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deathbirby · 10 months

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Brainstorming new Hero's Relic designs

Trigger warning here! This post gets quite graphic.

These posts come from my Reddit account! I'm reposting them here. However, I'm also editing these posts with newer information. You can consider these to be the "final" versions.

This is based on a post I came across on Reddit, where the OP ponders what Rhea, Seteth, and Flayn would look like as Hero's Relics. I have quite the active imagination, as you'll soon find out, so I decided to turn my answer into a post. I'll also be looking at Macuil and Indech because, well, why not?

Let's unpack!

Hero's Relics

Before we start, I'll need to make clear what Heroes Relics are. Rhea explains it quite clearly in her exposition dump at the end of Verdant Wind.

"I was never able to forgive those who proudly wielded weapons crafted from the corpses of my brethren."

Corpses! They're all corpses.

"From the blood of the progenitor god, Sothis, he acquired the Crest of Flames. From her bones and heart, he crafted the Sword of the Creator."

More specificially, the Crest comes from the blood of the slaughtered Nabatean, the relics are made out of their bones, and the Crest Stone is their heart.

That begs the question, though. Are the bones taken from the human form or the dragon form? Well, judging by this book in the Shadow Library, probably the dragon form.

"...Based on the composition of___it can be surmised that______likely a massive creature akin to a wyvern. However___strength is beyond compare to that of wyvern bones."

Alright, we got the information on the required ingredients:

Crest: Nabatean blood

Relic: Nabatean bone

Stone: Nabatean heart

Oh, and people often say that the Sword of the Creator is made out of Sothis's spine, which is a completely valid take, but it's just as likely that it's made out of her tail!

The SOTC also gives us one more bit of interesting information about the Heroes Relics.

Sword of the Creator - Concept Art

The sword is pretty big, but it doesn't look like it would be a very long whip. There are only a finite amount of vertebrae on that blade, after all-

Okay, so the orange line is the sword extending. How does that work? Well, we know that the Relics are made out of dragon bones. Their bones would be too big to turn into a weapon made for a human.

It looks like the bones get compressed into a smaller size, and because of this, the SOTC is able to extend.

(Or maybe Sothis is an Eastern Dragon. Noodle dragon Sothis, anyone?)

Oh, and this could also be applied to the other Heroes Relics.

Areadbhar is a hand, but it's far too small for a giant dragon.

It's also entirely possible that it's a stylistic choice or just magic. Moving on.

Weapon type

We still have one more question we need to answer: Are the Heroes Relics based on the type of weapon the Nabatean wields? Fortunately, we have a bunch of Sacred Weapons that belong to dead dragons.

Sword of Begalta - Riegan (Bow)

Sword of Moralta - Fraldarius (Shield)

Tathlum Bow - Lamine (Rafail Gem)

Axe of Ukonvasara - Gloucester (Staff)

Scroll of Talos - Noa (...?)

The answer is no, the Heroes Relics can be anything you want them to be.

NOW we can start cooking up some relics!

Rhea/Seiros - The Immaculate One

Since the relics are made out of dragon bones, we'll need to take a look at Rhea's dragon form.

II - The High Priestess

Perfect. Let's start brainstorming.

Sword

A sword seems like the obvious pick. Rhea already wields the Sword of Seiros, and it would mimic the Sword of The Creator. Its design depends entirely on what body part we use, and I think that the best option here is the spine.

More specifically, the part that acts as a sail.

Take a good look at it. It would work quite well as a serrated blade, wouldn't it? The large sail at the end could work as the crossguard, and it already has a hole for the Crest Stone. The rest of the hilt could be made with the last few pieces of the spine. It's possible that it could also function as a whip. You could make it look nearly identical to the SOTC if you want.

Like mother, like daughter.

It's made out of the spine, so I doubt it could move much. If you want it to work like a whip, it could try to stretch out every now and then.

Axe

Don't worry, we're not making another Aymr. Labraunda is a Sacred Weapon attuned to the Crest of Seiros. It seems fitting to make a mockery out of it. Plus, Rhea hates thieves, and we know that brigands love using axes. Another humiliation to add to, well, being dead.

Consider using the lower jawbone.

It's already quite sharp, what with all those spikes protruding out of it. It could work as the blade, with the shoulderblades securing it to the axe base, which could be made out of a strong bone like the femur. Tendons could be used to further secure it. It's also possible to split the lower jawbone in two and use it as two seperate blades for each side of the axe. The Crest Stone could be in the pommel, or in the center of the axe head. Whatever suits you best.

The axe head is made out of the shoulderblade and jawbone, so I can see it trying to raise its shoulders.

Gauntlets

Some people suggested gauntlets because of Rhea's proficiency in brawling. A very fun idea! Let's look at the body. What body part could be used as a gauntlet? Well, we could choose between the talons or the upper part of the skull.

The bones of the hand would be the base of the gauntlet, with the three claws serving as the deadly blades. The bones could also be bended in a way that puts the claw on the back more where the thumb would be. Or maybe the bones can be hollowed out in a way that would let you slide your hand right in without issue.

Every now and then it tries to form a fist and tighten its grip around the wearer's hand. People believe it's the Goddess trying to protect you with her blessings.

Then there is the upper part of the skull.

The eye sockets can work as holes for the wearer's hand to fit through if necessary, but I believe it could work without that. You just need to hollow out the skull and add straps on the inside. The snout could be sharpened, with the fangs being kept in their current position. The wearer could bring their hand down to slap an opponent and the fangs would sink right in. I believe that the Crest Stone could work right in the middle, where the horns meet the head. It could also be placed more towards the back.

The skull gauntlet would be a bit difficult because it's the upper part of the skull. That stuff stays fixed.

Of course, the horns. You could leave them out, if you so wish, but there is potential there.

The horns that go back could go up the wearers arm and act as a bit of extra protection. And the curved horns could be angled in a way so that if you miss a hit, you'll likely still catch them with the horn.

And yes, I know that some people would say to use the vagina bones pelvis. I suppose you could turn it into knuckle dusters. Drill a few holes for the fingers, polish it, and you'll have yourself a fine weapon.

Seteth/Cichol - The Hammer of Judgement

Unfortunately, we don't have a dragon design sheet for Seteth, nor Flayn. That's why we'll be using theories.

At first glance, it looks like the 5 Nabatean's dragon forms are based on the Five Guardians in Chinese mythology. Black Tortoise for Indech, Vermillion Bird for Macuil, and the Yellow Dragon for Rhea. That leaves us with the Azure Dragon and White Tiger.

Seteth is an Earth Dragon, so one could say that a tiger fits him best, as it feels more 'earthly' than a dragon. The Ochain Shield, which was made specifically for Seteth, has a feline design.

The other theory is that his dragon form is the dragon of the Church's coat of arms. It does not resemble the Immaculate One at all, and considering that there are accurate depictions of the Immaculate One around, it's unlikely that the Church would get it wrong.

The mural also gives us some insight

The two dragons on the left could be Flayn and Seteth. The one all the way in the back would be Seteth, while the muppet is Flayn.

I'm going to make Seteth a mix of all of these to make things easier for myself.

XI - Justice

Hammer

Well, we can't pass up the opportunity to turn him into a literal hammer! There are many parts of the body that could work as a hammer. I would personally go for the heel bone.

A tiger's bones

The tibia and fibula could be melted together to form the shaft, and the last part of the tailbone could be used as a small spike on the top or even a chain. The Crest Stone could rest in its pommel or right in the center of the hammer.

The chain made out of the tailbone could slither around it on its own.

Spear

He likes to use spears? Then he can become one. The femur is quite strong. You can sharpen one point of it and place the Crest Stone on the other side.

Femur isn't gonna move on its own. Sucks.

Gauntlets

Járngreipr is a Sacred Weapon attuned with the crest of Cichol. Why not show him what real gauntlets look like? Use the shoulder blades as the base, claws/teeth/horns/spikes as the blades, and the clavicula/rib as the handle.

The shoulder blades try to move, with the clavicula/rib handle twitching every now and then.

Shield

Think of the Ochain shield, but with an actual dragon head in the middle. The Earth Dragon's skull is surely strong enough to act as a shield, no? It could be even be holding the Crest Stone in its jaws.

I can see it trying to bite into the Crest Stone, but then stop before anything bad could happen. Survival instincts, even when you're dead.

Flayn/Cethleann - The Benevolent One

Flayn is left with the Azure Dragon. She is a light dragon, so a more traditional dragon look would fit her. The other theory says that the banner with a dragon in Seteth's office is Flayn's dragon form. Seteth could have a picture of his daughter in his office as a "do it for her!" motivational poster. The picture below is the most likely her, so I'll be using that.

VI - The Lovers

Staff

She can continue healing people long after she's dead. Let's see.. The radius and ulna can be used as the top shaft. You could curl them around each other like two tight strands of DNA. Yes, I know that will be difficult, but we have nukes, so what's bending a few bones? The Crest Stone can be placed at the top, with the hands cradling it. The humerus can be the lower shaft. There can be soft padding in the middle to act as the grip.

The fingers sometimes move around the Crest Stone, with the ulna and radius slightly rattling against each other.

Tome

She's a healer, but... See those two tiny little horns on the side of her head? They can act as a sort of lock for the tome. The upper part of her body seems to be covered in scales of some sort. Use that as the book covering, with the wing's membranes acting as the pages. The Crest Stone can be where you want it to be.

Maybe the pages try to turn on their own?

Indech - The Immovable

XIV: Temperance

We can crack this turtle open and create some weapons out of it.

Shield

That shell on its back is practically begging to be used as a shield. Those sharp spikes would also make it effective for bashing it against people. The straps could be made out of the tendons, and the Crest Stone could be placed in the top part where there are no spikes.

That shell isn't moving.

Bow

It loves to use a bow, so why not turn it into one? Take a look at the horns on the side of its head. They could be fused together to create the bow, with the Crest Stone right in the middle of it. Tendons and muscle fibers could act as the bowstring, and the spikes on the back of its shell would make for perfect arrows.

The tendons and muscle fibers that act as the bowstring could try to straighten/relax every now and then.

Macuil - The Wind Caller

I - The Magician

Huh. Surprisingly fluffy. What kind of weapons can we make out of it?

Tome

Turning the magician into a tome, eh? The scales on its belly would work as the covering, with a small hole in the side for the Crest Stone. The pages.. Hm. There should be more than enough soft cartilage to use for that.

The covering tries shift every now and then. It's like it's trying to breathe, except there are no lungs, so it's just a pale imitation.

Sword

Hey, if it likes to use a sword, why not turn it into one? Flatten the skull, split it vertically, and you'll have yourself a lovely blade to use! The crest stone? Eh, place it in the crossguard. A horn could work as the hilt. Why, you could make daggers out of it.

It twitches every now and then because it wants to return to its original state.

Bow

Using a flying beast to take down other flying beasts. It's poetry.

"With wings that control the very wind, the Wind Caller possesses vast intelligence and exalted strength."

The "wings that control the very wind" would be perfect for this. Pluck the feathers and cut away all the meat, and you'll have two bow limbs. The shoulderblades would work as the grip, though they would need to be edited a bit to make them easier to grasp. We'll use tendons and muscle fibers to act as the bowstring, and the arrows could be made out of the ribs.

This thing is going to be twitching like hell. The wings can try to make flapping motions, like it's trying to get away from its wielder.

Closing thoughts

These are the Heroes Relics designs I have come up with for the remaining Nabateans. Which one do you like best? Will you pick the one you think works best as a functional weapon, or will you pick the one that looks the coolest? It's good that the Heroes Relics never decay, so they'll always work well, and look awesome at the same time.

You know, the Heroes Relics don't decay because Nabateans just.. don't do that. They go into a deep slumber to recover from near-death experiences. It's even questionable whether or not they die from old age.

I wonder if they're still aware. The relics twitch. Why? Are they experiencing everything as a nightmare? A nightmare that doesn't seem to end? Or do they know what has happened? Are they furious? Was Miklan turning into a demonic beast an act of revenge?

Or was it an act of desperation? A way to return to what they once were?

#fe3h #fodlan #analysis #nabateans #idk what trigger warnings to use here #three houses #writing this made me feel sick #how do you center images :I

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semi-imaginary-place · 5 months

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fe3h misc thoughts

I associate dragon or some bird with Claude. Claude is the only one whose unique classes have wyverns, his route is called Verdant Wind and as explained by Marianne when she title drops the route, she explains that Claude is like the wind beneath a bird's wings lifting them up into the sky, and VW and GW heavily feature themes of freedom (choice, religion, ideas, borders, etc.). Through all this and more Claude is highly associated in the games with flight. Eagles are used in traditional hunting practices in the Eurasian Steppe and by Turkic peoples, from which Almyra draws inspiration from.

Garreg Mach is like a British finishing school, yeah the students are getting some education and leadership skills but its also about rubbing shoulders with the rich and powerful and making connections. It looks good a resume.

I romance no one personally, but I am collecting all S supports for the hell of it. I do not self insert into Byleth but also the S supports are blatant self insert bait instead of really engaging with Byleth as a character so I can't even say I like them from a character writing perspective.

ahhh yes the writers had to have Edelgard be emotionally dependent on the player character. gotta make the player feel important and involved...

I know Yuri is what most people want for an Ashen Wolves/Church gay romance option but I would have liked to see some diversity in the gay S support options because with Linhardt and Yuri we have 2 pretty boys which is better than 1 I guess but I would have liked to see the addition of character a little different so I'll vote Balthus. Also idk about anyone else but the gay men I've met love beef more than anyone else.

I found a gay gilbert stan wow it's like seeing a rare endangered species

my first thought when I saw Areadbhar was "that looks like a whale's fore fin's bones". Each relic was from a different dragon, that's why they all have different crests. The crest associated with Luin is the crest of Daphnel, so Daphnel got the blood of that dragon and a weapon made of their body. As for what body part, who knows, could have been a fang or a spine or carved out of a large bone.

Why Seteth and Flan look unchanged after 1000 years. If we interpret Rhea calling herself the "last" of Sothis' children as in youngest then she's younger then Seteth, but last could also mean last survivor of Nabatea. Nabateans, well dragons actually in Fire Emblem are a sort of immortal often worshiped as divine existence so they just stop aging at some point. Flayn specifically went into the regenerative sleep unique to dragons that Byleth does during the timeskip so you can think of the pause button being pressed for her life and then unpaused when she woke up recently. Also I think Flayn is just short, cheerful, and ignorant of modern society she's not actually all that young developmentally I think she was telling the truth when she says she's roughly the same age as the other students 16-20. Meta reason is they didn't want to make more character designs and models probably.

I don't really know if Indech ever met Cethlean before the events of the game. We do know that Cethleann fell into a long sleep from overusing her powers, we also don't know when she entered the War, so it is possible she and Indech were active at different periods. Given how reluctant Cihol would have been for her to fight I think it is more likely Cethleann fought in the later part of the war. Indech and Macuil both got fed up with humans eventually so it makes sense if he withdrew early. But all this is a lot of speculation on my part.

Yeah they're still Slithering in Azure Moon lol. Dimitri unknowingly kills Thales which I find hilarious but the Agarthan civilization and Shambhala is still intact and Nemesis and the zombie army is still in cryostasis. It has been debated how important Thales was like I've heard theorizing that he was the only one who could activate the intercontinental ballistic missile system but in the end we don't have a definitive answer about how important he was to Agarthan operations.

Raphael really is quite insightful! Has high emotional intelligence too and one of the healthiest grief responses in the game, offers some pretty good advice too like listen to your body, take things one step at a time, and take care of yourself.

in the original text Lysithea says Leonie would make a good husband.

Don't forget the month where everyone is very somber due to certain events and Lindhardt is like "yo what up I robbed the church"

rizzed up ignatz

The Ignatz quotes… yeah Ignatz has more change than most characters but a lot of people miss it because he isn't a very popular character and gameplay wise he's one of the few characters that gets better on maddening so most people don't use him on the easier difficulties. I find it very interesting that part of Ignatz changes and part of him doesn't its like you said the war hardens him but he keeps his love of the world and I like that about him. This is different than say Marianne where like everything about her changes (especially in VW) as she gets a new perspective on life.

I agree its sad that Caspar's English voice performance doesn't fit his character all that well, or at least not as well as his Japanese one does. Caspar is basically a shounen anime/videogame protagonist and he should sound like one and he does in Japanese but not in English. I love Caspar as a character I just don't like his English voice. The English voices are generally pretty good but there's a couple performances that make he cringe namely Caspar's and Mercedes'. Which is such a shame because their Japanese voices are perfect. In Japanese Caspar sounds like the stupid energetic jock shounen protag that he is, and Mercedes sounds very fuwafuwa exactly like a gently older sister type character which fits her so well. Her English voice sounds so forced.

So due to the open nature of the game there mostly isn't strictly a definitive canon class, just the most probably canonical/intended class. This is easiest to tell for the lords and Byleth as they get unique classes. For the other character look at what class they appear as as enemies although this isn't definitive either. For example Lorenz appears as an enemy paladin but given how his relic extends magic range and one of his best builds is in magic as well as his houses' history in magic and magic knights you could argue that his canonical class is dark knight not paladin. In the end there isn't really a definitive canon class just more canonical and less canonical classes like no one is arguing that war master is Lorenz's canon class. Or Manuela as an enemy appears as different classes on different maps. Another line of evidence is that unique outfits in part 2 for the students can be worn for certain classes that can be seen as their intended classes.

I will never be over how the game won't let me make Hilda a warmaster (or Linhardt a gremory).

With Almyra someone mentioned Turkic but I think it is more broadly central Asian influences with the horse culture and some of the imagery bringing to mind the Mongol Empire, combined with broadly Middle Eastern especially Persian. Faerghus might be Russian in climate but its more medieval Germanic with the warrior culture. I agree with aplumblum that Leicester reminds me most of the Italian Renaissance with it's focus on art and commerce, but with some Dutch and English influence as well, especially in the names. Morfis comes off as stereotypically Arabian/vaguely middle eastern as in magical desert city with the mystique of the height of the Arab empire highly associated with exotic magic, as seen from a European perspective. Brigid is almost entirely based on Southeast Asia (maybe with a bit of Oceania) as seen through the eyes of a Japanese developer. Dagda came off to me as Asian/East Asian as a very large and diverse continent that Fodlan is mostly just confused by and has conflicting accounts of. Plains? Deserts? Jungles? Tundra? Well if it's a continent then it'd be big enough for all of that. Dagda is also big and advanced enough to colonize Brigid and engage is a protracted long distance naval war. Also like how else did Fodlan get samurai???

Fodlan is already fantasy soup chronological hell, don't get too caught up on being historically accurate because the devs sure as hell don't care. Like in Faerghus you have the germanic warrior culture of the 1000s epics, you have chivalry codes of the 1300, Leicester almost looks Italian Renaissance which is like 1500, but there's also themes of the Enlightenment period and hints Fodlan is on the verge of the French Revolution so 1700-1800s. Tomatoes are from Mexico and peaches are from China and Fodlan has a bunch of made up fantasy fruits and vegetables. But yeah maybe the potato would fix Faerghus.

It's pretty obvious the Agarthans are evil I'd even say it goes too far with it, but a lot of people in the fandom tend to downplay either Rhea or Edelgard's agency when in reality they both have agendas that they are unwilling to negotiate on and that's where a lot of the overarching conflict in the story comes from.

The crest of Timotheos is associated with animals and perhaps had some power over them. Cornelia or the Agarthan that crawled into her skin probably experimented with the crest's power, trying to enhance and weaponize it and made it go haywire. The end result of twisting that latent power being Hapi's sighs summoning demonic beasts.

Me first playthough due to JRPG hoarding tendencies I didn't use the relics. Heros' relics are very easy to repair as umbral steel is very common so go ahead and use them at every opportunity, holy weapon materials are rarer but still worth using.

Fire Emblem: Three Houses has really weird gameplay for a Fire Emblem game and I happen to like the gameplay changes more than regular Fire Emblem gameplay. In most FE game level is class level and stats are what really matters but i find the 1-99 system more intuitive because no progress is ever lost, I also think the open sandbox-y nature complements the multiple routes and replay-ability.

Who cares about gameplay or "the meta" or damage when you have FASHION.

Edelgard gets some of the best designs in the game. I also like male Byleth, Dorothea, Petra, and Claude. The others are more situational Ignatz' part 2, Yuri's part 1 (the clown suit is a curse), Marianne's 3 Hopes, and Sylvain's part 1.

Wish we could toggle the little hats. The female warlock flower hat is cute. Or mortal savant kinda sucks but the mask looks really cool. Or dark knight's ram helmet.

My favorite classes: Falcon knight gives a little horned helmet to the horse, Bow knight because I love hit and run tactics, Dark knight because I like the magic knight concept, Mortal savant because it looks cool, Barbarossa because dragon (also a good class but most dragon and cool outfit). Brigand because what would I do without death blow

I have this pet conspiracy theory that Sothis is from the divine dragon tribe of other FE games (Shadow dragon, gaiden, Awakening, etc). I mean in Fates/IF characters literally get isekai'd and I think it happens in Awakening dlc too so dimension/world travel is an established part of the universe, it's very plausible Sothis is from Archanea.

Why Mercedes's mother ended up in House Bartels if she was the one with a crest. Hard to say, Adrestian House politics are brutal, Nuvelle got wiped as did Hyrm because of the inter-House powerplays. She might have been a commoner with a crest it does happen or someone of a lower class married in so Martriz had a crest. However keep in mind that with the fall of House Martriz she would have lost all power, status, and standing, she also could have been pressured by the remainder of House Martriz. In the end we don't know. Nobles certainly do scout for crest bearing commoners, Mercedes was pressured and harassed into such a marriage with the marriage leveraged by a donation to the church her family had lived in for many years.

#fe3h

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nelweensfic · 6 months

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Breaking the news

Previous part of my Fourth Wing mini fic here 😘

First part here!

Rhiannon looks at me in disbelief. I knew it would not be easy but, my heart beats quickly as she paces back and forth in my room.

"So you're telling me that you and your mother, I mean General Sorrengail, are plotting against what we were taught last year?"

"Rhy, I would have told you before but my mother needed me to keep the secret."

"Why? I thought we were best friends!"

I bite my lip. This isn't good. I knew she would be pissed but telling her everything at once didn’t sound good at first.

"My brother, Brennan, isn't dead. He is working with Xaden's father to spread the truth about the venins. They're real. Wyverns are, too."

"And you expect me to believe you? They’re just stories! And Xaden’s dead!"

"Xaden is alive. All of them are. Except Liam… He… Deigh was killed by a Wyvern."

My heart clenches. Xaden was right. Rhy needs to know the truth. She's my best friend, but even I wouldn't have believed Xaden if I hadn't seen the threat from my own eyes. The way she looks at me now, though. With betrayal clearly visible in the depths of her eyes… I can see why Xaden has tried hard to keep me out of the secret for so long. It hurts.

"You lied all this time? Even to me? Why?"

"Because of Dain!"

"Dain?" Her eyes widened in surprise. "But he's your best friend."

"He saw my memories. He forced his way into my head and saw everything."

"He wouldn't do that! He's the wingleader! The codex is too important to him!"

"He did it to me. That's how he planned the attack."

"You mean Athebyne? The war game?"

"We were sent there to die. Dain knew about it. He had come to say goodbye to me that night."

Rhiannon stares at me, trying to connect the dots. I take a deep breath, getting up and walking toward the door. We have to do this. We have to see Xaden before the others. Rhy needs answers. Answers I'm not sure I can give her.

"Come with me," I say.

"Where?"

"To see Xaden."

****

As we walk through the dark, using the path Xaden showed me months ago, I could feel Rhiannon tense behind me. She's been giving me the silent treatment ever since we left the room. I betrayed her trust, even if I don't like it.

"Feirge is with me," Tairn warns me.

"Does she know?" I ask. She must have been talking to her dragon since we left.

"She is wondering when she would finally be involved."

"Do all the dragons know about the venins then?"

"Pretty much," Andarna answers.

"Then why don't they tell the truth?" I ask angrily.

"That's not for us to tell," Tairn says before cutting our link.

The chill of autumn gets me once I open the door. Tairn and Forge, Rhiannon’s green dragon, are all waiting for us. We mount them without any words. The tension is killing me.

“How does it feel to be in the Wingleaders’ shoes?” Tairn taunts me.

“Shut up,” I grumble.

The dragon huffs and deploys his wings once we’re ready. We fly for a short moment until we reach the hiding spot. Andarna's golden scales are bright in the moonlight, Sgaeyl and Xaden beside her. I turn my head toward Rhiannon to see her raising her eyebrows. When we land, Rhy reaches for her dagger. Without any warning, she throws it in Xaden’s direction.

“You little shit!” she snarls, throwing another dagger. “You made her cry! You made her angry! You made her fall in love with you and then you lied to her like this?”

None of them touched Xaden as he used his shadows to protect himself. Sgaeyl growls, stepping forward before Feirge growls back, Tairn putting his morningstartail in front of Rhiannon.

“You deserve to be tortured.” Rhy grumbles and summons her daggers back to her.

“I deserved that.” Xaden nods, staring at me. “I’ll do anything to make her trust me again.”

"No chance," I think to myself.

“So…” Rhy walks forward around the dragon’s tail. “What’s going on here?”

#fourth wing sequel #fourth wing microfic #fourth wing #fourth wing drabble #nelweensfic #viden #violet and xaden #violet sorrengail

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pop-goes-the-sneasel · 3 years

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could u review my Friend Reshiram, thank u <3

Reshiram!!!! The Vast White Pokemon!!!

Reshiram’s the Legendary mascot of Pokemon Black, a Dragon/Fire-type monster that seems to simultaneously derive from wyverns, foxes, and angels. Like its counterpart Zekrom, it’s a lot more thematically complex than the typical Legendary – in large part because Black and White were a lot more thematically complex than other games in the franchise as a whole.

The foremost motif of Reshiram and Zekrom is their yin and yang dichotomy – Reshiram’s title in Japan is the White Yang Pokemon, whereas Zekrom is the Black Yin Pokemon. A central component to yin and yang is that they are fundamentally complementary and indivisible: one cannot exist independently, each giving rise to the other. This is why the white Reshiram is the mascot of Pokemon Black and the black Zekrom is the mascot of Pokemon White, rather than the other way around. Ken Sugimori has stated in an interview that their complementary nature was central to the design process, with Reshiram being given a light, airy, and feminine design to contrast Zekrom’s tough and masculine appearance. This is a bit ironic, as yang is traditionally the “masculine” half of yin and yang, but it fits well enough.

The other main motif of Reshiram is the theme of “truth” and its contrast to the “ideals” associated with Zekrom. This is central to their shared mythology: originally, Reshiram and Zekrom were two parts of a single dragon, which was partnered with two twin heroes. These twins used the dragon’s power to shape Unova, but eventually, the twins began to fight over whether to prioritize truth or ideals – which then led to the dragon itself splitting into two, with Reshiram following the truth-aligned twin and Zekrom following the ideals-aligned twin. Black and White’s plot parallels this original conflict, with the player and N each taking up the mantle of one twin. It’s unfortunately a lot of meaningless fluff – the story doesn’t even really make a distinction between truth and ideals – and the one you align with just depends on the game, so it wasn’t incorporated into the dialogue all that heavily.

As a design, Reshiram is actually pretty outstanding. It’s one of the most organic-feeling Legendaries and the image of a feathered canine-wyvern is incredibly distinctive. The canine aspect is even completed with a howl-based cry when it enters battle! The electrical generator tail, probably the oddest component of its design, is also very unique even if it doesn’t flow perfectly. Probably my favorite aspect of its design are its absolutely beautiful blue-and-black eyes, which are quite possibly the prettiest eyes in the franchise. All that said, the design does have some issues. The lack of detail on the wings makes them feel rather unfinished, not having the full feathers seen on most large bird pokemon. Moreover, its actual anatomy feels very awkward – its widely-spaced and weirdly-jointed legs in particular. A good design overall, but not free of criticism.

The obvious best way to go about Reshiram’s and Zekrom’s shinies would be a black Reshiram and a white Zekrom – swapping the colour schemes entirely. What we got instead, though, was just a very slightly different shade of white, along with gold rings instead of silver. What is incredibly cool about this shiny is that the fire that burns in its tail is bright fuchsia instead of orange, but unfortunately you barely ever get to see it outside its Gen V sprite.

Overall, Reshiram’s pretty great, and I respect it quite a bit. It reflects Game Freak’s first real attempt to emphasize a narrative theme – even if the execution of it was a bit lacking – and I appreciate how much thought clearly went into its concept. Despite a few misgivings with its design, the good definitely outweighs the bad, and I’d say Reshiram is probably one of my favorite box mascots.

Get it white boy/10.

#pokemon #pokemon reviews #pkmn #swsh #reshiram #dragon type #fire type #legendary #unova #gen 5

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randomnameless · 3 years

Text

I write and write and make comparisons between a swimsuit and themes like tolerance and freedom,

But in this fandom, some people draw more dubious comparisons, especially ones regarding a certain game - and I warned (who?) at the beginning of the FE16 trend that while it wanted to have a Jugdral flair, it obviously failed. You have a sprinkle of Jugdral in FE16, but it’s only a surface image, or even a mirage.

“CrEsT SyStEM”? Holy Blood? No, those comparisons at least were made in good faith and had some merits.

One of the worst comparisons was noted by several friends, a certain someone, wanting to push a certain ship involving a certain character, managed to write :

“Every route makes one villain from Genealogy of the Holy War the hero, Edelgard being Arvis, Dimitri being Eldigan, Claude being Travant and Rhea being Manfroy”

This will not be a post about Manfroy’s hips, you are warned

Who is Eldigan (Eldie)?

A man who is the carrier of Hezul’s holy blood, Hezul being the founder of Augstria, a sovereign state. Everyone loves Eldie, he is good-looking, strong, kind, chivalrous and has the magic blood that makes him able to use his magic sword.

Is he the King of Agustria? No.

The King is a man named Chagall, who has an ugly sprite, doesn’t have Hezul’s magic blood and cannot use the magic sword. He also killed his father, and is really jealous of Eldie.

However, Eldie’s line (House Nodion) has sworn to support the royal line of Augustria (Chagall’s), so even if everyone wants Eldie to ascend to the throne, he will never accept it. Even if Chagall pisses on him, or imprisons him because he felt like it, Eldie will not rebel against his King. Eldie is seen as a Camus, because he will fight and die for Chagall, and his country, when Sigurd is... more or less attacking Chagall (because Sigurd’s forces are occupying Augstria and Sigurd’s orders are to bring peace to the land, Chagall doesn’t want peace and wants to fight to retake his throne). If everything ends well, Eldie will promise Sigurd he will try to talk one last time his king, try to convince him to accept a ceasefire and peace with Granvalle - but Chagall is an ass and beheads Eldie.

Dimitri... isn’t like Eldigan, at all. First of all, Dimitri is supposed to be the crown Prince, instead of being a mere knight sworn to serve the royal family. Secondly, Dimitri doesn’t die because his liege beheads him - Edelgard will never be his liege - he dies either by defending his borders against someone who is bringing war to his lands and wants his head, or he dies because he pursues Edelgard in a three way battle in Gronder.

We do not know what Rufus is like to his nephew, but I am pretty sure he is no Chagall.

The only common points Eldie and Dimitri have is their blond hair, and sometimes, their manner of death. there is also something about bonds with their sisters but we’re not here for that

Who is Travant?

Travant is the King of the Thracian Kingdom, a proto Nohr-like place, where farming is difficult, and the people living there are starving and often turn to banditry or become mercenaries to be able to earn some money.

Thracia’s neighbour, the Manster District (Manster) could export food to Thracia... but they do not, because, well, the people in charge of the Manster District do not like Thracians a lot (and use slurs to talk about them, but Quan is a special character). So Thracians raid the border, with hopes to reunite the peninsula, with the dream that, one day, they will seize the arable lands in the North.

Travant has an infamous line, which more or less went like “I will unite the peninsula for the sake of my people, and if that process dooms me to hell then so be it”.

And to hell he will go, because by Jugdral standards, ambushing Quan and his family in a desert (horses cannot move in sand, another example of gameplay and story integration!) with horseslayers, is despicable, especially since he leaves no one alive, even, apparently, killing Quan’s young daughter Altena.

(Travant ranks pretty high in the douchebag ladder).

With time, Altena grows, unaware that Travant, who adopted her, isn’t her real Father, Quan was. Things happen, Altena discovers the truth, and Travant finally achieves his dream by making a suicidal charge against Seliph’s forces (he doesn’t even bring his magic lance to the fight!), with him dead, finally, the peninsula can be united under one leader.

Claude? Also has a wyvern. And comes from another land than our hero (but which one?). And... that’s all.

If Almyra raids every sunday, it is not because they are starving, but because they are doing it, per Cyril, for funsies. Claude pretends to be a schemer and underhanded, but he never does something on the scale of the Yied Ambush (the moment where Travant pulled out the horseslayers against Quan). Claude never takes a child hostage, and never orders his daughter to punish civilians.

If Claude wants to unite the two countries, it is not because he wants his people to finally leave their life as mercenaries and bandits behind, but because he wants people to understand each other.

Edit because I’m sleeping : Travant will die for his dream. Claude... always survive. Always. I am not saying he doesn’t believe in it, but he is not as desperate as Travant is.

Comparing Claude to Travant is like comparing... Virion to Iago. They are both male with long hair, and pretend to scheme. Bar that? Well... they both have hands...? I guess?

Who is Manfroy?

Manfroy is... both a mastermind and a plothole.

Manfroy was the one in the shadows engineering a war in Jugdral, not because he likes wars, nope, but because he wanted political instability to recreate the Loptyr Empire.

He will help a douchebag to conquer the world, and use him to sire Julius, the only person in Jugdral who can become a host for the dark dragon Loptyr. The last time Loptyr was there... well, apparently it wasn’t roses and sunshines, slavery was rampant and citizens were pitted against each other to make sure the strongest ones would become citizens of the Empire.

Why Manfroy does this? It depends on the sources, but it is heavily implied Manfroy is part of a sect (sect as in group of people practicing a religion, here the Loptyr religion/cult) persecuted by a lot of people in Jugdral - to the point where Agustrians were having witches hunts to chase them. Manfroy and his followers escaped the the Yied desert, touted to be an inhospitable land. His people had no where and no one to turn to, so they prayed to their God Loptyr (who doesn’t give 3 figs about them).

Manfroy is thus the Archbishop of the Loptyr Church. He also killed his son in law, for some reason, and planned to turn his granddaughter in a zombie. Manfroy also supports (and conducts?) the child hunts, basically the plot in the second part of FE4 and FE5 where the Granvalle Empire and the members of the Loptyr Church round up children, take them from their families (sometimes by killing said families) to send them to Granvalle, with the highly suggested goal of sacrificing them one way or another to Loptyr.

On the not-so bright side, Manfroy doesn’t kill Julia - when Loptyr/Julius expressly asking him to do so, because Julia is the only person, story-wise, able to kill him.

What a guy!

Now, Rhea?

There are some comparisons to be made, unlike Claude and Dimitri, but again, it reinforces how they could be seen as foils.

Rhea? Yes, also engineers the birth of a vessel.

However, unlike Manfroy who “forced” Arvis and Deirdre to marry and have a baby, Byleth’s birth, born from the union of Jeralt and Sitri, was completely unexpected. There is no trace in canon of Rhea arranging Jeralt and Sitri’s meeting, and future wedding.

Rhea? Also wants her granddaughter to “die”?

Well, not this one, since Rhea thinks Billy is actually an amnesiac Sothis. Billy would just recover their memories.

Rhea? Doesn’t start a war to build her Sothis vessel. Hell, the DLC is about her previous experiment to resurrect her mother - it was a failure, but someone supposes she fails because she did not want to bleed dry the Four Apostles. Rhea wishes to resurrect a benevolent Goddess (when Manfroy knows Loptyr is... far from benevolent) but will not kill to do so.

Sitri? Asked her to save Billy, by offering her own life.

The most interesting foil though is... how Rhea and Manfroy both belong to a community that was persecuted by others, the people they are supposed to live with.

Manfroy? Went the “if the world hates me, then I will hate it and burn it down” route.

Rhea? Doesn’t want to kill humans, hell, she and her brother disagreed because she didn’t want to kill children of the people who wronged her! She opens a monastery and offers guidance to anyone who needs it, a shelter for the needy and tries her best to protect peace and the humans living under her care.

They could have followed the same path, but didn’t. Manfroy rounds children to kill them, Rhea offers a new home to children who lost theirs.

They can also be compared with their “welp” points, Rhea gave CF!Billy the means to destroy her, just like Manfroy “forgot” to kill Julia - and yet, again, it is different. Rhea trusted Billy and never wanted to use them as a tool, in the other routes, it is because she trusted Billy with “those means” that Billy is able to save the world. Manfroy? Berserks Julia, wishes to use her as a tool and suffers when she regains some agency and beats her brother. But even without Manfroy, Julia would have recovered the Book of Naga to end Loptyr.

Rhea and Manfroy are definitely not parallels, but foils.

And the best for the end...

Who is Arvis?

Well... to summarise Arvis in a few words...

it’s impossible.

So, Arvis is the descendant of one Jugdral’s God-Crusader, Fjalar. Arvis is very proud of his heritage, but he also bears Loptyr blood, through his Mother. And yet, since the Loptry blood exists thanks to Saint Maira - the brother of the Loptry Host of that time, Emperor Galle, who rebelled and helped the Crusaders - he is also very proud of this heritage and his two brands.

Arvis’s familial history is a mess, his father was a womanizer and his mother abandoned him (which might have fueled his Freudian complex?). When his Father died, he exiled all of his bastard siblings, bar Azelle (his bastard half-brother, sired to his mother’s favorite maid). Arvis apparently wasn’t interested in women before he met Deirdre and fell in love with her...

But he had time to sire a bastard (on his best friend and confidante).

Arvis wants to build a world free of prejudice and oppression, and wants to build it by... associating with Manfroy, who blackmails him about his Loptyr blood (if Arvis is proud of his Loptry blood, sadly the Agustrian witch hunts are still a thing, and it will not be well seen in Granvalle’s nobility); however, he made it clear, to Manfroy himself, that he will never allow another Loptry Empire to be reborn. Arvis thus uses hiw fellow Dukes Reptor and Langobalt to set up a coup against Prince Kurth (the Prince of Granvalle) to kill him. Arvis grows close to Kurth’s father, Azmur and more or lesses takes care of everything in Granvalle, since Kurth has no heir left.

And, by chance, Deirdre, Kurth’s bastard daughter, thus rightful Princess of Granvalle, appears at his door. She bears the mark of Naga (the special blood of the Crusader Heim), so they marry, and if they have a son, their son will rule over Granvalle, Arvis acts as a regent until then.

(women can’t rule shit in Jugdral)

Then what? His plan is set into motion, all Granvalle Dukes die, he and Sigurd (plus his pals) are the only ones left, Sigurd dies after being lured to a welcoming party, and Arvis becomes the last man standing able to rule Granvalle, who became, through his plans and treacheries through the 1st gen, an Empire.

(and then his son becomes a Loptyr host, vaporises his mom and makes his sister disappear, wrestles power from him and he is reduced to a sad state (oldvis). He makes a last stand against Seliph, after delivering him Sigurd’s magic sword, and dies.)

Okay.

So, now, Edel.

Arvis managed to become the ruling... person in Granvalle by eliminating all of his rivals, and securing a nice marriage. Edel becomes Emperor... because Ionius gave her his crown, as her father.

So they do not rise to power the same way.

Edel never talks about her brands, but Arvis is proud to bear them and proud of his ancestors. Judging by how Edel speaks of Wilhelm I as a traitor who sold humanity to creatures, I am not sure she is proud to bear his blood.

Also, while Edelgard is extremely prejudiced against Nabateans, Arvis wishes to create a world... free of prejudice (his actions though...). He does not mind Manfroy preaching his stuff, when Edelgard will not allow anyone to follow the Seiros faith (friends put it better, but in several routes, the people who were followers of the Church of Seiros are missing in Adrestia...).

While both Edel and Arvis think they are making “sacrifices” for the greater good, as pointed out earlier, this greater good is different. They both ally with a death cult, but Arvis is naive enough to think Manfroy will not backstab him - he even wishes for him to preach his nonsense freely. Edelgard has been hell bent since day 1 on getting rid of Thales and friends.

By the time Arvis learns of the child hunts and Julius’s nonsense... he wants to stop it. He is however powerless to do so (or so we think! Apparently he and Ishtar managed to hide every children captured in a castle!) but, at least, he tried to do something.

Crest Beasts... are still used, no matter the path, and even after Edelgard became Emperor.

Now, if Manfroy had to capture children and round them up for execution to make sure Arvis would become Emperor, would Arvis have supported him? I... don’t think so. If children were captured during Arvis’s conquest of the world and it was a “necessary evil”, would Arvis have accepted it? We don’t know. Prideful as he is, I don’t think he would have agreed.

(which is all kinds of wrong, the man can start wars and backstab friends, allies and turn his own brother to ashes, but hunting children is too much? Meh. And yet, Manfroy mentions something about his ways and his pride being an obstacle to the realisation of his dream).

Arvis is... a complicated character. A douchebag through and through, who tries to redeem himself at the end, but ultimately fails. He is rewarded for his actions in the 1st gen by the 2nd gen, where Julius becomes Loptyr and destroys his Empire. He had it coming? Yes. Is it painful to watch? Yes.

Edelgard... does not face any retribution for her actions.

Yes, she can also kill her (step) brother. But either she didn’t remember it, or only cries after it, and ultimately puts the blame on him - so it is not a sacrifice ?

People doubt her words? Well, it doesn’t matter, Linhardt, Yuri and Lysithea are still alive after their... interrogations. Reptor doubted Arvis’s words? Aida was sent as back-up (and... backstabbed him).

Ultimately, Arvis loses Deirdre (whose ghost chills with Sigurd’s), Julia and Julius, whom he loved dearly. Edel loses... Billy, and some randoms.

So, in a way, Edel feels like a discount Arvis, because she misses his ascension to power and his downfall. Arvis doesn’t mow down enemies on the front lines like she is doing, Arvis maneuvers to ensure victory.

Both fight for ideals, but Arvis seems to believe in them when I cannot believe a world for “humanity” involves continuous making of Crest Beasts.

Both betray the main character, but Edelgard is hit with the uwu hammer, thus cannot kill Billy - Thales does it in the non CF-routes.

So... short story, long story, Eldie is not Dimitri, Claude is not Travant, Rhea is a foil to Manfroy and Edelgard is a discount Arvis.

Also, I don’t know what kind of weed the person who wrote this take had, but labeling Eldie as one of FE4′s villain is as dumb as labeling FE7 Karla a villain because she appears as a red unit you have to fight.

where is edel’s bastard son

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johaerys-writes · 3 years

Text

Words Are Futile Devices

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairing: Dorian Pavus/David Trevelyan

Summary:

The last thing Dorian expected when he came to the South was to find love. In fact, he had entirely given up on the notion. Yet, when the gentle, shy and enigmatic Inquisitor Trevelyan came into his life, things started to change.

A (very belated) birthday gift fic for my dear friend @tessa1972 featuring Dorian and her OC David Trevelyan!

Read here or on AO3!

A full, silver moon hung over the Frostback’s snowy peaks. Skyhold, for once, was quiet.

Dorian leaned back in his desk chair, rubbing the inner corners of his eyes between forefinger and thumb. It had been a long day; and an even longer evening, though he had hardly realised where the time had gone. He had spent most of it studying in the library, indexing books and codexes, helping the new apprentices find their way around. They kept streaming into Skyhold from all corners of Ferelden, and sooner or later they all came to him, asking him this and that, about the library and the hold and where everything could be found.

It was troublesome, certainly —Dorian had never sought to become the Skyhold library’s archivist— yet he found himself oddly drawn to the role. It wasn’t too different from what he used to do in the Minrathous library, where throngs of students from the university would follow him around to ask for his help on their research, or his opinion on various manuscripts. He had never admitted it outright, but he’d missed that sort of life; besides, being asked for help was much preferable to being overlooked and sneered at, which had, sadly, been the case for most of his stay in the South.

He tsked softly, letting the book he’d been reading fall closed. That Southerners could hardly appreciate genius even when it hit them straight in the face was no secret to anyone, yet it gave him a tiny bit of satisfaction to see that the tide was shifting, even a little.

The library was thoroughly empty at that hour, and the wick of the oil lamp above his desk was sputtering softly, close to dying out. It was the only sound in the Tower that could be heard, other than the soft cooing of Leliana’s crows overhead. Dorian stood up slowly and lifted his arms over his head, stretched his sore spine. Skyhold’s desk chairs were far less than comfortable, and his back was certainly not thanking him for it.

He was just about to leave when he noticed the bundle of books that he had gathered earlier that day, and left on the plush purple armchair close to the window. His stomach dropped somewhat.

It was Helisma that had informed him that the Inquisitor had been to the library the day before, searching for books on wyverns and dracolisks. He had left before Dorian had even arrived to his desk empty handed and hadn’t said another word to anyone.

When Dorian had teasingly suggested to Helisma that perhaps the poor man had been so confused by her archiving system that he decided never to step foot in a library ever again in his life, the Tranquil had given him one of her blank looks that somehow managed to speak volumes about what she thought of him and his observations.

Dorian sighed. The books were definitely on the heavy side when he picked them up, but he didn’t train every morning for an hour for nothing. He secured them under his arm, and, after putting the oil lamp out, silently walked out of the library.

Every step that took him through the largely quiet throne room, and closer to the Inquisitor’s quarters, made his heart sink deeper, ad deeper into his stomach. By the time he was standing outside his door —a rather plain, wooden one, considering that behind it lay the largest of all rooms in the hold— Dorian thought his heart would slink out of his ribcage and slither into his boots.

He took a deep breath, and knocked.

“Come in,” the Inquisitor’s smooth voice sounded from behind the polished wood.

“Good evening, my dear Inquisitor,” Dorian said with a wide smile that little belied his nervousness. If anyone was good at hiding his feelings, then that someone was none other than Dorian Pavus of Minrathous. “Or shall I say good night? It is rather late.”

“That it is.” Inquisitor Trevelyan was sitting behind his large mahogany desk, half hidden behind a high stack of papers and scrolls. A merry fire was going in the hearth, filling the space with warmth and shifting amber light. It caught in the highlights of Trevelyan’s chestnut hair, his soft violet eyes. He seemed more than a little tired, the corners of his eyes tinged with red, but there was a gentle smile on his lips. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Dorian stood at the threshold for a moment, admiring the space. Though he had never found himself in the Inquisitor’s quarters before, he had heard lots about it. The rumours did it no justice. It was wide and spacious, if on the colder side, with plush rugs lining the floor and expensive furniture lining its corners. It was rather obvious that Ambassador Josephine had spared no coin when it came to their leader’s accommodations.

Said leader was certainly a more than impressive man. He was tall and broad of shoulder, with impeccable manners and a gentle disposition. He had stood up from his chair at Dorian’s arrival and was gazing at him calmly. He seemed perfectly at ease, if a little uptight, yet Dorian couldn’t help the feeling that the grandeur of his quarters made him seem a little… out of place.

He wasn’t quite sure why the thought made a wave of sympathy rush through him. Perhaps because he deeply understood the sentiment.

“A little birdie told me that you visited the library yesterday in search of books, yet you walked out mysteriously empty handed.” He confidently strolled into the room, setting the heavy bundle of leather bound tomes on the low coffee table before the hearth. “Naturally, I had to make sure that our humble library did not disappoint you. I would take that as a personal affront, you know.”

Trevelyan blinked at him, a lovely blush creeping up his cheeks. It was bright and rosy and warmed up his features, and when a soft, nervous smile graced his lips, Dorian felt the ghost touch of them against his own.

Maker, it felt like a lifetime ago, when Dorian had last touched those lips. In reality, it couldn’t have been longer than a fortnight.

“I am setting out for the Exalted Plains in a week, and one of Leliana’s scouts reported sightings of dracolisks in the Ferns. I wanted to be prepared, should our party come into contact with them. I searched for an hour but I couldn’t find—” He shifted uncomfortably on his feet, his blush getting a deeper, more vibrant red. “I didn’t mean to inconvenience you. If I did, I apologise.”

“Oh, it’s nothing, never you mind all that,” Dorian said with laugh and waved his concerns away, though he wouldn’t have minded letting the man go on for a little while longer, just to watch that flush make its way down to his graceful neck, his pretty ears that were hiding underneath lustrous locks of warm brown. “It only took me a few minutes. I couldn’t well leave our precious Inquisitor walk into the wilderness without detailed knowledge of wyvern mating cycles. You know what they say: a thorough education is the best weapon for any situation.”

The Inquisitor laughed, shaking his head softly. “I believe you are quite right. My father used to tell me something of the sort; though I believe he was referring to an education of a different kind.” He threaded his fingers through his hair, pushing it behind his ear. “I… thank you, Dorian.”

Dorian was momentarily distracted by the sight of those long, slender fingers, the grace of their movements. He suddenly wanted to walk up to him, thread his own fingers through those locks. He could almost remember their smell— lavender and soap, the sweet musk of his skin. He swallowed thickly.

“Whatever for, Inquisitor?” he said with an easy, practiced smile. “It was no bother, I assure you; the whole search was done and over with in a minute.”

“I believe you. Still… you have my thanks. Just for thinking of me.” Trevelyan’s lips widened in that soft, infuriatingly warm smile again, and it was Dorian’s turn to feel a blush creeping up his cheeks. “It is much appreciated.”

The fire crackling in the hearth and the wind sweeping over the Frostbacks' peaks beyond the wide windows were the only sound for a long moment as they both gazed at each other. It seemed as if they were looking at each other across a great gulf; so near, and yet so far.

It was Dorian that tore his eyes away, as always. He wasn’t quite sure what he would be compelled to do, if he continued to stare into the face he had spent days thinking about, dreaming of, longing for.

“I see you are quite busy,” Dorian said, gesturing towards the high stack of documents on the mahogany desk. “I should probably leave you to it.”

He smiled and bowed his head respectfully, turning to leave. The tail of his silk coat fluttered with the motion, the light of the fire catching amidst the folds of the fabric. If there was something that Dorian was good at, then that was a dramatic entrance, and an even more dramatic departure.

His hand was almost on the door handle, when Trevelyan’s smooth voice stopped him.

“Wait.”

Dorian glanced at him over his shoulder. Trevelyan had left his chair and his desk and was standing before the coffee table. He made a small motion when their eyes met, as if wanting to take another step, get closer to him, yet he didn’t.

“Stay, please.” He smiled at him, just a little awkward, never taking his eyes away from Dorian’s. “My work is far from done, and yet… I would appreciate the company.” He shifted just a bit on his feet, then nodded towards the liquor cabinet at the corner of the room. “I was recently sent some Fereldan whiskey. It is said to be very good. I thought, perhaps… you might like to try it.”

The edges of Trevelyan’s lips quirked ever so slightly upwards, and there was something so earnest and childlike about his smile, about the look in his violet eyes, that Dorian’s heart did a painful little thump.

“Whiskey, you say?” He let his hand drop from the handle and took a step closer. He crossed his arms before his chest, cocking his hips slightly to the side in a confident stance— far more confident than he felt. But what was it that people said? ‘Fake it ‘til you make it’? “However can I refuse, when you ask so nicely and bribe me with fancy drinks? You certainly know the way to a man’s heart, Inquisitor.”

Trevelyan let out a quiet laugh, a deep and mellow sound that warmed Dorian inside out. “I’ll pour you a glass then, shall I? Oh, and please. Just call me David.” He tilted his head to the side, his gaze growing even softer, if that was possible. “All of my friends do.”

Friends. Dorian couldn’t help but wonder whether they were simply friends, or if there would ever be hope for something… more.

“Very well,” he said with a smile and graceful incline of his head. “David.” He watched the man’s straight and broad back as he turned around and moved towards the cabinet. The smell of the whiskey was strong and aromatic when he pulled the cork out of the bottle and prepared to pour it into glasses. Dorian’s voice stopped him. “Actually, I think I may have a better idea.”

David’s eyes were curious when he looked at him over his shoulder, and Dorian had to bite back a grin.

“I never pegged you for someone who appreciates the great outdoors,” David said with a curious smile, gazing at the vast expanse of glittering snow, jagged peaks and lakes covered in ice. “Quite the opposite in fact, judging from the last time we were outdoors.”

Dorian chuckled softly, leaning against the stone wall of the battlements. A cold wind was blowing, ruffling the fabric of his robes and combing through David’s hair, but the magical bubble that always surrounded Skyhold did not let much of the chill from the mountains pass through. It was tolerable, even for Dorian, and Maker knew his tolerance for the blasted Southern cold was exceptionally low.

He wasn’t sure what had possessed him to bring the Inquisitor -David, he reminded himself- to that quiet corner of the keep. It wasn’t too long ago that he had taken to visiting this place when the walls of his room became stifling, bringing with him a cup of wine or brandy, and simply gazing at the stars. He didn’t know why, but it brought him a strange sense of peace.

The fact that it reminded him of the night that David and he had spent together not too long before was an added, if somewhat confusing, benefit. It was an evening not too different from this one, with a crisp wind blowing and the night sky clear above them, the stars reflecting on the glassy surface of Lake Calenhad. David had accompanied him to the dreaded meeting with his father, and on the way back they had camped there, talking and drinking the night away.

Dorian wasn’t going to fool himself by saying that he hadn’t been attracted to the man the very first moment he laid eyes on him. Still, being attracted to a pretty face, and suddenly finding out that the pretty man not only had a heart and a brain, but enough empathy and understanding to sink a small barge, were two entirely different things. David had surprised him in more ways than one— with his kindness and his honesty, with his wry sense of humour and his sweet, childlike smile, with his steadfastness and his quiet, profound care.

Never before had Dorian bared himself like this to anyone. He had expected judgement and scorn, yet had received none. At first, he couldn’t quite believe it. He had kept searching for the catch, the knife hidden amidst the roses, but more time passed and he could find none. Until…

Dorian swallowed thickly as the memory of the kiss they had shared flashed in his memory. David was watching him patiently now, waiting for his answer that had taken a tad too long.

“I’m full of surprises, as you well know,” Dorian said with a teasing smile. He poured some whiskey into the glasses they had taken with them, and offered one to David. “It’s simply a quiet spot I like to visit sometimes. There are few lovely things the South has to offer, and I believe this view is one of them. It’s quite spectacular, is it not?”

“It is,” David replied, accepting the glass. He was standing in a square of crenelated moonlight, half obscured by the shadows, and his eyes seemed bright like lit up stars when they focused on him. “What are the others?”

“What others?” Dorian sipped distractedly on his whiskey.

“The other lovely things that the South has to offer.”

You, Dorian thought instinctively, and he hated how the thought made his heart flip and jump, his insides tie themselves into impossible loops. “Well, this whiskey, for one,” he replied quickly. “And I’m partial to Fereldan cheese. Much preferable to those smelly Orlesian ones. Tevinter doesn’t have much of a tradition in cheese-making. A pity, if you ask me, but my people tend to avoid consuming anything fermented, unless it can get them blind-drunk.”

David laughed, shaking his head, and the sound warmed Dorian inside out. “You don’t know cheese until you’ve tried the Marcher varieties,” he said. His smile was bright and earnest, and lit up his entire face. “Fereldan cheese is great, don’t get me wrong, but it has nothing on Ostwick’s soft blue goat's cheese, trust me.”

“Blue cheese? My goodness, you Southern barbarians have none of the Maker’s fear in you, do you?” Dorian hid his grin behind the rim of his glass as he watched David laugh even more. “I suppose you made it with your own bare hands back in Ostwick? How terribly bucolic of you.”

“As a matter of fact, I did. It’s a yearly tradition in Ostwick, for the children and women of the household to help in the cheese making on Summer’s day, when the cows’ milk is at its richest. My siblings and I used to have the fun of our lives on that day; we could play with the animals in the farm and get our hands and clothes dirty while milking the cows and hauling the buckets of milk to the dairy workshop, and neither our mother or our father were allowed to tell us off. We would eagerly await that day all year.” He took a sip of his whiskey, looking out over the vast expanse of snow below. “There are moments when I miss those simpler times.”

“I can imagine. Your childhood sounds idyllic indeed,” Dorian said softly, his voice mellowed out even more by the nostalgic smile on the other man’s lips. “You’ve never told me about any of your siblings.”

The smile of David’s lips lost some of its nostalgia, but only a little bit. There was fondness and a shadow of sadness in his eyes when he said, “There used to be more of us than there are now.” He took another sip of whiskey, leaning against the battlements. The wind combed through his hair, bringing a lock of chestnut hair before his brow. “Virgil was the eldest. He died quite young from illness. There was nothing we could do. And Sieden...” He stopped and took a slow breath. “I was born a twin. But my brother, Sieden, did not make it through the labor. He was stillborn. My family still celebrates his birthday every year, along with my own, but it’s different from other celebrations in the family. It is a day for silence and contemplation, and for remembering the brief time he was in the world.”

“I’m… very sorry to hear that,” Dorian said quietly, a lump lodging in his throat. “It must have been very hard for you, not to celebrate your birthday like other children did.”

“It wasn’t so bad,” David replied. His gaze still managed to be warm and friendly when he regarded Dorian, despite the mellow sadness in his voice. “We lit candles, and I got lots of gifts, from my parents, my other siblings and my beloved friends. I also got a kiss from my mother, and a hug from my father. But that stopped after—” He tensed just a little, looking away. His brows gathered in an almost imperceptible frown. “It doesn’t really matter now, I suppose.”

Dorian stayed silent for a moment, wondering whether he should urge David to talk or let the silence linger between them. Yet it wasn’t long after that David turned to him again, and a warm light was flickering in his gaze once more. “My family and I have lost much, but not everything. I still have two sisters who I love dearly, Fae and Leah. The first married when she was quite young and moved out of the house, and the other became a lay-sister. I still write to them both, especially Fae. You could say she is the closest to me, despite our age difference. She is quite lovely. I’m sure the two of you will get along perfectly when you meet. She’s rather eager to see you, actually.”

Dorian’s curiosity was piqued. He tilted his head to the side in question. “Your sister knows about me?”

David gave him a wide- eyed stare. “No! Well, yes. I mean—” He paused abruptly, then let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. It could have been a play of the light, but Dorian thought he could see a blush creeping up his cheeks once more. “We write to each other quite often. She always asks me all sorts of questions, about my daily life and the people I’ve met here and… I suppose… I may have told her a few things about you. Just a few, mind you,” he added quickly, seeing the surprised expression on Dorian’s face.

“You… told your sister about me?” Dorian was sure his heart skipped a beat right at that moment. Something bright and warm, something like hope rose to his throat, and then something like dread twisted his stomach. Had he told his sister about him… about them? About their late night talks, their slightly awkward and nervous banter, their… kiss?

That moment flashed in Dorian’s memory once more, and this time it was much harder to brush away than others. He still remembered it, crystal clear: the moment when David had come to find him in the library, the evening after they had returned from Redcliffe. Dorian remembered how the flickering light the candles had caught in the depths of his violet eyes, how his deep and soothing voice had carried in the empty library. He remembered the concern and the warmth in them, the care. And, most of all, he remembered his clean and warm scent in his nostrils as David had drawn closer, the softness of his lips against his own, the strength of his arms around him.

Maker, it had felt like heaven. Tender and gentle and… so brief, that it sent Dorian’s guts twisting again. They had peeled apart soon after, and each had gone their own way. The tension between them had been sizzling ever since, thick enough to cut with a knife every time they so much as looked at each other. Hundreds of times Dorian had thought to pull him close again, to feel his body against his own, but something always held him back.

What if it was just a one-time thing, never to be repeated? What if David didn’t want anything more, what if he’d simply changed his mind?

Dorian leisurely crossed his arms before his chest, hiding his unease behind a wide smile. “So? What have you told your sister about me, pray tell? I hope you’ve mentioned how dashingly gorgeous, impeccably dressed and impressively smart I am, for starters.”

Dorian had only been half-joking when he said that. He hadn’t exactly expected a serious answer, but David’s reply startled him.

“That goes without saying, Dorian,” he said earnestly, his voice firm and unwavering despite his blush that brightened, distinctly visible even in the moonlight now. “Of course I told her all of those things, it’s only the truth. I also told her… that you’re brave and generous and kind. Actually, you’re one of the kindest people I’ve ever met.” He smiled awkwardly. “I hope it wasn’t terribly forward of me.”

Dorian stared at him for a long moment, his breath catching in his throat. He wracked his brain for something to say, anything at all, but for the first time, perhaps ever, he was totally speechless.

He took in a shaky breath. “Do you truly believe them?” he asked quietly, holding David’s gaze. He couldn’t take his eyes away, even if he’d wanted to. “All those things you told your sister… do you believe them?”

“I do.” The other man’s reply was quick and sure, and his eyes met Dorian’s levelly. “There isn’t a moment that I thought otherwise, Dorian. I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while. You are… special. Special to me.”

If Dorian could stop time right there, he probably would have. If the stars and the planets had ceased their constant motion right at that moment, if the wind had stopped blowing and the moon had continued shining above them, silver and iridescent, Dorian would gladly stay in that moment forever and a day. Just so he could hear the fondness in David’s voice, watch that smile tugging at the edges of his lips when he spoke to him, the affection in his eyes when he looked at him.

Those eyes had always told Dorian so much more than David’s words had. And this time, Dorian understood.

He took a step forward, leaning towards him. The moments before their lips met felt like the leap from an impossible height. David’s breath skimmed Dorian’s skin, warm and spicy with the scent of the whiskey. Soft lips parted beneath his own, and Dorian was falling.

His fingers threaded through silky, chestnut hair, and David’s scent filled his lungs: lavender and herbs, that delicate soap he liked to use. Strong arms came around him, pulling him closer, and Dorian sighed softly, deepening the kiss as he let himself be drawn. He was helpless, utterly helpless when it came to David, melting against him, every one of his thoughts and defences melting away. Their kiss was tender and passionate, soft and just a little bit desperate, and everything he’d ever wanted, everything he'd dreamed.

David pulled slightly back, cupping Dorian’s cheek as he did so. He gazed at Dorian’s face through heavy-lidded eyes, his lips glistening. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do that?” he asked quietly, his thumb brushing over Dorian’s skin in a tender caress.

His words washed over Dorian like a wave. He leaned against the other man’s chest, linking his wrists behind his neck. His heart was beating giddy and excited, making his head swim, and he could almost feel David’s heart through his clothes, beating in the same rhythm.

“Thank goodness one of us has a little initiative,” Dorian said teasingly, brushing his nose over David’s. "Let's not wait so long next time, yes?"

David laughed gently, the sound reverberating through Dorian where they touched. He leaned in for another kiss, slow and gentle, and this time Dorian really had no more words left.

"I'll make sure not to," David whispered against his lips, hugging him tightly.

#dorian pavus #dorian x trevelyan #dorian x inquisitor #pavelyan #dorian x david trevelyan #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age fanfiction #johaerys writes

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ladylynse · 3 years

Note

One of the HP/DP Twins AU posts includes Jake Long, so I'm thinking American Dragon: Jake Long/Harry Potter crossover; what would it be like? Dragons in HP are nothing like JL dragons (or are they?). Any ideas? Thank you

(re: this ficlet (one of them, anyway) from this AU)

That is a very good question, and I'd swear you weren't the first person to ask it, except I can't find any previous answer anywhere, so there's a chance it was all in my head. (There are sometimes many things in my head.) There is also a chance there's half a response in my drafts that I will find in six months. (Or maybe I'm just thinking of trolls.) Either way, you get this one now.

The dragons in the two worlds are different enough that, were I writing a crossover fic, I wouldn't consider them the same species. The HP dragons I'd treat as more genetically similar to, say, wyverns, which (in the ADJL world, I'm pretending) don't have human forms. I could go the route of corrupted magic or cursed or something, but, eh, dragons are established well enough in HP lore, abuse and protections and dragon heartstring wand core and egg-laying included, that it's simply easier to call them a magical creature that may appear similar to the ADJL dragons when they are in their dragon form but are not the same. (It gets very ethically dicey if you considered them the same, even if the wizards themselves do not considering them to be the same, and writing a fic where procurers of dragon heartstring are pretty much bounty hunters out murdering people for body parts isn’t the sort of fic I’d want to write.)

That is not to say that people like Charlie Weasley aren't aware that there are other dragon species out there, both in the 'they've likely gone extinct' and 'they're so good at hiding that we can't find them' sense. I don't recall off the top of my head if there's any mention of wingless dragons in the HP world, but if there isn't, there's the fun of the debate of whether or not the wingless dragons can fly on a basis of magic alone, something heatedly discussed because there seems to be evidence for both but no definitive proof, as the ADJL wingless dragons like Lao Shi aren't about to be caught by a bunch of bumbling wizards. Rumours run rampant, but substantiated sightings do not.

Now. Thing is. The ADJL dragons would consider the Wizarding World separate from the Magical World and guard their secrets just as closely from wizards as they do from ordinary humans, and creatures who are perfectly aware of both worlds (like the goblins) aren't about to tell the wizards what they haven't managed to figure out on their own.

However.

There is the obvious mistreatment of some magical creatures and the lack of interference from the ADJL dragons, who are supposed to protect magical creatures. I’d be tempted to split the dragon territory under the protection of the ADJL dragons into one for each country--Wales has a dragon on the flag; how can I not acknowledge that they have their own dragonic protector?--and then make up excuses for why there’s a single dragon for all of Africa by claiming that Councillor Andam, while in that role, merely oversaw the dragons in charge of each of the countries/subregions if it wasn’t split across countries, which it probably isn’t, because borders can be nebulous things. The fact that they’re having so much trouble replacing world dragons after they were killed by the Strigoi--and the fact that Jake has the role as a teenager who, at the start of it, is still learning control--means I really shouldn’t do that from a narrative standpoint, as the dragons themselves are clearly very few in number. Which brings me back to my point, and that is that they are too few in number to do things about the wizards and their treatment of magical creatures in anything more than a subtle way.

The ADJL dragons would, I think, be able to blend into both the muggle and wizarding worlds. Hiding is already second nature to them; what’s hiding one more secret, especially when such knowledge can be easily explained away? (In England, at least, the Ministry of Magic records are deplorable by their standards (so I’d pretend).) They have magic, even if it’s not wizarding magic, so they could blend in well enough for what they need to do. The ADJL dragons would work in more subtle ways to protect the magical creatures targeted by the wizarding world--such as bringing in dragon sanctuaries--while still working to keep their very existence secret from the muggle one.

I mean, that’s all well and good, but that’s background, not an actual fic. That’s the standpoint I’d be working from, though, when informing other decisions I’m making. Jake himself wouldn’t have jurisdiction outside of the States, and if some sort of British dragon was named in the show (even as one of those killed by the Strigoi), I don’t remember who it is; I’d need to check that. Point is, though, I’d probably set the fic on American soil.

I mean, I could write a fic with a heavily involved OC where Jake is pulled in to do something with the British Dragon, and I could see Jake involving himself if something goes down outside of the US and there’s no one around to help, officially designated world dragon or no, but it’s hard to justify keeping him involved because he shouldn’t be. It shouldn’t be his fight. He’s already responsible for a larger territory than he can feasibly take care of, which is why I quietly headcanon that a whole bunch of different magical creatures across the States keep tabs on the situation in their little region and Jake only gets notified (via Fu or Gramps, who are screening this because Jake is still in school) when it’s not something someone else can handle, at least if it’s any distance away from where Jake is currently.

So, for HP characters I’d probably focus on to twig to the fact that there might be more to dragons than they currently realize? Luna, Hermione, Charlie, or Bill. They just make the most sense to me. (At least for present-day folk; Newt Scamander would be an obvious pre-books choice.)

Luna would be off exploring, searching for evidence of creatures no one in the wizarding world even believes exist (they often do and merely are residing as firmly as possible in the magical world, trying to keep away from the general knowledge of wizards). Hermione could be on a proper holiday with her parents after everything that’s happened, only to catch sight of something in the NYC that isn’t what it should be, even to her eyes. Charlie, well, there have been rumours of dragons spotted around New York City, and someone needs to follow up on that and act as a liaison to their American branch, because why didn’t they send someone to investigate this sooner? (As far as the others can tell, the Americans lost no time in sending half the team to Hawaii to investigate rumours into sightings there.) Otherwise, I’d go with Bill Weasley and work at it not from the dragon/magical world angle but magical artefact/magical world angle, with curses and magic that doesn’t make sense to anyone else and therefore requires the attention of one of the best curse breakers in the magical world. (The goblins would know what they were doing in showing such a thing to a wizard if they were present on the scene of the discovery; if they were not and found out after, well, it’s less a choice and more a subtle hand to guide the situation away from impending disaster, because that is very well what it could be, should someone else take the lead on this.)

(more like this)

#adjl #hp #harry potter #american dragon jake long #crossover #musings #fic ideas #ladylynse #asks #ramblings

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crystalninjaphoenix · 3 years

Text

Wyvernlair

Fantasy Masks AU: Chapter Three

A JSE Fanfic

Ta-da! Another chapter! :D This is the one I was talking about, with a lot of worldbuilding and new characters. It’s also one of my longer stories, and I had to cut out a scene near the end, but don’t worry, you’ll see that next time. Now that Chase is officially part of the Masked Phantoms, it’s time for him to get to know the layout of Wyvernlair, meet new people, and learn new things. So get ready for a whole lot of all that. Hope you guys enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was clear that Jackie was eager to have someone new to show around Wyvernlair. He led the way, pointing out important features of the camp. Most of the center area was taken up by tents for people to stay in. In addition, there was an area dedicated to cooking, with campfires and stacks of pots and dishes, a wide, clear area for people to practice sword fighting and other combat, and a large space for storage.

All this was fairly normal for any camp. Or at least, that’s what Chase figured, considering he’d never been in a camp of any kind. But he was pretty sure that the massive skeleton made Wyvernlair much different than any other camp. Every bit had been planned around the bones embedded in the ground. The tents were encircled by the dragon. The cooking fires were dotted around the leg bones. The combat field was spread out along the wings that extended out from the rest of the body. And the storage was inside the oversized ribcage, canvas stretched over the gaps to keep out the weather.

Inside the ribs was the most incredible place Chase had ever been. He kept his head craned upward, following the curve of the ivory bones, each one big enough that it would take three full grown men to encircle it. The storage inside the ribcage was much less impressive in comparison, though he did have to admit he’d never seen this amount of weapons, armor, parchment, and foodstuffs in one place. Not to mention all the miscellaneous items as well, like lanterns and chests for storage.

“Oh, you need a jacket!” Jackie suddenly said, bringing Chase back to the conversation. “You can take one of the communal ones, over here.” He grabbed Chase’s hand and pulled him to the side of the ribs, where the chests were full of various clothing, each labeled with types and sizes. “Unless you’re a cloak person?”

“Uh, no, I...jackets are good,” Chase said dazedly.

“Great! What are you, a five?” Jackie waited for Chase to nod, then headed over to the appropriate chest. “We don’t have that many fives left...a lot of people have measurements around there.” He flipped open the chest lid. “Um...yeah, there’s just one. Hope you like yellow.” After a bit of rummaging, he pulled out a dull flaxen jacket and tossed it in Chase’s direction.

Chase fumbled for a bit before catching it. It was a fairly normal jacket, and he quickly pulled it on. Autumn in the mountains was not a time to walk around without one. He’d been chilly all through their walk.

“Alright, all that’s left is the skull,” Jackie said. “I don’t know how often you’ll be in there, but it’s good to—”

“I’m sorry, I’m still caught up on the fact that I’m inside a dragon skeleton,” Chase interrupted.

Henrik, who’d been following the tour quietly and letting Jackie do all the talking, suddenly burst into laughter. “I told you. It is shocking, isn’t it?”

“Well...yes!” Chase looked back up at the curve of the ribs above him, slowly shaking his head. “I heard dragons were large, but I didn’t really...picture it, before this.”

“Technically, this is not the skeleton of a full-blooded great dragon,” Henrik said.

“What?”

“The dragon that most people think of, with four legs and two or more wings? That is a great dragon,” Henrik explained. “I’m sure you noticed this one only has two legs; it was likely a wyvern/great dragon crossbreed.”

“Hence the name ‘Wyvernlair,’” Jackie added.

“What’s the difference?” Chase asked.

“Wyverns only had two legs and larger wings. They walked a bit like birds do,” Henrik continued. “And they were usually much smaller. There are some accounts of humans riding them. So this was either an abnormally large wyvern, or it was a crossbreed with the great dragons. Which, yes, could grow as big as this, but that was not so common.”

“Elders,” Chase muttered. The fact that there were once creatures as large as this roaming the land, big enough to encircle half a town...it made him glad they weren’t around anymore.

“It was really lucky that we found this place,” Jackie said. “Not because of the skeleton, but because of its location. There are no trees growing near the bones, so we have room to spread out, and we have our backs to a rock wall, which makes it more defensible.” He paused. “Anyway, the last part on our tour is the skull, and then we can set you up with a tent. Oh, actually, the spare tents are kept here. Let’s grab that now.”

“I get my own?” Chase said, surprised.

“Of course, we have plenty to spare,” Jackie said casually. “We brought a whole bunch up, but recruitment has been slow.”

“Nonexistent,” Henrik muttered. He reached into one of his belt pouches and took out a small flask, taking a quick drink.

“Well...yes,” Jackie admitted. “But let’s go, we’re almost done!”

The skull was just as massive as the rest of the skeleton, with wicked sharp teeth as tall as Chase. He stared at them as Jackie and Henrik led him around to the back, where there was a slight gap where the skull met the spine. They passed through that gap and ended up inside. Much like the ribs, the skull had been converted into a room, with canvas blocking the eye sockets and nasal cavity to make a rough roof. This wasn’t as large as the storage, but it was still at least three times as large as Chase’s cottage. There were more chests in here, and a few rickety desks where people—masks always nearby—sat, reading and writing on parchment. They all glanced up as the three men entered the room, then looked away.

In the middle of the skull was a large circular table, made of solid, dark wood and surrounded by chairs. Various maps were spread out on the surface of the table, held down with weights.

Chase glanced at the largest map, and immediately recognized it as a map of the kingdom of Glasúil. A detailed one, too, covering almost all of the island. The Dragon’s Teeth mountains ran down the center, with the smaller Northaven range branching off to the east, along the northern shore. The Southern Moors were present, slowly merging into the sea. Rivers and forests he’d never heard of crossed the parchment, and each major town and city was represented by a labeled black dot. The only part of the map left blank was the area to the west of the Dragon’s Teeth, which simply had “Wyldwood” written across it.

“Oh hey, you like the maps?” Jackie asked, noticing Chase’s attention. “We use those for planning stuff. A lot of strategy and meetings happen here. This is also where we keep all our records and sort through all our messages with other Phantom locations. Since you’re part of the group now, you’ll eventually go on missions, and if that’s the case, you’ll have to write a report and deliver it here.”

“Missions?” Chase repeated. His head was starting to swim a bit with all the new information.

“Well, if you want to,” Jackie said awkwardly. “I mean, you could stay here and do medicine with Henrik, or be part of our administration—”

“Administration?” This time, Chase laughed a bit when he repeated the word.

“Organization is very important,” Schneep emphasized. “There are a lot of us, and we do a lot of things. If we have no organization then we do not know what we’re doing!”

“Yeah, and those things we do are...missions,” Jackie said.

“Alright, what kind of...missions?” Chase asked.

“Depends. We might need to investigate someplace, or something, or someone. We might need to go in and stop an act of injustice, or rescue people who’ve been hurt.” Jackie paused. “If...if we’d heard about the King’s plans for the mountain villages to burn, then we could have...shown up. In time.”

Chase felt his stomach twist at the mention of the burning villages. There was guilt in Jackie’s voice; he clearly felt awful that the Phantoms couldn’t do anything to prevent that. “Well.” Chase took a deep breath. “I guess we’ll have to make sure things like that don’t happen again.”

Jackie nodded. Henrik placed a hand on his shoulder, and that seemed to steady him. He drew himself to his full height and stiffened his posture. “Exactly. The King may think he can get away with any of this, just because of his position. But the people will not stand for it. We will not stand for it. As long as his actions cause death and damage, we will work to remove him.”

For a moment, Chase was in awe at the resolve Jackie showed. He wasn’t that physically intimidating, being almost a head shorter than Chase and a head and a half shorter than Henrik, but he had a commanding aura. Maybe the strength of his conviction was catching. “Exactly,” Chase said. “That’s—that’s what I want to do.” His simple statement sounded lame in comparison.

Jackie smiled. “And that’s why we’re so glad to have you.” He relaxed a bit, looking over at Henrik. “And if Schneep likes you, then I do, too.”

Chase couldn’t hold back a laugh. “I-I’m sorry? What did you call him?”

Henrik’s expression fell. He took his hand off Jackie’s shoulder and pushed him with his shoulder. “I told you, stop using that.”

“But it’s so fun to say,” Jackie said cheerfully. “Chase, did you know that Henrik’s surname is Schneeplestein?”

Chase fought to stifle his giggles. Now he remembered that particular fact from his first meeting with Henrik. “That’s—well, I’m sure that’s a usual surname in Alterde—”

“It is not,” Henrik said wearily. “It sounds just as ridiculous over there. Go ahead, laugh about it. Get it out of your mind now.”

“No no, I’m fine, I promise.” Chase coughed a bit, clearing his throat of laughter. “At least you have a surname.”

“Ah, it is common to have one where I am from,” Henrik waved away the comment. “I know here it is a nobility thing, but not in Alterde or its neighbors.”

“Really?” Chase said, interested.

“Really. And it is much easier than your family names,” Henrik said bluntly, turning to leave.

“Hey! Wait for us!” Jackie took Chase’s hand and the two of them followed Henrik out of the dragon’s skull.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Chase? Are you awake?”

The first thing Chase heard when waking up was someone calling his voice. Instinctively, he rolled over and stretched his arm to the right. Only to be met with nothing but empty space. Oh. Right.

He opened his eyes to a canvas wall and ceiling. He’d gotten his tent yesterday, and Jackie had shown him how to set it up in a spot near the dragon spine. From there, the rest of the day had passed slowly. Awkwardly, too, as Chase didn’t feel up to approaching any of the masked people who were part of the Phantoms. It felt...strange. Like he was constantly intruding on something. So he just spent time in his tent, and when dinnertime rolled around, he showed up to get some stew from the cooking fires then went off to eat on his own. Eventually, the sun set, and he figured that was time to go to bed.

“Chase?” The voice called again.

“Henrik?” Chase asked, sitting up and wiggling out of the bedroll he’d been given.

“Oh, you are awake. Can I open the flap?”

“Go ahead.” It wasn’t like he was indecent or anything. He was actually still wearing his clothes from the day before. Maybe he should check out the storage, see if they had anything else he could use.

Henrik pushed open the flap of the tent and ducked inside, pushing his owl mask up onto his forehead. “Ah, good. I have something for you.” He held out a folded piece of parchment.

Puzzled, Chase took it. “What is this?” He asked as he unfolded it.

“Well, now that you are a Phantom, there are some things you need to be familiar with,” Henrik said. “Jackie put together a schedule for you for today.”

Chase silently looked at the words. He blinked. Then squinted. Then looked back up at Henrik. “Um...I’m sorry, but I...can’t read this.”

Henrik didn’t even have a response for that. “You...cannot read?”

“I can, but only a little,” Chase admitted. “I know the alphabet and numbers, but as for words, I can read what I’m familiar with. Food, animal names, archery gear. Things like that.” He trailed off into a mumble, somehow embarrassed. Reading had never been an issue before. Everyone in town knew enough to get by. But now, he wondered...was that not normal?

“That’s okay,” Henrik said, picking up on Chase’s tone. “Jackie was the same way. We had to teach him.” He chuckled a bit at the memory. “I will explain, then. After breakfast, you will meet with Nemet in the infirmary, she will give you a basic medicine check. To see what you know and fill you in on anything you need. Then you will head down to the tip of the tail, and meet a man there called Tripp. I understand you do not know that much about magic, so he will give you an overview. Then there will be lunch, and then you will head to the combat field to start training with Holly and Lukas.”

Chase started. “What was that last name?”

“Lukas,” Henrik repeated. “You will probably be working with him more, since you seem inclined with bows, and not closer combat.”

“Right.” Chase nodded. That name sounded familiar, like he’d heard it recently...

“Then come back for dinner, and I will check up on you,” Henrik continued. “And by then, hopefully you will know what you want to do most in the group. Medicine, organization, and such. And we will get you a temporary mask.”

“So, why masks?” Chase asked. “I like the idea, but...why? Who came up with it?”

“Oh, the mask concept was Jackie’s idea, but the animal part was added by—by someone else,” Henrik said. There was an odd pause there...was he going to say something else? A name, perhaps? “We wear masks so people will not recognize us. Many of us have friends and family who would be at risk if the King’s people knew we were working against him. Like, for me. You know I am a traveling doctor, yes? Well, when I met you last year, I was already working with the Phantoms. Can you imagine what would happen if someone recognized me as a rebel?”

Chase shivered. “Yea, I can.” If the King was willing to burn down the mountain villages for an unknown reason, what would he do to find one of the rebels? With that thought in mind, he slowly stood up. “So...I’ll get started, then. Meeting with all these strangers.”

“Do not be nervous, Chase,” Henrik said gently. “Everyone new we find has to go through something like this. And these are some of our best people.”

“Thanks,” Chase said. “That’s good to know.” Still, his stomach was slowly tying itself in knots as he headed towards the cooking fires, about to start the day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a quick breakfast of toasted bread—light, but with those stomach knots, still hard to get through—Chase headed up the gentle slope towards the infirmary cave in the rock wall. Slipping through the flap in the canvas, he found it unchanged from the day before, when he’d been discharged. Nobody was inside, except for...

“Ibis?” Chase asked.

“Hello, Chase.” Ibis smiled at him. Her mask was off, revealing her features and round, dark eyes for the first time. “It’s good to see you again. And please, my name is Nemet.”

“Oh! Oh, I’m supposed to meet with you.” That explained why she was standing near the entrance, she was waiting for him.

“Yes, yes.” Nemet nodded. “Henrik has told me to give you a basics in medicine.” She turned and headed towards the back, indicating he should follow. “Come, come. This shouldn’t take too long.”

Nemet had set three chests on top of each other, making a sort of rough chest-height table. On top of the flat surface of the chest-table were a series of bottles and bags, each one neatly labeled. “Here. These are some of our common tonics and medicines we use here. Tell me what you recognize.”

Chase considered the layout before him. There were probably about thirty in total, if he had to guess. “This is for colds, right? And fevers? And this one, too. And these dried leaves, they’re for nausea. Oh, and this will put you to sleep if you put it in water or stew. This is a salve, also for fevers. And this is a balm for sores. And this will stop infection on cuts and scrapes. And...that’s what I know.”

“Impressive,” Nemet nodded.

“Really? That’s only a fraction of the total,” Chase said doubtfully.

“Most people who join up only know redleaf, bainruish, and seedbane.” Nemet indicated each medicine as she listed them. “Fevers, cuts, and...well, I’m sure you know what seedbane is for, even if you said nothing. You are married, after all.” She laughed as Chase slowly turned red. “Ah, my apologies. The point is, you are ahead of most others.”

“Do we really need all of these?” Chase asked, quickly moving on.

“Oh, yes. You know that when people gather together that sicknesses spread easily. Many of these will help to cure a specific disease, while others are a general tonic, like redleaf.” Nemet paused, then picked up about ten of the medicines and put them on the floor. “Henrik says you are not so much caught up on magic, so we will leave these ones out of our discussion for now.”

Chase started at that. The concept of mixing medicine with magic made him...uneasy. He may not know that much about magic, but he knew it could be dangerous. “I was wondering, Nemet, what did you do before you joined the Phantoms? I know Henrik’s a traveling doctor, are you the same?”

“Not exactly.” Nemet shrugged. “I was a student of medicine back home.”

“And where was that?”

“A land called Kha’Nyphthis.” Nemet grinned a bit at Chase’s confused expression. “You would not have heard of it. It is to the south, on another continent, but not the same continent as Henrik’s Alterde. We have great schools and libraries there, the best in the world. I was learning to become a doctor, and had almost finished my schooling, but one of the final requirements was to learn the medicine of another land. I chose here, Glasúil, because you are well-known for your medicine. But then I arrived, and saw the state of things, and...ah, well.” Her expression fell for a moment.

“I’m...sorry,” Chase said awkwardly. “Do you...ever think about going back?”

Nemet nodded briefly. “Of course. I have family, friends. But I cannot just abandon things. It’s not in my nature to leave things unsettled.” She took a deep breath, and moved on. “But as for your basics in medicine, let me start by getting you familiar with the ones you didn’t know.”

It was a while later before Chase left the infirmary, his head feeling stuffed with all the new information Nemet had drilled into him. Already, some of it was starting to slip away. And he immediately knew that he could never be a doctor. If these were the basics, he couldn’t even begin to think about what would be required to complete the training to become one.

But he didn’t have time to let all that new knowledge sink in. Judging by the sun’s position, it was getting close to noon, and to lunch. He still had to meet up with someone else before it was time to eat. So he hurried onward, running along the curve of the dragon’s bones, following them as they got smaller and smaller, until they eventually merged into the packed ground. Chase slowed to a stop and looked around, confused. This was the end of the tail, wasn’t it? So...where was—

“Hey you’re the new one, right?”

Chase yelped and spun around. A man was sitting between the spine bones of the dragon, almost unnoticeable in the shadow between them. “Yeah, that’s me,” he said slowly. “Are you, uh...Tripp?”

The man nodded, hopped to his feet, and walked over to Chase. Standing up, he was short, even shorter than Jackie. He wore a dark brown cloak that reached his knees, and of course, a mask. This one was shaped like a ram’s head, complete with curved horns, and the black symbol on the forehead was actually four different symbols arranged in a diamond formation. After a moment of looking at them, Chase realized they were the suits often used on playing cards. How...odd. The man reached up and took off the mask, ruffling his golden brown hair and revealing dark eyes. “Tripp, son of Seamus,” he said shortly. “And you are...?”

“Chase. Son of Brody,” Chase said automatically. “Henrik told you I was—”

“You’re not up-and-up on magic and need a course, yea,” Tripp interrupted, swinging his mask around his finger. Chase took a step back despite already being far away. If that went flying, those plaster horns would do some damage. “And he asked me to do it ‘cause I’m our second best guy.”

“You’re the—?”

“What do you know already, Brodyson?” Tripp continued. “Ever met a magic-wielder?”

“There were a handful in town—”

“Sorcerer, wizard, enchanter, oracle, witch?”

“I...what?” Chase blinked. “I...think they were all sorcerers.”

“How many?”

“Only a handful, about six or seven?”

“For a village of four hundred or so people?” Tripp laughed. “Everyone must’ve been magically impotent.”

“Could you slow down?!” Chase snapped. “I thought you were supposed to teach me about magic, not make fun of me for not knowing anything!”

Tripp paused. Then grinned. “It’s just banter, Brodyson. I didn’t mean offense. But hey, you called me out. Good on you for that. My apologies.” His grin faded. “But I’m not jokin’ about that. There should’ve been at least four times that number of magic-wielders in a town that size. What happened? Were the seekers bein’ lazy for the past few years?”

“...Seekers?” Chase repeated, puzzled.

Tripp looked up at the sky. “Oh, elders. They haven’t been showin’ up at all, have they? If you don’t even know about them—alright, we’ll start from the beginning, then.” He sat down on the ground, folding his legs under him. Slowly, Chase sat down across from him. “You know of the five branches, right? I’m pretty sure everyone in the world’s at least heard their names.”

“Yes,” Chase said, nodding. Wizards, sorcerers, enchanters, oracles, and witches. He mostly heard about them in stories, and was especially fuzzy on the details about those last three.

“A common mistake people make is thinkin’ these are all different things.” Tripp started drawing in the dirt with his finger. “When really, all magic is the same. It’s like a tree—just because each branch might look different, doesn’t mean they don’t all come from the same trunk.” And, in keeping with that metaphor, he drew a rough outline of a tree with five different branches. “All magics can work with each other, and there’s a lot of similarities in between them. For example, do you know the difference between wizardry and sorcery? They’re the two most well-known of the branches.”

“Um...if I’m being honest, I’d always been under the impression that wizardry was more powerful,” Chase said tentatively.

Tripp snorted in disbelief. “Some wizards would like to think that. But no. More varied, yes. But not more powerful. Here, it’ll be easier if I go over them all one by one.” He started to draw symbols by each of the branches, starting with a crude stick figure. “Sorcery is the most common magic besides witchcraft. It crops up in people at random. If you got twenty-five people in a room together, one would probably be a sorcerer, even if they didn’t know it. Its source is inside the person themself. And what it does is manipulate the world. Like...this.”

He pressed a flat hand against the ground next to him. After a moment, the dirt started to move. Then suddenly, pillars of rock shot through the dirt, rising from underneath the surface. Chase gaped as the solid stone started to twist, winding around each other to form a braid of rock. Then Tripp removed his hand, and the rock froze, as if it had never been moving in the first place. For a moment, Chase was stunned, then he managed to ask, “S-so you’re a sorcerer, then?”

“Exactly,” Tripp grinned. “Why d’you look so surprised? You said you knew sorcerers before.”

“Well...yes, but I hadn’t...seen their magic too much,” Chase admitted. He remembered one time when Gwen, the weaver’s daughter, had pulled water out of the well. It just streamed out of the depths and sailed right into her bucket. But occasions like that were few and far between.

“Hmm.” Tripp scrunched his face up, thinking. “Well, besides that. Each branch of magic has its strengths and weaknesses. Sorcery’s strength is that it comes from within. As long as a sorcerer doesn’t drain too much energy, they can use their magic forever. And its weakness is that you need a material to manipulate. Like just now, I reached down and pulled rock up from underground. But there’s a limit to the range where your magic can affect things.”

Chase nodded. “What about wizardry, then?”

Tripp sketched a rough outline of a necklace next to another branch of the tree. “Its strength is its variety. Wizards aren’t limited by what things are present, they can conjure out of thin air. But its weakness is in this: the ‘focus.’” He tapped the necklace drawing. “Unlike sorcery, wizardry doesn’t come from within. Wizards are channelin’ it from outside, from the layer of magic that coats the world. But to do so, they need a specially-made thing called a focus. It’s usually a necklace, ‘cause that’s handy, but it can be any shape, as long as it’s made the right way. These dragon bones, for example. They’d be real good to make focuses with.” He knocked on the nearest bone. “About one in fifty people are able to channel wizardry.”

“And now we reach the end of my knowledge,” Chase mutters. “What’s the next most common?”

Tripp paused. “Enchantment.” The image he drew in the dirt now was a misshapen lump. “Damn. That’s supposed to be a brain.”

“Ah. Right. Because enchantment is the magic of the mind, isn’t it?” Chase recalled, casting his memories back to the stories he’d heard that included enchanters.

“Hmm. Yea.” Tripp pursed his lips. “How do I explain them...Well, strengths. They’re the only magic that can work with your mind. Illusions, talking in your head, things like that. But as for their weaknesses, enchanters can’t change the world for real.”

“Is it true that enchanters can control your actions?” Chase asked. “There’s a story, the Dark Damoen—”

“The crazy old man who made Erinthold worship him as a god? That’s a famous one.” Tripp nodded. “Well, it’s true. Some could change your thoughts and make you do things you wouldn’t. But that takes a lot of power, and besides, most enchanters are decent people, like all the rest of us. It’s just that we remember the bad ones because they shock us. And only about one in a hundred people are enchanters, anyway. Don’t worry about it. There are a few Masked Phantoms who are enchanters.”

Chase nodded slowly. The thought of the old story sent shivers down his back, but he should probably trust the magic-wielder. He clearly knew more “What about...the oracles?”

Tripp drew a symbol of an eye in the dirt. “Those are the rarest one. You only get an oracle one in a thousand, if you’re lucky, and they’re not usually that powerful. You’ve probably heard that they issue prophecies of what’s to come, or that they might even be able to manipulate time itself. Well that’s all bullshit.”

“Wh—” Chase was so surprised at the frankness that he choked on his own gasp. After a few moments of coughing, he continued in a hoarse voice. “What do you mean?”

“Oracles can’t manipulate time, that’s the most insane rumor goin’ round about magic there ever was,” Tripp stated. “They get visions of what’s most likely to happen. It’s not for sure, and really, most oracles are wrong. But huge strength there, knowing the most likely future. And it comes with a big weakness. A couple, actually. One, they have to speak their visions out loud while it’s happenin’. It’s a magic...what’s the word?” He snapped his fingers for a bit. “Compulsion. That’s it. They’re literally forced to do it, can’t stop that. And two, the visions are all they can do. They have no other magic. And because of that, some say that oracles are cursed, not gifted.”

Chase thought about that. If he had the choice, would he take knowing the future for being forced to share it? Maybe. Maybe if he knew what could happen next, he could stop terrible things. Like...his heart panged, and he shied away from the thought. No, that didn’t sound too bad. People would also know what the future held, what of it? He’d take that risk.

“And the last magic,” Tripp said, snapping Chase out of his thoughts. “Witchcraft. It’s actually the most common.”

“Really?” Chase said doubtfully.

“I bet you’re goin’ by the stories, where witches are old people that stay in shacks and give out potions,” Tripp said, drawing a bottle next to the final branch. “But really, the magic of witchcraft isn’t in people, like all the others. It’s in the land. It’s part of the world’s magic. Plants with strange properties, the parts of magical animals...these can be mixed together to create amazing effects. And anyone could learn how to do it. In fact, most of us here have.”

Chase suddenly remembered earlier, how Nemet had put away some of the medicines during their meeting. It was because he didn’t know much about magic...“Wait, you mean anyone could make potions? Become a witch?”

“Well, not anyone,” Tripp muttered. “If you have magic of your own, you can’t learn witchcraft. The knowledge just slips away, and if we try anyway, nothing works, even if it should. You can’t use more than one magic. It’d be like tryin’ to hold onto every single branch of a tree.”

“If the tree was small, though?” Chase joked.

“It’s not. The magic tree is big, and the branches are the type where you need to hold on with both hands,” Tripp said firmly.

“Oh. I...see.” Chase cleared his throat. Clearly, using more than one magic wasn’t something to make light of. It was too impossible. “And...what about those seekers you mentioned earlier?”

Tripp was eager to move on. “Seekers are wizards that can sense the presence of magic. What’s supposed to happen is that these seekers are supposed to stop by every town twice every year. In practice, that’s faded away. Most towns only see them once a year, and the farther away you get from Suilthair, the less often you’ll see them. My town where I grew up, they came by every three years. But if you don’t know what they are, then...have you ever seen them?”

At that, Chase had a vague memory of a group of strangers visiting Hilltown when he was a child. They were dressed finely, and the image of an elaborate brooch one of them was wearing flashed in his mind. The next day, Hanson, an old friend of his, announced to all the kids that he was going away for ‘special school.’ “Not in years. Long enough for me to forget what they are.”

Tripp huffed. “I bet it’s not worth the effort to come all the way up here. Bunch of nambies.” He rolled his eyes. “Seekers are employed by the royal family. They find young magic-wielders and offer to give them schoolin’, to learn how to use their magic. Schoolin’ that’s funded by the crowns. It’s not required—I never went—but it’s encouraged. Otherwise you might end up having magic shootin’ out of your—”

“Is that why most wizards side with the King?” Chase asked, remembering what Henrik said about the source of the village fire.

“Part of it. But wizards especially have a reason to keep on the King’s good side.” Tripp paused. “Those focuses I told you ‘bout, that wizards need to use their magic? The crowns fund the makin’ of those, too. And the sellin’. And everything about them.”

“Oh.” Chase’s eyes widened with realization. “So...if a wizard decided to oppose the King, then there’s a chance that...they wouldn’t have access to a focus anymore? And...their magic?”

Tripp nodded. “That’s why most of us magic-wielders in the Phantoms are sorcerers and a few enchanters.”

“No oracles?”

“Oh, elders, no. You heard how hard they are to find. Wish we had some, though. That’d be helpful.” Tripp stretched his arms, then stood up. “Anyway, that’s all I have to say. You got it all?”

“I think so, yes,” Chase said slowly. He looked up to the sky, mentally reviewing everything he’d heard. Sorcery, wizardry, enchantment, oraclulary, and witchcraft. All very different, all with things they could do and limitations that slowed them down. That made sense. He nodded to himself...and then noticed the position of the sun. “Shit!” Chase shot to his feet. “It’s noon! I have—after lunch, I—”

“More meetings, huh?” Tripp raised an eyebrow, then pulled his ram mask back on. “Let me guess...Lukas and Holly? Better hurry, Brodyson. Not good to be late for those two.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chase swung by the cooking fires to grab some food, then hurried over to the combat fields, along the dragon’s wings. Originally, he wondered if the wing bones would get it the way, but apparently the dragon had died with its wings spread out as far as they could be, leaving ample room in between the bones. The packed dirt was lined with targets, crude dummies made of sacks of hay tied to sticks, and racks of wooden training weapons. Occasionally there were random chests or tents set up to create obstacles to fight around. As he ran out onto the fields, he passed many people, some sparring in groups, others practicing on their own. None of them paid him any mind.

Now that he was here, he wasn’t sure where to go. The fields took up all of the space cleared by the wings, which was, as it turned out, quite a lot. Maybe he should have asked Henrik for descriptions of the people he’d be meeting with. Feeling his nerves eating away at his stomach, he turned to the nearest person, and asked, quietly, “Excuse me, I’m looking for Lukas and Holly?”

The person turned around, looked down at him, and smiled. “Oh, it’s you! You’re the new one!”

“Um...yes,” Chase said slowly. It was just now occurring to him how...big this person was—this woman was, actually, judging by her voice. She towered over him, and her sleeveless tunic showed off the muscles of her tattooed arms. Strange to be wearing no sleeves in the chill mountain air, but she probably wasn’t bothered.

“I’m Holly.” Her smile widened. “Daughter of Rose.”

“Oh!” Chase blinked. That name didn’t fit her at all. But alright, he wasn’t one to say anything. “Chase, son of Brody.”

“Lovely to meet you.” Holly grabbed his hand and vigorously shook it. She wasn’t wearing her mask, but it hung around her neck. A bear. And the symbol on its forehead was the same as the one on Jackie’s wolf mask: a circle with two dots inside. “Me and Lukas, we’re in charge of combat up in Wyvernlair. Speaking of which...” She turned around. “Luke! He’s here!”

Chase leaned around Holly to look at who she was addressing...and suddenly felt cold, despite his jacket. Now he remembered where he heard that name before. While he’d been sick with the shivering in the infirmary, he’d overheard a conversation between Jackie and a man in a fox mask. That man had wanted to throw him out of camp, but Jackie had refused...and now, Chase was staring at that very same man.

“I can see that,” Lukas said shortly. He was facing a series of targets, and didn’t turn to look at Holly and Chase. Instead he merely took another arrow from a quiver on his back, nocked it on his bow, and shot. The arrow flew straight into the center of the farthest target, which was barely the size of a hand spread wide.

“No you can’t, you didn’t even look!” Holly scowled, and turned back around. “Sorry about him, Chase. He’s been snippy.”

“Well I wouldn’t be snippy if I hadn’t been standing out here for an hour, waiting for someone who didn’t bother to show up on time,” Lukas snapped.

“I’m not an hour late,” Chase protested weakly. Even behind the fox mask, Lukas’s expression was twisted with frustration and annoyance.

“It’s a matter of principle,” Lukas said, finally turning to face Chase. When he did, Chase noticed the symbol on his mask for the first time: an X, with a dot to either side.

“Let’s just get into it,” Holly said, folding her arms. “Now, Chase. You’re a hunter, yes? So you have some experience with shortbows.”

“I can shoot, yes,” Chase agreed. “But I’ve never heard the term ‘shortbow’ before.” Lukas rolled his eyes, a motion that was partially hidden by the mask but still visible enough for Chase to catch.

“It means a smaller bow, in comparison to Lukas’s massive beast of a longbow over there.” Holly gestured towards Lukas’s bow; it was almost as tall as him. “Shortbows are better for mobility and closer range, while longbows are more suited for staying stationary and shooting long distances.”

“Ah.” Chase nodded. That made sense; bigger bows were more powerful, but also harder to draw back and move around. Amabel once tried to shoot Chase’s own bow when she was seven, and couldn’t pull the string even a little.

“I’m assuming you’re a fairly good shot,” Holly said, rubbing her chin. “So you’ll probably need to work with me more. I’m in charge of close-range combat, while Lukas handles the long range, with bows. So if we’re to—”

“Hold on a moment, Holly,” Lukas interrupted. “I want to see what he can do.”

Holly shot Lukas a dirty look. “There’s no need—”

“Of course there is. We should know what our starting point is.” Lukas turned and walked towards a nearby weapons rack, picking out a smaller shortbow and a quiver of matching arrows. He headed back to the others and thrust the tools at Chase. “Show me how well you hunt.”

“...alright. I will.” Chase took the bow and quiver slowly. He didn’t like being tested, especially not when the test was proposed by a man who clearly thought he was some sort of spy for the King and might be looking for an excuse to kick him out. Should he pretend to be worse than he actually was? No, that would just be complicated. He’d shoot normally.

He stepped up to the place Lukas had been standing, facing the targets, and strapped the quiver onto his back. For a moment, he examined the bow. Solidly built. Looked newer than the one he used back home. And had these odd curves...was this a recurve model? He’d heard of them, but never used one before.

“Soon, please!” Lukas called.

Holly promptly hit him on the back of the head. “Take your time, Chase! Don’t worry!”

Chase nodded. His mouth was suddenly very dry. But he swallowed his nerves, adjusted his stance, and nocked an arrow. He hit it against the back of his head in the process of taking it out of the quiver—not being used to wearing it on his back—and glanced back at the two watching to gauge their reactions. Holly looked supportive, but Lukas was unreadable. He looked away again.

There were ten arrows in the quiver and ten targets set up in front of him. He must need to hit all of them. So he drew back, aimed, and let loose the arrow.

Ten arrows.

Five of them hit the closest targets. Two of those hit their target’s center.

One hit the edge of one of the farther targets.

The remaining four missed.

Feeling a sinking feeling in his stomach, he turned back to Holly and Lukas.

“Wow. That was the most utterly average thing I’ve ever seen,” Lukas said bluntly.

“You hit more than I can!” Holly said positively, giving him a short round of applause. “That’s great!”

Chase nodded silently. “I...I’m not used to this bow.”

Lukas hummed. He went to collect the arrows, giving Chase a side-eyed look as he walked past. It seemed as though his suspicions hadn’t been assuaged. If anything, he looked even more wary.

Holly walked up to Chase and clapped a hand on his shoulder. Chase promptly lost his balance from the force of the contact, and Holly helped him right himself. “Sorry about that,” she said. “And sorry about Lukas. He’s just...he has a hard time trusting people. I’m sure you’ll win him over.”

“It’s fine,” Chase said distantly. “I mean, not everyone’s going to immediately welcome someone new into a group like this. You need to keep secret. There are risks.” Still, Lukas’s distrust, combined with his mediocre shooting skills, left him feeling a bit down. Like a cloud passing over the sun, everything just seemed...disappointing.

Lukas returned, arrows in hand. “Do it again,” he said.

“Elders and Sisters, Luke, we don’t have all day,” Holly protested.

“He needs to practice,” Lukas said, stone-faced.

“He needs to start with me! You can’t handle all your problems from a distance, especially in our situation. What’s he to do if a King’s man jumps him from behind and all he has are arrows?”

“It’s fine,” Chase repeated. He rubbed his arm; they hadn’t given him an arm guard, and despite the jacket fabric, his skin still stung from the bow string. “We have until dinner.”

Holly gave him a look, but sighed and stepped back. “One hour of shooting, then it’s my turn.”

Lukas nodded. “Deal.”

Chase sighed a bit, and took the arrows from Lukas. It was turning out to be a long day.

#jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye fanfiction #jacksepticegos #jacksepticeye au #septic egos #septic egos au #chase brody #dr schneeplestein #jackieboy man #brigid writes fanfiction #fantasymasksau

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queenxxxsupreme · 4 years

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Hi i dont know if you take request but i would love to ask for a gerald x s/o that can turn into a big dragon. He didn't knew that and on a hunt that goes horribly wrong readers transformes and saves him and he is just in awe. Thank you

A/N: Babe I am so SO sorry this has taken forever to get around to!! I know this has been in my box for a good six months or so and I apologize for that.

That being said.... I think I want to do more dragon!reader x Geralt fics :)

***

“Get down!” Geralt shouted, drawing his sword.

Jaskier was quick to grab your arm and tug you towards the treeline, but you refused to move, staying right where you were as you watched Geralt fend off the two wyverns.

“Y/N!” Jaskier called your name, giving you another tug but again you didn’t move. It was like he hadn't even tried to move you.

His words fell on deaf ears as he began to practically beg you to move with him to the safety of the trees.

Your heart raced in your chest, your pulse thumping loudly in your ears. You watched one of the wyverns swoop down and attempt to grab Geralt with its talons.

The witcher fell to the ground on his back, narrowly escaping the razor sharp talons of the wyvern. Geralt signed aard at the one flying just above him, sending the beast spiralling to the ground behind him.

“Y/N, we need to go!” Jaskier gave your arm one last pull with all the strength he could muster.

You turned your head to him. Fear was prominent in your eyes.

“We don’t need to distract him.” Jaskier’s voice softened.

You nodded and followed him into the edge of the woods.

“Is-Is it always like this?” You choked out, watching helplessly as the lone witcher fought off the draconids. Your fingers tightened around Jaskier’s, nearly breaking them.

“He’ll be okay- Ow! Ow! You’re holding me a little too tight love!” He winced.

You apologized and let him go, settling with holding your hands together at your stomach.

Geralt managed to seriously injure one of the beasts, slicing its wing, but this only pissed the wyvern’s mate off.

The wyvern spat venom at Geralt. The witcher signed quen just in time, creating a golden protective shield around himself. The wyvern flapped its wings and took flight, roaring in anger and fury.

The White Wolf got to his feet, moving to finish off the wounded wyvern. He plunged his sword into its chest and twisted, effectively ending its suffering.

Your stomach began to churn, fingers tingling as you watched Geralt turn just in time to swing his sword at the second wyvern, blocking its talons from grabbing him. A pressure on your chest formed, one you hadn’t felt in a long time, but you knew what it meant nonetheless.

“He’s going to die.” You whispered.

“What? No, no, no, no.” Jaskier shook his head, nervously laughing.

“Yes, he is! I can sense it!”

Without another word to the bard, you took off across the field. Jaskier called your name, chasing after you and cursing when you were too fast.

The remaining wyvern had managed to disarm Geralt. He was bloodied and cut up pretty badly on his arms and there was a nasty gash on his left temple.

As you approached the witcher and the beast, the wyvern looked up at you. Immediately, it stepped back, placing itself in front of its deceased mate as if to protect it from you. It hissed at you, flaring its wings out to make itself appear bigger.

Before Geralt had a chance to call out your name, you stepped in front of him. He was on the ground, having just been thrown back by the wyvern.

A deep, animalistic growl seemed to come from somewhere within you, resonating throughout the field.You trembled, glaring sharply at the wyvern, daring it to finish its attack on the witcher behind you.

Your shoulders were squared and your head fell back as an earth shattering scream came from your lips. Something inside of you began to snap and your limbs twisted unnaturally. The snapping noise was gut-wrenching, and a noise Geralt knew all too well. It was the sound of bones breaking.

You collapsed forward on to your knees, catching your upper body with your hands, nails digging into the muddy ground. Your clothes began to rip, shredding like parchment in the rain.

Geralt watched helplessly as you cried out in pain, your humanlike screams mixing with something deeper, something more monstrous. He wanted to help you, to make sure you were okay, but he wasn’t even sure what the hell was happening to you.

Slowly, your form was replaced with a black dragon. The monster lifted its head and spread its wings out, casting a dark shadow over the field and the two men standing behind it.

The wyvern lunged at the dragon, even though the latter was three times bigger than it. The dragon easily caught the wyvern by the neck and bit down, instantly killing the smaller draconid.

The dragon released the wyvern, letting its lifeless body fall to the ground.

Geralt slowly stood to his feet, his sword in hand as he watched the black dragon. He wasn’t even twenty feet away from the massive creature. With one quick move, one of its wings could easily knock into him and send him flying across the field.

The dragon turned to face Geralt, every movement it made caused the earth to tremble. Its eyes focused on the witcher, storm cloud gray irises with black slits. Its frame was slim but muscles rippled with every movement. Sharp black claws protruded from four massive feet. Two wings rested on its shoulders, spreading out on either side and still blocking out the sun. Two horns rested on its head, twisting as they pointed backwards.

“Y/N.” Geralt whispered your name, his grip on the sword loosening.

The dragon shuddered and just as quick as it appeared, it was gone.

The sun returned, blinding the witcher for a few moments. When he regained his sight, he saw you laying on your side in a mud puddle. Behind you were the two wyvern corpses, which now looked monstrously huge compared to you.

Geralt moved to your side quickly, sheathing his sword on his back.

You were without clothes, curled up tightly in a fetal position. Your eyes were closed, brows drawn together with a pained expression.

“Here.” Jaskier handed Geralt your cloak. “What…. Geralt, what the fuck just happened?”

“I don’t know.” The witcher admitted, putting the cloak over your body and then carefully scooping you up into his arms. You winced and whimpered, lips parting as a pained moan left your lips.

***

Hours had passed and still, you were asleep. Jaskier had traveled to the next town over to get a room at an inn before Geralt followed with you in tow. It was difficult getting you up to the room. The innkeep was insistent that the local authority be called to come check on you. The innkeep feared the witcher was up to no good. But a simple cast of axii had the innkeep changing his mind.

Geralt sat by the bed you were on, head hung and elbows resting on his knees. Jaskier was sitting on the chest at the foot of your bed, softly strumming his lute as he tried to make sense of what had happened earlier in the day.

“Geralt?”

“Hm?”

“How…. How long has Y/N been a, uh, a dragon?”

“I’m assuming all her life.” Geralt sat back, his hands resting on his thighs. “She never told me about it.”

“And you could never sense it?”

“I…. knew she had a magic aura, but she always said it was just for herbalism.” The witcher shook his head.

Jaskier fell silent for a few moments before he stopped strumming his lute and looked at you.

“Why wouldn’t she tell us, Geralt?” He asked quietly, brows drawing together. “We’ve known her for years.”

“Dragons are extremely rare as it is. She could have been fearful of what would happen if she let anyone know.”

“But we would never hurt her.” The bard wore a frown on his lips.

Geralt said nothing.

His mind kept replaying the transformation, the echoing crack of breaking bones tormented him.

He shook his head, rubbing his eyes as if to make the thoughts go away.

Then he tried to think about any signs he could’ve missed, how perhaps he should’ve known that you weren’t human.

Your aura, for one, was powerful. He had no reason to think that you were lying when you told him your magic was used for herbalism and healing. He’d seen you work with injured people before. Hell, you patched him up on numerous occasions. You were gifted.

You always seemed warmer than normal humans were. Your touch was sometimes too hot for the witcher to be comfortable. During the blistering summer heat, he’d find it difficult to sleep alongside you. But during the winter, he appreciated having his own personal heat source.

Now that he thought about it, nearly every time that you three had to camp out in the woods, the creatures that inhabited the forest were silent. They could sense a predator nearby. They could sense you.

Geralt let out a soft sigh, his eyes finding you.

***

A little while later, you were stirring in your sleep, moaning in pain.

“Y/N?” Jaskier, eager to make sure you were okay, stood up from the chest and went to your bedside. He placed the back of his hand on your forehead. “She’s burning up.”

“Geralt.” You murmured his name.

“Right here, dove.” Geralt moved to your side of the bed.

Your eyes opened, unable to focus for a few moments. But then you saw him moving out of the corner of your eye, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. You turned your head to look at him, a soft smile crossing your features.

He was safe.

“Hello, dove.” He smiled down at you, reaching down to brush some of your hair back out of your eyes. “How are you feeling?”

You thought about the answer for a few moments. Your entire body ached and your lungs burned. The familiar sting of smoke made your nose itch.

The smile fell from your lips and you turned your head away from him, fearful that he’d be angry with you.

Geralt looked up to Jaskier and nodded towards the door. The bard silently nodded and left. Now wasn’t the time for you two to have an audience. You’d talk to him when you were ready, but first you had to talk to the witcher.

“Y/N.” Geralt sat down on the edge of the bed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, biting your bottom lip harshly.

“Dove, please look at me.”

When you didn’t react to him, he placed his hand on the back of yours.

“I love you, Y/N, and nothing could change that.”

You took your time, remembering to breathe correctly. You sat up, wincing at your aching bones, and leaned against the pillows. Your eyes focused on your hands, on the scar that traveled along your forearm up to your bicep. It was just one of the many scars you’d received from a past lover who attacked you when you told them of your true nature.

“The last man I was with…. I told him what I was.” You whispered. “And he tried to butcher me. He wanted to get me into my dragon form to slaughter me and sell different parts to whoever would take them for the highest price.”

“Y/N, you know I would never do that to you.” Geralt’s brows furrowed together, somewhat hurt from the very thought of you being fearful of him.

“I thought the same with him.” Your eyes flickered up to meet his. “And I-I didn’t want to make that mistake again. Especially not with a witcher.”

“If you were afraid that I may hurt you when I found out, then why stay for so long?”

“Because I…. I’ve heard of you and I’ve seen how kind you are, Geralt. I never intended to fall in love with you. I just…. It happened so suddenly and I was afraid to tell you what I was.”

Geralt couldn’t help but feel hurt that you were afraid to tell him. Had he ever given you a reason to be scared of him?

He looked down at where his hand rested on yours. His thumb brushed across your warm skin.

“I’m sorry, Geralt.” You murmured. He softly shook his head.

“It’s okay, dove. I understand. I just…. I never want you to think that you can’t trust me.” He brought your hand up to his lips to kiss your knuckles.

You offered him a little smile. You wanted to hug him but it hurt to move.

Geralt noticed your discomfort and looked down at your ribs, which you cradled with one arm.

“You’re hurt?”

“No, no. It’s just because I haven’t…. I haven’t shifted in a long time.” You shook your head. “My bones and joints…. They just hurt because they haven’t done that in such a long time.”

“It looked painful whenever you shifted.”

“It is.” You confirmed with a little nod of your head. “Bones have to break and joints pop out of place. Then they have to grow to take on the form of a dragon rather than this human one.”

Geralt hummed softly, taking in what you were saying. He’d always been fascinated with dragons, but due to them being so rare, his knowledge on them was limited.

“I think I should sleep a little more.” You yawned, bringing your hand up to cover your mouth. “Would you lay with me, Geralt?”

He smiled just a little, nodding his head. He waited for you to get comfortable on the bed before he climbed on to it. He settled behind you, scooting as close as possible so he could hold you. He buried his nose in your hair, inhaling your scent.

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puppy-prose · 4 years

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How about jaskier is a dragon and determines that Geralt is very much his mate. He wants to make it official by fucking on the summer solstice, as dragons do to get married/bond. Geralt, not knowing that he's Jaskier's mate, is v. Confused when the bard starts pawing at his clothes and whining for his cock and that talk about "make me yours Geralt" but is Very Into It once he realizes just what's going on

ahh my first request!! thank you so, so much!! i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it!!

Geralt was a witcher—a very good witcher. He could sniff out a bruxae from a mile away; he could track down a wyvern from only a few drops of blood. He knew the differences between rotfiends and ghouls and alghouls, he knew how many spikes were on a manticore’s tail, he knew how to identify and defeat hundreds of monsters, creatures, and beasts of myth.

So, logically, Geralt knew he was a dragon. Jaskier was sure of it. Right?

He didn’t do a very good job of hiding it. How anyone thought he was human baffled him. He hoarded songs and scents, with his precious lite at the center of it all. Notebooks filled to the brim with lyrics and lines—not all of them his. Bags, once he had settled in with Geralt enough to trust him with it, that were always packed with oils, bath salts, and ointments. His temper, too, easy to flare, but easy to forgive. His affinity for shiny, pretty things. And perhaps the most damning of it all, the way he didn’t always act human. The half-raw meat that he never had a problem devouring; the way he always managed to find his way back to Geralt every spring without fail, no matter where on the Continent the witcher was. His unchanged youthful looks, years and years after they met.

So, Jaskier was reasonably certain, Geralt knew what he was. He’d simply not said anything because it was easier—because Geralt disliked honest and open conversations like that. So Jaskier didn’t bother to bring it up either, content in his companion’s silent acceptance.

But truth be told, Jaskier wanted more.

So he asked for it. Subtly, of course. Geralt wasn’t an emotional man—going to him and declaring his love wasn’t exactly an option. So Jaskier started slow, poking and prodding, testing his interests through his kind’s courting traditions. And when his first gift—a pair of gloves made from his own scales, the proud jeweled red dulled and dyed purposefully to keep Geralt safe when he was out stalking beasties—was accepted with a huff, a tiny smile, a roll of the eyes, and Geralt taking awfully good care of them, Jaskier knew his affections were accepted. Perhaps even returned.

More gifts, more rituals followed. Ointments of his favorite scents, carefully diluted for a witcher’s nose, to sooth his dry hands. Intricate braids done during baths, telling stories in his hair; Dutch braids for devotion, crown braids for loyalty, fishtail braids for patience, lace braids for fidelity, with all of them begrudgingly left alone until the next time he desperately needed a bath. The vernal equinox celebrated together by getting awfully drunk on honey wine, procured from the fae themselves.

And lastly, a final gift that could be an equivalent to a human’s engagement ring, he offered to Geralt a plaited bracelet made up of his lute strings, worn and representative of himself, a piece of his prized treasure and a piece of himself practically along with it. And Geralt? Well, Geralt accepted. He wore that bracelet every day, even if he pretended, quite transparently, to be only humoring Jaskier and nothing else. And that was that.

They were mates.

And today was the summer solstice.

Jaskier was antsy. Then again, Geralt was of a mind that Jaskier was always antsy. Fidgety and twitchy, always moving. Like a hummingbird, he thought. It was as if Jaskier expected himself to die if he fell still for even a single minute. But no. This was a different kind of antsy. He’d been extra energetic all day. It was as endearing as it was annoying--though he’d never admit to it.

He’d been whining about leaving the city all day, too. The little bird, always ready to fly away when bored. Gods, Geralt had a hard time hiding his small smiles as Jaskier went on about the boring foods, as he tried to bother him into heading out to the next town as soon as possible. But he’d had to hunt, unfortunately; the city had been plagued with a manticore on its outer regions, and Geralt needed the coin. So he’d had the bard wait for him at the tavern, taken care of the issue, and came back in need of a bath. Jaskier, never one to turn down a bit of pampering whether it was for himself or other people, was happy enough to do so, and they left the city on Jaskier’s insistence in the late afternoon, Geralt’s hair pulled back into a dragon’s braid.

While he’d expected Jaskier to calm as they got further away from the city, the opposite quickly proved itself true. He became more agitated, more twitchy. It prickled at the sense of amusement and content that generally followed him when Jaskier was involved, and as the sun was setting, Geralt finally pulled to a stop, leading them off into a copse of trees. “Go get wood for a fire,” he told Jaskier, hoping getting the man to sleep early that night would fix the issue. “I’ll find us something to eat.”

Together, they set up camp. Geralt had a rabbit caught quickly enough, roasted it over the open fire, and the two of them ate. All throughout the meal, Jaskier jabbered as usual--but his foot kept tapping, his fingers kept rubbing together, his words kept stumbling over themselves. And as the sun disappeared beneath the trees, Geralt caught a whiff of burnt rosemary and sweat. For whatever reason, Jaskier was getting himself worked up.

With a frown, concern marring his brow, Geralt used the tip of his boot to push into the meat of Jaskier’s thigh. “What’s wrong?” he demanded, leaving no room for argument. He wasn’t going to allow the bard to wriggle out of this--not when he’d been acting strangely all day.

Cornflower blue eyes turned up to his. “What? Oh--s’nothing.” Jaskier smiled. “Just a bit nervous, I suppose.”

The witcher’s brow arched. “Nervous?” he repeated. Yes, he could smell that. But he hadn’t expected Jaskier to give that feeling up so easily. “What about?”

“Oh, you know.” Jaskier waved his hand at the sky, his eyes catching--glinting--in the rising moon’s light. “Today was the summer solstice.”

Geralt wasn’t following. He blinked. They’d spent many solstices together. Not winter ones; not yet. One day… But plenty of summer ones. “Why?”

Whether it was the right or the wrong thing to say, Geralt couldn’t tell. It drew a laugh from his bard, slightly hysterical though, and he suddenly found himself with Jaskier’s full attention. He didn’t have that very often. The little bird flitted about here and there; he paid attention to Geralt, all the time, but to put all of his focus on him? To see those blue eyes turn focused and determined, to feel Jaskier staring into his very soul? Yeah, that was a bit intimidating.

“Silly witcher,” Jaskier replied. “This is why, of course.”

In the next moment, too quick for even Geralt’s senses to catch it--though that was likely due to surprise more than anything else--Jaskier was right before him. His breath got stuck in his throat--and then they were kissing.

Gods, Geralt had dreamed of Jaskier’s mouth on his for years. He’d wondered what it tasted like--sweet like the wine he was so fond of? Fruity and full from his dietary preferences? Deep and heady as the forest that Jaskier continued to force himself into with dogged determination? But no. He’d been wrong. It was, somehow, all of those things, and more.

He drew back a little for breath at one point, hardly registering that he’d lifted his hand to cup the nape of Jaskier’s neck, that his precocious little bird had pushed his way between his legs, on his knees before the log Geralt was sitting on. But Jaskier didn’t let him go for even long enough to open his eyes, dragging him back into another kiss. It was searing and hot, really hot, and he gave a soft, involuntary groan.

Finally, though, Jaskier moved back. It was only so he could tug and pull at the leather of Geralt’s armor, swearing under his breath as he pulled at the stubborn closures, swaying close to him and interrupting his own progress. But even with Geralt’s head still reeling from the sudden makeout session, even with him bemused by Jaskier’s usually smooth seducing capabilities turned into him fumbling with a jerkin, he didn’t miss the fact that Jaskier did not look like Jaskier.

Two horns, ivory, ridged in a spiral growing pattern, protruded from Jaskier’s head. They curved back and downwards towards his skull, before turning back up towards the night sky, the tips deadly sharp. Red scales were slowly emerging from his skin to smatter over his cheeks like rouge, like a glamor being revealed bit by bit, Geralt’s medallion not so much as twitching--ancient magic, powerful magic that slipped by even his detection. And he was fumbling, the witcher realized, because his nails had sharpened, those same jewel-toned scaled stretching up the backs of his hands, disappearing up the pale blue of his doublet.

“Dammit,” Jaskier whined, impatience thick on him, the nervous scent already beginning to fade away. “Just want you to fuck me, and this stupid--this--fuck!” He turned his eyes up to Geralt, cat-slit pupils just like the witcher’s own blown in the dark of the night, wide with his desire. “Geralt, please,” he begged, leaning in for another kiss--a kiss that Geralt didn’t refuse. And not just because he was caught off-guard by the novel sensation of being kissed with a newly forked tongue. “Please,” he continued when they broke apart, rubbing his cheek against his like a cat, like he was scenting him, the scratch of the scales not at all painful, instead kind of… Nice? “C’mon, help me, please, need you in me so bad…”

A lot of things clicked together in that moment.

Jaskier’s quick loyalty. His ability to walk hours and hours every day, nonstop. His music, the notebooks that he filled and then sent back to Oxenfurt to be kept safe. The bag of oils and creams that Geralt had not been allowed to so much as touch until two years ago, while they’d been traveling together for over a decade.

The gloves. The vernal equinox. The braids.

Fuck, the bracelet.

Jaskier saw him as his mate. And he’d been courting him, quietly, without drawing attention to it, for months now. And here they were--Jaskier believing him to have accepted his claim, Jaskier looking to seal their relationship by bonding on the night of the summer solstice, tying them together by the ancient magics of the earth for many, many centuries to come. No wonder the poor bard had been nervous.

Geralt was sort of glad he only realized now what was going on, because he knew he would have been nervous, too.

The revelation settled under his skin with surprising ease. Vesemir, should he ever catch word of how long it took him to identify a dragon that had been living side by side with him for years, would tan his hide. But all Geralt could feel was relief. His little hummingbird--or, he supposed, his little dragon, now--wasn’t going to suffer a mortal’s tragically short life. He’d live for hundreds of years more, thousands even, if he didn’t get himself killed first. And Geralt? Geralt could have every single one of those years if he accepted this. If he chose to become Jaskier’s mate.

It wasn’t really a choice at all.

Geralt’s calloused hand took Jaskier’s chin between his fingers. He dragged him up into another kiss, swallowing down the keen that fell between them, and nipped at Jaskier’s bottom lip as they pulled away. “Needy,” he huffed, a smile twitching at his mouth. He dropped his own hands to his armor; it got tossed to the forest floor quickly, Jaskier’s hands immediately setting upon the pale, scarred skin of his soon-to-be mate.

Feeling a bit vindictive for the years that Jaskier had never outright told him what he was, Geralt got hold of the bard’s doublet. He jerked the edges of it, eyes twinkling in satisfaction as the buttons popped off, no chance against his strength. “Hey,” Jaskier reprimanded, the seriousness he intended to put in his voice severely undercut by the breathy way it came out. “I liked this doublet.”

“I’ll get you a new one,” the witcher replied.

It brought a smile to his wicked, wicked mouth, and Geralt dove in for yet another bruising kiss. He pushed the doublet off Jaskier’s shoulders, the satin dropping into the dirt with as much care as his armor had gotten, and he managed to wrestle his chemise off between wet kisses. His mouth was red and wet when he pulled back; Geralt didn’t resist the urge to cup his cheek, to drag his thumb over the abused bottom lip. Jaskier, eyes dark, quickly sucked his thumb into his mouth. He had fangs now, Geralt noted absently, pressing the pad down onto his tongue until Jaskier was forced to open his mouth wide. He rubbed a small arc over the muscle, the dragon obediently still. It didn’t stop him from whimpering when drool pooled and dripped from the sides of his mouth, though.

His thumb was soaked when he pulled it from Jaskier’s tongue. He looked gorgeous--pupils dilated and wanting, chin glistening from the spit, the red of his scales seeming to bleed into the rest of his face for the way his skin was flushed with lust.

“Geralt,” Jaskier begged. “Please.”

So Geralt went.

He wrapped an arm around Jaskier’s middle and pushed him back, back, supporting his weight to keep him from slamming into the ground, but none too gentle otherwise. The roughness seemed to excite Jaskier; he moaned and wrapped his legs around the witcher’s waist, those clawed hands finding purchase behind his shoulders. Geralt didn’t mind the sting. He licked his way into Jaskier’s mouth yet again, and then let his mouth trail down, exploring the other parts of him. His scales were rough against his tongue and he had to be mindful of the direction he went to avoid getting scratched; his jaw and throat were velvety soft and tasted of sweet orange and a deep earthy musk. Jaskier’s pulse fluttered under his lips, and he paid special attention to the edges of the scales that had appeared along his collarbone as well, the dragon shivering with delight.

“Fuck me,” Jaskier pleaded. Geralt reached down between them; his hand was hot over top of Jaskier’s trousers, palming his cock underneath, making the bard’s babbling turn into high pitched whining, hips rocking up.

“Be patient,” he scolded, biting into his throat, watching a bruise blossom there. What was the use in having a dragon as a mate if he didn’t indulge in his own more animalistic urges? Yes, by the end of tonight, he’d have Jaskier claimed just as thoroughly as Jaskier had claimed him.

The bard stammered, bereft, when Geralt moved his hand. He forewent telling him to be patient again, instead hooking his fingers into Jaskier’s trousers and yanking them down, shifting until he could get them and his boots and his smallclothes off all in one go. More ruby scales wrapped around the outside of his thighs, dipped into the hollows of his hips--and his dick was definitely part of pieces of him that hadn’t quite stayed human.

Thick, red, ridged, and with a pointed tip, Geralt couldn’t help but smirk as he drew it into his hand. His little dragon cried out and he watched, fascinated, as a pearly few drops of precum beaded at the slit. It wasn’t anything like he’d fantasized about, when he’d taken himself in hand in his weaker moments when the bard was asleep, imagining what Jaskier’s cock might look like. But it was good, better than good, better than anything he could have dreamed of. Smearing his thumb into the wetness, he spread it down Jaskier’s cock, dragging his hand up and down the shaft. A few more drops appeared from the attention, and he did the same with those as well, slicking him up nicely.

He dropped his hand away, then, to get rid of the rest of his own clothes. Most people didn’t like to see him without clothes. Certainly, they enjoyed his figure, but the scars--the crisscrossing of monsters’ marks, the hunts that had gone wrong, the people that had hunted him instead painting a gruesome picture across his skin. But with Jaskier, it had never been like that. He’d never been bothered. And, considering he was about to fuck a man with scales all over, horns, and a dragon dick, Geralt supposed he wasn’t bothered, either.

Bare at last, Geralt dragged Jaskier’s hips up close. He wrapped his hand around them both, only just managing it really, and the both of them groaned at the sensation. Heat flourished between them and he jerked them off, stretching out over him to bite his stomach, his chest, his shoulders, his neck. Yes, Jaskier would be a patchwork of bruises come tomorrow morning, and by the way he jerked into each one of them, Geralt had no doubt that he was just as enthusiastic about that prospect as he was.

But as good as this was, it certainly wasn’t what either of them wanted. So he let go soon, smirking again as he wiped the sticky precum on his hand onto Jaskier’s thigh. “Knees,” he commanded, leaning back onto his own so he could reach for Jaskier’s bag. Might as well use what he had there, after all. Being his mate meant being privy to his hoard.

For perhaps the first time in his life, Jaskier listened to him. He keened but turned over, propping his hips up onto his knees. His shoulders pressed low, nearly to the dirt, and he rested his forehead on his wrists, the upturn of his horns just barely above the ground.

Geralt came back to him with a vial of lilac oil. It was one of the ones he’d begun to create for Geralt--that was to say, the scent was heavily diluted, only just strong enough for a hint of smell in consideration of his nose, and perfect for their purposes. He uncorked the vial and used his knees to open Jaskier’s legs wider; his free hand pulled one side of his ass away, leaving him free to get at his puckered hole, where he then dripped the oil down onto. Jaskier gasped and lurched, the liquid no doubt cold, but the witcher held him firm. He lathered up his own fingers, set the glass to the side, and leaned over top of him, licking and kissing the dragon’s scaled shoulder blades as he slowly, slowly sank a finger inside him.

“Geraaaalt!” Jaskier cried. Gods, if he was already this desperate, panting into the dirt and shivering with a single digit, Geralt couldn’t imagine how he’d be once he actually had his cock inside him.

“Lucky this is what it is,” he huffed, dragging Jaskier’s ear into his mouth and relishing the cry that came from it. “Otherwise I’d gag you and tie you down, make you learn some patience.” The dragon’s response was to moan wetly, shoulders shuddering, his tapered cock twitching.

Geralt pressed in a second finger, then. He kept his attention with those bites, scissoring him open, loosening him up. A third joined swiftly after; gods, they were mating, not just fucking. He was going to make sure this was good for Jaskier.

Finally, finally Jaskier was loose enough. He pulled his fingers out and grabbed the vial again, using the rest of it to slick up his cock, the subtle scent sweet between them. His hands found Jaskier’s hips; the dragon’s stomach dropped down further, ass staying in the air. “Breathe,” he said kindly. He waited until Jaskier drew a shaky breath in, out, and then in again before lining up his cock and pushing inside.

The cry of Geralt’s name was more broken syllables than anything, too loud and desperate to pronounce much of it correctly. “Fuck,” Geralt himself said, bending over the dragon. “Fuckin’ tight, Jask. Godsdammit.” He was so fucking tight, so hot around him, his body giving way each inch to the witcher’s intrusion. Jaskier could only mewl in return, his nails clawing into the rich earth, his sides heaving with each panting breath.

He bottomed out, and stayed there for a moment. Being inside Jaskier was dizzying, wonderful; he swore he could feel the air turn lighter around them, easier to breath, sparks flickering underneath his skin. Was this the ancient magic, readying to bind them? Or was this just Jaskier, was it just the fact that finally, he could give in to the feelings he’d ignored for so long, the urges he’d repressed, now that he knew not only did Jaskier feel the same way in return, but that he wouldn’t have to face his demise in what would be, for him a blink of the eye? He wasn’t sure. And, well. Quite frankly, in this moment, Geralt didn’t really give a shit.

“Fuck me,” Jaskier finally managed to say. “Geralt, my mate, please, please! Breed me, fill me up, wanna be yours!”

The words shot through him and what little patience he had left quickly fled. “You want to be bred, little dragon?” he asked, fingers tightening, bruising Jaskier’s hips. “Fine.”

A single kiss to his throat, and then Geralt pulled out to just the head of his cock. In one smooth, brutal motion, he slammed back into Jaskier. It sent the dragon rocking forward a few inches--it sent him roaring, the mighty sound seeming to shake the very trees around them. It was fucking hot, Geralt had to admit, and he groaned before he did it again, and again, setting a merciless pace. He’d never been much of a talker during sex, but he found himself rambling now, bearing his weight down on Jaskier, driving into that tight, wet heat.

“Like it, don’t you, Jask?” he asked, breathing too hard himself to properly bite for the moment, little strands of hair come loose from his braid and before his face, making him look wild, animalistic. “Wanna be bred like the bitch that you are. Fucked in the dirt. Look at you. Such a noble, proud beast. Taking every inch of a beast-slayer’s cock.” Jaskier sobbed, the sound wet, but he kept rocking his hips back into every thrust. They’d traveled together far too long; after the nights Geralt had been forced to listen to through thin inn doors, he knew better than anyone how rough, cruel words could reduce the bard to putty in any man’s hand. The best part? Now they were his hands. And there would never be anyone else.

The thrill of the thought shot through him. Geralt wrapped his arm tight around his middle; his other hand reached up, grabbing onto the base of one of Jaskier’s horns. He used the leverage to haul him up, going back on his own haunches and making the dragon sit on his lap, his cock driving in deeper, brushing against the bundle of nerves so far inside him. Jaskier thrashed, his nails digging into Geralt’s arm, drawing blood; the witcher didn’t mind, holding him through it, keeping his head still even as he fucked up into him, unforgiving and fast. “You’re mine,” he growled. “All mine.”

Jaskier nodded quickly, gasping for breath, only just getting enough air each time to expel it in some noise or another. The tingling under his skin got stronger--definitely the ancient magic, then. Especially considering he watched as sparks of golden light glittering below Jaskier’s skin, barely noticeable, like the chaos was struggling to burst free at any moment. Geralt suspected he looked much the same.

“Gonna breed you,” he promised, tightening his arm around him. “Mate you. Make you mine forever.”

Without warning, he shoved them both to the ground once again. His cock drove into Jaskier and the dragon roared again; Geralt’s hands moved to grab his wrists, push them into the dirt. He used his weight, every inch of their bodies flush together, to keep Jaskier down. And, with the both of them getting closer and closer, he gave in to the beast side of himself. His teeth, sharp and pointed, sliced into the back of Jaskier’s neck. Blood welled up in his mouth immediately, copper and sharp, but he didn’t let go, Jaskier’s pained moan doing little but encouraging him, pinning him against the earth.

It was too much. Jaskier’s sounds got louder, more desperate, more unhinged, before he screamed, his whole body quivering with the force of his climax. His cock pulsed as he came, streaks of white painting the dirt below and flecking onto his stomach above, too. It made his walls tighten around Geralt--and that was it. He was done for. The witcher growled and bit down tighter, his thrusts growing erratic, wild.

With a snarl, he came. He rocked his hips down into Jaskier as he filled him, splashing hot cum inside him, the dragon whimpering. The tingling grew in intensity for just a moment--and then it faded away, leaving him feeling whole in a place in his very soul he hadn’t realized he’d been empty beforehand.

A few more little thrusts and then, with care, he slid his teeth from his neck and pulled his softening cock from Jaskier’s tired body. He grabbed a rag from one of the bags and wiped them both down, pausing for a moment to watch his own cum leak out of Jaskier’s red, loose hole and down his thighs, before getting them clean and, with effort, transporting them both into one of the sleeping rolls.

Face to face with Jaskier, the poor bard blinking slowly, languidly, he couldn’t help but smile and lift his hand. His fingers brushed over the scales on his cheeks, utterly gorgeous.

“Mm,” the dragon hummed, forcing his eyes to flutter open. “My mate.” Nothing could change that now. Not a mage, not a spell, not even destiny herself. Geralt was his, and he was Geralt’s. End of story.

The smile Geralt gave in return was soft, genuine. His golden gaze was gentle, and he gave a tiny nod. “Yes,” he confirmed, barely a rumble in the night air. “Sleep, now. You deserve the rest.” He let his hand fall to Jaskier’s side instead, holding him close. Jaskier gave a gentle hum, shifted a little bit closer, closed his eyes--and slept.

#geraskier #devilkin-kink #my writing //#filled requests //#lemons //

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zaph1337 · 3 years

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Monster Hunter Rating 26: Rathalos, the King of the Skies

Well, we’re finally here. I’m not gonna lie, I’m kinda worried that I won’t be able to do this monster justice. The only experience I have with it isn’t even a Monster Hunter game, and I don’t know how much I can count on the wiki not having any headcanons that a lot of MH fans would disagree with. Still, it’s gotta be done. The King of the Skies, the Charizard of Monster Hunter, the Flying Wyvern--ladies, gents, and enbies, please give a warm welcome to Rathalos!

(How it appears in Monster Hunter 1)

(How it appears in Super Smash Bros. Ultimate)

(How it appears in Monster Hunter Rise)

Appearance: Rathalos may appear to be a standard wyvern, but it has a few neat touches. First, it has a black flame pattern on its wings, which is admittedly something I did notice until I saw the Rise render. Its tail is also interesting, as it ends with a wide, thorny tip that kind of reminds me of an armadillo lizard; in fact, Rathalos reminds me of an armadillo lizard in general, mostly thanks to its spiny scales. Okay, obviously armadillo lizards don’t have wings, have four legs, and aren’t 70 feet long, but the scales are similar! Rathalos also has a black, beak-like nose that you’d be forgiven for thinking of as an actual beak, as well as what appear to be pointy ears.

Sure, Rathalos may be pretty basic in spite of everything I just said, but that’s kind of the point. It’s meant to be easily recognizable and iconic, so not deviating too far from what a normal wyvern looks like helps with that. It’s still distinct and powerful-looking, though, which makes it a perfect mascot for the series. 8/10.

Behavior: Rathalos have a pretty wide range of habitats, but I guess that’s mostly because not even nature will tell them where they can and can’t be. They’re basically at the top of the food chain, and the only things that pose a threat to them are monsters that are just as feared as they are (and hunters, of course), and even then, Rathalos never go down without a fight. Well, okay, that’s if they get in a fight with those monsters; they’re not stupid enough to actively aggress anything that they recognize as a clear threat unless they feel like they have to. They do get more aggressive during mating season, though, and after they mate, they’ll fly over their territories in search of threats, which they will go after like a honey badger breaking into a beehive. Rathalos stalk their prey from above before making their move, and after they kill it, they’ll take it somewhere to eat where scavengers and other large monsters aren’t likely to find it and try to steal a meal.

And...that’s it. Look, I know these games aren’t going to make monster behavior and lore as complex as real animals are, so it’s natural that they’d focus on how dangerous a monster is above all else, especially in Rathalos’ case, but monsters like Plesioth and Basarios/Gravios had more to them than their hunting habits and reputation, so you’d think that the same treatment would be given to the series mascot. There is a reason why there’s not much said about Rathalos, though, but you’ll have to wait until the next review to hear about it (no I’m not good at subtle foreshadowing, how could you tell?). Until then, I’m giving Rathalos a 6/10.

Abilities: I can actually speak from experience here since I’ve fought Rathalos before...in SSBU. Look, you take what you can get. If the title “King of the Skies” didn’t clue you in, Rathalos are very good fliers, and they’re just as dangerous in the air as they are on the ground. This is thanks to their multiple flame sacs, which allow them to spit out fireballs with explosive force, and their poisonous claws, which they utilize with divebombs. Speaking of which, they can simply rush at you from the air or on the ground, combining their strength and weight with their speed to knock you on your butt. They also use their tail “club” (it doesn’t really look like one, but that’s what the wiki calls it) as a blunt beating object, or they can just bite you if they want to be simple.

Rathalos don’t exactly do anything crazy, but the poison claws are interesting, and it uses all of its abilities to great effect anyways. 7/10.

Equipment: As expected, Rathalos weapons look pretty freaking cool. Here’s a Sword and Shield from the first MH called the Red Saber:

That sword looks RAD. It looks like a sword in the middle of the forging process that also happens to be made of lava, which is a concept that wouldn’t make any sense if you never saw this. The shield is also really cool, as it looks both tough and like it would cause some serious pain if you bashed something with it. Next is an Insect Glaive from MHRise called the Rathmaul:

I usually don’t like to use Rise weapons in these reviews since the renders are pretty small, but I had to rep my main weapon class, okay? Now, as for the Rathmaul itself, I like how the butt-end looks like a Rathalos’ tail, though I don’t know what the green part is. The blade of the glaive also looks cool; it doesn’t quite have the same pizzazz the Red Saber had, but it still looks really hot to the touch. Finally, here’s the weird-looking weapon of the review, the Rathalos Dual Blades from MHO:

Let’s skip the Hot Topic jokes and just agree that this is a really cool concept. From what I can remember, none of the monsters I’ve talked about so far have had Dual Blades that looked like claws, which is surprising to me. These also appeal to the Kid Icarus: Uprising fanboy in me, so that’s another plus. Now for the armor, I’ve got a couple armor sets from Monster Hunter Tri (yes, I know it’s the worst game in the series, but the wiki didn’t have any other renders I liked). Here’s the Blademaster armor:

If this looks familiar to you, it’s because SSB4 and SSBU both have DLC Mii Costumes based off of this armor. You may have also noticed that it looks freaking awesome. It’s regal, dangerous, and intimidating, just like the monster it’s based off of. As for the Gunner armor:

It’s still cool, but less so. Not enough spikes, plus the men’s helmet on the Blademaster set looks much better than the one here. Still, the set looks cool for both men and women, just like the Blademaster set does. The Rathalos equipment just looks powerful, and that’s exactly what your reward for killing such a powerful monster multiple times should look like. It’s almost demonic, which is interesting, since Rathalos itself doesn’t look that way (as far as dragons go, I mean. I’m aware that there are some people who think dragons in general are demonic). I can only imagine how enthralled people who started out with the first MH as kids were when they saw the kinda stuff they could make with Rathalos parts, especially since the monsters that you fought before it pale in comparison in basically every way. 8/10.

Final Thoughts and Tally: Well, of course Rathalos would get an above-average score! It’s the Main Monster, the one that’s been in every single MH game! You think it would have such staying power if it wasn’t impressive? I only hope I was able to adequately show off just why it’s the King. 7/10.

#monster hunter #monster hunter rating #monster hunter rise #zaph1337

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spicycreativity · 3 years

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Fanfic Appreciation Week Day 7: A Place Where I Can Breathe

Yes, folks, I'm appreciating my own darn fanfic for the final day of Fanfic Appreciation Week because I worked really hard on it and it was a labor of love for/with one of my QPPs, my roommate, the man who got me into Sanders Sides: @\cadeorade-powercade (That's him in the aesthetic board)

Allow me to present the director's commentary for A Place Where I Can Breathe:

Content Warnings: All content warnings mentioned in the fic apply.

Chapter 1: I actually wrote this fairly late in the game. It's meant to serve as a prologue and orient the viewer in the universe, s opposed to staring on Chapter 2, which just throws the viewer in without context. I think it was a good choice, as it also allowed me to introduce the concept of the Sides having power focuses early on.

The Premise: Cade is a Virgil stan and he was getting frustrated looking for Virgil fic. He was finding a lot of stuff written without nuance by young authors, a sort of "by teenagers for teenagers" type deal. We are not teenagers, so we both have a hard time relating to that kind of teen angst fic, as we're not the target audience. So he asked me to write him a Virgil fic and we worked together to identify what plot he wanted, what the Mindscape looked like, and what quirks the Sides have. So a lot of this fic is quite gratuitous and self-indulgent

The Title: Lizzie McAlpine has a song called "Apple Pie" which includes the lyric "I've been running around trying to find a place where I can breathe." Apple Pie SCREAMS Moceit to me, and I had taken notice of the lyric and wanted to use it as the title for a Moceit fic. I didn't really have an idea beyond that, and when Cade asked me to write this fic, I realized it was actually perfect and summed up Virgil's inner struggle quite nicely. So cheers to "A Place Where I Can Breathe," the Moceit Fic That Wasn't

-Cade asked me specifically to include Virgil having a spider and I wrote nearly the whole fic without doing so, then had to go back and sprinkle some references in. I think I managed 2 total.

Chapter 2:

"Uh, how about I hold off on that until I actually see my room?" Virgil stared expectantly at Roman, who bounced on his toes. "Lead on, Macduff."

"That's not the line and you know it," Roman complained, but he turned to lead Virgil to his room. "It's ' lay on, Macduff,' and--"

-This fic was originally supposed to reach a climax with a confrontation between Remus and Roman, and "lay on, Macduff" would come back as a brick joke. Unfortunately, the original ending was a result of me getting tired and lazy, so I had to go back and fix it, and we lost the Roman-Remus confrontation.

It was hard for Virgil to not shudder at the sudden heat and weight on him. With his senses already open and taking in more information than his brain seemed to want to process, touch was an added stressor, more unwanted sensory input.

-Virgil being touch-averse is a direct shoutout to Cade, who is also touch-averse.

Roman had already transformed the living room: metallic streamers of purple and black stretched across the corners of the ceiling, and shiny balloons spelling out A-N-X-E-I-T-Y hovered above the TV.

-Upon first writing, Virgil had already given the upstairs crew his name, so the banner spelled out "VIRIGL" which is way funnier than "ANXEITY." But then his name reveal became a plot point so I had to go back and change it.

-Let! Virgil! Be! Mean!

-Virgil's line about hearing refrigerator noise when Roman talks is another shout-out to Cade, who has leveled that accusation at me

A small, cruel part of him protested at the idea that he would need special treatment and desperately wanted to throw it back in Patton's face. He wasn't a sweetheart, he wasn't a baby. He didn't need to crawl into a blanket fort with Dad just because he was a little stressed.

-Remus calls Janus "Janus Geminus" because I was tired and couldn't come up with a pun. "Geminus" is one of the Roman god Janus' epithets; another is "Pater" meaning "Father." That led to a conversation about Remus deliberately confusing Patton by calling Janus "Daddy," but I couldn't think of a clean way to fit the explanation into the narrative, so I stuck with "Geminus."

Chapter 3:

"There's nothing normal about that! " Roman stared in horror at the coffee massacre Virgil had orchestrated. What had once been a respectable (if not very tasty) cup of black coffee was now part of a 1:1 coffee to milk suspension, the liquid a tasteful shade of tan suitable for business casual trousers or a show-ready chihuahua.

-Cade is a certified Nightmare Man and came up with Virgil's horrifying coffee order after I asked him about it. Keep an eye out for Janus' equally horrifying coffee order later in the fic.

1) Shouts out the fact that Janus is canonically a Dostoevsky fan

Chapter 4:

Janus smiled at him. "Where reason fails, the Devil helps." He fussed with his gloves and straightened his capelet. "It's showtime."

-I fucking love Crime and Punishment. Look at me. Look at me. I fucking love Crime and Punishment. Janus' quoting Raskolnikov serves multiple purposes:

2) Lampshades the fact that Roman just conveniently happened to be alone in the living room, because I didn't want to waste time getting him there. That makes me, the author, the Devil

3) Foreshadows the impending disaster. When Raskolnikov says this line it is because he had planned to commit axe murder. The axe he was planning to steal had been moved, but he finds another, different axe to use. Raskolnikov messes up the murder and ends up killing an innocent witness in addition to his intended target. Janus messes up his manipulation attempt and ends up murdering Roman's self esteem

-I was going to include a reference to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead (Remus' line "debauchery and vomit" was originally going to be "blood, love, and rhetoric") but I didn't because... Uh... Hm. Why didn't I do that. Maybe I just forgot about it???

-Roman is too stubborn to manipulate for long and that is a fact.

"I was pretty much done anyway," Remus said. "There's only so much debauchery and vomit you can fit into one story."

-Cade specifically ask me that nobody cry in this fic, but after I had Janus eviscerate Roman I knew he couldn't not cry a little. I kept it to a minimum because there's already a billion fucking fics about [literally any Side] crying on the shoulder of [literally any other Side] and it's really just not interesting to either of us.

-It didn't come up because it doesn't matter, but Thomas dreamed he was participating in the exact Dionysian orgy that took place in The Secret History because it's my fic and I said so.

Chapter 5:

He just sat back and watched and tugged at his hair while Janus spooned mound after mound of crisp white sugar into his mug and Virgil poured his customary eight fluid ounces of milk into his own mug.

-Cade strikes again. Virgil's coffee order is equal amounts milk to coffee; Janus' is equal parts sugar to coffee. He had asked me to include a scene where Roman catches Janus massacring his coffee and is appropriately horrified, but I uhh... Didn't write it. I still might include it as an omake someday.

-I imagine that Roman feels really strongly about dragons vs wyverns, and Remus just pretends to give a shit because he thinks it's funny to wind Roman up. Fortunately for me but unfortunately for my sense of realism in writing, I can't relate because I adore my sister and we get along perfectly almost 100% of the time.

"You shut us down every chance you get!" Remus said, baring his teeth. "How would you like it if your pens never wrote, hm? What would you do with all those thoughts in your head?"

-I do wish I had developed the concept of power focuses a bit more, established rules and such. Basically, Patton is always on the prowl for wrongthink and actively represses it, which in turn breaks or sabotages the Dark Sides' power focus.

Chapter 6: This chapter really should have been Janus and Roman but I was really tired and didn't want to bother with it. Plus, you know, Moceit. This chapter was meant to demonstrate how the characters would get along without Virgil nannying them. There's friction, but everyone is making a conscious, deliberate effort to get along because they love Virgil, and love is a series of choices you make.

I chose "Leo" as the answer for the answer to the crossword clue instead of "Virgo," because my other QPP is a Leo. She'll never read this fic, but I did it anyway because I love her. (Trivia: My sign is Virgo, so it was really a choice between shouting her out and shouting me out, and the last chapter is self-indulgent enough, thank you).

Chapter 7: I was gonna write a fic where all the Sides watched Cats the Musical because I was going through a phase. Then Cade requested this so I combined the two ideas. By this point I was fucking exhausted, and that's the only thing that saved you and the rest of the world from me writing the Sides riffing on the movie scene-by-scene. I could come up with snarky commentary for almost every, if not every single song from the movie.

Most notably, I cut a Patton-Remus interaction where Remus declares his love for Grizabella and Patton gets all staryy-eyed about Remus connecting with the idea of rising above rejection and being loved and accepted only for Remus to shoot him down and explain that he just likes that she got to die in a tire fire.

Other cut scenes include Janus quietly pretending not to go feral over Mister Mistoffelees, Patton full-on fucking sobbing over Grizabella and the kittens, and Logan experiencing a deep, soulful kinship with Munkustrap during Of The Awefull Battle of the Pekes and the Pollices (and henceforth introducing the phrase "like herding cats" into his regular vocabulary

#spicypost #fanfic appreciation week

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monstersandmaw · 4 years

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Embers - Male dragon shifter x reader, Chapter Fourteen (final!) (nsfw)

You thought I’d forgotten, didn’t you? Do you have so little faith in me?

Spoilers: I was in bed when I remembered, and it’s 11.45pm here and I totally had forgotten. I’m so sorry.

Well, this is it, folks! The conclusion to the 14-part story! Hope you’ve enjoyed it, and thanks to the few of you who’ve let me know when you’ve enjoyed it, and to those of you who have consistently reminded me when I’ve forgotten to post! <3

This week: our boy has shown us his true wyvern form and has taken us for a brief test-flight around the grounds of his home, but now he's got a surprise for us and wants to take us further afield!

Catch up on previous episodes here:

One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen

You would remember that flight for the rest of your life. The way the ground disappeared beneath you should have left you a frightened wreck, but sitting astride Mikaeïl like that gave you a strange rush of courage, knowing that his power and strength and agility in the air would keep you safe, that you would not fall tumbling to your death through the endless space beneath you. He would bear you up, hold you aloft, soar and glide with you as the world passed by beneath. It was hard not to laugh like a lunatic after a while, even once the adrenaline had mostly worn off.

Mikaeïl’s wing beats whooshed with a steady, thrumming rhythm as he flew, the vast stretch of the leathery wings reaching as wide as an aeroplane tip-to-tip, his neck long and spiked extending ahead of you, and, if you were brave enough, you could twist and look behind you and see the rippling muscles of his back and tail working to steady himself like a rudder in the strong currents up this high.

In the sun his scales gleamed a million shades and hues of gold and amber, and you barely noticed the countryside streaming past beneath you. As you finally released your grip on a very handy pair of spikes at the base of his neck, about ten minutes into the journey, you allowed yourself to run your palm down the smooth, reptilian scales of his withers. With a rumbling groan that was audible even with the wind roaring in your ears, he dropped a few feet in altitude as the rhythm of his wings faltered. Your stomach lurched and you felt the blood drain from your face.

“Careful,” Mikaeïl laughed, half turning back to look at you over his shoulder at you. “Remember what I told you about you being distracting while I fly?”

You laughed and apologised, but he could clearly see that you meant not a word of it, and he turned away, his nostrils actually smoking softly, which was a new sight.

“Hey,” you called. “Can you breathe fire?”

“I’m surprised that that hasn’t come up before now,” he said. “Yes,” he added. “I can. Why, do you want a demonstration?”

You looked around at the vast emptiness on all sides and shrugged. “Here’s as safe a place as any I can think of…” you yelled.

Unexpectedly, Mikaeïl laughed. “Hold on,” he rumbled. Adjusting the pattern of his wing beats, slowing down a little and tilting his head downwards, Mikaeïl sucked in a great lungful of air, his ribs expanding beneath you, and suddenly, with a booming roar, a gout of flame burst from his open mouth below you.

The distant heat of it hit you in the face as you flew past it, and you gasped, laughing. “That’s amazing!”

He shook his head and simply took a moment to breathe and continue flying. “We’re nearly there,” he said, turning his nose first and then banking right with the rest of his body as he shifted direction slightly, heading for a wooded patch of hillside above a glimmering lake shaped like a diamond.

In the distance, a small, lone building caught your attention and as he shot like a missile right towards it, it began to reveal itself with greater and greater clarity. It looked like a ruined tower, seated at the top end of a wide, grassy meadow, backed by deciduous trees.

Leaning forwards, taking hold of those two golden horns at the base of his neck, you shouted, “Is that where we’re headed?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “Hold on. While I descend, alright?”

“Yeah,” you said, stomach swooping unpleasantly again as he dropped in altitude.

In fact, landing in the meadow was easier this time than it had been the first back at his estate. Perhaps that was because you knew what to expect and you hadn’t rammed your eyes shut this time, but whatever the reason, you slithered laughing to the floor as he helped you down off his back and settled down into the grass with a soft rumble.

“Are you alight?” he asked, breathing hard from the effort of the careful landing. “Not too cold?”

You turned your hands over and grimaced a little. “Hands are a bit chilly,” you mumbled, “But no, I’m ok.”

“Here,” he said before he exhaled a rush of warm breath over your hands. “Better?”

Useful. With an answering grin, you nodded, and he led you up the meadow towards what you could now see was a cylindrical tower with a red tiled roof. “It looks like one of those fairytale castles where a helpless royal is locked in a keep and guarded by a monstrous dragon…”

“And which one of us are you suggesting is the helpless royal?” he asked, his reptilian face expressing curious sarcasm with the merest adjustment of his brow, golden eyes flaring.

“Well it’s not me,” you laughed. “I’m pretty sure don’t have a single drop of blue blood in my veins…”

“You must be the dragon then,” Mikaeïl grinned, flashing his rows of incredibly sharp teeth and adjusting his wings behind him like a bird just returned from a long flight. He caught you staring at him again, and tilted his head. “What?”

“I still can’t believe you kept this from me for so long,” you said, pushing through the whispering grasses beside him as he lifted elegant, clawed hind paws and balanced on his thumbs at the front like a bat. His long, elegant tail swung behind him, a counterweight for his neck and head.

“Kept what from you? My wyvern form?”

You shrugged. “I don’t blame you, not with the history your kind has suffered, but I’m just… overwhelmed. In a good way!” you added hastily as his regular footfalls faltered.

Mikaeïl’s relieved answering chuckle was deep and throaty and it made you prickle hot all over. Something of that must have showed in your eyes because he lowered his head and sniffed gently, playfully at your neck, making you gasp. “Apparently so,” he rumbled and you let out a quiet - if obscene - moan that you hadn’t really meant to make. He only laughed again and twitched his head towards the tower. “Come on.”

“What is this place?” you asked, finally kicking your legs back into action as he moved off ahead of you.

“It belongs to my family,” he said. “It was once part of the estate of a great hunting lodge, gifted to us by the royal family for our services. We sold most of the land a long time ago, but we kept this meadow, the woodlands, and the folly.”

“The folly?” you asked, looking at the tower. “It’s not real?”

“Well, it’s not an illusion but it was never part of a castle if that’s what you mean. It does have a room at the top and a fireplace though, but no running water or electricity.”

He led you right up to the shadow of the tower before revealing anything else to you, and even when he did, he only asked you to open the heavy wooden door at the base of the tower, and bring out what was inside.

Boiling with curiosity, you did as bidden, and you returned into the daylight with an enormous grin on your face, and a picnic hamper and blanket in your arms. “Mikaeïl,” you smiled. “You big softie.”

He laughed nervously, and then the lines of his body became taut, muscles bunching as he turned a bit shy and awkward. “Do you want me to shift…?”

“Not if you don’t want to,” you shrugged as you spread out the blanket and opened the huge basket to discover an absolute feast inside. Its contents were cool too, and you saw two ice blocks sitting there to keep it all fresh. “When did you plot and pull all this off?”

As he settled his large, bronze body down on the grass beside you, he said, “I had some help.”

“From whom?”

“Frankie,” he said. “He dropped off the basket this morning. And my sister helped too. She’s the one who technically owns this land, and she keeps the keys to the folly.”

“Well, thank them both for me next time you see them, will you? This is amazing.”

“I’m glad,” he said, the fondness for you ringing deeply in his voice. He lowered his head and nuzzled at your back, breathing more warm air around you in an aura of comfort. Your head tipped back and he supported you as you sagged into him for a moment. “You’ve got other things on your mind, haven’t you?” he asked in a darker, sweeter voice.

You flushed hot at his question, but nodded. “Nothing I can’t handle for a while though,” you smirked at him and he rolled his eyes. “I don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate this; I do… a lot…”

He leaned in close, bringing his maw full of deadly teeth right up to your ear, and whispered, “I know. I can smell it on you.”

Heat flared white inside you and you groaned.

As amazing as the food was, and the fruit cordial to wash it down, you could barely keep your hands off him. All the while you ate and enjoyed the view, you trailed the fingers of one hand over his unbelievably sensitive wing membrane until he was shuddering and groaning, and even as you fed him morsels of food, the way his tongue cleaned your fingers was nothing short of indecent. You wanted that tongue elsewhere. Finally, with the food long finished and the afternoon tipping towards evening, the mood shifted completely and he began to growl and purr.

“I’m not the only one who’s having trouble,” you commented and he gnashed his teeth for a moment, a plume of smoke escaping and coiling upwards through the still air. “Gods, Mikaeïl, you’re so beautiful.”

He rolled slightly onto one side and you saw that a slit in his lower abdomen was growing puffy, swollen, and had begun to glisten too. His legs kicked once as he came to lie on his side completely, his clawed feet lying limp and gentle now, one wing flopping over to flatten the grass behind him like a toppled sail from a tall ship. “I can’t…” he whispered, though it came out more as an earthy growl. His head fell heavily to the grass too and he lay there panting gently as you began to touch him everywhere you could reach.

In no time he was quivering and snorting beneath your attention and praise. His creamy belly heaved and one hind leg twitched.

“I want you,” you heard him hiss between gasps. “Let me taste you…”

You nodded, and he watched you undress with glazed, unfocused eyes and a slack-jawed expression of wonder and open lust. The moment you were free of your last pieces of clothing, he pounced on you like a cat after a mouse. There was no denying that he was a predator, as careful as he always was with you. His ‘attack’ knocked you back into the grass and he began to lave his tongue over your body as he reared up over you, blotting out the sun with his gleaming, scaled body.

His wings spread suddenly wide, his hook-taloned thumbs barely enough to balance him as he mouthed eagerly at your shoulder and took your whole torso briefly in his mouth while he let his tongue rasp over your skin. He never once gave you even the barest hint of pain, the tip of his serpentine tongue lavishing attention on your hardening nipples until your back arched and you cried out, desperate for more. You might even have articulated that aloud, but you couldn’t be sure. The sensation of his tongue moved slowly south until he tasted you and he let out a low-frequency snarl that you felt in your chest as much as heard.

“Oh gods,” he rasped, quickening his pace.

As you glanced down the length of your body, you saw that his cock had begun to emerge from the sheath between his legs and he was not small; there was no way you could take him in this form. Pre-come dripped liberally from his arrow-head tip and down his leg as he moved, his growling intensifying.

Suddenly he drew back from you with a hiss, breathing hard, sparks dancing at his nostrils. His slit pupils were now blown into a wide circle of blackness with barely a ring of the usual gold around them, and he just stood there, frozen in place and staring at you.

“What’s wrong?” you asked faintly, dizzy from the change of pace. “Come back… Mikaeïl, please…”

“Are you sure?” he asked. “I… I got carried away… I… I shouldn’t… I could hurt you like this. I should… uh…”

His cock twitched visibly as you moved and he half turned away. “Mikaeïl, please,” you whimpered. “I don’t mind what form you’re in, but please don’t stop touching me… I’m so close now… I need you…”

“Let me…” he said and his body twitched. A moment later, he began to change visibly. The vast wings folded down into his back, coppery scales started to melt away and his size diminished until, with a roar of what could only have been pain, the Mikaeïl with which you were much more familiar crouched on all fours at a little distance from you, breathing hard and sweating and naked. Somehow, he was also still hard.

You rose on shaky limbs and reached out to touch him. He gasped as your palm came down tenderly on the scales that still lined his hips, and you could see that his hands and feet remained clawed and scaled as well. He hadn’t managed to shift back to his more ‘human’ form, but none of that mattered now. “Come and lie down with me,” you said, trying to draw him down to the blanket.

Mikaeïl’s red hair was long and loose and it fell around his face in a curtain of fire, but as he tilted his head up to meet your gaze you could see that lying down quietly was the last thing on his mind.

“Or not,” you grinned, and he laughed hoarsely. He still had sharper teeth than any human would, and his eyes blazed a bright gold.

With hands that were more like gilded gauntlets tipped with talons than they were hands, he laid you back down and lowered his mouth once more to you. It didn't take long with the intense heat of his tongue pressed and lapping against you, sucking and making the most obscene noises, for you to come hard against his mouth. He stayed put and teased you all the way through your orgasm, prolonging it as much as he could before finally withdrawing from you and licking the taste of you from his beautiful lips. His mouth was puffy and red from his efforts, and he stared at you with open hunger in his eyes.

You parted your legs and he took it for the invitation it was, eyes flaring again. With his claws pricking against your hips, he paused and said, “I can’t use my hands,” he said. “And I don’t want to hurt you.” His ridged cock was flushed and red, and still bigger than anything you’d ever had inside you before being with him, but you just cautioned him to go gently, which he did with great effort.

His thighs shook with the effort of not sinking himself hilt deep into you in one thrust, but after a while it became too much for you to bear. You raised your hips and reached for him at the same time, pulling him the rest of the way inside you with a cry that you almost didn’t hear through the spike of pleasure that shot through you. He filled you so completely you thought you might never feel the same again.

Mikaeïl cried out and began to move, slowly at first, snarling and growling, lips pulled back with the intensity of his pleasure. “You’re so tight,” he gasped as he lifted you up higher. With the adjustment in angle, you tipped your head back and yelled wordlessly. “Oh gods,” he said as he picked up his pace, ramming himself into you over and over with a feverish light in his eyes. “I’m not going to last.”

“Come for me,” you slurred. “Mikaeïl, come for me…”

A mere three thrusts later, he did. His hips thrust up flush against you and his head rolled back, spine arching like a bow at full draw as he emptied himself inside you with an open-mouthed roar. There was something so primal about the sight of him like this - usually so composed and reserved, not a hair out of place nor a wrinkle in his shirt - as he gave himself to you, the scales up his arms and on his hips glimmering in the last rays of the sun, and you tumbled after him a heartbeat later.

As you clenched around him, coming a second time, he bowed forwards over you like a supplicant at an altar, and fell against your neck. He kissed you weakly, his body still wracked with the last throes of his own intense orgasm.

In an unsteady, gasping whisper, he said, “I love you,” against the sweat-sheened skin of your neck, right against your thrumming heartbeat. “I love you, I love you,” he chanted, even as his body still twitched and his cock pulsed inside you.

Placing your arms around him and stroking the skin of his back, tracing the beginning of the scales halfway down his spine, you teased gentle, calming circles, centring him. His hair fell around you in a straight cascade and you raked your fingers through it too, feeling him going slack all over. “Shh,” you smiled, kissing his slightly pointed ear. “I love you too Mikaeïl. I love you too.”

___

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#exophilia #dragon shifter #dragon #male dragon #dragon x reader #dragon shifter x reader #wyvern

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stuffthatbard · 3 years

Text

Mating Season

Summary: It's Geralt's third year out on the Path, and while he might think he's seen everything the Continent has to offer, he's wrong. Or, Geralt gets fucked by a dragon.

Tags: Monsterfucker Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, sex with a dragon, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Large Cock, Witcher Stamina, Come Inflation, Multiple Orgasms, belly bulge, Anal Fingering, Oral Sex, Dragons, Enthusiastic Consent

read here on ao3!

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It was Geralt’s third year out on the Path, and he thought there wasn’t much that could surprise him. He’d seen it all—necrophages, draconids, wraiths. Even a rogue earth elemental, once, which had been a grueling fight, but which had paid out quite handsomely.

He was pretty well versed in more intimate matters, too—though he’d often fooled around with the other boys at Kaer Morhen, he hadn’t known what else sex had to offer until he’d finally gone out into the world. When he’d first gathered up the coin and the courage to visit a brothel, he’d been nervous but willing to learn. And did he ever—how to fuck, how to be fucked, all the different things you could do with hands and mouths and other people.

All this was to say—Geralt thought he knew what he was getting into when he took the contract. It seemed easy enough—something was living up in the caves on top of the mountain, and the villagers were scared enough to hire a witcher to take care of it. Geralt accepted the gold and hiked up there, expecting a rock troll maybe, or a wyvern at the worst.

What he found was far more interesting—a dragon. Not a wyvern, not a basilisk, not a forktail. A real, honest-to-gods golden dragon, which weren’t supposed to exist.

The dragon in question was standing protectively in front of the entrance to its cave, tail lashing and teeth bared—but it didn’t attack. Strange.

Geralt carefully lowered his hand from where he had been gripping the pommel of his sword, watching with awe as the dragon relaxed some. So it was intelligent, then. Sentient, even?

“I’m not here to hurt you,” Geralt said calmly, staring into its eyes, willing it to understand. “I was sent up here to investigate, that’s all.”

“And how am I to trust you, witcher?” spoke the golden dragon—quite intelligent, then. “I know your kind well. You hunted my brethren to extinction for a handful of coins at the order of the humans. Little better than cold-blooded killers, all of you.”

“Not all of us. Me, my brethren—we don’t kill dragons. We don’t kill any sentient creatures, as long as we aren’t forced.” With every word, he hoped the dragon would sense the truth of it—he truly didn’t want to hurt the dragon, but he would, if it was a threat to the people living below.

The dragon narrowed its eyes. “Why are you here, then?”

“As I said—I was paid to investigate the creature living on the mountain. As far as I can see, you’re doing no harm living up here. My work is done, and I’ll leave you in peace.” Geralt slowly lowered his hands as he spoke, relaxing, and the dragon did the same, straightening from its defensive crouch.

The dragon stared at him for one long, inscrutable moment—Geralt felt as if he were back under the judging gaze of the master witchers back home, small and inexperienced. Looking into the dragon’s eyes, he could tell that it had seen countless more winters than him, was wiser and more experienced than he could ever hope to be.

And then it huffed out a puff of smoke, lumbering aside to reveal its nest behind it. “I thank you, Geralt of Rivia, for your understanding and kindness. I will let you go in peace now—unless you desire to fulfill another purpose here. I would pay handsomely should you agree, but neither would I force you should you disagree.”

“What is it?” Geralt asked warily. Never had he gotten a contract from a non-human before.

“I would take you to my nest for an evening. It is mating season for my kind, and though I would normally spend it alone, I would prefer a willing partner, if you’re so inclined.”

Geralt stared. The dragon stared back with its fiery gold eyes, unflinching.

“I’ll do it,” Geralt said.

The dragon led him inside the cave to its nest, which was quite cozy, considering. It had gathered animal pelts and arranged them into a thick blanket on the cavern floor, and piled even more around the edges, forming a protected depression just large enough for the dragon to spread out in. Geralt hovered by the edge, uncertain about where to go from here.

The dragon, meanwhile, lit a fire on the other side of the cave, where the smoke wouldn’t smother them, but close enough that Geralt could feel its warmth near the nest.

“Is it custom for humans to breed fully clothed?” the dragon asked, a note of humor in its voice if Geralt wasn’t mistaken.

“No,” Geralt grunted, blushing, and began to strip, quickly and efficiently. Off came his swords, his armor, his clothes, until he stood naked and unashamed in front of the dragon. “How do you want me?” he asked stiffly.

“I want you relaxed, for one thing,” the dragon chided. “As I said, I would like a willing partner. There’s no shame in changing your mind.”

Geralt unclenched his fists and willed his shoulders to drop. “I am willing. How are we doing this?” he asked again.

“Lie down in the nest and try to relax. I’ll be back shortly,” the dragon ordered. Geralt climbed inside as the dragon disappeared into another chamber of the cave.

Lying down on his back, he felt very vulnerable, and had to fight the urge to cover himself. Never had he been so bare, so unprotected in front of a monster—but the dragon wasn’t a monster, he had to remind himself, it was intelligent and nonthreatening.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply a few times, trying to get into the meditation headspace that always did wonders for calming him down. As he did, he reached a hand down towards his cock and started stroking idly.

As he relaxed more, his cock grew harder beneath his touches, blood rushing to it, and he bit his lip, slowing down before he came. The night hadn’t even started yet—he had infamous witcher stamina, but he had the feeling he would need every bit of it to keep up with the dragon.

He opened his eyes and yanked his hand away from his cock as he heard large footsteps returning. The dragon’s head appeared over the lip of the nest, a small bottle clutched in its jaws.

The dragon dropped it gently on top of Geralt’s chest, and he realized with a blush that it was oil. “Prepare yourself,” the dragon said, pinning him in place with those huge golden eyes.

He snatched the bottle up and yanked the cork out with his teeth, pouring a liberal amount on his fingers. He thanked every god he knew of for the whore in Vizima who had taught him how to open himself up a year ago.

It meant that he knew exactly how to tease himself, how to circle a finger around his entrance, dripping wet with slick, how to gently push a fingertip in, feeling the way he clenched around himself at the first press inwards.

He pulled his fingertip out and pushed it in another inch, gasping at the stretch, though he knew it was hardly anything yet.

“Beautiful,” the dragon murmured, gaze fixated on where his finger was disappearing into himself. Geralt’s face burned hot and he snuck another finger in, mouth dropping open and eyes falling shut. At least now he didn’t have to look at the dragon looking at him with that burning gaze.

He stroked his fingers in and out, breathing heavily, feeling his hole loosen around his fingers as he relaxed more. When he deemed himself ready for another finger, he added it, cock twitching as the stretch increased—not enough to burn, but enough to have him gasping for breath with every movement.

“So good for me,” the dragon purred, and Geralt opened his eyes to see it climbing inside, head dipping close, hot breath puffing over him.

Geralt pulled his fingers free with a wet squelch, letting his hand fall. The dragon hummed and nosed closer to his hole, little puffs of air over it making him shiver.

“Well? Are we going to do this or not?” Geralt croaked.

The dragon chuckled. “I don’t think you’re ready yet,” it said modestly, and Geralt glanced down for the first time to see its cock, standing proud between its legs, absolutely massive. He gulped. He wanted that in him now. “Just a bit longer, little wolf,” it said, and dipped its head again.

Geralt shouted something wordless as he felt its tongue, hot and wet, sliding across his slicked hole. “Alright?” the dragon purred, lifting its head. Geralt nodded faintly, and it ducked back down, delving in again. Geralt brought his fist up to his mouth, biting down on it to stifle any embarrassing whimpers he might have made.

And then its tongue pushed inwards, and all of his efforts to keep silent went out the window. It was so thick, and hot, like a cock but more, moving and wriggling and gods he wasn’t going to last long.

He reached a hand down again and stripped his cock madly, coming mere seconds later, shouting out his pleasure as the dragon wrung him dry.

He panted as he came down from his high, the dragon retreating and letting him catch his breath for a minute. By the time he felt settled enough to open his eyes, he was met with the sight of the dragon’s cock, now leaking and flushed, rutting into the furs of the nest.

“In me,” he gasped, throwing his head back. “In me, now, I’m ready.”

The dragon groaned, nipping at his neck with those wicked, razor-sharp teeth, but Geralt felt no fear. He threw his head back, allowing the dragon greater access to his neck.

The dragon moved, shifting upwards, great body completely covering Geralt, warm and heavy, and then the tip of its cock entered him in one smooth thrust. All of the air left Geralt, or else he would have whimpered at the intrusion.

He rocked his hips into it, urging its cock deeper, harder, faster, but it remained maddeningly out of reach. He whined. “More, please, give me more,” he begged.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” the dragon grunted, seemingly holding back out of sheer will.

“You won’t, I’m a witcher, now give it to me,” Geralt snarled, surging upwards. The dragon let him push it to lie on its back, and he sank onto its cock with a moan. He was so full; he could practically feel the dragon in his throat, its massive cock coring him open.

He panted, moving his hips in small circles until he got used to the stretch, to the fullness that was pervading his entire being. As soon as he was, he unceremoniously lifted himself up and dropped back down, eyes rolling back in his head as its cock brushed right against his prostate.

“You feel so good for me, little wolf. So hot and tight, yes,” the dragon hissed, meeting Geralt’s thrusts with its own. Geralt shivered, cock once again hard and leaking.

“You’re so big,” Geralt muttered in response, increasing his speed until he was riding the dragon with everything he had, letting out little grunts with each thrust.

The dragon groaned, long and low, and then it was coming, cock spurting inside of Geralt, filling him up. Geralt threw his head back and came too, taken over the edge by the feeling of being so completely full.

He hardly even noticed as the dragon sat up, pulling him with it, limp as a ragdoll. The dragon arranged them until Geralt was on his hands and knees, though that didn’t last long, as his arms immediately gave out and he crashed face-first into the furs.

The dragon kept on, heedless of Geralt’s complete lack of energy—but Geralt didn’t ask it to stop. How could he, when it felt so good? Every movement had its cock slamming into his prostate, sensitive but not too much. He moaned. “More. Gimme more,” he slurred. “I wan’ all of it.”

“Don’t worry, little wolf. I’m nowhere near done with you. You’ll be screaming before the night is up,” the dragon promised in a low growl.

It resumed its hammering—Geralt whined and reached a hand down, intent on getting off again, but paused when his hand brushed his stomach. Was that—?

He realized that his stomach was bulging outwards, and not only from the come the dragon had pumped into him. It was the dragon’s cock, he realized, as he felt it moving underneath him.

The thought was so hot—that the dragon was so big he could feel it even through his stomach—that Geralt’s toes curled and he felt himself coming again, hole clenching and fluttering around the dragon’s cock, toes curling, every muscle in his body tensing.

His vision went white.

He came back to himself gods knew how long later, lying on his back in the nest of furs, clean and sated. The dragon was curled around him, like a big, scaly furnace, the heat perfect for his sore and overtaxed muscles.

He could stand to nap a few more hours, he supposed, settling back in against the dragon’s bulk. As his eyes slipped shut once more, he felt the dragon rumble in approval beneath him. He fell asleep with a sated smile on his face.

#stb monsterfucking #stb geralt #stb fic #stb belly bulge #stb inflation

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