was far from over.

The bells of King’s Landing tolled solemnly in the distance, their deep, mournful chimes echoing over the gathered crowd.

Beyond the walls of the Red Keep, in the open grasslands, a great wooden pyre stood tall against the grey sky. Resting upon it, wrapped in a golden shroud, lay King Viserys Targaryen.

A hush had fallen over the assembled mourners, a sea of bowed heads and grim expressions. Rhaenyra sniffled, grasping Daemon’s hand tightly as she fought to keep her composure.

At her side, Jace and Luke stood huddled together, their faces shadowed with sorrow. Baela and Rhaena stood close to them, their expressions solemn.

Corlys and Rhaenys stood nearby, their heads inclined in respect, their faces betraying little emotion.

Otto and Alicent stood together, their grief buried beneath courtly restraint, their heads bowed, hands clasped tightly before them.

Aegon, Helaena, and Daeron stood a short distance away. Aegon shifted impatiently, boredom clear in his expression. Helaena, her eyes vacant, murmured softly under her breath, "A King bathed in silver as another is shrouded in gold"

Daeron, looked uncomfortable, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

Aemond and Lucaera stood side by side, their hands clasped together as they, too, bowed their heads. Around them, the lords who had come for the Council, had lingered in the capitol to pay their respects, their expressions solemn.

Lucaera’s gaze drifted over the gathered nobles until her eyes met Cregan Stark’s.

He stood apart from the southern lords, his shoulders squared, his fur-lined cloak billowing slightly in the breeze. He was a man out of place in the gilded world of the Red Keep, a wolf among dragons, and yet he still held himself with quiet authority.

Cregan gave her a small nod—just the slightest dip of his head. Lucaera, unconsciously, returned the gesture before turning away.

Aemond’s grip on her waist tightened ever so slightly.

She felt the shift in his posture before she even glanced at him. When she did, she found his jaw set, his lips pressed into a firm line. His single violet eye was no longer fixed on the burning pyre—it was on Cregan.

The air between them grew heavy. Lucaera didn’t need to ask what he was thinking—she already knew.

Aemond’s possessiveness burned just beneath the surface, a quiet but unrelenting force, and now, with his father dead and his own ascension looming, the last thing he would tolerate was another man’s eyes lingering on his Omega.

Lucaera exhaled softly, pressing closer to him, resting her hand over the one he had clasped around her waist.

Only then did Aemond finally break his gaze away from Cregan.

His eye flickered down to her, his grip still firm but not harsh. Lucaera didn’t speak—she didn’t need to, as their feelings for one another flowed through their bond.

There had been much debate over which dragon should be granted the honour of setting Viserys’ pyre alight.

Rhaenyra had insisted upon Syrax, while Daemon had argued for Caraxes—but having travelled by ship, neither of their dragons was present.

Aegon had scoffed at the idea of Sunfyre being used, remarking bitterly, “My father didn’t even like me. Why should my dragon be the one to burn him?”

Helaena had made no offer of Dreamfyre. And so, it had fallen to Aemond.

Despite the resentment he held for Viserys, for the years of neglect and indifference, Aemond understood the necessity of giving him a proper Targaryen funeral, and despite Viserys’ obvious preference, Aemond was now the named heir.

He stood still, staring at the shrouded body of his father. He did not feel grief. Not the kind Rhaenyra did.

Not the kind a son should feel for a father. Mayhaps that was Viserys' final failure—that he had made himself so distant, so indifferent, that even in death, his own children did not truly mourn him.

Lucaera’s hand squeezed his. Her voice was a whisper at his side. “They’re waiting for you-”

Aemond inhaled deeply and stepped forward.

Vhagar, resting upon a nearby hill, shifted, her massive form sending tremors through the earth. Her old, wise eyes watched him as he approached, her deep rumbles vibrating through the cool morning air.

He turned back once, meeting Lucaera’s gaze. She gave him a small nod of reassurance.

Then, Aemond lifted his chin and spoke the word with steady command.

"Drakarys” (Fire).

Vhagar let out a deep, thunderous growl, before she lumbered forward, her wings rustling, the ground shuddered beneath her weight.

Then, she opened her massive maw—and bathed the pyre in flames.

The golden shroud ignited instantly, and within moments, the wooden structure was engulfed in fire.

Aemond watched for a moment longer, then turned away.

Otto approached swiftly; his expression unreadable as he reached for Aemond’s arm.

"Your Grace-" he murmured, voice low. "We must discuss your coronation—there is much to plan."

Aemond’s jaw tightened. He pulled his arm free of Otto’s grasp, his gaze hard. "We will discuss my coronation at a more convenient time."

Otto hesitated, clearly displeased, but said nothing further as Aemond strode past him.

Without hesitation, he placed his arm around Lucaera’s waist, drawing her close. Together, they turned from the burning pyre and walked away, oblivious to Otto’s lingering gaze or the look he exchanged with Larys Strong.

"It is in poor taste-" Aemond said coldly, his arms crossed. "To make plans for my coronation when my father’s funeral pyre still smoulders. Beyond the walls of the Red Keep"

Otto exhaled sharply through his nose. "It is the way it has always been. A King passes, and his heir is crowned—it carries on the stability of the crown."

Aemond scoffed, stepping closer, his single eye sharp as a blade. "More like you want to assert control as quickly as possible."

Otto bristled. “We must crown you as soon as possible," he pressed, his voice low but firm. “Rhaenyra may have bent the knee, but she was lying through gritted teeth”

Aemond exhaled sharply through his nose, tilting his head. "And what exactly do you believe she will do, Lord Hand?"

"We cannot allow her time to gather allies," Otto continued, voice tight. "To rise against you. Every moment we delay gives her more opportunity—"

"What allies?" Aemond cut in, his voice sharp as a blade. "As far as I was aware, the lords of this realm bent the knee to me." He took a deliberate step closer, his single violet eye burning. "Or will you accuse them of being liars and oath breakers too?"

“Aemond-” muttered Otto lowly.

Aemond huffed a dry laugh. "Not everyone is as faithless, as you are-"

Otto bristled. "You would do well not to alienate those who serve you, Your Grace-"

"I will not be a weak King, ruled by paranoia-" Aemond’s voice was quieter now, colder. "And I will not let you dictate my reign before it has even begun-you think I do not know what you are doing?" He scoffed. "What you truly desire is control. You have spent years whispering in my mother’s ear, guiding my father like a dog on a leash and you will not do the same to me-"

Otto’s expression darkened, his lips pressing into a thin line. "This is not about control," he insisted. "This is about ensuring your reign is secure—You are too young, too hot-headed to see the bigger picture. Your coronation is about securing your rule, about making it clear to everyone that you are the rightful King."

"Do not lie to me!" Aemond snapped, stepping even closer, his breath hot with fury. "You wish to make me your puppet, as you did with my father. But I am not so easily led-"

A tense silence settled between them before Alicent finally stepped forward, gently taking Aemond’s hands in hers.

"I understand your wish to wait," she said softly, her green eyes searching his. "It is a noble gesture, but you must be crowned. The lords who arrived for the Great Council will not linger for much longer. They must bear witness to your coronation and pledge fealty to their new King."

Aemond sighed, glancing away before nodding. "And their new Queen."

Alicent nodded in agreement. "Lucaera will be crowned alongside you, in the Dragonpit."

Aemond did not like it, but he knew it had to be done. His grip on Alicent’s hands tightened before he released them and turned back to Otto. "Fine. Arrange the coronation. I will wear my father’s crown, and Lucaera will wear the crown that once belonged to Queen Rhaenys."

Otto exchanged a glance with Alicent before clearing his throat. "We thought the Conqueror’s Crown would be more fitting, considering your Alpha Prime designation-"

Aemond’s expression darkened. "But I am not here to conquer."

"No," Otto allowed, "But you are here to rule. And the realm must see you as a capable leader."

Aemond let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. "And you believe the Conqueror’s Crown will do that?"

Alicent stepped forward again, her voice measured. "The crown is a symbol of the power you possess. You are an Alpha Prime, you will wield the sword Blackfyre, and your dragon is the last living remnant of the Conquest." Her voice softened. "You must wear the Conqueror’s Crown."

Aemond clenched his jaw, his fingers twitching at his sides before he finally exhaled. "Fine."

Otto smiled slightly. "I am glad you are in agreement, Your Grace."

Aemond turned to him sharply, stepping forward until he was nearly nose to nose with his grandsire. His voice was quiet but carried a lethal edge.

"I will not be a weak King, controlled by the whims of others," he murmured, his words deliberate, each syllable a warning. "And it is by my grace that you remain to serve me and my wife as Hand. But remember this, Otto—if I get even a whisper of you plotting, there will not be a place in this realm where you could hide from me."

Otto swallowed, his throat bobbing as he quickly nodded. "Of course, Your Grace."

Aemond could feel Lucaera’s unease and worry through their bond. He had been away from her for far longer than he had intended, and the pull to return to her was strong. He turned toward the door, intent on leaving, but before he could, Alicent spoke again.

"Now that you are King, you must sire an heir as soon as possible-"

Aemond paused, tilting his head slightly before turning to face his mother. His lips curved into a knowing smirk, his voice laced with certainty.

"I can assure you, Mother, the matter is well in hand." He met her gaze, letting the weight of his words settle over her. "My wife already carries my heir within her."

Aemond didn’t wait for a response, as he turned sharply and left the room, leaving Otto and Alicent in stunned silence.

Aemond strode toward his chambers, expecting to find Lucaera waiting for him. Perhaps she would be curled up in bed, a book in her lap, or pacing the room, eager to scold him for staying away so long.

He smiled at the thought, his fingers already itching to pull her into his arms, to press his lips against her throat and soothe away any irritation she might feel and mayhaps he would be lucky enough find himself cock deep in her cunny, his knot tying them together.

But the moment he pushed the doors open, his smile vanished.

The chamber was in ruins.

The heavy wooden chairs lay overturned, their legs snapped. The table had been split down the middle, as if something—or someone—had been thrown against it with great force.

 Shattered glass littered the floor, reflecting the glow of the dying hearth fire. The bed hangings were torn, the sheets twisted and stained.

And then—

Blood.

A large smear across the stone floor. A trail of crimson droplets leading toward—

A hidden door, standing wide open.

Aemond had never seen it before, never known it was there, but now it gaped like a mouth waiting to swallow him whole.

"LUCAERA!" His voice cut through the eerie silence, but no answer came.

Then—

A ragged, gurgling sound.

Aemond whirled, dagger in hand, and sprinted toward the hidden passage. his heart slamming violently against his ribs as his gaze landed on the slumped figure against the wall.

Ser Erryk.

The knight’s hands were pressed against his stomach, the blood seeping between the fingers. His breaths were laboured, and wheezing.

Aemond dropped to his knees beside him. “Where is she?” His voice was razor-sharp, his hand gripping Erryk’s shoulder. “Who took her?”

Erryk’s eyelids fluttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "Two men-” He coughed, and blood trickling from his mouth.

Aemond’s grip tightened, fury igniting in his veins.

They had taken her. They had dared to lay hands upon his Omega.

The Alpha Prime inside him roared, his instincts screaming for blood. His mate. His wife. The mother of his unborn pup.

"Which way?" he snarled.

Erryk weakly lifted a shaking hand, pointing down the passageway.

"Forgive me, Your Grace… I—tried to stop them—"

Aemond gave a sharp nod. “I’ll get you help—”

Erryk seized his wrist, shaking his head. "No I’ll be fine-The P-Princess—you-you must-go after her”

Aemond hesitated for only a moment before nodding and rising to his feet.

Aemond forced himself to take a steadying breath, trying to push past the blinding rage clawing at his mind.

He needed to focus. He needed to find her. Closing his eye, he reached for their bond—

Lucaera’s fear slammed into him, raw and suffocating. It curled around his ribs like a vice, seeping into his very bones.

She was terrified, pleading for him.

Aemond’s hands clenched into fists, his entire body shaking with the force of his fury.

His Omega was afraid. Someone had dared to touch her, to steal her away, to make her feel unsafe.

His breathing turned ragged, his vision darkening at the edges—

And then, beneath his rage, he felt relief.

That at least she was still there. Still alive.

Aemond took off down the passage, his dagger clenched tightly in his hand.

The tunnels twisted and turned, but then—there. Her scent, lingering in the air.

Apples, cinnamon and milk—faint but unmistakable.

He followed it, moving faster.

Then at the end of the passage, there was a wooden door.

He pressed his ear against it, listening for any movement on the other side, but there was nothing but silence.

With one swift motion, Aemond kicked open the door, stepping into the overgrown gardens.

Lucaera's scent was more pronounced out here.

Aemond's heart lept. She was close by.

Then Aegon’s voice loud and furious—ringing out

"UNHAND MY GOODSISTER YOU FILTHY CUNTS!”

Aemond’s heart lurched as Lucaera screamed—

"AEGON. LOOK OUT!”

Aemond burst into the clearing, just in time to see Aegon shove Lucaera aside just as one of the attackers lunged.

Aemond saw his brother barely dodge the blade before Lucaera reached forward and grabbed the fabric of the man’s tunic, yanking him backwards with all her strength.

The man wrenched free, snarling, and threw her to the ground.

Aemond’s vision blurred with red.

The attacker climbed on top of her, his large hand wrapping around her throat. His other hand lifted, dagger gleaming in the moonlight—

Aemond struck.

The slash of his dagger was swift and silent.

A gurgling choke filled the air as the man went rigid, clutching at his throat as blood poured from the wound.

He toppled forward—dead.

Aemond didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the corpse and tore it off Lucaera before dropping to his knees, his hands shaking as they reached for her.

She was trembling, her wide eyes locked onto his.

"Lucaera." His voice broke as he pulled her against him, crushing her into his chest. His face pressed into her neck, inhaling deeply, desperate to drown himself in her scent.

She clung to him, gasping against his skin. “Aemond—”

"I thought I'd lost you." His voice was raw, uneven.

Lucaera let out a choked sob, her fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic.

"Aegon—he-he saved me." Her voice was shaky, barely a whisper.

Aemond turned, his gaze locking onto Aegon as he stood over the second attacker, his chest heaving, sweat glistening on his brow and then he punched him.

The man’s head snapped back, and he crumpled backwards onto the ground in an unconscious heap.

Aemond blinked, momentarily stunned.

His brother—drunken, reckless, irresponsible Aegon—had just knocked a man out cold with one punch.

Aegon flexed his fingers and looked at Aemond with a smirk. "Did you see that? I swear I almost broke my damn hand."

Aemond let out a breath of disbelief before shaking his head. "You surprise me, brother."

Aegon grinned. "Well, I do have my moments."

Something inside Aemond shifted. He had spent years dismissing Aegon as a drunkard, a failure, but tonight—tonight, his brother had protected what was his.

His throat tightened. "Thank you."

Aegon scoffed, waving a hand. “Don’t mention it.”

Before Aemond could stop himself, he reached out and hugged Aegon.

His brother stiffened, somewhat stunned by his brother’s gesture. But after a moment, he let out a breath of amusement and clapped Aemond on the back.

It lasted only a few seconds before Aemond pulled away, muttering, “I still think you’re a twat.”

Aegon barked out a laugh. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Aemond turned back to Lucaera, his hands framing her face, his thumbs brushing over her damp cheeks.

Her lips trembled as she whispered, “You came for me.”

"Always-" Aemond’s voice was fierce, and absolute. He pressed his forehead to hers, their breaths mingling.

Aegon groaned dramatically. “You two—are so gross. There’s a time and place for that sort of thing.”

Lucaera shot him a glare. “I’ll remember that next time I catch you with your tongue down a maid’s throat.”

Aegon smirked. “A point well made, good sister.”

Before Lucaera could respond, movement caught her eye. The attacker Aegon had punched—shifted on the ground.

Aegon sighed. “Oh, look. One of the rats is waking up-”

Aemond's blood burned with a violent, uncontrollable rage as he knelt over the man, whose breath came in shallow, desperate gasps.

The scent of blood and sweat filled the air, thick and suffocating.

Aemond could feel the Alpha Prime inside him rising, surging like a wildfire—raw, untamed, and lethal. The primal force within him wanted to rip this man apart, but it wasn't just the physicality of his fury that drove him now.

It was the depth of the threat against Lucaera—the bond between them, the life she carried inside her—

Aemond leaned down and grabbed the man’s throat with brutal force, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he snarled, “Who sent you?” His voice was low, the sound of it more like a growl than words, the attacker’s eyes bulged in panic.

The man’s face twisted in pain, his hands clawing weakly at Aemond’s grip. “I won’t tell you anything, you—you one eyed-” The words were barely more than a rasp.

Aemond’s lip curled in contempt. With a guttural roar, he slammed his fist into the man’s face, shattering his nose with a sickening crack. Blood splattered across Aemond’s face,

“Tell me who sent you,” Aemond repeated, his voice venomous and cold. The anger was a fire burning within him, too hot to control. He punched the man again, harder this time.

Lucaera cried out, stepping forward, her hands trembling. “Aemond, stop!” Her voice was filled with desperation, but her words fell on deaf ears.

Aegon, who had been silently watching the scene unfold, moved to hold Lucaera back, his hand firm on her arm. He shook his head at her, a quiet warning in his gaze. “Let him-.”

Lucaera gasped, struggling in Aegon’s grip. “Please!”

Aegon shook his head, knew Aemond was beyond reason. The Alpha Prime in his brother was unleashed, and nothing short of blood would satisfy it.

The man beneath Aemond was barely conscious now, his mouth a mess of blood and broken teeth. His eyes were barely able to focus, but he still managed a defiant sneer, refusing to give in.

With a roar of frustration, Aemond punched him again.

“You will tell me who sent you,” Aemond growled through gritted teeth, his voice trembling with the force of his rage “or I will make you regret this”

Finally, after another brutal punch, the man’s resolve shattered. His lips parted in a ragged breath. “Prince Daemon- he sent us-to kill you-” The words came out in a gurgle, each one more painful than the last, but Aemond's grip never loosened. His heart hammered in his chest as the confession landed.

Aemond’s eyes flashed with unholy fury as he leaned in closer, his face mere inches from the man’s. “And if you couldn’t kill me?” Aemond demanded, his voice dripping with malice.

The man wheezed, his voice trembling, the words barely hanging on as he struggled to speak. “He-he said, we were to take her. Take the princess-” The man’s breath hitched as blood bubbled up his throat.

"He's lying."

Aemond's grip faltered for a fraction of a second. He turned his head towards Lucaera, his eye narrowing. "How do you know?"

Lucaera took a step forward, her gaze sharp as a blade. "It’s all too convenient, isn’t it?"

Aemond frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"Two men, sneaking into our chambers, with the intent to kill you—on Daemon’s orders? Just as Otto warned you he would?" She shook her head. "No. It’s too neat. Too well-timed. It’s exactly what Otto needed."

Aemond's jaw clenched. "Surely, you're not suggesting that my own grandsire sought to kill me."

"No-" Lucaera said carefully. "I’m suggesting that he sought to exploit your weakness and use it against you."

Aemond’s eye flickered with confusion. "My weakness?"

Lucaera met his gaze. "Me."

The attacker beneath him began to struggle, gasping for breath. Aemond, lost in thought, absentmindedly pressed his knee harder against the man’s chest, silencing his feeble attempts to break free.

His mind raced. No—Otto wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Could he?

Lucaera’s voice was steady, unwavering. "Think, Aemond. Otto summoned you to the Tower of the Hand tonight. He knew I’d be alone in our chambers. I was vulnerable, easy to take. And then these two show up, conveniently at the same time you’re away."

Aemond inhaled sharply. "That doesn’t mean Otto sent them."

Lucaera nodded. "Maybe not directly. But you know as well as I do that Otto knows people. He wouldn't dirty his own hands”

Aemond nodded slightly, his thoughts tumbling over themselves.

Lucaera continued, her voice softer now. "Daemon is a lot of things, but he loves my mother. He would never hurt her by allowing any harm to come to me. Despite everything that’s happened, I know my mother still loves me. She wouldn’t want this-"

Aegon, who had been unusually quiet, finally spoke up. "You know, it actually makes sense-"

Aemond’s head snapped toward him.

Aegon rubbed his chin, his eyes flickering with uncharacteristic thoughtfulness. "Otto was the one who wanted you to get rid of Daemon and Rhaenyra. Yet you refused. So, what better way to tip you over the edge than to make you think that Daemon had orchestrated an attack on your Omega and unborn pup”

Aemond exhaled sharply. He thought back to the heated argument with Otto, to the way his grandsire had pressed him about his coronation, about seizing power at any cost.

And suddenly, it all clicked.

Otto had realized that he could not control Aemond through his usual methods. So, he had resorted to something else—something far more insidious.

He had used Aemond’s love and devotion for Lucaera. He had exploited the sacred bond between an Alpha and his Omega to try and force Aemond's hand.

If anything had happened to Lucaera—if she had lost their pup or been hurt or killed—Aemond would have been consumed by his rage, so blinded by his thirst for vengeance that he would have burned the world.

Just as Otto wanted.

Aemond clenched his jaw, his grip tightening once more around the attacker’s throat.

"Who sent you?" he snarled.

"Prince Daemon," the man repeated, though his voice wavered.

Aemond's eye darkened. "How do you know it was Daemon?"

The attacker wheezed. "He-he told me his name."

Lucaera scoffed. "Did you see his face?"

The attacker hesitated.

Aemond slammed his fist into the man’s face again, blood spurting from his nose. "Answer her."

The man gasped, shaking now. "No! I didn’t see his face. He-he wore a cloak."

Aegon raised an eyebrow. "So basically, it could have been anyone under that cloak."

The attacker shifted uncomfortably, his lips trembling. Then, in a last-ditch effort, he wheezed, "The Firefly."

Aemond’s brows furrowed. "The what?"

The attacker grimaced, licking the blood from his lips. "There was some kind of pin on his cloak, looked like a firefly."

Aegon frowned, scratching his head. Then his expression lit up with recognition. "Wait. Doesn’t Clubfoot have a firefly engraved on his cane?"

Aemond froze. Everything slotted into place.

Larys Strong. That fucking toad.

The Alpha Prime inside Aemond rumbled with fury.

Lucaera’s abduction had nothing to do with Daemon.

It had everything to do with Otto Hightower and Larys Strong.

Aemond slowly turned back to the attacker, his grip tightening once more—He had been so close to falling into Otto’s trap, to being played like some witless fool.

He would not let it happen.

The attacker trembled beneath him. Aemond bared his teeth, his voice low and full of venom.

"You will tell me everything you know. And if you dare lie to me—" he pressed down harder on the man’s throat, watching as his face turned red— “I swear by the seven, that by the time I’m finished, you’ll wish you were dead”

TBC

[usoinked]

Hey sis uhhhh can I get a Drew McIntyre fanfic and make it real nasty… and oooo can I get a Damian request where he whimpering for me to be his Dom and he my Sub…. I want it nastier than coleslaw

🖤In His Black Mustang🖤 (Drew McIntyre X Black Reader)

CW: 18+ MDNI, Multiple Orgasms, Car Sex, Swallowing, Protective p in v (this time😝), Overstimulation, Choking

Word Count: 5.6k+

Drew McIntyre had always been a pillar in WWE. The Scottish Warrior feared nothing and no one. But lately, everything felt like it was starting to unfold…and not in a good way. The phone call to join the Busted Open Holiday Party podcast with Bubba Ray, Mark Henry, and a couple of other guys wasn’t something he was excited about. He reluctantly accepted, but the frustration was building up—losing to Punk at Bad Blood, the memories of the Bloodline attacks, the fact he hadn’t held a championship since 2020, and the loss of two family members had all been eating at him.

But what really gnawed at him? The silence. After Bad Blood, no one reached out—except for you. You, of all people. When he saw your name pop up on his phone, he couldn’t believe it. It had been more than 15 years since your high school graduation. Back then, you were just a classmate, someone he’d talk to now and then when there was a project or when you grabbed a quick lunch together. You weren’t close, but you were the only one to check on him during his “vacation” time after the chaos and he didn’t expect it, but he wasn’t upset either.

What did get under his skin, though, was the aftermath of the podcast. Some fans got it—he could feel that—but there were always a few who had smart comments. “Unprofessional,” they’d say. “He ain’t the only one with family to worry about.” Drew wasn’t about to scroll through that nonsense, because he didn’t care. Social media wasn’t really his thing. He posted his workout videos, occasionally trolled a little, but other than that, he wasn’t gonna let some strangers online drag his mental health down further than it already was. Drew McIntyre was gonna do whatever Drew McIntyre wanted to do. That’s how he’d had always been.

After a couple of days trying to clear his head, Drew decided he needed a change of pace. And with that pace came his 2017 Ford Mustang GT—a sleek, black beast with a roaring V8 engine that had always helped him clear his mind or cool down when things got too heavy. The classic American muscle car, with its aggressive stance and powerful presence, fit Drew’s own no-nonsense persona. But tonight, rather than drive around aimlessly, he decided to stop at a diner. As he drove, the car gleamed under the low afternoon light, Scottish tag decor on the rearview mirror catching the light as he pulled into the parking lot. He stepped out, the familiar thud of his boots hitting the asphalt, his black leather jacket swinging with his movements. His hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, strands of dark brown curling at the edges. He wore a simple black shirt, jeans, and sturdy black boots—just enough to blend in without trying too hard.

The diner had that old-school charm—small, with faded vinyl booths and a jukebox in the corner playing classic blues. The kind of place that felt like it’d been around forever, serving greasy comfort food and making you feel like you could just forget about the world for a while.

You’d already snagged a booth by the time he

arrived, staring out the window when you heard the door swing open. The soft jingle of the bell above it broke the quiet, and you didn’t have to look up to know who it was. Drew’s presence was unmistakable. A few seconds passed, then the sound of boots clicking against the floor grew louder as he made his way over.

When you finally looked up, his eyes met yours, a flicker of recognition crossing his face. A pause. Then, without missing a beat, he slid into the booth across from you before taking a second, running a hand through his hair before settling back into the booth.

“Didn’t expect you’d be the one to check in on me,” Drew muttered, his thick Scottish accent wrapping around the words like it always had, though now it had a softer edge. He gave you a small, surprised smile, the corners of his lips turning up just slightly. “Of all the folks from back then, thought maybe I’d hear from someone else.”

You blinked, shocked for a second, before a grin tugged at your lips. “Wait—you—you actually remember me?” You laughed, adjusting your glasses and crossing your arms over your chest. “Who else was gon’ check in on you? Ain’t nobody else care like that. Besides, we were acquaintances at the very least, Drew. We ain’t talked in years, but that don’t mean nothin’.” You leaned back, tapping your fingers against the table, giving him that look like he knew exactly what you meant.

He let out a short chuckle, running a hand through his hair, and for the first time in a while, his shoulders seemed to ease. “I do remember you.” His voice softened as he leaned back into the booth, the familiar weight of his words settling between you two. “But you’re right. Aren’t many people I’d expect to reach out.”

Drew’s eyes softened, as his shoulders relaxed a bit. “Well…then again maybe I haven’t made it easy to reach out.” He shook his head, his hands folding on the table in front of him. “Everything’s just… been too much.”

You nodded, picking up your fork and taking a bite of your pumpkin pie getting it down before speaking. “You always do that shit, though,” you said, grinning like you knew him inside and out. “Act like you gotta carry the world on your shoulders by yourself. But it ain’t gotta be like that all the time. You have to let people in, Drew. Ain’t nobody expect you to do all that by yourself.”

Drew sighed, leaning back in the booth, his dark eyes glancing at you. “Aye, I know. But sometimes it’s hard, y’know? The pressure. The decisions. The people who expect you to be something you don’t even feel anymore.”

You raised an eyebrow and smirked. “I get it. But you can’t run all that, either. You can walk out of that podcast, that’s cool, but running from everything else? That’s gon’ catch up with you.”

He paused, looking down at the table for a moment, before nodding. “Right. Guess you’re right about that.” His voice was quieter now, almost thoughtful. “Aye, I’ll think about it, might be over it by morning.” He glanced up at you, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You always did have a way of putting things straight to me though…I appreciate that a lot y’know.”

You shrugged, cutting into your fried chicken. “I’m just sayin’, don’t wait ‘til it’s too late. Ain’t no shame in letting people check in on you, Drew.”

You chimed before the waitress came over to take both your orders.

The waitress, a middle-aged woman with a friendly smile, approached the booth after a few minutes, pad and pen in hand. Drew looked up from the menu, giving him a nod.

“Y��alright to order, sir?” the waitress asked, his Southern drawl thick but warm.

Drew glanced down at the menu towards the drinks. then back at the waitress. "Aye, I'll take an iced tea. Sweet, if you've got it."

The waitress nodded and scribbled it down.

"Iced tea, sweet. Alright and were you ready for the food, or you need another minute?"

Drew’s gaze shifted to the menu one last time, his brows furrowing slightly as he considered his options. He was in the South for the upcoming Atlanta show, and he figured it was the perfect opportunity to indulge in something comforting. After a brief pause, he leaned back in the booth and looked the waiter dead in the eye.

“Ain’t no better time for some good Southern cooking,” Drew said, his Scottish accent rolling smoothly off his tongue. “I’ll have the fried chicken with collard greens, mashed potatoes and gravy, and some cornbread on the side. Can’t pass up on cornbread when you’re in the South.”

The waitress grinned, jotting down the order before giving a quick nod. “Coming right up, sir. You want that chicken extra crispy?”

Drew’s smile grew a little wider, his usual confidence shining through. “Aye, make it extra crispy. I need that crunch.”

The waitress grinned, jotting down the order before giving a quick nod. “Coming right up, sir. I’ll get that drink for ya, and the food’ll be out shortly.”

Drew gave her a quick nod as the waitress turned to walk away, heading toward the kitchen. The soft hum of the diner filled the air, and Drew leaned back in the booth, eyes wandering over the menu again as he waited.

A few minutes passed, and soon enough, the waitress was back with a tall glass of iced tea, condensation dripping down the sides.

“Here ya go, sir—sweet iced tea, just like you asked,” the waitress said, setting the glass down in front of Drew.

Drew took a long sip, the cold sweetness hitting him just right. “That’s the stuff,” he muttered under his breath, giving the waiter a thankful nod.

The waitress gave him a wink. “Be back with that meal in just a minute.”

Drew took another sip, relaxing into the booth, the weight of the last few days beginning to lift with the simple comfort of the drink. The moments of peace were few and far between lately, but this? This felt good.

It wasn’t long before the waiter returned, carrying a tray loaded with the food Drew had ordered. He set it down with a small flourish.

“Fried chicken, collard greens, mashed potatoes and gravy, and cornbread—extra crispy just like you wanted,” the waitress said with a smile.

Drew’s eyes immediately lit up. “Aye, that’s perfect,” he said, his voice gruff but appreciative as he took in the spread. The fried chicken looked golden brown and crispy, the collard greens steaming with a rich, tangy scent, the mashed potatoes piled high with savory gravy dripping over them, and the cornbread sitting warm and inviting on the side.

As you both ate, the conversation didn’t need to pick up again right away. The comfortable silence between you was enough, the soft clink of silverware and the low hum of the jukebox in the background creating a sense of peace. Drew’s shoulders, which had been tense all week, had begun to relax.

The food was gone quicker than either of you expected. Drew hadn’t realized how hungry he was until the warm, crispy chicken hit his stomach. The mashed potatoes were thick and creamy, soaking up the rich gravy, and the cornbread was just the right amount of sweet to balance everything else. You both sat back in the booth for a minute, catching your breath.

“You know,” Drew began, wiping his hands with a napkin and glancing at you, “this…this ain’t so bad. It’s been a while since I had a meal like this.”

You smirked, pushing your glasses up your nose as you leaned back. “Don’t act like you don’t know where the good food at. Shoulda hit me up sooner, you know.”

He chuckled, giving you a look. “Aye, maybe I should have.” His eyes softened for a second, his voice quieter now. “I appreciate you checkin’ in on me. Not a lot of folks would, not with everything I’ve been… I dunno, puttin’ out there.”

You shrugged, collecting the last of your silverware. “Don’t gotta be all ‘Scottish Warrior’ all the time, Drew. Sometimes you gotta let people be there for you, ya hear me?”

He nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Aye. I hear you.”

You both sat there for a second, letting the moment settle. The quiet wasn’t uncomfortable—just comfortable, easy. Drew glanced out the window toward the parking lot, where his black Mustang sat under the dimming sky. You followed his gaze, then looked back at him.

“You drivin’ that beast home tonight, or are you planning on doing something a little less… dangerous?” you teased, a playful grin on your face.

Drew raised an eyebrow. “Dangerous, eh? She’s just a car.” His grin stretched a little wider, though. “But aye, I was thinkin’ about takin’ a drive. Get my head clear. We could continue this conversation in the car if you want.”

“Good call,” you replied, pushing yourself out of the booth. “Yeah I don’t got nothin’ planned so I’m down.”

He paused for a moment, then gave a slight nod, standing up too. “Aye, sure. I could use the company.”

You both walked out together, the cool night air hitting your skin as Drew led the way to his car. The Mustang, black and sleek, sat there with the kind of presence only a car like that could have. You admired the little touches—Scottish tags hanging from the rearview mirror, the low rumble of the engine when Drew unlocked it.

He slid into the driver’s seat, the leather creaking under his weight, and you hopped into the passenger side. As he started the engine, the deep growl of it vibrating through the car made you grin. He put it in gear, and the Mustang rolled smoothly out of the lot.

“So, where we headed?” you asked, glancing over at him as you buckled your seatbelt.

Drew’s hands gripped the wheel with that familiar intensity, but his voice was lighter than usual. “Don’t matter. Just… somewhere quiet. We can talk or just listen to the road.”

You nodded, settling back into the seat as the engine hummed beneath you. The city lights faded in the rearview mirror, and he had you in the passenger seat, it felt just like high school when he had his dark blue 2007 GT. He’d always be the one to drive whenever you both got lunch together, a little speedy, but he never put you in harms way intentionally.

The only sound by this point was the faint sound of the radio and the tires rolling across the gravel as Drew’s mustang made its way towards the road.

As his car sped down the semi-empty road, you didn’t even notice that both your hands were a little too close to one another. From what you could remember, Drew only really liked physical touch from a small amount of people, but you were included in that circle. You hadn’t seen him in years and now was the perfect time to reconnect because you didn’t know when you’d get to see him again especially since he was always on the road. You just got really lucky this time because this Monday’s show happened to be in Atlanta, which is where you stayed.

I've been out on that open road

You can be my full time, daddy, white and gold

Singing blues has been getting old

You can be my full time, baby

Hot or cold

The car’s engine hummed along the semi-empty road, the rhythmic sound mixing with the soft pulse of the music from the speakers. It was a warm night, Atlanta’s summer air creeping through the cracked window, carrying the scent of asphalt and distant city life. The road stretched out in front of you, quiet and almost serene—just the two of you, the hum of the tires, and the occasional flicker of streetlights as you passed.

Your fingers hovered just inches away from his, the space between you a whisper, but that whisper felt louder with every second. You glanced over at Drew, his focus on the road, his hand resting casually on the wheel. You knew he didn’t like a lot of physical touch, always a little distant with others, but with you… it was different. It always had been.

You didn’t give it much thought—just a quick flicker of a decision in your mind—and then you closed the distance. Your fingers brushed, then tangled with his, the simple act feeling like both an invitation and a challenge.

Don't break me down (don't break me down)

I've been travelin' too long (I've been travelin' too long)

I've been trying too hard (I've been trying too hard)

With one pretty song (with one pretty song)

To your surprise, Drew didn’t pull away. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t even seem startled. He just glanced at you with a look that was a mix of confusion and curiosity, as if he was still trying to figure out if this was some trick or if you’d really just done what you did.

“You know I don’t really like physical touch too much,” he said, his voice low, almost contemplative.

You grinned, cocking an eyebrow as you squeezed his hand lightly. “Only from certain people, me included,” you shot back, your voice dripping with that familiar, playful boldness.

His lips twitched into a smirk, his beard shifting with the movement, and for a second, you saw that flicker of something—something old, something familiar, maybe even a little teasing—pass through his eyes. His hand slowly curled around yours, pulling you in just a bit tighter. “I wanted to see if you still remembered,” he said, the words soft, but heavy.

The car continued down the road, the miles ticking by without much more conversation, but the air between you was charged, thick with unspoken things.

I hear the birds on the summer breeze, I drive fast

I am alone at midnight

Been tryin' hard not to get into trouble, but I

I've got a war in my mind

So, I just ride

Just ride, I just ride, I just ride

He kept his eyes on the road, but you could feel him stealing glances at you, like he was trying to figure out exactly what you were doing here. You hadn’t seen Drew in years—years—but in a way, it felt like you hadn’t missed a beat. Like nothing had really changed.

“Yeah, I remember,” you said quietly, squeezing his hand once more before settling back in the seat, letting the silence hang for a bit. Your mind flickered to the past, to all the nights you’d spent together, to the way he used to laugh when you’d drag him out on some wild adventure, to how you’d always been able to read each other without words.

You could see the city lights off in the distance now, the skyline of Atlanta glowing faintly like a sea of stars. Drew didn’t say anything more, but his expression softened, a slight edge of nostalgia creeping in. The car turned off the main road, heading toward a more secluded path. The streets became quieter, narrower, until Drew slowed down, the engine quieting as he eased the car off onto a gravelly patch of land.

He parked the car with a small shift of the gear stick, and for a moment, everything went still. You could see the city sprawling beneath you, the lights of downtown Atlanta twinkling in the distance, and the horizon stretched out with that perfect mix of urban glow and natural darkness.

Drew didn’t move for a second, his hand still holding yours.

“This your secret spot?” you asked, voice low as you took in the view, knowing he was the type to find hidden gems like this, tucked away from the rest of the world.

His eyes didn’t leave the view either, but there was something in the quiet that seemed almost intimate, like he was letting you in on something. “Aye,” he said, finally looking at you. “I used to come here when I needed to think. Clear my head.” He paused, studying you closely, like he was deciding how much to share. “Used to come here with someone else, too.”

Your heart gave a small, unexpected skip at the mention of someone else. You glanced at him, searching his face for any sign of what that “someone else” meant. He didn’t elaborate, though. Just kept that same unreadable look, like he wasn’t sure how much you needed to know.

You leaned back in the seat, still holding onto his hand, the weight of the moment wrapping around both of you like a familiar old blanket. You didn’t need to press him, not yet anyway. There were still so many things you wanted to say, but for now, the city lights, the sound of Drew’s breathing, and the feeling of his hand in yours were enough. The rest could wait.

Finally, you turned your head, catching Drew’s gaze once more. “I don’t know how long it’s gonna be before I get another chance to see you like this, anything you had in mind” you questioned, teasing slightly, but truthfully it was a genuine question. You didn’t know when you’d see him again.

Drew’s smirk softened, and his thumb traced small circles over your hand. “Let’s make the most of it.” He said as you both locked eyes and the space between you two started fading…fast. You were breathing but it felt like the whole world just stopped the moment your lips connected to his. As he shifted his weight, the sounds of his leather jacket made you instinctively grab onto it with your free hand clutching it tightly beneath your palms. Drew knew how desperate you were and slowly guided you over onto his lap, your knees being on both sides of his legs as you could feel his bulge through the fabric of his black jeans. Even during all of the shifting, your mouths never let go of one another. His tongue, the mixture of saliva, and the faint taste of Wheatley Vodka accompanied the make out session you had. Your hands slowly untangled as his palms cupped your cheeks deepening the kiss you two shared. I’m really fucking kissing Drew McIntyre, but with how close you were and the friction becoming more and more heated, you were getting agitated. The fabric you both had on were in the way and it seemed that Drew felt the exact same way, because it was only for a brief moment that you both pulled away from each other. That kiss left you breathless yet wanting more at the same time as you quickly raised your arms slightly, letting your elbow rest against the ceiling of the car for a second as Drew removed your shirt, quickly pulling them back down you took off Drew’s leather jacket and his shirt tossing them both to the back. And just like that your lips were back onto each other’s again, only this time, you were the first one to take something off as you fumbled with his belt buckle for a few seconds. Being away from that kiss for even a few seconds felt criminal and you weren’t willing to pull away just to see where anything was, neither was he as you felt your lace bra come undone with a soft click.

Your breasts sprang free the moment the fabric dropped onto Drew’s chest which you quickly tossed into the passengers seat, uncaring about how sloppy the kiss was getting. Drew’s rough hands glided towards your chest before taking both your nipples in between his fingers causing a soft moan to slip from your lips. He knew exactly what he was doing by teasing you but you could play the same game, grinding your hips just above his where there was only a small amount of friction between you two. This earned a growl from Drew as you only smiled in the kiss, but he didn’t seem to be pleased in the slightest. It was almost like he could tease you but doing it back to him, was a mistake you’d end up paying for. His hands slowly pulled away from your breasts before unbuttoning your shorts, pulling your legs around where you were now in a sitting position with your legs draped across the passenger seat. “Take ‘em off” he instructed but his voice was firm, a command you knew you would follow regardless of what your mind told you. You quickly slipped off your sneakers before pulling off your shorts and panties along with them.

While you were busy doing that, Drew had slid his pants pants down just past his knees before tugging at the fabric of his boxers, sliding them down as well just in time for you to turn around and be met with a mouth watering sight. His hairy chest accompanied with a happy trail that lead directly to his dick had your eyes locked in place. Your pussy jumped in anticipation as your hands found their way over to the hard, veiny muscle between his legs. It was thick and the more your hand wrapped around it and moved up and down, the more desperate you became. You knew using a condom was a smart decision, but the thought of being filled with Drew’s dick, in his black mustang, while his hands were wrapped around you were enough to send the thought away. But you were smart enough to know better…for now.

“You got condoms don’t you?” You questioned before biting your lip as if contemplating your decision to use them but you decided to go with it. “Look in the glove compartment” he said while looking directly at you, his blue eyes baring into your dark brown ones making you really question that decision. If you looked at him any longer you could see yourself risking it all, prompting you to quickly turned away before opening the glove compartment and taking out a Trojan magnum XL, yanking it open with the pull of your teeth. With a swift motion, you pulled your hand away from Drew’s cock taking the condom out of the wrapping before discarding the wrapping somewhere in the car for now. “Oh? Someone doesn’t want any happy accidents, do they?” He teased as he felt the wet latex cover his muscle before pulling you back onto his lap. “Hell no, but if you keep talking to me like that we just might have one.” You cooed before grabbing both sides of his face, his beard feeling rough against your hands but the latex rubbing against your folds only made the space between you two unbearable.

As if you both had the same idea, your lips connected once again as your hands wrapped themselves around his neck pulling him closer. While you were distracted with playing tongue hockey, he took the opportunity to reach below you and position his dick right where it needed to be before pushing in causing a gasp to escape from your lips before a look of satisfaction appeared in your eyes. Drew didn’t want to waste any time and neither did you which is why just as quick as he entered you, you were already moving your hips against his. Drew leaned his seat back slowly while watching the scene unfold in front of him, your hands slowly unraveling from around his neck and making their way to his chest.

Your insides pushed inward towards the latex, tightening around him as gasps of pleasure slipped from you each time his dick pushed against your insides. “You’re a tight one aren’t you, squeezin’ me” he commented in a low hiss while admiring how hard your nipples got, the faint streetlights from the outside crossing over to highlight your nipples perfectly. Your body was like a temple for this man, his hands were all over it but to him everything about you was too perfect to not be touched. The veins in his hand became more prominent as his grip around your breast tightened, his thumbs flickering over your nipples causing your back to arch slightly.

“D-Drew…” you whispered before starting to slam your hips down against his making the friction inside of you increase and the feeling of your insides get warmer. Your pussy was only getting wetter and wetter by the second the more your hips made contact with his and the deeper he pushed into you. Despite this latex being in the way, you wanted all of him, down to the base. “Beautiful and desperate”, he hummed as he kneaded your breasts before pulling you down closer to his chest just enough to have your breast right in his face. His tongue slid over one of your nipples before taking it into his mouth completely while using his other hand to slowly slide around your back and down to your ass before smacking it once causing you to cry out. Without a second thought, Drew suddenly began to thrust upward, his hand staying on your ass for a little stability. But the rougher his thrusts got, the more erotic your face became especially with how deep he was going and you just couldn’t get enough of it.

The sweat droplets that covered his hairy chest, how his hair became messy as strands started sticking to his forehead because of the work he was putting in, as well as how rough his palms were gripping your ass like no tomorrow sent shivers down your spine. “Look at you, how tight this cunt is for me.” His Scottish accent was thick with seduction and need as your moans and his groans filled the car. “Ughnnn! Right t-there!” you screamed out as you rotated your hips against his, matching his thrusts. Your insides being hit in different directions by his cock made it all the more pleasurable, especially when he brushed over that spot causing your body to shudder. “I knew you’d be good for me, you’re exactly where I want you, understand me?” He whispered in your ear before as his hands squeezed your hips leaving imprints from his hands but you were into much bliss to care. As your hips slammed against his and you could feel the latex pushing up against your g spot, you could only throw your head back in pleasure not wanting this feeling to leave. “F-Fuck! D-Drew hit that fucking spot again! I’m gonna c-cum!”

“Oh yeah?” He questioned before taking a fistful of your dreads into his hands before tugging on them. “Show me sweetheart” his accent was thicker and his voice was around one octave lower than normal. That combined with the hair pulling made you go mad as you felt yourself spill all over the latex. “S-Shit! Don’t f-fucking stop!” You pleaded as Drew kept at it, loving the overstimulation, but this gave Drew an idea. “If I stop, it’ll be to give you something better. Still don’t want me to stop?” He spoke lowly into your ear leaving you to make a decision.

As much as you didn’t want him to stop bouncing you, you were curious on what he meant about giving you something better. “Just say the word Y/N” he said holding your hips in place stopping you from rotating them, to where he had full control before rotating them agonizingly slow. “S-Stop”, you muttered before Drew only gave a smirk in response and opened the car pulling you off of him for a quick second before stepping out of the car carefully and bending you over forcing your head into the drivers seat. “That’s much better, look at this view.” He commented before you felt a sharp pain on your right ass cheek causing a moan to erupt from you. It was painful, but it was also pleasurable. But before you could relish in that too much, you felt him enter you again, and surprisingly even though the door was open and technically this was in public, that was the last thing on your mind. As your body jolted forward with each thrust and your legs began to slightly shake, you couldn’t help but let your eyes roll back. As his cock was burying deeper and deeper into your insides, his hands found their way around your throat pulling your head up and making you face him neck exposed and posture compromised, the power dynamic being unmistakable in the way you looked up with a mix of tension and submission.

You could only let out gasps of pleasure completely as your body kept jolting forward from Drew’s hips hitting against yours repeatedly. “Aye, I told you, I’d give you something way better didn’t I?”he cooed as you could only roll your eyes back in response as you felt his cock start to nail your g-spot over and over again causing your legs to tremble as you let yourself go all over him once again. “Mmm! C-Cum i-inside me, give it to m-me p-please!” You begged completely forgetting the fact that he had a condom on.

Drew being the sly man he is didn’t remind you but instead gave a deep chuckle before it turned into a growl as his thrusts became more rough and primal as if he was taking ownership of the body beneath him. The look on his face said it all as his grip around your throat tightened, his fingers made their way into your mouth forcing it open and his hips slammed against your again letting out his seed into the latex inside of you. A drawn out moan accompanied him as he pulled out and slammed back in again causing your legs to give out, he was the only thing holding you up by this point. You were drooling all over his fingers and your body was spent.

After taking some time to catch your breath you could only look at him desperately with pleading eyes. Your hands gripped onto his wrists as his fingers slowly pulled out of your mouth, you could only bite your lip trying to give him a hint at that you weren’t ready to be done.

“You want Round 3 don’t you?”

“Oh definitely but Drew” you cooed. “This time with the condom off”, you whispered before moving your hips back and forth slowly teasing him further.

Oh boy…. ᡣ𐭩

A/N: I don’t know I do this bro…literally screaming and kicking my feet😭😗

A/N #2: Imma be real friend, that Damian one gonna take a minute but I will get to it😭

Divider Credits: @iwonbin & @aquazero

Taglist: @luvrgirl4roman @luvrsluxe @mselenalovebug @punksyeet @binnieaddict @sheaabuttaababyy @empressdede @uceyliyahh

[shrillow]

Winter Flowers - Ch 3

sylus x reader; dragon!sylus x human sacrifice!reader

Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4

NSFW: gore, smut, cunnilingus

You spend the winter in the dragon’s lair. 

At first, neither of you seem to know what you’re doing. Where to start.

Shall he begin with the dead languages of a people whose last descendants no longer walk the earth? Will he show you the fashions of the world? Should he recount the doctrines of the hundred religions he knew? Perhaps he still possesses those old star maps which sailors once used to brave the seas?

In the end, Sylus begins with a story. Many stories. Whatever your hand brushes—an instrument, a piece of furniture, a weapon—he unravels its history with the steady, patient rhythm of his voice.

“It was an heirloom passed down through a royal bloodline that ruled two thousand years ago . . .”

“The fae believed that sword was forged by a sun god when he was banished to the mortal world . . .”

“This was a popular instrument used for herding sheep. You place your fingers over these holes and blow here . . .”

From sunrise to sunset, the dragon recalls the stories of things with eidetic precision. To your delight and amazement, Sylus has a seemingly limitless memory. And despite the spontaneous nature of your lessons, the dragon is a surprisingly good teacher.

“Only because you’ve proven yourself to be a prodigious student.” The affection laced through his words softens his smug grin.

You blush and bury your nose back into the astronomy text you’re translating.

Nights in the cave are your favorite, for you and dragon select a book from his expansive collection and read together.

Sylus’ tail loosely curls around you while you decipher a collection of mariners fables. Something about a sea serpent who’s hunting a group of sailors after they stole a legendary treasure from it—a brooch? The interpretation is frustratingly vague.

It’s slow work, and the ink has either faded or smeared, but you persevere through the ages it’s endured to be read by you.

The dragon corrects you occasionally, but otherwise is content to rest his head in your lap.

Through the night, your voice fills the cavern, drowning out the winter noise. So engrossed in the book, you don’t notice when Sylus grows quiet.

You glance down to see if he fell asleep, only for you to catch him staring at you. His gaze is honey in the light. Skin like the golden shade of the wheat fields. Even his silver hair seems to catch fire and all his sharp edges are burned down to something tender.

You have not touched each other since the rut, and you dare not now. Why would you? You are not his mate.

Oh, but it’s moments like these, where time turns to liquid and the earth quiets until it’s just your and the dragon’s hushed murmurs, when you want to melt into him and never leave.

How long can you pretend? At least one more night.

“Why’d you stop?” he murmurs, “Are you bored?”

You shake your head. “I just lost my place.”

Sylus lifts himself up, and you mourn his closeness until he gently grasps your hands beneath the book. “Would you like me to take over?”

You ignore the way his thumb circles your knuckles. “Only if you teach me the rest tomorrow.”

His next words leave a dull ache in your chest.

“I’ll teach you everything I know.”

So as the world darkens to its last season, and the snow quietly gathers outside your alpine sanctuary, you and the dragon weave a tapestry of the universe, of everything that once or continues to sleep below the ageless stars.

Sometimes, your mind wanders back to the village. To your siblings and father. To Tara. Not because of some longing for those sleepy huts and worn fields. Only because that is the nature of memory, and as all these treasures that pass through your searching hands inevitably remind you of them.

“Tara would love this.”

You flip through a manuscript on herbology, searching for a more effective salve for Sylus’ injuries. You recognize only a handful of the plants mentioned, Tara would know at least half.

Sylus’ tail flicks out. “Who?”

“My friend,” you elaborate, “She’s a healer. She knows every plant in the valley, when they grow, which ones work together and which don't.”

You grind the dried herbs Tara had stuffed into your bag before you left. She’d almost given you her entire stash, even though those same plants would not be seen again until spring. You're grateful for her generosity as you peel back the dressing and gently clean the dragon’s wounds.

His injuries are surprisingly slow to heal. It may be weeks yet until his full strength returns. You suspect it is due to whatever magic the bounty hunters used to subdue him. The very thought makes your blood boil every time.

“Why were those men after you?” you ask Sylus. You force your hand to steady as you apply the new salve.

He tries to look over his shoulder at you, only to pull at the stitching. “Ngh. I thought you would’ve guessed by now, sweetie.” He holds up a bloody bandage. “Healing blood, remember?”

The answer does not sit well with you.

“And the collar?”

“Useless runes and mage tricks,” he sneers, “I’ve broken every one they’ve put on me.”

Images of the dragon collared flash through your mind. You’re extra gentle when you clean around his neck. “How often do they come?”

“A couple times a century.” He shrugs. “It’s to be expected. Dragons are a valuable commodity.”

Your hands pause over his skin. “What do you mean?”

“Our blood heals. Our scales make excellent armor. Witches use our tears to brew love potions.” You stare at him horrified. Sylus just smiles. “I was once told our livers are boiled to a paste to reverse one’s aging.”

“You’re just messing with me now.”

“I haven’t even gotten to my best parts.” His eyes take on a sudden, unmistakable heat. 

Only Sylus would joke about something like that. Regardless, your face starts to burn.

Sparks fly from his mouth when he laughs. “It’s nothing to worry about, sweetie. They would have to kill me first, and I’m very difficult to kill.”

Perhaps it’s the trick of the light, a dance of shadows, but the red veins on his chest catch your attention as he heaves with laughter. You swear that they have shifted closer to that hollow above his heart.

Difficult, you worry, but he never said impossible.

-

You and Sylus discover your affinity for music.

He presents you with a zither, a fiddle, hand drums, and panpipes. He gifts you sheet music and ancient canvases depicting grand banquets so you can study the hand placements of the musicians who were painted into the scene.

Most of the time, however, you learn by trial and error, copying from the simple melodies you learned in childhood. You hum those tunes to yourself, plucking at your pipa until you strike the right notes.

“You have a good ear,” the dragon compliments, “have you played before?”

“No, but I sing,” you tell him, “mostly to calm the herd. My father played the lute, but it broke and he never bothered to fix it.”

Your focus drifts to the pipa in your hands. A couple strings are missing, but with some tuning, the remaining ones ring out clear and strong.

“Do you miss him?”

You stare at Sylus. He works on a strange contraption, various tools and something he calls a magnifying glass sprawled before him.

You follow your father across the hills as he plays a tune to guide the flock back to the village for shearing and butchering. You listen to his easy strumming as you fall asleep by the hearth. You hear its strings snap under your brother’s young fingers.

“Not in the way I should,” you say.

Sylus looks up. “There’s no wrong way to miss a person.”

“Is there someone you miss?”

The question catches both of you off guard. 

“Sorry,” you amend, looking away, “I shouldn’t pry.”

Sylus doesn’t say anything at first. He fidgets with the object, turning it over and over while silence permeates between you.

“The music stopped,” he observes, “could you play it again?”

A few days later, you find the device he was working on in your room. It’s a mechanical bird, with articulating metal wings and a beak that can open and close with a twist of a gear. Its eyes are the same shade as yours.

-

Tell me what you desire.

His eyes are fountains of truth, pouring with the ageless, nameless, and forgotten. Waiting for some soul to drink from its waters.

Take what you want.

Is it that easy? You open your hands and feel them grow heavy with the weight of this world.

Do you want more?

You bring your hands to your mouth and sate yourself until you are bursting.

Poetry, music, medicine, dragons.

How strange to think that you were scared to plunge beneath the surface. What might you find? What might you unleash? Only to find that it is a bottomless well; the more you consume, the deeper it becomes.

Not all of it is good—of course it’s not.

War, disease, tyrants, curses.

You recognize the beauty, the cruelty. And as any true glutton, you drink more in the hopes of understanding it.

Selfish girl.  Your mother's ring leaves a scar on your cheek as she strikes you. Wanton daughter.

When Sylus offers you starlight from his hand, you hesitate.

“I thought dragons were possessive creatures.”

“I was unaware that generosity would damage my reputation," he quips, “Won’t you at least try this on for me, Dear Shepherd?”

Shimmering diamonds of various sizes are fastened to a silver chain. Fractals of light splash onto the walls. Only the river that passes through the valley has sparkled so magnificently.

“We don’t wear jewelry in the village.”

Jenna’s pendant dangles near your face as she reads to you. You watch your reflection in its scarlet body. Your village boasts no riches and disdains all vanity. But Jenna—

It is her greatest treasure. It is her only treasure. Yet, sometimes you catch her grasping the pendant like a knife to her chest.

Sylus considers you for a moment, a small cluster of lights glint in his eyes. “Then it’s a good thing we’re not in the village.”

Sylus turns you around. His breath caresses the back of your neck as he secures the necklace. “There,” he breathes, “beautiful.”

Your mouth is painfully dry. “It’s heavy.” 

“Beauty should not be taken lightly.” His hand twitches—you think he’s going to touch you—but Sylus bends down instead, hovering over your shoulder like an owl.

“It’s yours if you want it.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“Why not?” His gaze drinks you in. “This was once a betrothal gift. A man promised his beloved that he would fashion a necklace from the heart of a star.”

“Very romantic,” you hum, “but was the price worth it?”

“I’m sure the star didn’t mind,” Sylus reassures, “they don’t have feelings, after all.”

One beauty for another. The whole earth is merely an appetite to satisfy. What are you within ouroboros’ hunger? The eater or the eaten?

With the dragon looking at you the way he does, you feel like you are both.

-

Your chamber slowly fills with trinkets.

New bedding, chests full of garments, bronze mirrors, all sorts of musical instruments, and towers of books.

"Even the greediest dragon would be impressed by your hoard," Sylus comments, but he never asks for anything back. Nor does he demand for something in return.

You understand sacrifice. You are descended from those who brokered a deal with an ancient power and irrevocably bound your fate to him thereafter. He is owed your soul, your body. And yet . . .

You stand beside Sylus before a grand tapestry.

“What is this?” you ask him.

“The world,” he replies, “at least some of it.”

Your mouth falls open. Continents and oceans are rendered from thousands of dyed threads. Even the borders are lined with gold patterning. Artistic portrayals of various plants and creatures fill the bare spaces. Foreign words hover across specific parts of the map.

“Where are we?”

“Not here,” he says.

You trace your hand down the old weaves, frowning at his words. “Did my people come from these lands?” As you examine map, your attention catches on a set of words floating above a strange looking animal. “What does this say?”

A strange expression crosses his face. “‘Here be dragons.’”

You realize the creature beneath the words is supposed to be a dragon, but it’s no dragon you’ve ever seen. Triple-headed, slavering, and grotesque. No expense was spared in portraying the dragon as a beast.

“You’ve been alone a long time, haven’t you?”

He doesn’t deign you with a response.

He claws at his skin. He fights against a fever that will ravage his body until all he knows is the mark that claims you as his. You have never known a creature more hateful towards its own nature. He told you several times that you could leave; you think he wishes you did, but not for the reasons you think. 

“Sylus,” you choose your next words carefully, “Why did you make the deal with my ancestors if you were just going to let us go?”

A stillness ensnares the both of you in a kind of limbo, tethering you to a precipice you’re not sure you would survive.

“Do you think I would force you?” His voice is the current in the air before a lightning strike.

You aren’t under any delusion that he isn’t capable of violence, however, you’re not prepared for his anger—

No. Not anger.

His body is coiled tight, brow furrowed and eyes so dark and red like gaping wounds. When your hand searches for his, he retreats as if you are a pair of dancers forbidden from touching.

“Of course not,” you tell him, meaning it.

You think he might answer you, but then he hesitates, and you know you’ve lost him. “Then you need to stop.”

His words feel like a brand.

“If you don’t,” he continues, “you’re not going to like the answers.” 

-

Sylus doesn’t talk about what happened. Neither do you.

The dragon speaks in offered books and mechanical gifts, through muted smiles and old literature.

His quiet touches lessen. His lingering gaze fades.

You hold your silence like a noose around your neck.

You miss the Sylus who clutched you in the dark, helpless with need. Who kissed your scars and named you huntress. Who could not pretend that he was a thing without feeling. 

Only in the secret hours after midnight do you let yourself imagine tiptoeing into his chamber and slipping into his nest, allowing his body heat to close around you like a summer day.

From outside, just before sleep catches you in that lovely dream, you hear the baying whine of something suffering, some creature dying.

-

The weather eases; you explore the mountains with Sylus.

He shows you glades that hide the best views of the valley. He takes you to waterfalls from which you drink the freshest water you’ve tasted. You meander through the woods at sunset when the light turns the snow pink and orange. You can see the lake and a herd of caribou making their way across the open plains. You’re too far away to be of any concern to them. Meanwhile, the dragon ambles by your side, scoffing at your jokes and flicking snow at you.

You ask him no more questions about the past. It turns to smoke when Sylus’ eyes settle on you. He plucks a winter camellia and threads it into your hair. 

“I’ve read about this before,” you say as you gather twigs and start weaving a crown.

His eyes flash. “Oh?” 

“A knight gives a flower to a princess.” You creep toward him until your coats brush and your breaths mingle in the cold air. “She tells him to take her back to the palace . . .”

His tail brushes your leg. “And?”

You toss the crown onto his horns. “Then she asks him to make her mooncakes!”

Sylus’ laugh echoes wonderfully through the mountains. You wish you could bottle the sound.

He brings you out in the evening when the skies are clearest, and he points out all the constellations.

“To the west is the Tortoise, it shares a star with the Old Fisherman. And over there—a bit higher—is the Tiger and the Crane . . .”

You stay up well into the night listening to the dragon spin tales from memory. With his head tilted to the heavens—face open and white hair glowing with the light of the full moon—it reminds you strangely of Tara.

You shiver as a sudden gust barrels up the mountain.

“Cold?” Sylus brings his coat tighter around you. With a snap of his fingers, a flame flickers to life in his palm.

“Thank you.” You sigh at the warmth. “That’s a pretty neat trick.”

Sylus hums in agreement, though his mood turns melancholic. “I learned it from a witch.”

“That’s something you needed to learn?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Dragons are creatures of magic. All magic is a matter of patience,” he explains, “and will.” A hesitant smile begins to form. “I believe you have much of both.”

Your heart flutters. “Do you really think . . . ?”

Sylus stares at you incredulously. “You could call down the stars if that is your desire.”

There’s that look in his eyes—an unwavering intensity you’ve only seen glimpses of since the rut—before it’s gone again.

“Besides, it’s a useful skill to know when you leave,” he goes on, “people will be disinclined to mess with a girl who can wield fire.”

-

You don’t notice it at first. How can you, when you spend every day with the dragon?

You are removing the last of Sylus’ bandages when you realize how dull his scales have become.

After that, you notice everything else.

There are bruises under his eyes when he reads to you at night. His hair has lost its luster. The red veins on his chest glow brightly as if inflamed.

Valley-born that you are, you’re unfamiliar with the signs of starvation.

His indifference vexes you. It terrifies you.

You’re paranoid that Sylus will disintegrate from your very touch. You are one sleepless night away from wringing all his dreadful secrets from his throat.

Fear. What a violent animal.

The dragon guards his silence and pretends that nothing is wrong.

-

You watch him with his automatons, tinkering away at their intricate joints and handmade gears. You follow the curve of his back as he hunches over his worktable, lost in his craft. It’s so human. 

You can’t help but stare at his profile. His lips are slightly parted; you want to rediscover the shape of them, find common ground between soft skin and stilted breaths. The light behind him casts a golden halo around his head. It reminds you of sunsets in the valley, how the mountains’ silhouettes are carved from the brilliant hues of a dying sun.

How beautiful. How unreachable.

Although you’re grateful for everything he shares with you—the more you learn about the world, the more questions you have about the dragon himself.

How did you learn this? Where did you acquire it?

Why did you come here? Why do you remain?

The answers to your questions cannot be found in a book.

You pore over mythology texts, bestiaries, religious anthologies, and epic poems. All are more or less the same.

An evil dragon terrorizes a kingdom; a monster kidnaps the princess; a winged serpent tricks the hero into killing his beloved. 

You open a hunting manual on a whim, but immediately regret picking it up.

‘A dragon’s underside is the softest part of their body. As such, make your first incision under the jaw. Continue slitting around its mouth, then down the stomach. Now, you can begin peeling back its skin—’

The words sink into your flesh like rot. You slam the book shut.

You think you know why Sylus has been alone all this time. Why he will always be alone.

-

The dragon is not yours.

Stitch stitch stitch.

Yet, he comes to you when his wounds have torn open. You strip off his ruined cloak and don’t question it.

He has given you—books, tools, jewelry, and music. He has given you himself in the only way he can.

It’s enough it’s enough it’s enough.

You thread a needle through his skin. It feels like sacrilege.

His long fingers grasp your shaking hand, warm and unafraid. It feels like worship.

“You could never hurt me.”

A dragon’s roar is swallowed by the violent storm. Nothing warm-blooded can survive the cold.

The spot beneath your ear tingles.

“Sometimes I want you to hurt.” 

His gaze does not waver. “I won’t stop you.”

Tell me of your shame, you want to say to him, as I have told you mine.

“Are you dying?”

“If only fate were that kind to me.” His mouth twists into a mockery of a smile that quickly evaporates when he sees your stricken expression. You wait for him to say more; he doesn’t.

Oh, he might give you the world, but he cannot give you this.

You gather his tattered old cloak, torn and bloody, and neatly fold it in your lap. It is good fabric. You want to believe that you can fix it.

“I will leave come spring,” you tell him.

Sylus’ expression is indecipherable. He strokes the back of your hand, committing every vein and knuckle to memory. “Then we mustn’t waste our time together.”

-

One night, when the sky is tinged a deep purple, you glance down into the valley and notice the blazing lights of your village.

You motion to Sylus. “Look.”

Several dozen lanterns drift into the night sky while music trickles up the mountain. Although you cannot see the villagers, you know they’re gathering in the town center for the dances.

“I can’t believe it’s already the new year,” you breathe. If you close your eyes, you can almost smell the sweet tarts you and Tara made together.

“Is that what you’ve been celebrating,” Sylus muses, “I wondered what all that noise and revelry were for.”

You turn to him, realizing that the dragon has been watching your village celebrate for the last thousand years without knowing the reason. Has perhaps sat alone on this very ledge to watch the lanterns pass over his head and the festivities down below.

“Stay here.”

You scurry back to the cave to retrieve your pipa.

His tired eyes settle on you when you return. Even now, you want him. Whatever is left of him. Whatever will remain after tonight, even if it falls away like water through your fingers come morning. You will remember him like this: snow in his hair, phantom smile, and bleeding gaze heavy with all the things he cannot say.

You press your fingers to the strings, and begin to sing.

-

He comes to you at night.

You gasp when you blink awake and see his silhouette above you.

He wordlessly slides in behind you, under the furs. It is muscle memory when his arms snake around you and his face finds the crook of your neck. He carries the scent of pine and woodsmoke and . . . something sharper. His skin is hot to the touch as you press your hand against his chest and prompt him to look at you.

A faint tendril of red mist spills from the corner of his eyes.

“Do you want me to leave?”

His voice sounds like cracked glass.

Without a word, you guide him back down until his skin is against yours. You would savor this moment if sleep did not find you all too soon, even as the air smells faintly of blood.

-

There comes a day when Sylus slips off into the mountains and does not return. 

You suspect the worst.

The winds are fierce, but your will is iron. You trace his path down the mountain and through the trees, listening for the beat of dragon wings.

You call his name but all you receive is the mountain’s echoing response. The snow and wind beat against you, punishing your determination.

You trudge through the forest past sunset, until the moonlight casts the woods in a lonely grey. Still, you find no sign of the dragon.

Did he really leave? Did hunters get to him?

One fear after another hurtles through your mind, urging you farther and deeper into the forest. You brought your spear, having learned from experience that predators have no issue encroaching on the dragon’s territory.

What else did your village get wrong? What would happen to your people if Sylus could no longer protect them?

What would you do if you cannot find him?

A violent heat pulses from your nonexistent mating bite. Your legs and face are numb, and you can barely see in front of you.

You snap your fingers, whispering a word of power just as Sylus taught you. Sparks fly off your trembling fingers. You try again and again until the smallest of flames swells to life amidst shadow and snow.

You can only maintain it for a few more moments before your foot catches on something and you crash to the ground.

The flame gutters out. The winds wail through the barren trees. You lift your head, wipe snow off your face. You look back to see what made you fall and you scream.

The unseeing eye of a caribou stares back at you. Its blood oozes from the gashes along its body and pools beneath your hands. Still warm.

You stagger to your feet, and nearly trip again over another carcass.

An entire herd of reindeer lie in mangled puddles, slaughtered in the dozens. Steam rises from their bodies. Torn limbs and viscera stain the once spotless snow.

Just like the sheep.

You grip your spear until your knuckles turn white, the grain of the wood biting uncomfortably into your skin.

The trees close over you like the bars of a cage, their shadows smothering out light and sound. You cannot see where you came from.

Between the trees, you see the dragon. But everything about him is unrecognizable to you.

Sylus crouches over a carcass, tearing and consuming its flesh with razor-like teeth. Black spikes jut out from his skin. He’s elbow-deep in gore and red smoke spills from blood-bright eyes when he spots you.

You run.

-

His screams shake the mountain.

You hide in the dark with your spear, keeping watch outside the dragon’s lair.

You wait for days. You wait long after his cries have died out.

You should leave.

The thought pecks at your mind.

The dragon will not return.

You stare out across the mountains as another storm rolls in. Snow gathers in a frenzy, the world so bright your eyes sting.

The dragon is mad.

You read one of Sylus’ books to distract yourself.

The dragon is a liar.

He emerges from the whiteout like a spectre. He is as you remember him, a quiet ancient power exudes from his decaying body. But when he stumbles upon seeing you, you see his mortification.

“I thought you would have left already.”

Your grip tightens around your spear. “You killed my flock.”

He does not deny it.

“Is that why you’ve remained,” he asks, “to extract my apology?”

Your nostrils flare. “I would have the truth.”

“It will ruin you.”

You regard the dragon. Does he think you are a child in need of protection? You are not so feeble-minded, you never have been. He allowed you to believe that he was sick, that he was dying—and even after seeing the worst of him, he resists. So you will force his hand.

You unsheathe the dagger he gifted you, and slice it across your arm.

The dragon springs toward you and freezes. Red mist pours from reptilian eyes, his claws extend and his skin splits to reveal mangled spikes. Sylus’ knees dig into the earth as he collapses and emits a vicious growl. The red veins writhe across his chest.

You quickly wipe the blood away and press a thick bandage to the cut. “You didn’t just need a mate,” you whisper, “you also needed blood.”

Sylus bows his head. “Abhorrent, am I not?” His distorted voice slices through the air, guttural and raw. The red mist dissipates, his scales slide back under his skin. “How do you feel knowing you’ve bedded a monster?”

Monster. What a cruel word.

“I would not forsake you for this,” you say.

His eyes flutter before they harden in disbelief. “One second,” he threatens, “is all it would take to raze the entire valley.”

Tara and your family flash through your mind. You take a steadying breath. “But you haven’t yet.”

“I found a way to delay it.” With a mate. With blood—your blood.

There’s something else he isn’t telling you.

“Why did your rut come early?” 

He’s quiet for so long, you think he might turn and fly away for good. Until he admits, “I didn’t take her blood before she left.”

���Why not?” you press, “What happened last time?”

The look on his face will haunt you for years to come.

“They sent me a child.”

-

The dragon steals glances at you, waiting for you to speak—to leave—anything. He moves as if to touch you before thinking better of it.

He anticipates your censure, but you cannot find the words to reassure him.

“Only those who’ve had their first blood can be chosen.”

“I know.”

Your blood continues to soak the bandage, though you barely feel the injury’s sting.

“What did you do?” you ask.

“I took her across the lake, and told her to never return to the valley,” he answers.

Your village never spoke of the last girl who was chosen, and you, like a sheep, never asked. Never wondered about their lives until your fate mirrored theirs. How could your village send a child up the mountain to be his mate believing what they do about the dragon’s brutality? 

You don’t realize you’re crying until Sylus wipes your tears away. “I never harmed any of you. I swear it.”

He looks as distraught as you feel.

“I believe you,” you rasp, and he sags with relief. “But Sylus. Couldn't you have returned her? Demand we choose someone else?”

His expression shudders with pain. “The last time I did that, they put her to the torch, convinced that she disappointed me.”

You feel sick.

Memories of the harvest season. Children’s games. The mead hall’s lively music and Josephine’s patient guidance as she walks you through a new embroidery technique—

“I am sorry.” 

—All tarnishes as Sylus kneels before you. He seems to be the only solid thing keeping you anchored to this moment. Diminished as he is. Self-named monster that he claims to be. “You deserved to know before I ever placed my mark on you.”

Remorse darkens his face when he glances at your bleeding arm. You see his hunger. Sylus takes a sharp breath before he retracts a claw and prepares to cut his own palm. His hands shake.

And you—you cannot resent him for withholding the truth. Not when it takes everything he has to resist the bloodlust.

Would a monster cut himself for someone else? Would he yield when told to stop? Would he teach you how to chart the stars? How to speak an ancient language? Would he read to you long into the night, or ask you to play that song one more time?

You stop him before he can draw blood. A bewildered, helpless expression crosses his gaunt face.

“I am already cut,” you say, raising your arm to his mouth, ���Why let it go to waste?”

-

His strength returns. The red veins retreat.

You lie in his nest, sleepy and surrounded in his warmth.

“Is there any way to fix it?” you ask the dragon, “This—this bloodlust?”

He sighs and shakes his head. You press yourself against him in a way you haven’t since the rut. 

Who cursed you?

The question sits heavy on your tongue as you follow the haloed edges of his lean body. Hard and soft in equal measure. Violent and innocent.

You press your hand over the hollow of his chest. “Did any of them stay with you, Sylus? The way I had?”

He swallows.

“You’re the only one.”

-

You stare down into the valley. For a village of inconsequential size, it casts long shadows across the white expanse.

They sent me a child.

The dragon may have lied about the sheep, but your village elders—well—what more did they lie about?

You cannot let it happen again. But if you return to the village, would your family and neighbors heed your words, or would they put you to the torch as well? What would stop them from sending another little girl up the mountain?

By the time Sylus' rut returns and his bloodlust needs to be sated, you’ll be nothing but rot beneath the earth.

Your neck burns from the very thought when you hold up the finished cloak to Sylus.

“I’ve made some repairs. Do you like it?”

Sylus cautiously takes the cloak, examines the patched holes and new fur lining with round eyes. His fingers run along your even stitching, stopping at your embroidery. An elaborate pattern of wildflowers and knotwork Elder Josephine taught you long ago.

“I hope you don’t mind,” you say, “I also replaced the old fur with the wolf’s pelt. It should be much warmer now.”

As if the dragon has to worry about the cold. You mentally shake yourself as Sylus slips the cloak over his shoulders, surrounding himself in a field of flowers.

“Your skill knows no equal,” he praises, halting your train of thought. He bites his lip, looking uncharacteristically rueful. “I will probably ruin it again.”

“Then I will mend it again.”

And again and again and again.

A light blush tinges the edges of Sylus’ ears. You watch him smooth down the collar of his cloak, and the memory of the hidden words you embroidered there flash in your mind.

You glance away. “Think of it as something to remember me by.”

In a hundred years, the next woman may find a trace of you here, and know there is nothing to be afraid of.

-

You find yourself staring across the lake more often. Dreaming. Planning.

You have studied the maps, languages, and histories. But there is only so much you can learn from a book.

You spot Sylus some distance away, crouched low. His hair blends in with the snow. He extends a hand towards a fox peeking out from the underbrush. It snarls at the dragon before scampering away.

Something in your chest twists. It's a familiar sensation, so why does it hurt so much more now?

What you're leaving behind feels larger than what's ahead of you.

When Sylus notices you across the clearing, his regal horns shimmering in the winter sun, you think you will long for him forever.

He crosses the distance between you, and says simply, “Thank you."

“You're welcome,” you reply, because you know what he means.

Sylus leans down until your foreheads nearly touch. “May I?” he asks. When you nod, you feel his mouth brush your temple as he inhales deeply. “Your scent haunts my dreams.”

Your breath quickens.

“What do I smell like?”

His gaze settles on you, revealing the jewel of his eyes in all their warm devotion.

“Like flowers.”

-

You do not want winter to end. But end it will.

The frozen lake gradually thaws. Although the snow never truly stops in the mountains, the slow melts creep up through the forests.

You wander through the mountains for one of the last times. The sun casts its glare across the pale landscape, but the persistent cold is not easily vanquished.

You come across a meadow overflowing with wintering blooms. Their colors stand out against the blinding white. You run your hands over their delicate yet hardy petals.

Yellow daffodils and primrose. Snowdrops and winterberries. Jasmine and blue violas.

You follow the meadow until you’re on the outer edge of the mountain proper. Out here in the open, its strangely quiet.

Vibrant red flowers pepper the mountainside, standing out against the pristine white. They sway in the breeze, their sweet fragrance calling to you.

You've never seen their like before. As you bend down to pluck one of them and bring it to your nose, you hear the beat of wings.

The flower is ripped from your hand. You don’t have time to cry out as Sylus wraps a hand over your nose and mouth.

“Don’t breathe!”

But it’s too late. You feel your mouth go dry and your heart beats madly against your ribs. You latch onto Sylus as your legs start to give

“Fuck,” he growls, covering his own face. Your grip slips as your skin breaks out into a sweat and your palms turn clammy. Sylus holds you fast, and drags you away the meadow. You watch his lips move, but you might as well be underwater from the way you can’t make out a single sound.

“Sylus, what—” Inks spots of color flood your blurring vision. Your heart is racing so fast you think it might explode. You swear you hear your mother calling for you.

You reach for the dragon but you no longer have control of your limbs.

When you look at yourself, your skin is melting off your bones.

Your mind fractures. You fall through the seams of reality, to a place where not even the dragon can follow.

-

Heat. Ash. Blood.

You wince at the intense light. Your eyes are slow to focus, all you see are warping colors and loose shapes crossing your vision.

You cannot feel your body. You wonder if you have one.

“ . . . hear me?”

What? You try to speak, but you’ve forgotten how.

“Do you remember your name?” A face sharpens before you. Hauntingly familiar and achingly beautiful. 

What is a name? Why do you need to know?

Your silence shatters that pretty face. His voice breaks as he babbles apologies and pleas at you. 

You want to help him, you do. But your tongue feels swollen and some of his words don’t make sense to you . . . you want to wipe away his tears but you cannot find your hands.

“Do you know who I am?”

Of course you do.

“Sylus."

His eyes flutter, and he releases a soul-deep, relief-filled sigh. He presses his forehead to yours; you realize he’s shaking.

“I thought I lost you.”

When you brush your knuckles against his cheek, they come away damp. “What happened?” 

“Those flowers,” he explains, “can fell even the greatest animals. Inhale their scent and you’ll sleep forever.”

You swallow, your throat feels as dry as kindling.

“How . . .” You survey your surroundings. You’re back in the cave. Tara’s herbs, your mortar, and a bowl of dark liquid lie beside you.

Your mouth tastes like iron and salt. “Thank you.”

Sylus reaches for your face before pulling his hand back at the last second. “Consider it part of my debt to you.”

You take in his tense posture—how he shelters you with his body even though the danger is internal. His tail is tightly coiled and his claws are out. There’s a deep furrow between his eyebrows. You have not seen him so fierce since the rut.

Oh, this won’t do.

“Is that all we are to each other,” you ask him, “debts and deals?”

His throat bobs. When he doesn’t answer, you sit up and run your fingers down his face, across his sensitive chest He makes small, airy gasps that light a fire in your core.

“If I still bore your mark,” you murmur, “maybe you would be more honest with me.”

His breath hitches.

You wait for him.

You do not have to wait long; Sylus cups the back of your head and then he’s kissing you.

-

In some ways, it’s much like the rut, but in many others, it’s completely different.

Sylus kneels between your legs at the edge of his work table. His tools and unfinished projects lie discarded on the ground. He drags the flat of his tongue against your sex and drinks the juices that spill from your twitching entrance. You roll your hips against his face and welcome the searing heat of his tongue inside you.

He whines as you stroke his twisting horns, from base to tip, sharp enough you could prick yourself. He swirls his wet lips around your clit before sucking deeply on the tender nub. His fingers slip between your folders with ease, and crooks them until they press against that spot inside you.

“Sylus!” You arch off the table, grabbing the edge as wave after wave of pleasure cascades through your body. He continues to work your clit as you clench around his fingers.

The dragon gazes up at you, face and ears flushed, panting wildly.

You pull him to his feet and crash your lips against his. His mouth opens immediately. You taste yourself and moan as his hands slide up your body and begin undoing the rest of the laces of your dress.

His mouths down your neck, lingering where his mark used to be, before continuing lower to pepper your bare shoulder with kisses. He pulls down your sleeves until your breasts are exposed and he can take one into his salivating mouth.

You fumble with the buckles of his trousers, only for him to brush your hands away.

“Let me taste you again,” he implores. He gives you several small kisses on your lips and you sigh in response to the onslaught of affection. “Let me do this for you.”

“Don’t you want . . . ?” You gasp when he teases your entrance with his fingers. Your legs wrap around his waist and pull him as close as you can to yourself. You feel his hard length and your thighs shake with need.

“What I want—” Sylus strokes your breasts with his other hand “—is for you—” you hear his knees strike the ground once again “—to cum on my face.”

His breath teases your clit, already swollen up with renewed interest. 

“Can you do that for me, sweetie?”

You nod weakly, before Sylus buries his face between your legs and proceeds to steal your ability to think.

-

He kisses you before you fall asleep. He kisses you during your daily walks through the mountains. He kisses you while he spills deep inside you, exchanging names with a shared breath, until you smell like fire and he of wildflowers.

He kisses you as if he's starving. Perhaps he is. Perhaps he always was.

“I thought—” He shivers against your lips as you trace his naked spine “—that you merely tolerated my rut. You only stayed for what I could teach you.”

You brush away the lock of hair from his forehead. "Couldn't you tell?" you say in disbelief, "I stayed for you."

His eyes widen.

You look away, suddenly shy. If you still had his mating bite, you think it'd burn a hole right through you. "But I have no right to covet you."

You are not his mate.

Sylus threads your fingers together, your interlocked hands are molten gold in the firelight. He kisses your knuckles as he stares at you with a reverent expression. And you realize, suddenly, he's only ever looked at you that way.

“You always had that right.”

You are not his mate, but you are everything else.

When you make love to him, it is less impatient than the wildfire from before. The two of you are more like embers, not yet ready to die.

-

The night sky above the city is alight with every color. You watch them explode and pop and burst across the lake. 

“What’s happening over there?” you ask Sylus.

He sits beside you on the cliff, one leg propped up while he lets the other swing beside yours.

“Tarus City has its own celebrations,” he explains, “this time of year marks the opening of the gates to the underworld, when demons began entering the mortal realm.”

“Is there any truth in that?”

“Perhaps.” The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Why don’t we find out for ourselves?”

Your eyes light up. “Is this fearsome dragon asking me to attend a festival with him?"

"That depends entirely on your answer."

The joy in Sylus' eyes is more intoxicating than the rarest of wines. When you reach for him, he meets you halfway.

"I'd like nothing more."

Ch 4

Can also be read on ao3!

[jujuicykaisen]

WHAT THE FU, your profile pic is GLORIOUS! MUAH! So the un reciprocated love HCs are great and they inspired me to ask this. What if Gojo decided to play matchmaker and much to Nanami's chagrin, he actually matched him up with the perfect person?

BEHOLD, Nanami's glorious tatas~

Characters: Kento Nanami

Contents: Gojo fuckery, matchmaking, gn!reader,

Kento Nanami

If you were to suggest to Nanami for him to let Gojo set him up with someone, he would give you a stare that could wither your entire bloodline. (That's his real innate technique.) He wants to marry and settle down one day, but not while working as a jujutsu sorcerer, and he certainly doesn't need matchmaking as another avenue for Gojo to get on his nerves.

To his chagrin, Gojo's attempts to set him up with someone seem to be genuine. Nanami expected to be set up with toothless pensioners, unwashed swamp goblins, or just straight up cursed spirits.

Even when it becomes clear this isn't the case, Nanami resists. He doesn't need Gojo meddling in his life, especially when he isn't ready to enter a relationship at the current time—

Ah.

His resolve lurches and crumbles a bit when Gojo drapes an arm over his shoulder, ignoring Nanami's request for personal space, and flashes a his phone in Nanami's face. There's a picture on the screen, and despite himself, Nanami can't help but give it a certain look.

There you are, smiling out of the screen at him. There's something about you. A certain look in your eye, the way the sunlight hits your face in the picture. It snags on Nanami's heart and won't let him pull away quite that easily. Not without feeling the sting.

What does he do? He pretends to relent so that "Gojo will get off my back". Whether or not Gojo suspects Nanami is actually interested is another matter entirely. Nanami can be pretty hard to read when he wants to be, so he might just have got away with it.

The date is set, the notification is in Nanami's digital calendar. Fate has been set on its course, and there's no going back now.

Nanamin's still going into this date riddled with suspicions. Gojo's the one who set this up, so there's got to be a catch. What if he meets you and you're actually fifty years older than your photo? What if you turn out to be a curse wearing a human skin? What if you have a moral objection to bathing? Despite a composed exterior, Nanami's stomach is tying itself into knots on the inside.

Despite that, he shows up on time, suit and tie, flowers in hand. Even if he suspects it might be a trap, Nanami will not be caught lacking.

His breath catches in his throat a little when you walk into the restaurant—some little Italian place, because he ignored Gojo's suggestion of taking you to laser tag—and you look exactly like you did in your photo. No, better. There's something even more appealing about you in person, with your features animated and lit up as you approach him. He has to restrain himself from reaching out to give a Business Handshake™ because that's what he defaults to when he's nervous.

"It's good to meet you," he says, passing the—tasteful, expensive—flowers into your delighted arms. "I'll admit, I'm surprised you agreed to this, considering who was behind it."

From there, it's an easy step into sharing outrageous Gojo stories, of which you both have plenty. (Somewhere far away, Gojo sneezes.) It's all easy. Almost too easy, though Nanami is slowly letting go of his suspicions on a tide of sparkling conversation, sparkling wine, and thankfully-not-sparkling but still delicious pasta.

You're funny. Gorgeous. Intelligent. Your future goals and values line up nicer than the rows of a well-balanced Excel spreadsheet, and Nanami's both thrilled and a little nervous to realise just how much he likes you.

He really, really likes you, and even as he sets up another date with you, adding you both to the Google Calendar invite, he realises one important thing:

Gojo's never going to shut up about this, is he?

[obitos-whore]

Heyy! seeing that u did kankuro in a queer relationship, could u maybe do gaara in a queer relationship aswell?

Of course!! Your wish is my command, nonnie. I hope you like 'em! :D

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Prefers to keep your relationship as private as possible. Not because he's ashamed of you or anything. He just doesn't like people snooping around his business

Whenever someone freaks out upon finding out that he is happily taken, he just looks at them quietly and waits until they have realised their mistake and apologized, before going about his business again. #stoicking

Despite his usually stoic demeanor, Gaara practically becomes putty whenever he's with you. He's like a kitty cat who doesn't give a damn about anyone else but its favourite human, whom it clings to. Only that Gaara does care about others. But you're the one he feels comfortable enough with to show his soft, clingy side

Often stresses about not being able to spend as much time with you as he would like and thinks he's neglecting you and your needs

It takes a lot of reassurance from your side to make him understand that you are not mad at him for being busy, or thinking about breaking up because of the limited time you two get to spend together

But as Kazekage, Gaara faces much more struggles than just the limited amount of time he gets to spend with his beloved

The council of Suna has always been looking down on you, simply because you don't meet their expectations and standards (aka ancient views them half-dead old farts cling to with their boney, arthritic fingers and refuse to let go of)

Therefore it doesn't come of as a surprise that said council one day just insists that Gaara settles down with what they consider a "proper" partner and produces heirs, so that his bloodline doesn't die out and the title of Kazekage can also be passed down to the next generation

Of course that would ultimately mean ending the relationship with you, which is out of the question for him. You are the light of his life, the person who showed him what being loved truly feels like and means. Breaking up with you would be worse than death. And he's been there mind you

So, it's no surprise that Gaara actively goes against what the council demands and even gives them an ultimatum: They either accept you as his partner, or he retires from his position as Kazekage immediately

After some back and forth, with Gaara stubbornly putting his foot down and refusing to budge even a tiny bit, the council eventually relents and begrudgingly accepts that you're going to remain his spouse no matter what

To Gaara, it's most important to take at least one day of every month off so he can spend it with you entirely without any disruptions from his duties or even his siblings. It's a day dedicated to you and only you and it's spent however you want it. Doesn't matter if it's gonna be a lazy day on the couch or in bed, a picnic or a day at the hot springs. As long as he gets to enjoy it with you, he's up for everything

[meganechan05]

The 6 Heroes

Been on my mind for a long while but took time for me to finally finish figuring out their designs and color schemes. So everything is under the cut.

Rhyniol Husty: (ライニオール・ハスティー)

This is a younger version of Rhyniol compared to what we saw in the movie. Essentially what I believed he would look like just as he took the throne as a young King rather than the very ornate and heavy-looking clothes he wears in Hakabaka. His famous cloak passed on for generations was originally open with the long cloth primarily behind him so his arms aren't as restricted when fighting.

Personality-wise, he's sorta a mix of both Racles and Gira where he does everything for the sake of others regardless of what happens. He's rather brash but as the battles continue, he develops his skills to become the strongest and the leader.

Raine Brasieri: (レイヌ・ブラシエリ)

Jeramie's father. A laid back individual who does his best to be a pacifist between both humand and Bugnarok after learning the latter was in the same situation at the hands of Dugded. But, like his son, he had to learn that sometimes violence is the only way to get the point across when it comes to war. And like his son, he's actually terrible at providing text for subtext. Most likely because he only spent time with his family during his exile so they always understood each other. His death when Jeramie was a child was due to transferring his Symbol of Rule to his son which was protecting him from illness. His last wish was hoping Ishabana would protect his son from the same fate.

He's very much a romantic and his attitude tends to get on everyone's nerves. I'm pretty sure Rhyniol always warned his bloodline to stay away from Raine's because of this and later have a stroke when he learns about Giramie.

Neura Ferous: (ニューラ・フェロス)

A thrill-seeking tinkerer who has their eyes set on innovation even with all the obstacles of what was available at the time. The other Kings see them as a bit of a nutjob whenever she gets inspired at the worst times, but they get the job done.

The development of the OhgerCalibur and King's Weapons was their work as well as the Kings' Symbol of Rule after some were damaged (further explanation at the bottom of the post).

Their design is based off of pilots as she's often riding God Tonbo from atop its head rather than the cockpit.

Cosca Cula: (コスカ・クューラ)

An honest women who considers everyone her family and would do her best to protect them. While she performs tasks expected of women at the time, the other Heroes were well aware of her strength as a warrior and would even be afraid of her if they take things too far. But she tries to offset such intimidating behavior by being playful at times which only makes things worse.

Her founding of Toufu was because of her wish to feed the planet wonderful food and for descendants to be powerful and protective of their own families.

Rodi Ran: (ロディ・ラン)

A free-spirited individual who admires anything he seems beautiful inside or out, though he prefers his descendants to be both. His blonde and pink hair is actually a mutation caused by his Mark that became a dominant trait passed down in his bloodline.

Despite being a healer, Rodi is actually prone to violence and would threaten others with his Mark with a sweet smile on his face; something inherited by his descendent, Himeno. The others often have to hold him back whenever he gets too agitated as even Raine would need to hold him back.

Xerces Glauco: (セルセス・グラウコ)

The last Hero to join the team due to their disbelief that they were tasked with protecting humanity after growing up witnessing the darkness of it. But they were convinced to join the team after being told becoming a Hero can allow them to make change and achieve the justice they always wanted.

Aside from Raine, Xerces was one of the Heroes that sympathized with the Bugnarok the most and almost had a falling out with Rhyniol when the plan was to make the Bugnarok the enemy. When founding Gokkan, Xerces made sure the laws they and their people agreed one would apply to both humans and Bugnarok in hopes the two sides would find peace.

As the original user of the Ice Seal, both of their eyes are ashen in color. When teaching their successor the Seal, they didn't know why it only affected one eye but played it off as a choice.

The Symbol of Rule:

Many months ago, I had a theory about the 6 Heroes' weapons and how 5 of them were what inspired the King's Weapon and the Modes used by all Kings: Sword, Gun, Sickle, Bow, Claw.

I believe the development of both the OhgerCalibur and King's Weapon was used as a way to unite the Five Kingdoms even with borders and the eventual issues between the next generations of Kings. The OhgerCalibur being based off ZERO was to respect Rhyniol who won the competition to become the planet's King but then decide it should be split between the five. The King's Weapon was to symbolize the Heroes banding together to fight a large threat. The ability to switch between different Modes allows flexibility.

But what about the Symbols of Rule?

Basically my thought was based off the fact that in Episode 44 when the new Alliance was signed, the Symbols of Rules were glowing: The OhgerCrown, Yanma's earring, Himeno's crown, Rita's bracelet, and Kaguragi's amulet. The outlier was Jeramie's KumonoSlayer despite the fact his Symbol was actually the gem embedded in his chest.

This was probably an afterthought but hear me out: the gem was only half of the actual power of Immortality.

What I found odd was the use of the gem when it came to defeating Grodie. How did the power of Eternal Life grant a living corpse true life but also have said corpse be killed after being granted eternal life? It didn't make sense to me, really, so I had to think through everything. I shouldn't, but my lore brain demands it.

As I said before, the KumonoSlayer glowed with the other Symbols of Rule when the Alliance was signed and sent the light that pierced the universe. I believe it's the other half of the Symbol or it's the main source of the power but gave half of its power to the gem. Such power returning upon Grodie's defeat.

I'm only saying this because of Jeramie's story with his mother. She died in battle when he was still a child (if we assume he aged normally and stopped aging upon reaching adulthood) and there was no sign of his father during said flashback. He was also much more attached to his mother despite having fond memories of his father like how he was the one who taught Jeramie how to draw and told him the story of King-Ohger.

Given the implications that his father died some time after turning his KumonoSlayer into Jeramie's mask. Without the KumonoSlayer, he would no longer have full access to the power of Eternal Life which would make him more susceptible to illness and disease and die an early death. And it's highly likely given the fact he was banished and wouldn't have been allowed near humans so he wouldn't get the treatment he needed. He would leave everything to Nephila to take care of their child before she, too, dies but in battle.

So what about the other Symbols?

This is a bit more of a stretch as it's connected to my theory of the original weapons of the 6 Heroes were actually the modes used in the King's Weapon.

We'll start with Husty Family. The OhgerCrown and Lance were sealed away due to its universal power. The OhgerCalibur ZERO was Rhyniol's original sword and also the key to sealing and unsealing the Crown and Lance (along with the king's crown). And in order to activate ZERO, it needed a blood sample of the one wielding it to transform.

The power of the other Symbols were also sealed.

Considering the other 4 countries don't have 2000-year-old weapons like Shugoddom or Jeramie, the next closest thing would be their Symbols of Rule. If we consider the idea of the Heroes taking their damaged weapons and turning them into such Symbols, it's most likely how they sealed it. What makes them different from Shugoddom is that reforging such weapons would free the Symbols of the restriction that is requiring the bloodline to use it which is important given that 3 of the countries don't use bloodline for succession.

But again, these are just theories and speculations based off what the show has given us. I could just be reading into it too much, but it's a lot to think about whenever I'm trying to brainstorm stories revolving around the Symbols.

As for the markings on the drawings, its mainly my take on the fact that they're the original users of said powers so such use would create long-lasting effects on them.

[melaninfury]

What is an Ancestor...?

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ANCESTORS are the ones that come before you. At times they can be your greatest connection to unconditional love or an experience to release and patiently grow in a new direction. Ancestors represent the experience and in between of LIFE & DEATH. An ancestor can be more than one thing, more than one person and more than one meaning. Lets explore the endless possibilities.

THE BLOOD

* Ancestors are directly linked to you by connection of soul, some are bloodline ancestors directly linked through lineage passed down from offspring. This is a potent and profound connection, here lies the source of alot of elevation and inheritance - that is directly. * This is the part of you, for example that has gifts like your blood grandmother, sight or spiritual talents are passed down this way. This is the inheritance, this isn't always a blessing. If someone curses you or passes down a generational curse those may also be apart of the gamble.

THE WISDOM & GUIDANCE

* The ones that came before you have experienced this life and died to tell the tale. Sounds quirky but in many ways we rely on our ancestors to move forward, we use their history and records in the free world to continue the very evolution that brought us about today. * Ancestors are the people who carry the wisdom of the lineage. This connection is your source of guidance when you have no where to turn too. * Spirits see and talk too, they have eyes and connection in places you cannot reach. Beyond being the embodiment of an older version of your bloodline, they are still linked to you in death. They often show themselves through intuitive nudges and guidance. * The ancestors are just that, the ones who came before but in all honesty many will not show up as the "MAIN". They come and go as they please and have the ability to show up at parts of your journey where they connect with you the most. Example: (Referencing Ancestral Practices) A grandmother who was good with money but had bad mental health, if you get into ancestral practice logically are you gonna call on her for guidance with money not for mental fortitude and tips on thriving mentally....same thing applies to how they may show up for you. Their guidance isn't all encompassing, they may not be elevated but they are your greatest source of reference. Call on the right one for the right things and do so respectfully if you ask.

THE ROOT

* You are as strong as you are grounded and they are as strong as you. * They are the ROOT of your family, their energy and past can shape your ROOTS in every way moving forward. One decision can lay a root of success, healing or destruction. * What is the ROOT of the “why” they and you continue to leave legacy or live on. What does that answer mean to your great-great-great grandmother? Ancestors bring the ROOT of your soul purpose to the forefront especially through elevation. * The ROOT of your spirit is the fruit that will bear. This applies to the ancestors and your relationship with them. They are the ROOT of your Tree, The seed of your balance.

FAMILY

* ANCESTORS do not have to be blood, the most high will move in mysterious ways. The FAMILY you’re born into is just that, lots of family are made. FAMILY and ancestors are made through unconditional love. FAMILY is also your Ancestors. * They do NOT have to be blood to be your Ancestor. I have had more than one ancestor that is not blood related but are my ancestors just the same. They support you and are they for you in the ways that can and cannot be explained. True Love and dedication. * They are honorable and deserve more honor from you, because they move and work on your behalf even in death. Even through every possible barrier in this universe they remain, strong and right by your side. That bond isn't a given its cultivated by you and them. In many cases it takes its time and comes right on time, but when its there solid.

ASTROLOGICALLY

4th HOUSE: Ancestry *The 4th house and its connection to home and family is self explanatory. * This is the place where your home life and childhood experience (stability) sits at the base of the chart. * Also the house where the inner world and connection to inner stability (moon) is cultivated. * Ancestry and the inheritance of said ancestry whether that is hardships, legacy, stability, emotions, experiences that shape your emotions, and legacy can be seen in this house. * Your feminine ancestors or connections are prominent here but all depends on the whole chart for context. * This is were you can trace where things are birthed in your lineage and family.

1st HOUSE : Purpose * The ascendant has more than just your identity and appearance. The theme of your purpose, the totem of your mission in this life show through the ascendant. Examples: Aries - being the leader, fighter, torch bearer. Cancer - Mother, Nurturer, bringer of family love & connection. Virgo - The historian, The Writer, The blessings of virtue, Health & Wealth * The expectations and the way your parents/family see you can also be reflected in the 1st house. What the themes of their expectations and projections can show from this house. * This being the house of self image, if your culture or ideology affects your sense of self.

12th HOUSE: Spiritual * Your mother's experience while she was pregnant and during your birth * Karmic debt & Loss can be seen here. If there was a prominent lesson here that the universe, god or higher power was directing in your life. * The afterlife can be seen here, so the connection you have to ancestors and spiritual gifts, such a spiritual and expanding energy (piscean) * The KEY to healing, healing karma fro yourself AND ancestors show up in the house and placements. * Subconscious connections and links present here as well which can be directly linked to ancestors

* The experience of endings and closure, how grief and transition are huge parts of the ancestral journey. Seen through astrologically displaying your ability to deal and adapt in those energies.

10th HOUSE : Legacy

* This is how the experiences and understandings of the world get displayed through principle and structure. How you express your home training or ideologies cultivated in the ancestry/lineage. * The expectations of how your present and display yourself in Public & Career is seen here . LEGACY is a huge part of the tenth house at the peak/top of the chart. How you cultivate the LEGACY of your ancestry and family is seen here. Your reputation or what that means to you can be traced and linked to ideologies/experiences of the ones before you. * Fathers, Grandfathers and Masculine figures in the ancestral lines influence can be seen here also. Traditionally, and this house is ruled by a planet that is linked to ancestral/societal tradition, this house shows the theme historically where the masculine figures are focuses/molded to seek LEGACY - whatever that meant to ancestors before them.

SUN: The Father, Masculine Ancestors, Ego, Sense of Self, Self Image, Inner Child manifested in the personality, Masculine energy manifested through action and expectation, How you were taught to be seen and present your personality, Social Capacity, Paternal Line, Heritage,Cultural Dynamics.

MOON: The Mother, Feminine Ancestors, Emotions, Inner Child manifested in the subconscious, Emotional Attachments, Birth, Inheritance, Maternal Line, Spiritual Gifts, Intuition, High Priestess Knowledge & Energy, Motherhood, Unconscious past.

Generational planets tell a story of generational experience based on prominent and repeated aspects. The inheritance of signs is also a study that I am exploring with my own lineage. Spiritual lessons of the family line including generational curses and divine healing can be seen from here.

PLUTO:

* In terms to ancestors DEATH & REBIRTH can be seen in this generation planet. I closely associate plutonic energy with how you process the most intense and deepest connections, emotions and change in life. * Death which is not an endings but a cycle of new beginning in hoodoo and many cultures closely associates with ancestors. * This planet shows the necessary changes needed on the steps to enlightenment. * The generations strengths yet weakness within their own intensity. Example: A great example is this opinionated yet innovative generation of Pluto in Sagittarius that dominates the commentary/online space regarding culture/religion/politics/Ideologies/Societal Rules * Trauma and Intense Experiences impact generations, though Pluto it can be seen through placement and its aspects within the natal. If you are a descendant of violence, s*xual trauma and generational trauma.

SATURN:

This planet is connected to karma and generational structures. The lessons and wisdom of the ones before you can be seen here. Patterns and Roots to most experiences in the ancestral line can be traced and resolved with this planet. Another inheritance of wisdom, hardships and lessons. The most karmically bond planet in terms of ancestors. One of the strongest ways they communicate their guidance in a natal chart It takes full maturity (30 years) to master this part of your life, looking at the Saturn return journey when this planet cycles back to make sure you've been tending to your lessons and development. The energy of Saturn pushes for success like a diamond being pressured by the tides of the earth. Mastery and Recognition are key, in terms of ancestors the journey of purpose and mission aligns with these themes almost seamlessly. * The literal Grandfather Planet. The most hidden spiritual and universal planet i've seen in my studies. You can see alot regarding ancestral wisdom and mastery here. The hermit card closely associated with its solitary focus and deep journey into self, Saturn is the key to master in the natal chart. Example: Saturn in Aries - Self Mastery & Discipline , Saturn in Cancer - Tradition & Maturity, Saturn in Taurus - Stability & Fulfilment * The planet of your Spiritual Journey, Life Lessons & Wisdom. Key - Self Mastery, one of the keys to exploring the ancestors.

NEPTUNE:

* This planet shows inherited dreams and imagination. This can be a fine line between dreams and illusions, the grand fog in the brain but lets explore. * This is the planet associated with pisces and the spirituality that connects us. The weave in the tapestry of the universe. * It shows your intuition and spiritual abilities which are passed down and also uplifted generationally. * Strong indicator for spiritual gifts and talents, especially foresight and promise in regards to ancestry and the past. * Lots of lessons from the past life station here.

URANUS:

* The generational planet of Innovation, Chaos, Rebellion and Revolution. * This the true fire and divinely guided experience that you don't speak or work into existence it just is for you. This is your revolutionary vision that your inherited from the warrior or seer before you. This is the most profound experience in the natal chart. It sparks and strikes like lightening regarding revolution. Moving obstacles and Oppression from your community. * This is the inherited fight of your ancestors. This is where you learn and evolute to break free from the boundaries that hindered them. A strong focus on individuality in communities its the personal journey with the evolution of your ancestors. This is the spark of genius, the speaker, the activist and the revolutionary. Purchase your Ancestor Reading! Tip Jar | Paid Services | Donations of support to $MELANINFURY

©️ All Rights Reserved melaninfury, photos do not belong to me.

[isabella-2025]

My Love

Pair: Sami Zayn X Larissa

Plot: Larissa is Sami Zayn's best friend, and she has been with him through everything even when he left her for the bloodline. After Sami left the bloodline and Jey followed after him Jey devised a plan to bring his two closest friends together.

Please do let me know what you think, and do you believe Jey's plan will work? Thank you for all the love and support. 😊❤️

Larissa and Sami have been friends for 7 years and they have been through everything together. They've been through death, controversies, breakups and injuries together. Things all changed when Sami left to join the bloodline. Larissa remembers that day vividly she was laying on her bed in her hotel room when Sami knocked walked in and said.

" Hey, I have some news."

Larissa put her phone down and said

" Okay what's up."

" you cannot get mad at me." He says nervously.

" Why would I get mad at you, you know you can tell me anything." She says.

" I um.. I'm joining the bloodline." He says.

Larissa's Jaw drops and she says.

" Wait are you serious, Sami roman is crazy."

" I know you think that he is but I'm not doing this I'm doing this for Jey." He says.

" I don't understand he chose to go with Roman and let him manipulate him why do you have to be the one to save him." Larissa asks her voice serious.

" Look the old Jey is in there somewhere and I have to get him out, you know that." Sami says looking directly at her.

" I know that Sami but why do you have to drag yourself into this family drama." She asks.

" Because I care and I do not want to see Jey get manipulated anymore.' He says sadly.

Larissa walks over to him hugs him tightly and whispers.

" I understand and I know you wont be able to talk to me for a while but, promise me something."

" Anything." Sami whispers in her ear while his head is buried in her shoulder.

" Promise me your good self wont be manipulated by Roman so easily I don't know what I'd do if you weren't you anymore." She says quietly.

Sami pulls away and looks directly in her eyes he says.

" I promise I wont but if I do will you still be waiting?"

" Of course I'll still be waiting I'll always have your back." She says.

The embrace each other once again tightly its like they don't want to let each other go. Eventually they pull away from each other and Sami leans down to place a gentle kiss on her forehead and before he goes out the door he says.

" I'll see you later, dent forget me."

Larissa nods and watches as he walks out the door a tear falls down her cheek why she knew but she didn't want to fully admit it yet.

A few months pass and as expected Sami had cut all ties with her probably at the direct order of the Tribal chief. Larissa didn't want to admit it but it was hurting her deeply. She watched the shows and Paper views and supported him from afar. She had noticed the shift in his character on TV going from the the caring Sami she nce new to a cold and more calculated Sami. She knew deep down in her heart that this would happen and it made her upset just thinking about it. She was laying on the bed waiting for the Royal Rumble to start when she got a text it was from Sami it said one phrase.

" Watch tonight, I'm changing the game."

Larissa looked at her phone eyes widen as she reads his message. She types back.

" What do you mean, please don't get yourself hurt Sami."

Larissa looked at the phone waiting for a message to pop up but it never did. She got changed into her comfortable clothes and started watching the rumble. She watched the show and thought it was going very well. She had looked down at her phone but looked back at the TV immediately when she heard the bloodlines music hit. She watched in horror as the bloodline minus Sami beat down Kevin and handcuff him to the ropes. Roman grabs a chair and hands it to Sami he tells him to hit Kevin. she clutches her sheets in anticipation and worry as she waits to see what Sami will do. It looks like Sami is about to hit Kevin with the chair but suddenly he stops and starts to cry a little. She gets angry as she see's Roman verbally assault Sami and push him as he grabs the chair and taunts Kevin. Sami grabs another chair in the ring and hits Roman in the back. Larissa literally screams as she see's the others reaction to it. She watches as the bloodline minus Jey start to beat down Sami. Larissa notices Jey's hesitation and sadness, there's the old jey she thought to herself. Roman attempts to get Jey to join in on beating Sami but Jey walks out of the ring and leaves Sami in there. Now the Rumble is over Larissa looks at her phone as it rings it's jey she picks it up and says.

" OMG Jey is Sami okay, are you okay?"

" I'm okay physically not mentally Sami I don't know really he's in the trainers room. " Jey says

" Okay, would it make it worse or better if I came over there." She asks.

" It would make it worse Sami is going through it right now and he said he didn't want you to see him like this. " Jey says.

Larissa sighs and says.

" Okay, if anything changes promise me you will let me know."

" I will L I got to go I'll text you." Jey says and hangs up the phone.

Larissa hangs up the phone lays on the bed and silently prays that Sami will be okay.

In his hotel room Sami sits on his bed nursing a bottle of Beer when Jey walks in and says.

" Brother, what is going through your mind."

" Idk man, I broke a promise." He says.

Jey's eyes furrow and he says.

" What promise did you break?"

He looks down and says.

" I promised Larissa I wouldn't let him manipulate me but I did and now she probably doesn't even want to be friends anymore."

" Are you serious?" Jey asks.

" Yes I'm serious…" Sami starts to say but Jey cuts him off and says.

" She has been your friend for seven years, you guys have been through a lot together and I know her she doesn't walk away from the people she cares about."

" I know, I just don't want to go back and mess it all up." Sami says.

" How would you mess it up?" Jey asks.

" Because I don't like her……. I love her." Sami whispers.

Jeys eyes widen and he says.

" You love her?"

" Yeah, I always have I realized it a long time ago." Sami says looking at jey.

" When did you know?" Jey asks.

" I knew I loved her when I had my divorce she was going through so much and still checked in on me even though she didn't have to…." Sami says.

" And…." Jey asks.

" and I had never had anyone be there for me like that since my wife left me when I looked at her that day it was like the whole world stopped and it was just her and me in the room." Sami says.

" So, why didn't you tell her?" Jey asks.

" I was too scared that I would mess up out friendship by joining the bloodline." Sami says.

" But it didn't she is still here Sami and you need to tell her how you feel brother I can tell how much this is weighing on you." Jey says.

" I will one day…. I'm going to take a nap goodnight jey." Sami says as he lays down on the bed.

Jey walks into the hallway and grabs his phone he sends Larissa a text message that said.

" Hey, Sami is in a lot of pain and he needs you I do not have a clue what to do for him you need to come quickly he is in room 13."

Jey smirks to himself and says.

" I hope my plan works."

Larissa woke up the next morning got dressed and checked her phone she saw Jey's message and immediately ran to Sami's room she opened the door and screamed

" SAMI, SAMI, SAMI ARE YOU OKAY."

Sami looks at her and says in a sleepy voice… ………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….. What will Sami do? Do you think Jey's plan will work?

@trippinsorrows @acute-crashout-jeyuso @empressdede @punksyeet @uceyliyahh @femdisa @mytribalnightmare @eringobragh420 @southerngirl41 @officialeve24 @usoinked @bossbitch-22 @madhatterbri @purplementalitybluebird @bloodlinemadness @holycollectivekitty @jstarr86 @livslunaticdamiansdisciple18 @duhitzkay380 @bloodlinesbabe93 @theusotwinzcom @thebigredmonster @chynagirl13 @mamis-girly @transparentphantomface @amazinggirlsstuff @spiicii @mselenalovebug @sharmelasworld @moxley99 @crazylady20 @myleelovesfood @jeysbitch

[dranosh-haran-of-paleoworld]

About your post, I always imagine that if Sasuke really liked someone outside any distinguished clan, his clan would only accept them (the very base line anyway) IF they're already resembling an Uchiha (which is typically dark haired and dark eyed, though I'm sure they're willing to make an exception depending on how much potential Sasuke's chosen has to add on to the Uchiha bloodlin) and does have genetic skills/techniques they could've passed down to any kid they might've.

Even better if they could add any improvement to the issues the Uchiha bloodline already has, namely something that could repair the blindness and lessen the stress the Sharingan was known to add to the user's eyes.

Sa///kura ain't that at all. All she got going for her was her chakra control, which was something anyone can master iirc, and that Tsunade accepted her because Sa//kura demanded her to (I think? Been a hot minute, sorry). In fact, she was also the only one that Tsunade didn't say would surpass her at all (that even stood out in my poor memory anyway, so feel free to correct me on anything I said here) when Jiraiya and Orochimaru both already stated their respective students already had early on. (If anything, Tsunade did seem a little...too impersonal with Sa//kura far more often while Jiraiya and Orochimaru were way more invested with Naruto and Sasuke.)

In fact, Sa///kura never even revived herself from being torn apart when Tsunade already had, from the top of my head?? And hell, if we're speaking medical skills, Kabuto would've surpassed Sa//kura EASILY. There are a bunch more reasons than what I've listed but it'd be too long (poor fighter against major enemies [relying on Chiyo against her one major 'solo' fight against Satori], poor battle logics, inability to let go of unhealthy attachments [Sasuke] for loyalty, etc.)

As you've said, Sa//kura was never raised in a clan and had NO manner or understanding on how to lead, much less care for, a major clan like the Uchiha. The clan politics are far more complicated than most people believed (it's literally nothing like directing a hospital, it's both more hand-on and personal than that). Sa//kura doesn't have any emotional capacity to head a family, especially with how bad her temper can get and Sarada's neglected upbringing in the favor of her career and Sasuke. Honestly, Mikoto and Fugaku might actually hate her guts over time with how rude Sa//kura can be, though they'd do a good job of masking their feelings.

Anyway, sorry for rambling, just wanna add on to your wonderful post with my thoughts. :)

There is no need to apologize for the rambling, anon. I do it all the time myself so no need to worry. I agree with what you're saying, but I will clarify and / or correct some things here.

Firstly, I don't think appearance would matter much to the Uchiha, and by that, I mean that Sasuke's future wife, if she came from outside of the clan, wouldn't have to resemble the Uchiha in appearance. She'd just have to come from a distinguished family or clan. Again, Karin and Ino, especially the former, are prime examples of this.

I do agree that Sasuke's future wife if she came from outside the clan would also have to contribute to the gene pool, although I don't see or understand what you mean by issues genetically speaking within the Uchiha, the base 3-Tomoe sharingan doesn't put any strain on the user if it's utilized by the Uchiha as it's meant to. As I said in my post, the Uchiha are the ONLY clan to have inherited the potent chakra and dojutsu of the Shinju through their progenitor Indra, and as such their bodies are the only ones fit and suitable to bring out its full potential. The Mangekyo Sharingan does put a strain on the user, hence why the Uchiha do eye

Sakura actually begged Tsunade to take her as an apprentice, literally being the only one to do so. Naruto was the first to be trained, and Jiraiya only trained him out of respect for Minato. Sasuke was actually sought out by Orochimaru, the best of the sanin, and as I was discussing with someone else for all his faults Orochimaru was only adult outside of the Uchiha in canon that gave a damn about Sasuke. Sakura is literally the only one who had to beg Tsunade to train her, and she only did that after Naruto and the others failed to bring Sasuke back.

It's worth noting that Tsunade outside of her healing doesn't have much going on for her. She's not genetically distinct, and as Madara and the databooks state, she inherited nothing from Hashirama and, like Sakura, has pitiful reserves of chakra. Tsunade herself is jaded following the deaths of her lover and brother.

In the medical nin department, Kabuto has surpassed Tsunade and Sakura. The guys' skills are unmatched. He invented his own version of mitochondrial regeneration on his own and nearly killed Naruto by severing his chakra network or something like that. His medical expertise is what kept the dying Kimimaro alive and Orochimaru's body from literally falling apart when his immortality jutsu ran its course. He invented all sorts of medicines and poisons for Orochimaru, took edo tensei to a whole new level greater than Orochimaru or Tobirama had accomplished. He also strengthened his body and life-force through genetic engineering to learn Dragon Sage Mode, and incorporated the bloodlines of several people and made their abilities his own.

I definitely agree with you there on Fugaku and Mikoto hating her but masking their feelings, lol. Honestly, I don't know how'd either of them react if Team 7 was created in the AU I presented, although I'm sure they'd be upset with all the stress and bullshit Sasuke would have to deal with in this scenario. Maybe Fugaku would step in and intervene since again in this AU I presented the Uchiha's power, representation, and influence in Konoha is as it should've been from the start. Neither he nor Mikoto is letting Sakura or Naruto near him. Hell, Fugaku would probably have Sasuke assigned to a different team, who knows, to be honest.

[herbologyprofessor]

my collected thoughts on the magic system of harry potter and what I would change to make it better.

i think that the harry potter magic system sucks!!

i mean, im sure this isnt a hot take but like...how is it that students at hogwarts school of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY graduate knowing how to use maybe a handfull of spells in combat? and they're the same spells that all the aurors and all the older members of the order and all the death eaters and even voldemort use?

and im especially talking about how weak it makes people who are supposed to be really powerful and dangerous seem. including the titular character Harry Potter himself. Harry uses spells in a unique way, dont get me wrong, but to me its all just so boring.

and im not saying it doesnt have to work like other fantasy stories, but if the main mechanism behind magic in harry potter is that you are either born with it or not, you dont need a wand but its exponentially more challenging without one (unless you have a unique skillset or education), intention matters, and there are spells that can grant magical abilities to objects. there is so much more possibility than just expelliarmus and expecto patronum. There has to be, or else why tf would hogwarts take 7 years of schooling to graduate from?

so here are some of my headcanons:

families have bloodline abilities

so, in the case of wizarding britan, there are families that want to stay pure such as the sacred 28 (or is it 27 i cant remember), and pure as in their blood and bloodline must stay pure (going so far as to marry your cousins, e.g. Orion and Walburga Black). If this is the case, and they wan't to preserve their magical bloodline so bad, they'd have to have something more than just "magic" to preserve.

I feel like its almost there in canon but falls short of being fully realized. I think of it kinda like how it works in naruto. Theres those who have a bloodline ability and then those that dont. You dont have to have one to be powerful, if you have one it dosent mean you will be powerful automatically.

The black family seems to carry the gene for metamorphmagus, but i wouldnt consder this a bloodline ability and think of it more like a random mutation passed on to teddy, which could occur in any magical person, (theres also the possibility that this was a more common ability in the black family but because of the lack of genetic diversity and inbreeding it was lost until Andromeda had Remadora with Ted, who was not pureblood. I think abilities have to do with the energy of magic that is either created or inherited, not so much genetics. Therefore, families dont pass on the same exact ability but something that is novel or slightly different from person to person.

The Lupins, for example, could be Beast Speakers. Maybe, a long time ago in the Lupin familiy, they kept wolves or something (explaining the surname which would have had something to do with occupation) and they learned from them how to speak with animals?Lyall, who canonically worked in the Department for the Control and Regulation of Dark Creatures, can speak to dark creatures, even werewolves who are transformed. Remus can speak to domesticated animals like cats and dogs, fancy mice, toads, etc. Remus is like Hogwarts' unofficial vet tech, and if you like atyd Remus, this fits in nicely as he specialized in Care of Magical Creatures.

The Potters, canonically, are linked to the Peverell family. The invisibility cloak has been passed down through generations and is still being passed down to Harry's children. I think a common headcanon, and one that i truly love, is that they use Death Magic. But, thats assuming the potters are the exact same family as the Peverells, which they are not. I think, in going along with the Peverell brothers creating the deathly hallows (using advanced death magic), the potters have a Sorcerer's Craft ability. What was the Potter family's source of new money? Fleamont's invention, Sleekeazey's. I know its a "potion", but what if its just like...coconut oil imbued with magical enchantments that make your hair perfect. James could have played a major hand in the creation of the Marauder's Map, an Extremely powerful magical object made to do the impossible task of mapping Hogwarts. And he did this in school. at like 14-15. Harry doesn't do anything that has to do with magic item creation, that I can remember (i haven't read the books in years), however he also had no connection to his family and likely wouldn't be able to learn without another Potter teaching him. BUT! Harry Potter is the master of death, meaning he can use all 3 of the deathly hallows without being corrupted, maybe this could be a side effect of how his Sorcerer's Craft manifests itself.

side tangent, but the reason I think this is an ability even though others have been known to make magical objects, is because the potters are able to do it very creatively, and early on in their lives. They are involved in every aspect of item creation, and they can enchant things in a way no other wizard could replicate, meaning their objects could not be mass produced without their explicit involvement. Maybe Sleekeasy's stops working so well once Fleamont dies, hence why Hermione says its too much hassle to use every day.

The Blacks, you might think, would be something to do with offensive, powerful, and deadly magic. While, yes, this is something that some members of the black family are gifted in, it is not their bloodline ability. I think that the Blacks are Seers. It's no coincidence their families long standing tradition of astrological names are prophetical for their lives. Walburga Black, for example, has the power of Augery. She asks the universe questions and receives omens as answers. She saw a black dog when asking the universe to tell her about her newborn son, hence the name Sirius. For Regulus, well, she saw water. Not knowing what to make of it, she refused to let Regulus near it for his entire childhood. Regulus, as an empath, has the ability of psychometry. The ability to gain information from an object by touching it, including humans ( he cant read minds, but can tell what someone has experienced in their life). This comes in great handiness when he goes to destroy the locket. Sirius, I believe, would have a mastery over tarot cards or oracle cards. He can glean deadly accurate readings, and has a keen ability to interpret meanings unknown to even the most practiced tarot readers. He has a special deck, one that his uncle Alphard gave to him when he found out Sirius could read tarot from Walburga (who, at the time, was very pleased with her Heir's ability). This comes with an emotional expense to Sirius, though, and at times, gives him answers he doesnt want to hear. The girls loved it though, and asked him to teach them. He tried but couldn't explain how he did it, since it's innate to his bloodline. Of course, you could obviously imagine this adding to the piles of angst surrounding the war, as Sirius had to have seen signs that his loved ones would die, making him think he could outsmart fate by changing the secret keeper...

I think this is getting too long, but I'm already thinking about part 2 because I have alot of thoughts about this...especially things that anyone could learn not just inheritied abilities.

[smilingformoney]

Rickmas Day 4: Darkest Night

Character: Metatron (Dogma) Relationships: Metatron & Reader Warnings: attempted suicide, depression, suicidal ideation

Based on A Light in the Night

Read on Ao3 or below:

You couldn’t say what it was, exactly, that led you to where you were. All you knew was that there was a darkness surrounding you, and it had led you to this spot, on the railway bridge in the dead of night, waiting for one of the heavy duty freight trains to pass by. They were big, they were fast, and there were no passengers, so you wouldn’t be inconveniencing anybody.

A light on the horizon told you a train was approaching. You heard its horn announcing its approach. You put a foot up onto the ledge. Then, just as you were about to push yourself up…

“No, you bloody don’t.”

A pair of hands grabbed you by the shoulders and pulled you back.

Not him again.

“Let go of me, Metratron!”

You fought against his grip, and you weren’t sure whether angels were naturally strong or maybe he spent a lot of his eternal life at the gym, but his grip was iron-tight. The train approached, oblivious to the struggle overhead as it passed beneath the bridge, and you cursed Metatron aloud for stopping you.

He kept his grip on you until the train had passed, and only when you reluctantly stopped struggling did he let you go.

“You’re a bloody nuisance, you are!” the angel cursed as he released his grip on you and you turned around to glare at him.

“I’m a nuisance?!” you scoffed. “You’re the one showing up when you’re least wanted and disappearing from memory when you’re done messing with my life!”

“The only one messing with your life here is you, [Y/n]! Do you think I like this, having to reveal myself to stop you from doing something stupid?”

“I never asked you to!”

“You’re not the one who asked!”

You scoffed. “Sure. If God’s so bothered about me killing myself, why doesn’t He fix my brain, huh? No - don’t tell me. The Lord works in mysterious ways. Thou canst not beg divine intervention to battle thine own demons. Blah, blah, blah.”

“If God fixed all your problems, you’d learn nothing, [Y/n].”

“Learn?!” you repeated, your voice raised, tears in your eyes. “What the fuck kind of lesson am I supposed to learn?”

Metatron sighed in frustration. “You know I can’t tell you that.”

“Then what is the point of you?!” you yelled, jabbing him in the chest with your finger so aggressively that he actually took a step back.

“I have to keep you safe,” Metatron insisted.

“What, because of the bloody scion thing? Don’t make me laugh. I have the slightest sliver of a trace of Jesus’s DNA. Big fucking whoop. So, what, you keep me alive long enough to breed and carry on the bloodline, is that it?”

“No!”

“Then what is it? Why are you keeping me alive, Metatron?”

“Because God needs you alive —”

You let out a huff of frustration.

“— and because I need you alive!”

There was a long silence then, as you stared at him, stunned. Metatron sighed and ran his palm down his face. He stepped back, and sat himself down on the ledge across from you.

“I’ve watched you your whole life, you know.”

“I know,” you said shortly, your arms crossed defensively. You began to shiver in the cold night air.

“You have so much potential, [Y/n]. You could be… so much more. This - this darkness you feel inside you - I’ve watched you fight it for so long. You can beat it, I know you can.”

“…Do you know, though? Can… can angels see what the future could be?” you asked hopefully.

Metatron shook his head.

“I can’t see the future, [Y/n]. I can only see you.”

“There must be something you can do. What good’s a guardian angel if all you can do is pull me off ledges and take away the pills?”

“Is that not enough?”

“I want… I want to never get to that point in the first place. I want the darkness gone.”

“I don’t know if I can do that.”

“No, but… you can help, surely?”

“How?”

You shrugged, then sat down next to him. He noticed your shivering, and in the blink of an eye, his jacket was around your shoulders. You smiled.

“Like that. You can help like that.”

You looked up at him.

“Will you walk me home? I don’t want to forget yet.”

Metatron stood and offered his hand to you. You took it gratefully, and noticed that even in the cold of the night, he was radiating warmth.

“I hate that you have to forget,” Metatron said bitterly as you meandered slowly in the direction of your home. “I wish you could always know I’m here for you.”

You chuckled. “I didn’t know angels had wishes.”

“I wish for a lot of things, [Y/n]. I wish I could drink alcohol, for one. But mostly, I wish I could dispel the darkness you carry with you.”

“You’re my light in the darkness, Metatron. That’s all anyone can ask for.”

He looked at you, a curious frown on his face.

“You never cease to amaze me, [Y/n].”

You looked back at him, and you chuckled at the way the almighty Metatron was confused by a simple human such as yourself.

“And you never cease to save me, Metatron. We make quite the pair.”

“That we do, [Y/n].” He squeezed your hand lightly. “That we do.”

[jadeshifting]

— 25 DAYS OF SHIFTMAS (DAY 12)

Ornaments — What are some objects you have in your DR that you don’t in your CR? Why do you have them in your DR?

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

★⋆. ࿐࿔ my HEIRLOOM NECKLACE isn’t just jewelry—it’s the blueprint for disgustingly opulent heirlooms. its massive emerald pieces glitter like they were ripped straight from a dragon’s hoard, framed by diamonds that catch the light with every movement. passed down through the Grimm bloodline, this piece has seen centuries of intrigue, scandal, and luxury; i wear it like armor, knowing it turns heads and drops jaws wherever it goes

★⋆. ࿐࿔ talking perfection in powder form—this PALETTE is peak Slytherin glam, with shades so richly pigmented they practically melt onto my lids. the silvers gleam like liquid starlight, the greens range from muted forest hues to jewel-toned decadence, and every single shade has just the right amount of sparkle. whether i’m casting curses or attending a ball, this palette has my back—glitter and all

★⋆. ࿐࿔ sitting pretty on my windowsill, this TERRARIUM is a self-sustaining little masterpiece. inside thrives a lush moss forest, complete with enchanted dew that sparkles under moonlight and tiny firefly-like lights that flicker after dark. i swear it’s the most peaceful thing in my room, a little world that thrives no matter how chaotic mine gets

★⋆. ࿐࿔ this CRYSTAL BALL, an heirloom practically dripping in legacy, is encased in a coiled golden serpent with all-seeing eyes. it’s as much a family symbol as it is a tool, used sparingly for divination because its insights are almost too accurate (read: unnervingly cryptic). when not in use, it sits on my desk—mysterious, exquisite, and entirely foreboding

★⋆. ࿐࿔ a bowl of simple utility? please. this green CRYSTAL BOWL holds more than just odds and ends—it’s a curated microcosm of my sentiments. my favorite perfume tube gleams beside silver charms for luck, an old knotted ribbon i won’t explain, and a stray emerald cufflink (probably Mattheo’s). it’s a little chaotic, a little sentimental, and 100% mine

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔