#Any excuse to draw a dragon is enough in my book. It’s been too long since I drew one.

[inga-don-studio]

Probably not going to ink this but here’s a sketchy-sketch for Appreciate A Dragon Day: a giant lizard umbrella in the middle of a downpour

[crystalas]

This started out as an art trade with @fluffy-robots who’s drawings are just fantastic I love em; she had drawn an interesting concept of ‘what if Kaos had been raised by Eon?’ and its just gone spiralling from there…enjoy

Brothers in sneaking

Spyro glanced around nervously, he wasn’t sure why he was to be honest. Everyone except Stealth-Elf had left to go home to see their families for Thanks-Taking weekend, a weird holiday where villains took the weekend off to remember all the bad stuff they did. The Skylanders didn’t care if it meant they could get an actual break.

He had spent the first half of the day hanging out with Stealth-Elf as she always stayed behind to watch the school with everyone gone but she had wanted to go do her own thing and he respected that. Sure, he got a bit lonely he never did like being on his own but Stealth-Elf loved having the place to herself so she can practise going full throttle around the school without having to worry about crashing into anyone.

It also meant that he was now free to sneak into the Relics Room, he had walked in casually before dropping to the floor as he approached the hidden bookcase just in case Stealth-Elf showed up. He opened the first secret door to reveal the second bookshelf he pressed the hidden button but a robot eye opened up and scanned him.

“Facial Hair not recognised…” it declared “Or evident of having any” and Spyro gave an angry growl.

“You forgot about the beard scanner, didn’t you?” asked a voice and Spyro yelped and spun around to see a bald-headed kid with blue markings on his forehead he wore what looked to be a sleeveless long robed hoodie, sky-blue top and brown trousers. Under his arm was a few spell books he had been reading through, Spyro relaxed at the sight of his brother from another mother.

“Kaos?” he sighed “You scared me…wait…I thought you were going with Eon?”

“Well Father said that with growing darkness on the horizon he wanted to focus on honing his magic skills, I didn’t like the idea of leaving you unsupervised so I took it upon myself to…” Kaos announced as he put the book on the table nearby.

“He ditched you too huh?” Spyro butted in and Kaos gave a groan of his own before turning to Spyro.

“So, brother why are you trying to get into the Relics Room?” he asked.

“Uuuhh…well…” Spyro suddenly found his mind blank for ideas he had an excuse lined up on convincing Stealth-Elf because he knew that she was going to be here, he hadn’t banked on Kaos showing up. However, Kaos didn’t seemed interested in excuses and had instead walked past Spyro and held up a clump of hair that had been tied together by a rubber band. A flash of red as the robot eye scanned it and the door swung open.

“Facial Hair recognised, welcomed Master Eon”

Kaos walked in and Spyro followed quickly beside him.

“Where the heck did you get that?” he demanded.

“I found that if you fine tune a locator spell high enough it picks up body parts as well as the person you want” Kaos explained “Now what was it you wanted in here?”

“Oh yeah!” Spyro cried and flew up to one of the book shelves and began to flick through the volumes till he found the book he knew he had seen when coming in here with Eon once or twice. A thick old book titled ‘Skylands’ dragons and their lore’ Spyro gave a grin as he brought it down and opened the book.

“I knew I saw this book, it’s a complete encyclopaedia on all dragons in Skylands my ancestors have to be in here!” he chuckled and Kaos watched with interest as Spyro flicked through the pages until he came to a suspicious section of ripped pages. He gave a growl of frustration and slammed the book shut.

“What the heck?!” he snapped “Every time I think I’m getting somewhere with finding out where I came from and it’s another dead-end!”

“Clearly someone doesn’t want you to know…but there might be something else in here that can help you” Kaos exclaimed and Spyro perked up and watched as Kaos walked over to a large wall tapestry and pulled it aside to reveal a hidden bookshelf packed with books.

“These are Eon’s personal journals dating all the way back from when he first founded the Academy, whoever is erasing your kind might have gone after the obvious sources of information but I bet we’ll find something in here.”

It was only as Kaos is picking through said books and looking at them did something occur to Spyro.

Why did Kaos have Eon’s beard hair on hand? Even if Kaos was being honest with the locator spell trick it would have taken him forever to hunt down enough stray hairs to make enough of a clump for the scanner to accept which meant… he had planned ahead for this.

“Kaos…why did you want to get into the Relics Room?” Spyro asked, Kaos glanced at him and went back to taking books off the shelf.

“Like you I want answers”

“Like what?”

Kaos gave a small sigh and for a moment his brother looked very worried before taking a deep breath and looking at him.

“Okay what I’m about to tell you must stay between us!” Kaos demanded.

“Dude we’re already breaking in to one of the most secret places of the academy, I think we can agree what happens in the Relics Rooms, stays in the Relics Room.” Spyro said sitting down next to him, Kaos began to fidget with one of the books as he seemed to collect his thoughts.

“Remember when you guys had to go to the Core of Light?” he asked.

“How can I forget?” Spyro snorted “Eon got so sick after using that Petrified Darkness to get Crash home that we had to go and bring back some pure light to heal him, and while we were gone you fought off the Doom Raiders single handed.”

“…I might have lied about that last bit…” Kaos admitted.

“I knew it!” Spyro cried out “I knew you had to embellish something you braggart! Okay what really happened??!!”

“Okay so after you left Father got worse, he was worried that keeping the crystal so close was going to tempt him to use it more so he gave it to me to keep hidden, while I did that Hugo helped him into the Relics Room as a sort of prison cell until you got back because he was … becoming unstable…” Kaos started “While I was looking for somewhere safe I heard an explosion and found all the cadets and Skylanders completely brainwashed and I ran back to the Relics Room to find the Doom Raiders there pillaging the place…but…they weren’t alone…”

“Who else was there?” Spyro asked.

“That’s the thing I don’t know, it was this tall lady with crystals in her hair and she wore a dark robe and she was looming over father. I didn’t recognise her but here’s the weirdest thing she seem to recognise me! I had just rushed in and screamed at them to leave my father alone and that’s when they turned to look at me, the lady looked surprised and then upset, she said “You’re alive?” before yelling at Eon like he had done something wrong. I have no idea why me being alive should be so aggravating to this lady but apparently it was.”

“Yeah, especially since she hadn’t gotten to know you yet, most people don’t start to think that until after an hour or so of talking to you!” Spyro chirped in and Kaos glared at him. “Sorry just trying to…ya know lighten the mood or whatever…anyway carry on. What happened next?” he mumbled and tried to get the story back on track.

“The Doom Raiders turned on me, I was out gunned and out-numbered so I panicked and…and…I used the petrified darkness to blast them out of the Relics Room” Kaos admitted, Spyro leapt from where he was sitting.

“You did what?!” he shrieked and grabbed Kaos’ arms to inspect him of any marks or wounds. “When Eon used that crystal he had purple scars all up his arms, it nearly killed him!”

“I know! I know I shouldn’t have used it but I was scared they were gonna hurt father and destroy the school so I…I used it, but it didn’t hurt. I mean I expected it to but it didn’t…it…it felt…right? Normal? Natural? I don’t know how to describe it Spyro…”

“And I’m guessing that’s when we got back?”

“Yeah, after everything calmed down, I told Father what happened and he just said that I shouldn’t worry about it and she was just some villain that had teamed up with the Doom Raiders. But I am worried Spyro I’m a portal master I use Light magic you’ve seen what happened to Father when you try to mix light and dark so why…why am I not affected?”

“And you think these journals can help us?” Spyro asked.

“Father journals date everything he has seen and done of note since the founding of the school. We both know he found you on an island if we can find something that locate that place, we can not only triangulate where your nest was but also where your parents might have been” Kaos explained and handed him a book.

“And what about you? What are you hoping to find?”

“Father told me that my mother died in childbirth, but whenever I ask about what she was like or who she was, he suddenly finds something else to do or changes the topic. Maybe if I find out who my mother is I might find out why I can use dark magic.”

They both went silent as they began to read through the journals, luckily the journals had the dates on the spine so they knew what to look for. It made sense to start reading from the year of their birth and Kaos read back and Spyro read forward. Sadly, the journal entry of Eon finding Spyro did not yield the expected co-ordinates and at first, they didn’t find anything of note until Spyro held up a book to try and read a scribbled note and a photo flopped out. They looked at it and balked in horror.

It was a photo of a baby Kaos and Spyro snuggled up against each like little puppies while asleep, it was the sort of photo that was an epitome of cuteness for everyone, but to those who were the unwilling models of the shot it was blackmail in the waiting.

“Destroy it?” Spyro asked.

“Agreed” Kaos said and held it up for Spyro to shot a small ball of flame at it, it seemed to burn for a second before glowing a bright blue Kaos looked at it confused before realising that Eon probably fire proofed everything in case of such discoveries.

They carried on reading and Kaos came across something interesting, a large portion had been destroyed either by ink stains or obvious tearing but there was an entry that hadn’t been obscured.

“I had hoped that her love for our son would overcome what had befallen her but alas I was wrong, the use of her magic is slowly twisting her mind. For Kaos’ sake I will have to take him away from his mother. For the greater good she must bear this burden of keeping Skylands safe from the likes of….

The rest was smudged.

“Wait then my mother didn’t die when I was born? By the sounds of this she was alive when he took me away” Kaos muttered.

“Hey listen to this” Spyro declared and read out the entry.

“Spyro has been developing well, he had hit all the milestone a dragon his age should, I’m glad the years I spent as their guardian has given me the skills needed to do this. He is already flying confidently as I have to keep explaining to Kaos why he can’t fly too, the number of times I’ve had to stop Kaos from leaping off somewhere high because he wants to follow his brother…” Spyro read “What does he mean by ‘years I spent as their guardian’? guardian of what?”

“Maybe other dragons? Who knows maybe before he founded the academy, he worked along with dragons to create the Core of Light” Kaos suggested, Spyro gave a shrug and noted it for ‘stuff to ask Eon innocently and hope he doesn’t get suspicious’.

They kept reading and Spyro couldn’t help but smirk as he read of all the times he and Kaos gave Eon trouble in ways only toddlers without any sense of self-preservation can get into. From Kaos finally figuring out how to Astro-project giving Eon a heart attack when he found the boy’s lifeless body only to look up to see his astral form playing in the air with Spyro. To the two playing ‘Skylander’ by picking a fight with a group of trolls. He chuckled as he looked at the photos and enjoying the ride down nostalgia lane when it seemed to come to sombre speed bump.

“Kaos has become sick these last few days, a strange illness that flips between a devasting fever and horrible chills, the poor boy can barely keep water down. None of my healing spells seem to work on this affliction and any medical potions seem to only curb the symptoms, I will need to do research…

…it is as I feared, I was foolishly naïve to think that it wasn’t going to happen. I had hoped if I hadn’t thought about it, the day would never come but alas all of Kaos’ symptoms match up. He has been afflicted with Elemental Conflict…”

“Elemental Conflict?” Spyro asked aloud.

“Eh?” Kaos looked up from his journal.

“It says here you came down with something called Elemental Conflict, I’ve never heard of that before.” Spyro explained and handed Kaos the journal as he skimmed the page with the entry.

“I’ve never heard of that either…go get tome of Island Illness and Afflictions” Kaos ordered.

“Why me?”

“Cos you can fly faster and I want to read this, now shoo!”

Spyro gave an annoyed grumble and darted off, swooping onto the bookshelf and clambering along the shelves until he found it, with a flap of his wings he was back in the relics room.

“According to these journals I was sick for weeks with this ‘Elemental Conflict’ …why don’t I remember any of this?” he demanded as Spyro handed him the book.

“To be honest from what I recall you were out of it a lot, I just remember Eon looking like he was already in the process of grieving…” he opened the medical book and started to flick through the pages.

“Let’s see…elemental bonding…elemental bloat…elemental crash…ahah! Elemental Conflict!” Spyro declared and put his claw on the words so he could keep his place in the tiny script. “A condition that occurs when two differing elements reside in a young host body creating an elemental conflict, the symptoms can differ depending on the elements in question but known symptoms can be: a high fever, extreme chills, vomiting, blood poisoning, necrosis, bone deformities, and magical implosion…jeez sounded like you got off light with this…this condition has a high fatality rate which is why hybrids rarely see adulthood…” Spyro trailed off at that last sentence to see Kaos staring at him, without a word he began to thumb through the pages till he got to the ‘H’ section.

“Hybrid: a creature born from two different species or of those of different elements. Although there are records of hybrids being born there are no known cases of hybrids reaching adulthood. For more details see Elemental Conflict…”

“Hybrid? I’m a hybrid?” Kaos asked “But…if that’s the case then…that lady I saw might not be my mother, my mother would be literally anyone! Heck we could even have the same mom!”

“That would explain your inability to grow hair and those weird snaggle teeth” Spyro said.

“I meant that as freaking joke!” Kaos shouted but paused when he realised how actually plausible that was now. Kaos shuddered at the thought of how Eon could achieve such a feat but then remembered that there were dragons capable of shapeshifting…

Spyro was more convinced than ever that the answers he needed were in these journals now and renewed vigour began to search through the pages again. Kaos however sat there rereading the medical journal, how old was he now? He had always wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps to be a great portal master and rule over the academy but now…

Hybrids rarely see adulthood.

He was a hybrid? A half breed? It would explain how he was able to use dark magic without repercussions if his mother was someone of that nature, but now instead of feeling excited about the prospects of one day finding her and getting to finally fill in that weird void in his mind, now there was only dread. It felt like he had a ticking timebomb strapped to his back, how long did he have left? Was using his magic making his chances of survival better or worse?

“Spyro…” he said quietly but the dragon didn’t hear him and he only got his attention when he reached over and closed the book in his claws. “Spyro let’s just stop, okay?”

“What? Why?” he spluttered “Com’on bro we are this close I can just feel it, we are this close to finding out stuff about where we came from!”

“You know what I’ve found out Spyro?” Kaos spat angrily “I’ve found out that instead of narrowing my list of potential mothers I’ve expanded it to include every species of sentient creatures in Skyland. I’ve found out that whoever she was, having me drove her so insane Eon had to take me away. I’ve found out Spyro that I might drop down dead at any given moment because I am some half breed mutant whose chances of seeing the other side of puberty are non-existent!”

There was a tense pause as Kaos took a deep breath and tried to calm down from his enraged rant.

“Spyro, have you considered that maybe Father is keeping stuff from us because he wants to protect us?” he asked.

“Look I get it but I need to know, we’ve got proof that Eon knows more than he lets on and it’s driving me crazy!” Spyro tried to explain but looked at his brother and saw how utterly drained he was, he glanced down at the journal he was holding and back to Kaos before giving a heavy sigh. “Maybe you’re right… maybe one day Eon will tell us himself…”  

“When he feels we’re ready…” Kaos added.

“Yeah…”

There was a long moment of silence as the two say surrounded by journals, untold secrets and childhood photos. It was broken when Spyro took the journal he had and put it back on the shelf, Kaos wordlessly waved his hands and the photos and journals lifted up in the air and slid back into their respected places. Once everything was back as they had found it, they quietly left, the doors sliding shut behind them.

“Good thing we didn’t lose the beard hair, who knows who long we would have been stuck in there if you had sneezed a fireball on it or something…” Kaos surmised as they made their way out of the library.

“Yeah, but what are the chances of that?” Spyro chuckled once again regarding Kaos’ quiet and sullen demeanour “Hey we still have the rest of the weekend, got any other plans?”

“Well, we could play some Creatures and Combat, I could do some studying or…we could prank Stealth-Elf…” Kaos smirked, Spyro grinned back.

“And this is why you’re my favourite brother!” he laughed. “Com’on lets see what we can do before she figures out, you’re here too!”

And with that they ran off with mischief in mind trying very hard to forget the ever-burning questions that they’ll one day regret getting the answers to.

FIN

[astaroth1357]

AYE requests briefly open you say? Then here ya go: MC (female or gn) turns into a child for a day courtsey of Solomon (maybe around 5) with the Brothers. I think it'd be adorable, what with finger painting on spell books and things, but there ya go!

The MC is Now Five Years Old, Thanks Solomon...

Oh boy…. A little kid in Hell sounds like a train wreck admittedly, but at least they'll have some pretty strong guardians right? I heard It'll Be Okay by SMLE & Helen Tess and decided that was JUST the feel this sort of request needed.

Intro:

Solomon really doesn't mess up spells often. He's been doing this for a while (at least as far as my headcanon is concerned) so he's gotten pretty damn good at magic over the years. It takes a looot to make him mess up. Like say, a natural disaster, an unexpected surprise… or a whole-ass MC getting knocked into what sigil he's using at just the wrong time. Yeah. That'll do it.

How in the world is he going to explain this to the brothers…?

Lucifer

His anger toward Solomon is quite severe… tempered only slightly by how utterly adorable kid!MC is. (Well all know he's got that soft spot for cute things 🤭) It reminds him so much of his brothers at that age…

The man basically reverts back to being Dad!Lucifer sooo fast.

He's the one tying their shoes, checking on them throughout the day, making sure they're not running with scissors… that sort of thing.

Weirdly enough he's not that bothered by it… In fact, his brothers find it a little unnerving just how at peace he seems when he's keeping track of kid!MC doing this or that… It's like he's just put on an old pair of gloves and found out they still fit.

Speaking of his brothers, Lucifer can't turn off "Parent Mode" so it starts spilling over to them too...

When he started telling Levi "It's bedtime" and used a napkin to wipe Beel's face for him in public, they decided to hold an informal intervention. They're grown demons now, damnit!! 😖

Mammon

The first thing kid!MC did when they saw Mammon was fling themselves at him while screaming "MAMMIE!!!" at the top of their lungs… Regardless of his confusion, the man could probably die happy now.

He only gripes a little bit about being saddled with babysitting duty… Because everybody knows he's not the babysitter now. He's the playmate.

"Mammie, I wanna play House!!" "I ain't playing House with ya, kid. How 'bout Tag?" "No way, you're too fast!"  "Hide'n Seek?" "Luci said we can't play that no more…" "Well don't hide in the oven again!" "You didn't find me!!" "That was the problem!!!"

Pretty much the Man-Child/Actual Child Duo. He's perfect for keeping up with them and they'll whine incessantly when they can't find him for too long...

Totally the brother to take them to the amusement park or really any of those super fun places kids love. He will be just as excited as they are to be there, too.

It's not uncommon to find Mammon passed out on a couch or something with an equally exhausted kid!MC sleeping on his back. The two can really wear each other out…

Leviathan

He's probably the least perturbed by this change. Sudden de-aging of characters is a pretty popular anime trope, after all...

He's not all that taken with kid!MC though to be honest… Largely because he's too worried about keeping his stuff out of their grubby mitts. 😖

"Levi, what's this?" "GAH! Don't touch that!! That's my limited edition Ultra☆Rainbow Witch figurine!!" "I wanna play with it, though!" "It's not a toy!!" "That's not fair! You have nothing but toys, Levi!! You need to share!!" "NO I DON'T!!!"

In those times where Lucifer forces him to share, Levi goes full neat-freak. He handles all the discs and games himself, everything gets practically sterilized, and kid!MC HAS to wash their hands before they touch ANYTHING (especially the game controllers). He ain't risking any random kid-gunk getting on his precious possessions… 😰

He does enjoy playing games with them well enough, at least. No one's going to pass up a game of Devil Kart after all!

Sometimes he'll let them win just to see how happy they get… Though, then they start getting a big head about it so he has to remind him who the actual gamer is with another string of losses... Sucks to suck, kid! 😌😏

Satan

… You know, five year-olds ask a lot of questions… A looot of questions…

"Satan, what's that?" "An umbrella. You use it so that rain doesn't get on you." "Where does rain come from?" "Evaporated water collects in the atmosphere and-" "Is rain like the sky peeing?" "...." "Satan? Does your face hurt?... Satan?"

Please Lord, they may not be on speaking terms, but someone has to have mercy on his patience...

In truth, Satan's kind of charmed by how curious kid!MC is, he just wished they'd listen more to his boring explanations…

"Satan? Why does everyone listen to Diavolo?" "Lord Diavolo is like a king to us demons." "Where's his crown?" "He doesn't wear a crown." "Oh… You don't wear a crown and people listen to you. Are you a king too?" "I mean, you're not wrong… 😏" "Satan, get back to work."

Eh, maybe having a little MC isn't all that bad. They don't lie, after all. 😌

Asmodeus

OMG he hasn't seen a child this cute since the twins were in diapers!!!!

If Mammon isn't around then Asmo takes over babysitting duties (like an actual babysitter) and he's more than happy to do it. It reminds of him of taking care of baby Belphie!

If kid!MC has any interest at all in makeup then he's happy to foster it. He won't give them the good stuff of course, but he'll show them how to do blush, eyes, lipstick, nail polish, whatever!

He also dabbles in a bit of facepaint so do they want to look like a kitty, panda, or dragon? He's got them covered.

Asmo just likes to let them be creative in all forms, really. He's going to be the one to break out the paint and markers and just the kid!MC go to town! (hopefully not on the walls…)

Takes pictures of whatever they draw, good or bad, and happily displays them to everyone. There's not a big enough fridge to hold all the art he's going to collect (and zealously protect).

Beelzebub

Playmate #2 right after Mammon, but he's the less excitable, more responsible one.

"Beel! Beel! Watch me jump off this slide!!" 😰 "Please don't… You could hurt yourself… You slide down slides. That's why they're called that." "*GASP*... That's right! You're a genius!!" *sits back down* "Not really, but thank you." 😊 *waits for them at the bottom*

If the MC is with Beel, they're doing one of two things. Either they're playing together or gorging themselves on junk food.

Beel actually likes "domestic" games like House and Tea Party because it's an excuse to raid the kitchen. He'll play "house-husband" all day as long as he gets to actually eat at every imaginary dinnertime.

He'll play active games too, of course. Especially action-oriented ones like "Cops and Robbers" or Superheros. No one's better at roughhousing than Beel! Though he'll go easy on them, cause they're small and all… 😅

Everyone can always tell when Beel's in charge of them because he carries them around on his shoulders. He's the tallest one of the family so it's like getting to be a giant!

Belphegor

Belphie was introduced to kid!MC when they started crying during one of his naps. They couldn't wake him and they thought he was dead… Followed directly by them declaring their tears were magic when they noticed his eyes opened.

He proceeded to close his eyes again and purposely play dead just to get them all worried again. It was the smile creeping up onto his face that eventually gave him away… 😏

He likes to play with kid!MC and Beel but he's not going to let it get in the way of his nap schedule or anything. When they play "Knights" he gets to take the role of the world's laziest dragon… Rawr.

Kid!MC will only settle down for naptime if Belphie joins too since he'll read them a book like he used to do with Lilith.

Satan's usually the go-to guy for storytime, but Belphie's a close second (largely because he just imitates what he remembers Lucifer doing for him, voices and all 🤭).

He deals with their myriad of questions by just making shit up and pretending he knows what he's talking about. It's around the time that he told them that little men live inside the freezer and shave ice cubes to keep things cold that Lucifer started getting on his case about it… Killjoy. 🙄

[peasthedumb]

AU idea:

A sans who’s entire AU is a infinite library, and they’re the only inhabitant. The library is no normal one however. This one specific library exists in several different versions of the multiverse. (that’s based on one of my headcanons where for example, instead of dreamtale and dreamswap existing in the same multiverse, instead there’s an entire alternate multiverse, and dreamswap is the dreamtale of that multiverse)

All of the books in the library are entirely about each and every au in all the multiverses that library exists in. Each individual book contains: factfiles about the main characters, the storyline of the au, and some other odd facts, like what their fandom is like and the main headcanons of said au.

However, the actual access to this library is very secretive and is currently unknown and inaccessible. Nobody in any multiverse has been to the library or met it’s one singular inhabitant (would be hard to find em anyway cause of the libraries scale-)

Nobody would actually know the library existed at all, however dream and nightmare can feel the emotions coming from it (usually neutral or very dull positivity or negativity), Error can see the library’s code and ink can just kinda sense it’s existence. However, as previously mentioned, nobody can get there. The only way anyone could get there is if the sans (imma name him Book) decides to come out and take someone back with him.

Also, last lil bit of info, At the centre of the library (don’t ask how there’s a centre to an infinite library) Book keeps a separate bookshelf where he stores copies of his favourite AU’s books. At the moment, the books he has there are:

Dreamtale and most dreamtale AU books (his favourite dreamtale AU is Shattered Dream)

Dusttale

Killertale

Bad sanses (the bad sanses squad get their own group fact book)

Aftertale/Fatal Error/ Error

Lastly, they promised themselves they’d never damage a book no matter how much they hate it. They’ve only broken that rule for 1 AU. They always make sure to burn the Lusttale AU books from each and every multiverse section. (They’re extremely Ace which defo is not me projecting- )

Feel free to send any asks about it. I made this AU a while back just to be a plot point. You see, when I’m bored I create stories, conversations or just random interactions between characters in my mind. Whenever I’m bored at school one of my favourite ones to do (if I haven’t got a story on the go) is introduce AU’s to the wonderful world of the fandom- usually leaves em mortified.

Nightmare can’t figure out what he hates more, the fact people draw- ahem, tentacle naughties of him, or that people just completely ignore that he’s meant to be scary and make him a lil noot man

But anyway, yeah, I made the au cause I feel weird doing literal self inserts of myself, my other AU’s have no excuse to know the fandom, and my usual self insert, a lil dragon called Arora, always kills the daydream early by rambling too long and gets bored too easy. Not to mention her burning hatred for Ink usually takes her way off topic-

Also, that reminds me of some other characters I accidentally made in daydreams that were literally only plot points or excuses of self inserts. I’ll make a second post cause this one has rambled enough

[all-hail-the-witcher]

leaves

this started as a hc but turned into a long thing about geralt being a huge softie.  enjoy.

___

jaskier collects leaves that he thinks are pretty during the fall and presses them in his song writing notebook so he can look at them during the winter when all the leaves are gone. and, he'd never admit this to anyone, but he knows exactly where each leaf came from, and what he and geralt were doing when he found them, so they help him stay close to geralt in the cold months when he's away at kaer morhen.

geralt doesnt understand the fascination cause “they're just leaves jaskier” and gets kinda grumpy when jaskier walks extra slow during the fall to admire and inspect the leaves. but he secretly enjoys the way that jaskiers face lights up in front of their camp fire at night as he shows geralt each leaf he collected that day and tucks them safely into the pages of his notebook. 

jaskier used to show them to roach to inspect but after she ate a particularly beautiful one on accident he does not allow her anywhere near his precious leaves.

one year jaskier and geralt part ways a little earlier than normal, geralt deciding to begin the trek to kaer morhen sooner than he normally would due to a lack of contracts so jaskier goes to oxenfurt earlier as well. the leaves are just beginning to change color as they part ways. 

a few nights into the journey geralt is making camp for himself and roach when he sees a bright red leaf sitting on the forest floor, exactly the kind of leaf that jaskier would pick up and admire and wax poetry about before tucking it into his notebook. but jaskier isn't there, and geralt feels a little pang. he glares at the leaf the entire time he's setting up camp. 

the camp fire has burned down to the embers by the time geralt is ready to lay out his bed roll, but he can still see the leaf at the corner of his vision. he sighs and gets up, knowing that it will continue to bother him unless he does something about it. he picks up the leaf, brushes off the dirt far more lightly than he would ever care to admit, and goes to tuck it in to his saddle bag in the roll of parchment he keeps on the off chance he has to write a letter. 

roach snorts at him. “shut up,” he mutters back. “its just a leaf.” roach nuzzles his arm. “no, i don't miss him. im just...bringing him a souvenir. we had to part early this year.” another snort. “yes, i know you know. but he didn't get to see the leaves this year. i don't want him to be disappointed.” roach headbuts him as if to say, you dumb witcher. geralt ignores this, but gives her some nice pats before retiring to his bedroll. 

in the next town geralt buys a random book. he doesnt know what it is, he bought the cheapest one he could find. but he's not going to read it, he just needs something to keep jaskiers leaf in so it doesnt crumble to bits before the spring. he swears roach laughs at him for that. 

throughout his trip up to kaer morhen, geralt finds himself progressively walking slower, taking time to admire the leaves as the bard had once done. 

he picks up the second leaf a week later after a battle with some drowners. he’s heading back into the town, having come across his first contract in weeks, holding the head and covered in river muck and guts when he sees a perfectly yellow leaf on the ground in front of him. he picks it up gingerly, trying his very best not to get guts on it (and he nearly succeeds). if the alderman thinks its weird, a witcher coming back with a drowner head in one hand and a yellow maple leaf in the other, he doesnt say anything. roach does tho, whinnying the second she sees it in geralts hand. he ignores her, and presses the maple leaf into the book a few pages after the brilliant red one. 

after that he adds to the collection more frequently. an reddish oak leaf he finds on the ground outside of a tavern, a brilliant orange leaf he finds at his campsite, a yellowish orange leaf the size of his face that he finds along the road and so on. roach makes fun of him every time he reaches for the book, but geralt ignores her. they're merely souvenirs for jaskier, nothing more. 

collecting leaves slows him down considerably, but he cant bring himself to care. he's even disappointed when the last of the leaves disappear and the first snow sets in. 

but that doesnt stop him from collecting things to add to his book. he gathers different small pine branches, holly leaves and other things that he knows jasper has never seen before because they grow too far north. he becomes so caught up in his hunt for interesting plants that the snow is already falling thickly by the time he reaches kaer morhe, despite him leaving for the keep so early. eskel and lambert chide him for being late, but he ignores them, happy that he managed to fill most of the book with leaves for jaskier.

that whole winter the book remains in the bottom of geralts pack, wrapped carefully in his spare shirt. he thinks about it often, but doesnt dare bring it out for fear that one of his brothers will catch him and make fun of him for being a sap. he's not a sap, he just found some leaves for his friend. 

winter drags on far too long in geralts opinion and leaves as soon as the passes are clear, antsy to get back to his friend and give him the book. but on his way down he discovers yet another beautiful thing that jaskier would love: wildflowers. roach is slightly more appreciative of this because wildflowers are things that she is allowed to eat. geralt often feeds her them to see if she approves. if she spits it out or refuses to eat it, then it doesnt make it into the book.

in the space he has left in the book he fills it with wildflowers, sometimes going out of his way to collect them. there are buttercups, dandelions, little blue ones the color of jaskiers eyes, poppies, apple blossoms, daffodils, and even a few rose petals that he buys from a stall in a market. the book is brimming with nature now. he has to be careful not to lose any of his treasures. 

finally, he arrives at his and jaskiers meeting spot. he stables roach who gives him a headbut of encouragement and he grabs the book carefully wrapped in his shirt before he makes his way to the tavern, suddenly very nervous. 

jaskiers voice is already wafting out of the tavern as he draws closer, having beat geralt to the meeting spot for once, and geralt hesitantly steps inside, knowing jaskiers eyes will be on him the second he goes in. he’s overcome with thoughts, what if jaskier hates it? what if he thinks it's dumb? what if he laughs at him? 

he enters anyway, because he's a witcher for fucks sake and he can handle his friends scrutiny. immediately he sees jaskier, sitting in the corner, working a crowd. as always, jaskiers eyes snap to him the second he steps foot in the tavern and he winks. geralt gives him the smallest nod and heads to his table in the corner after ordering an ale. he tucks the book out of sight on the bench next to him. 

minutes later jaskier barrels over, eyes bright with the life of the crowd he had been entertaining. 

“geralt!” he exclaims. “finally. i thought you stood me up, you big oaf. i never make it here before you do, i thought you may have been eaten! although im not sure by what exactly, i don't know what species has a taste for witches, dragons maybe? well never mind, youre here now and you better have a good excuse for being so late, even im starting to get bored of this town and you know how i love towns...”

geralt smiles into his ale, he missed this, but he'd never admit it. his eyes flick over to the book sitting on the seat beside him, unsure whether or not he should give it to him. 

jaskier, being the observant fucker he is, notices. “geralt what do you have on the seat there? is it a monster head? you know what happened last time you tried to hide a monster head in a tavern, i thought the town would chase us out with pitchforks they were so angry! surely you wouldn't-”

“here.” geralt mutters, cutting him off, unwilling to listen to that horrible story. 

jaskier stares at the lump of black fabric on the table. “geralt, why are you giving me your shirt? its not really my style, i’m not one for black really, makes my skin look too pale.”

“open it.” he says into his ale. 

jaskier does, and stares at the book dumbfounded. “a history book? geralt you know that i am a master of the seven liberal arts, im a professor at oxenfurt! i have all these boring books in the library, i didn't need you to get me one, although it is very thoughtful of you to- oh”

geralt, tired of hearing jaskiers babbling, flips open the book, revealing the bits of nature he had spent their time apart collecting. jasper is silent, which geralt takes as a bad sign. maybe roach was right, maybe he didn't like it, maybe he'd wasted his time for nothing. 

“cause you....you didn't get to see...the leaves this year,” he mutters, looking into the tavern, unable to see the inevitable disappointment on jaskiers face. 

“oh, geralt,” jaskier whispers. “you collected all of these for me?”

geralt doesnt say anything, but his silence is enough. 

“this is why you were late. you were collecting these, for me.”

“its okay if you don't..like them” geralt bites out. 

“oh no no no no, geralt, they're wonderful.” 

geralt looks at jaskier and sees him touching the pine branch he took form the trees outside kaer morhen, tears brimming in his eyes. “you don't hate it?”

“no, love.” jaskier smiles softly. “i adore it. and i adore you. and id love it if you tell me about all of them, please.”

for the first time in years geralt feels something like a smile tugging at his lips and he picks up the pine branch from jaskiers hand, telling him how it came from the tree outside his window, the one that he looked at everyday as a kid growing up. the same tree that lambert once dared him to climb and he nearly did before being spotted by vesemir and scolded at. jasper laughs and sniffs the pine carefully before placing the branch back in the book. 

they pour over the book for hours at their table in the tavern. geralt cant remember the last time he's talked this much, much less about himself of all things, but jaskier is more than happy to listen. 

__

if you want to be tagged in future works of mine shoot me an ask !!

[nerdythebard]

#13: Doctor Strange [Marvel]

By the Eternal Vishanti, I welcome you back!

Today we're making the Sorcerer Supreme of the Marvel Universe-616, Doctor Strange. This spell-slinging master of the mystic arts has been my favourite superhero for quite some time now, and I'm always excited whenever we get something related to him. Now, just a quick note – this build is going to be based on the comic book version of Strange, not the MCU one. We're having real spells and incantations, not some thinly-veiled Clarke's Third Law. #LetMagicBeMagic.

Next Time: The Gods call for us again. The Dragon King blesses us with his presence.

Now then, let's examine what we need to become the mightiest mystic of the Multiverse:

Arcane Artillery: Doctor Strange holds enough mystic knowledge to give Mind Flayers an indigestion. What he doesn't know, he can look up in his Sanctum Sanctorum's library. We need to be prepared to have a spell for almost any situation.

Mystic Fists of Fury: Before opening his Third Eye fully, Strange spent some time in Kamar-Taj under the tutelage of the Ancient One, practising his combat skills in case he was ever in a situation where magic would fail him.

The Old Favourites: Whatever incarnation of the character we encounter, Doctor Strange is almost always certain to have the following items on him: the Eye of Agamotto, the Cloak of Levitation, and occasionally the Book of the Vishanti. After the Last Days of Magic event, Strange found a likeness for weapons like shortswords, staffs, and axes.

---

Stephen Strange was an ordinary human, but due to the years of exposure to otherworldly mystic forces, his biology changed to not accept regular human food anymore. This sounds like a good excuse to make him Variant Human. We get a +1 to two abilities of our choice (Intelligence and Constitution), we know how to speak Common and one other language of our choice, we get to pick one skill to be proficient in (Investigation), and we get to pick a feat. The Medic feat gives us a +1 to Wisdom, proficiency with the Medicine skill, and the ability to tend to our party members' wounds on short rests (Medicine check [DC 15], if successful - the player can use the maximum value of their Hit Dice to regain Hit Points).

Although he started as a simple physician, the turning point of Strange's life was his training in Kamar-Taj. He gained skills and knowledge, vast enough to call himself a Sage. From this background, we gain proficiency in Arcana and History, we learn two more languages, and we gain the Researcher feature; when we're to recall a piece of lore, and we don't know it, we usually can figure out where to find the information (be it a library, a temple, or somebody's private collection).

ABILITY SCORES

Intelligence is our primary stat, serving as our casting ability and our pride. Next is Constitution, all casters need to keep it high. We follow that up with Wisdom, lessons of the Ancient One granted us both humility and broadened our horizons.

Dexterity is a little low, but we'll take care of that later. Charisma is next, even after his training was complete Stephen can be a bit of a jerk and refusing to hear anyone but himself. Finally, we'll dump Strength.

CLASS

Assigning a D&D class to Doctor Strange was a very (and I mean very) difficult task. Starting off, I had to disregard his Sorcerer Supreme title, because in D&D sorcerers are born with the ability to wield magic. Strange had to study and practice to get his powers, so that makes him a Wizard. Kamar-Taj is also dedicated to studying the teachings of the Vishanti, a trinity of god-like beings who give the Sorcerer Supreme their powers, so that would make Strange a Cleric. Finally, he also draws powers from deals he made with otherworldly entities (such as Cyttorak, the Faltine, Munnopor, Watoomb, sometimes even Dormammu himself), which screams 'Warlock', except there's no way to incorporate multiple patrons without homebrewing. It wasn't easy, but I am satisfied with what I've created. Hopefully, you'll be, too.

Level 1 - Monk: We start just as Strange started, by honing our body first. Monks get the d8 Hit Dice, [8 + Constitution modifier] initial Hit Points, proficiencies with simple weapons and shortswords, and proficiency in one set of artisan's tools or a musical instrument (I'd go with alchemist's supplies). Our saving throws are Strength and Dexterity, and we get to pick two class skills (Insight and Religion).

Monks start with Unarmoured Defence. When we're not wearing armour, or holding a shield, our AC equals [10 + our Dexterity modifier + our Wisdom modifier]. We also get Martial Arts, which gives our unarmed strikes some more power. We can now use Dexterity instead of Strength for our unarmed strikes attack and damage rolls, we replace our Strength modifier with a d4 for damage of our unarmed strikes, and if we use the unarmed strike (or a monk weapon) on our turn as an Attack, we can use a bonus action to make an extra unarmed strike.

Level 2 - Monk: We get more mobile with Unarmoured Movement. Our ground speed increases by 10 feet if we're not wearing armour or holding a shield.

We also get access to the Monk's signature feature, the Ki energy. We start with 2 Ki Points, which we can spend on the following abilities:

Flurry of Blows: Spending 1 Ki Point after making an attack, lets us make two unarmed strikes as a bonus action;

Patient Defence: Spending 1 Ki Point lets us take a Dodge action as a bonus action on our turn;

Step of the Wind: Spending 1 Ki Point doubles our jump distance for the turn, and we can take the Dash or Disengage actions as a bonus action.

Level 3 - Wizard: We finally begin our study of spells and arcane arts.

Unfortunately, multiclassing into Wizard does not give us any additional benefits. We do, however, get Arcane Recovery. Once per day, during a short rest, we can choose a number of expended spell slots and refill them. The number must be equal to half of our Wizard level (rounded up), and the recovered spell slots cannot be 6th-level or higher.

Wizards also start with Spellcasting at their 1st level, and they know both cantrips and ritual spells. Our spellcasting ability is Intelligence, but unlike many other casting classes we do not get a full access to our spell list. Instead, we start with six spells in our spellbook and get two more each time we level up. Then, we can only prepare and use [Our Intelligence modifier + our Wizard level] spells at once. Describing all of those spells we pick would make this post over a mile long, and I've made that mistake with Sypha. To not make this a chore for you guys, I decided that from now on whenever I make a Wizard (or, a build where Wizard is a majority), I will simply list the spells we pick without descriptions. Let's be honest, if not here, you'll certainly find those in a different build. Alright, let's begin! First, we get to pick three cantrips:

Fire Bolt

Mage Hand

Minor Illusion

When it comes to our starting spells, let's take these six. Remember, we can only prepare a certain number, and we start with only two 1st-level spell slots.

Alarm

Detect Magic

Fog Cloud (to represent the Mists of Munnopor from the comics)

Shield (of the Seraphim)

Magic Missile (as a stand-in for the Daggers of Daveroth)

Sleep

Level 4 - Wizard: We get to pick our subclass, our Arcane Tradition. For Strange, who can be any combination of Wizard, Cleric, and Warlock, the best choice is to pick Theurgy from 2017 Unearthed Arcana. Theurgists are religious magic-users, who focus more on the arcane research rather than prayer and worship.

With Divine Inspiration, we get to select a Cleric Domain and a deity we wish to follow. Ask your DM if it's possible for you to worship three gods as a collective, a magical triumvirate. For your own Vishanti I suggest Mystra, Mother of All Magic, Azuth, the Lord of Spells, and Savras, the All-Seeing. For a Wizard, I'd say there's no better choice than Knowledge Domain.

We also get Arcane Initiate, which lets us replace spells we learn as we level up with the cleric spells of our chosen domain. What's cool about that feature is, other wizards cannot copy those spells from our spellbook. If we get all of our chosen domain's spells, we can keep replacing spells we learn with spells from the Cleric spell list.

Finally, we gain the Cleric's unique skill - Channel Divinity - except in our case it becomes Channel Arcana. We start with two effects: Divine Arcana and the effect granted by the chosen domain. Unlike Clerics, we can use the Channel Arcana once per short or long rest.

Divine Arcana lets us use a bonus action to control the flow of magic in the area. The next spell we cast gets a +2 to its attack roll or saving throw DC.

Knowledge of the Ages grants us quick insight into a skill we're not familiar with. For the next 10 minutes, we're proficient with one tool set of our choice or proficient in one skill we choose.

We gain one more 1st-level spell slot, and for this level's two spells let's get Feather Fall, and Command from the domain list.

Level 5 - Wizard: At this level we unlock 2nd-level spell slots, and we can access 2nd-level spells. Let's get Hold Person (for Strange's famous Crimson Bands of Cyttorak) and Icingdeath's Frost from 2021 Unearthed Arcana: Draconic Options (for the Icy Tendrils of Ikthalon).

Level 6 - Wizard: Time for our first Ability Score Improvement! As is the rule of thumb with all Wizards, boosting our Intelligence is a priority. That's what we shall put the 2 points into.

For this level's spells, we get another cantrip (Light), and let's take Locate Object and Mirror Image (to represent the Images of Ikonn).

Level 7 - Wizard: We unlock 3rd-level spell slots. Let's get Dispel Magic, and we can get Fly to finally get a representation for our Cloak of Levitation.

Level 8 - Wizard: We get our first subclass upgrade. Arcane Acolyte grants us the 1st-level benefits of our chosen domain. For Knowledge domain, it's Blessings of Knowledge; we learn two languages of our choice and get proficiency in two skills... which we pretty much are proficient in already. To not waste a feature, ask your DM if you can double your proficiency bonus for those two skills instead. If you get a 'yes', pick Arcana and Insight.

For this level's spells, let's get Counterspell and Magic Circle.

Level 9 - Wizard: From here, we get access to 4th-level spell slots. Banishment and Dimension Door seems like exactly what we need to keep enemies at bay and have fun with portals.

Level 10 - Wizard: Halfway through the build, and we get an ASI. Let's cap our Intelligence at 20, with those two points.

For this level's spells, let's grab Arcane Eye and turn back a little and get Speak with Dead from our domain list, as it is one of few spells not available to Wizards.

Level 11 - Wizard: We get access to 5th-level spells. With Contact Other Plane and Legend Lore, we become an even bigger magical know-it-all to aid our party.

Level 12 - Wizard: For our subclass upgrade, we get Arcane Priest, which grants us the Knowledge Domain's 6th-level benefit - Channel Divinity: Read Thoughts. One creature within 60 feet of us must make a Wisdom saving throw, or grant us access to its surface thoughts (emotions and active thoughts, no deep secrets or hidden motives) for 1 minute. During that time, we can also use our action to cast the Suggestion spell on the target; they fail their saving throw automatically.

We also get our final cantrip for this build (Sword Burst), and we get two more 5th-level spells: Planar Binding and Wall of Force.

Level 13 - Wizard: We unlock 6th-level spells. With Globe of Invulnerability and True Seeing, we upgrade our Shield of the Seraphim and give our Eye of Agamotto even more mystic abilities (as it should have had!)

Level 14 - Wizard: Time for another ASI! Let's put one point into Constitution for better HP chance, and one into Dexterity.

Arcane Gate finally gives us a proper yellow sparkly portal thingy, and let's get Chain Lightning for some much needed offensive capabilities.

Level 15 - Wizard: We're getting into 7th-level spells at this level. Mordenkainen's Magnificent Mansion allows us to recreate our very own Sanctum Sanctorum, and with Project Image we can get Strange's Astral Projection.

Level 16 - Wizard: At this level, we get our final subclass upgrade (and we cross the 100 HP mark, yay!). Arcane High Priest grants us the Knowledge Domain's 17th-level benefits. Visions of the Past lets us spend at least 1 minute of meditation to receive information about a specific object we're holding, or our immediate surroundings:

Object Reading - we learn of the object's previous owner. We know how the person came into contact with the object, how they lost it, and a significant even in their life tied to the object.

Area Reading - we see the events that transpired in the specific location (up to 50-foot cube), going back a number of days equal to our Wisdom modifier.

For this level's spells, let's get Plane Shift and Teleport to double-down on Strange's interdimensional travels.

Level 17 - Wizard: Time for 8th-level spells.

Illusory Dragon is a nice nod to the great "Doctor Strange and the Sorcerers Supreme" series (go check it out, it's awesome!), and Maze is another good banishment-type spell to have. Just don't use it on minotaurs.

Level 18 - Wizard: For our final ASI, let's put two points into Dexterity, leaving us unfortunately with an odd number (hopefully, you'll manage to find some ability-increasing item or benefit in your adventure).

For this level's spells, let's grab Power Word: Stun and Demiplane is a good combo to immobilize a foe and send it to the Shadow Realm Mirror Dimension.

Level 19 - Wizard: We unlock the pinnacle of D&D arcane, the 9th-level spells... that is, unless your DM introduces High Magic, which is... whew, a league of its own.

Time Stop and Foresight give us those Time Stone abilities (for all you MCU degenerates. Yes, I know what I said, but Strange was given the Time Stone in his new run, so I did not lie!)

Level 20 - Wizard: Our capstone is Wizard 18, which gives us the Spell Mastery feature. We get to choose one 1st-level spell and one 2nd-level spell from our spellbook and make them our signature moves; we can now cast them at will, without expending a spell slot. Shield and Hold Person seems like a good choice here.

For our final spells of this build, we cannot go without Astral Projection, and let's get Imprisonment a chance.

---

And there we go! Doctor Strange, Master of the Mystic Arts. Let's see what we've created:

First of all, we're the epitome of Wizard, we're a great utility caster and a pretty good support, with Internet-like capability of finding information. We're don't have a lot of damage-dealing abilities, like Sypha did, but remember - Wizards also get spell by finding them in the world and copying them in their spellbook. This here is only what we get automatically. Go and roam the world in search for that Fireball!

We have AC of 14, but with Shield (and later making it pretty much permanent) it can get up to 19, and we have 130 Hit Points on average. Our speed is also a little better, with 40 feet of movement (plus flying thanks to the Fly spell).

Unfortunately, our Charisma and Wisdom are not great, so those saving throws might be difficult. Our Strength is also not the greatest, so we're pretty much forced to fight with magic.

---

And that is it! Next time, we return to SMITE for a few builds, as I absorbs information about Fire Emblem: Three Heroes. Also, the game devs just released a teaser for Morgana le Fay, and my first reaction was 'Hexblade Warlock'. Do you agree?

Anyway, hope you enjoyed it and your day is going great. I'll see you next time!

- Nerdy out!

[thiswasinevitableid]

64. I didn’t know my ex moved so you find me curled up on the floor in front of your apartment door

Ot4, nsfw, please!

Here you go!

Duck didn’t mean to fall asleep in front of her cave. But there was no one home and the rock in front of it is just the right temperature to coax him down into a nap in the spring sunshine.

“Um, can I help you?”

His nose tells him the voice belongs to another dragonborn before he opens his eyes. It’s just not the one he’s hoping for. Instead of blue scales and muscle, he finds blue eyes staring down at him while black and white scales glint in the afternoon light.

“Uh, I, uh, do you know the dragon who lives here?” He didn’t think she’d move on that fast.

“I am the dragon who lives here.” The other male adjusts the satchels on his shoulders, one laden with food and the other with books, “I moved in a week ago.”

“Well...fuck.” Duck slides off the rock with a groan, “sorry, didn’t know the place changed hands. Didn’t mean to, uh, crash on your front porch.”

“It’s okay. I was hoping to meet more of our kind here.” He writes a glyph on the door and it opens, “do you want to come in? I got some nice wine from town and, um” he scratches at the stone, “no one to share it with.”

“Sure.” Duck follows him through the familiar front hall and into the kitchen. The furniture is different, all clean lines and polished wood, and there’s new art on the walls. He reads the spines on the stack of history books on the table while his host pours them each a glass of wine.

“Thanks” he takes the goblet, “I’m uh, I’m Duck by the way. It’s a nickname.”

“Joseph.” The other dragon sits across from him, “I take your...ex lived here?”

“Yeah” Duck scratches the back of his neck, “we end things a month ago but, uh, I was missin her and I, uh, I, I, fuck, nevermind.”

Joseph sniffs the air, “surprise heat?”

Duck nods, “I was kinda hopin for, uh, for a pity fuck or somethin. Fuck, that sounds pathetic.” He rests his head in his hands.

“There’s no shame in wanting intimacy.”

“Guess not. Uh, enough about me, how’d you end up here?” He prays Joseph takes the hint.

“I travel around studying humans, trying to bring a greater understanding of them to our kind. My hope is it’ll help keep the peace, since we’re less likely to fear or attack things we understand. Kepler might be the place I settle; the town is a great mixture of dragon and human cultures.”

“So you just...study everythin they do?”

“Right now I’m focusing on technology. Hence the, um, the scars.”

“Oh shit” the white zigzags and bursts that Duck assumed were simply markings are, in fact, scars, “what happened?”

“Mostly minor accidents, like you’d get cooking or gardening. This one” he gestures to the white on his cheek, “is embarrassing; I was so engrossed in my research I didn’t notice the experiment I was running was about to go haywire.”

“Ouch.” He hazards a joke, “hate to see what your hoard is like, probably, uh, shock me.”

Joseph smiles, “I don’t really have one, it’s a pain to move it every time.”

“Not even a little pile?” Duck raises a brow; there’s a magpie-ish quality to the other dragon that suggests there’s a collection hiding somewhere.

A faint dusting of gold on his cheeks, “I do have a, um, a small stack of books.”

“Can I see?”

“Of course. This way.” He leads them to the master bedroom. A wave of unwelcome nostalgia hits Duck as he enters, and he’s about to excuse himself back to the kitchen when a giggle climbs up his throat.

“A small stack, huh?”

Joseph settles on the cushions at the center of three towering bookcases, each crammed full, “I don’t have that many. I once met a wyvern who had whole hills of books. I like them like this so I can actually find things.”

“Hate to say it Joe, but this is an honest to gods hoard.” Duck kneels near him.

“Joe....huh, I like it when you call me that. Normally I hate it. And it’s a library, not a hoard.”

“If you say so. Uh huh, what’s this?” He crawls to where a pile of puzzles toys and games is hidden between the bookcases, “seems like the makings of another ho--oh hell yeah” he grabs a box, “Minotaurs Riddle, I fuckin love this game. Haven’t played it in years, lent mine to a trio of centaurs and never got it back.”

“Do you want to play a few rounds? I, um, I don’t have anything urgent tonight but if you have things to do-”

“Nah, got all my shit taken care of early in case...uh, well, you know.” Humiliation at his earlier desperation rears its head.

Joseph drags a low table over, “Then it sounds like we could both use a night off.”

Three hours and two bottles of wine later, they locked in a stalemate, Duck scanning his cards for a way to break it. He’s never had this intense an opponent before and it’s so fucking fun.

“I play the hero's spear BUT” he flips a card facedown, “on my own chariot, which opens up the way for my chimera to attack.”

Joe’s eyes flick between his hand and the board, pupils no more than slits as he concentrates. Then he sets his cards all facedown, “I don’t have a counter-move, so you win.” His grin is fairytale perfect, “that was great! And now I know your method of play so I can beat you next time.”

“You wish.” Duck doesn’t mean to growl as deeply as he does.

“It’s not a wish, it’s a promise.” Joe boxes up the game without ever taking his eyes off Duck.

“If you say so. But if you break it” he curls his tail around to stroke black scales, “think I oughta get a prize.”

Joe’s responding click-growl is unfamiliar, could be anything from agreement to “leave me the fuck alone.” He starts to retract his tail only for Joe to close his claws around it.

“I think you should get one for your win tonight, too. You did come here in a, um, a certain state.”

“Ain’t you the polite one.” Duck shoves the table aside and prowls across the pillows, “offerin that stylish tail up for meWHOAH, fuck.” He laughs as Joe, lightning quick, lunges forward and traps him on his back.

“Sorry, I’ve been wanting to get my hands on you since you got here. Gods” he undoes the wrap at Duck’s waist with a hungry growl, “do you have any idea how hard it is to think strategically with all of this” he runs his palms up Duck’s chest, “on display. Once I’m done give your body the attention it deserves, then I’ll put my ass in the air for you.”

“You drive a hard bargain Joe, but I’ll take it.” He grins as the other dragon gropes his thighs.

“Good. Besides, this is a proven way of getting over heartbreak.”

“Think that theory might need a little more testin. So get down here and kiss me.”

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

“Interesting.” Joe taps the bottle with a claw as he studies the ship inside it, “you really don’t know how they do it?”

“No fuckin clue. I can build model ships outside bottles, but this? This is wild to me.”

“I wonder if we-” Joe raises his head, inhales, and breaks into a dazzling smile, “dinner’s here! You can come in Barclay, we’re in the sunroom.”

Footsteps on stone announce the cook, who Duck usually sees at Amnesty Lodge down in Kepler.

“Didn’t know y’all did delivery.”

Barclay sets a bag crammed with tins and bottles onto the table, “We don’t usually, but Joseph’s a special case.”

Duck spots the blush on his friend’s cheek, “Oh yeah?”

“He, uh, he lets me test new recipes on him?” Two pink patches bloom under Barclays' beard, “there’s a berry custard tart in there today.”

“Sounds wonderful.” Joe’s tail is subtly twitching, “do you want to stay a bit and eat?”

“I’d love to, but I gotta get back before the dinner rush.”

“Right, right, of course, oh, right, your tip” the dragon darts into his study, returns a moment later with a small purse of coins, “here you go, thank you so much it, I’ll be ready for our cooking lesson on Tuesday and, um, it’s always nice to see you.”

Barclay pockets the money, smiles softly, “you too, Joseph. Bye Duck, see you in town.”

Joe watches him go long after he’s out of sight. When he turns around with a sigh, Duck smirks.

“You got it bad, Joe.”

“I know.” He slumps down in a chair, “I think he feels the same way but I don’t want to make him uncomfortable. Coming out to a dragon’s lair and getting hit on, all while you’re at work? It would stress me out if I was human.”

“You pay him for those cooking lessons?”

“No. I, um, I guess I could ask him then but dragon/human relations are understudied outside of things like midnight weddings. I’m not even sure how something like sex would work, if it would work at all. The books I have on it are out of date and, honestly, most likely written by dragonborns who never had firsthand experience.”

Duck stands, circles the table to drape his arms over Joe’s shoulders and nose his neck, “You could still just ask. Learn what he likes instead of fussin over research.”

“You’re right. I’ll ask. Eventually. Maybe.”

He chuckles and nips a sensitive patch of scales, “It’s a start.”

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

Duck’s busy in the back garden when the chanting starts. It sounds enough like an angry mob that he draws the thicket of brambles across the door to be safe before heading for the second floor and the window to the front yard.

The crowd isn’t from Kepler, people there know he isn’t much for offerings or other forms of intervention into human affairs. He inherited his position from a true dragon who was once considered a forest and weather god. It took years for humans who came to understand that while he could help them identify what was killing their orchards or blighting their fields, he couldn’t summon rain or quash frosts.

Not only do the humans out front seem unaware of those facts, they’re constructing a convoluted, cobbled-together, ceremony. There are offerings of food, but the chants have something to do with slaking his deep hunger. Which is weird, because when you offer food to a dragon it’s meant as a gesture of kinship, not fear. The music doesn’t match either of those dynamics, the robes on the elders are white, which indicates surrender in war, and the incense they’re lighting is too heady; if he eats with it in the air, all he’ll taste is myrrh.

Wait, those are the bundles of incense humans used to burn during weddings. No one’s held a midnight wedding in decades. And holding one when it’s not yet sunset is really baffling. He’s about to write it off as yet more cultural miscommunication when two men drag a bound figure, all dressed in black, out from the crowd and drop it near the door.

“Fuck.” He tromps down the stairs, peers through the thicket for a closer look. The figure is a young man, dirtied silver hair tangled across his face and shattered red spectacles on his nose. His ankles and wrists are tied, and when he tries to scoot back from the cave entrance the crowd jeers. The man looks sluggishly between the crowd and the cave. Resigned, he crawls Duck’s way.

The dragon sets a hand on the thicket to will it away and tell everyone to get lost when he scents blood beneath the incense. Members of the crowd are getting agitated, suggesting they light a pyre to hurry the process along. That’s not even remotely how a midnight wedding works, and were Duck a certain other dragon he might tell them that. Instead, he makes a gap at the bottom of the thicket, grabs an enchanted rope from his work closet, and whips it through the opening. Two seconds later he has a cheering crowd outside his house and a petrified sacrifice inside it.

He kneels, undoing his rope and the bonds. The humans brown eyes lock onto his claws.

“Please. Please just make it quick.” His voice is raw, his pleas continuous, but he doesn’t pull back when Duck cups his chin and touches his forehead.

“Fuck, you’re burnin up. Your eyes a pretty glassy too, wonder if-”

“Drugged. To keep me from running or fighting. Not like they needed to. They, they did enough before that.” He hiccups and Duck smells exactly what plants they put into the mixture. They’re meant to make the human body more pliant. More receptive.

Fuckers.

“Okay” Duck keeps his voice soft, “here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m gonna take you somewhere you can lie down and look you over. Once you’re patched up, you can rest.”

He nods as Duck scoops him into his arms, “Need my strength.”

“Yeah, but not for, uh, for what you think.” He nudges the light with his elbow, illuminating the rumpled green of his bed. When he sets the human down on it, he tucks his arms across his chest.

“Can you get your shirt off for me?”

The man reaches one skinny arm under his back, whaps it about, then shakes his head. Duck eases him upright, let’s him slump forward onto his shoulder why he undoes the eyehooks and buttons. The sight that awaits him is grim.

“Fuck, what’d they have against you?” He counts gashes from four different instruments intermingled with bruises in every color.

“Outsider. Came looking for work. Angered the wrong person.”

“They get you on your legs too?”

A weaks nod.

“I’m gonna have to slice the pants off; got a bad feelin I might re-open wounds if I try to pull ‘em free.” He runs a clawtip up the outside of one leg; the human grips him, afraid, though when he runs a thumb soothingly up a newly-bare spot, he sighs happily. Duck’s instinct is right; there are half-healed wounds now oozing blood thanks to the man being tossed about. He instructs the human to lay on his belly, fetches his bandages and disinfectant from the bathroom, and starts water for the tea that will clear the potion from his system.

When he starts on the wounds on his back the human whimpers, weakly clutching the blanket.

“Shhh, it’s okay sweet thing. Know it hurts, but you’ll feel better soon.” He runs the claws of his free hand through silver hair, undoing tangles as he goes. He is sweet; long legs and wiry arms, a face that’s odd but impossible to look away from. Duck wishes he were a worse dragon than he is; he could slip his threadbare underwear down and relieve the effects of the potion another way. Instead he patches and cleans, tips tea between parched lips, and finds one of his smaller robes to protect the skinny frame from falls oncoming chill. When he’s done, the young man is asleep. So he draws the blankets up and goes to sleep in the garden.

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

His body feels like it’s been through a wine press. No doubt a result of the dragon “marrying him.”

No, wait. He’d taken him to bed, run his claws tenderly through his hair, but then he’d tended his injuries and let him sleep unmolested. Indrid rubs his forehead, wishing his foresight hadn’t been so weakened by his weeks in jail; it would be nice to know if this is a sign the dragon is harmless or if he just prefers his food uninfected.

The bedroom door slides open and a scaly figure walks in, nose firmly in a book. It’s not the same dragon as yesterday; this one is sleek, with midnight scales and long, narrow horns. The one who tended him was bulkier, with scales like a forest viewed from above, dozens of greens and golds melding together. His horns were shorter, Indrid remembers because in his fevered state he wanted to rub them. They looked soothing to touch.

“Oh, good morning.” The dragon closes his book, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I just came in for some scale oil and I’ll be out of your hair.” He grabs a purple bottle from a shelf.

“Wait, please.” Indrid struggles to sit up, “can, can you tell me what’s going on?”

“We were sort of hoping you could enlighten us. From Duck’s description, your delivery was so garbled he couldn’t figure out what they wanted. Or, um, it was clear what they wanted done to you, but not why it should be or why they chose him.”

Indrid’s about to answer when a second voice drawls, “Joe, you better not be pesterin our guest with questions.”

The black dragon looks over his shoulder into the hall with a sly grin, “He asked me first.”

“Uh huh, a likely story.” The green dragon, Duck, steps into the room, pausing to kiss Joseph’s cheek. Oh gods, Indrid understands now; he wasn’t fucked or eaten yesterday because Duck was waiting to share him.

“Since you’re up we can--whoa, whoa what’s wrong?” Duck kneels by the bed as Indrid tries to scramble backwards.

Joseph sets his book and bottle down, “You still think you’re dinner, don’t you?”

“Wh-why shouldn’t I?” Indrid pulls the blanket up to shield himself.

“For starters, we don’t eat humans. And we sure as hells don’t fuck ‘em without them bein’ real eager. Even then, some of us stall.” Duck gives Joe a pointed look, “beyond that, someone dropped you here after torturin you. You need lookin after more than anything.”

“We should get these fixed too” Joseph picks up his shattered glasses, “I might have what we need in my workshop, or we could go into Kepler-”

“We’re near Kepler? Thank the gods.” Indrid slumps against the wall, “It was the last place I stopped before things went south. I should have just stayed there. Instead I got it into my head to keep travelling, find an enchanter to train under and got...well, you saw.”

Duck carefully sits on the bed, as far from Indrid as possible, “Yeah, I did. I promise, nothin like that’s ever gonna happen to you again.”

“And if you’re interested in learning magic, most dragons have some. I’d be happy to share what I know if you’re willing to assist in my research.”

“That means makin sure he don’t fall asleep too close to his experiments.”

Indrid has no idea what those experiments might be, but he decides he’s very willing to find out.

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

Voices echo from the back garden, so Barclay curves left instead of going to the front of Duck’s home. Joseph asked him to bring his next few meals here since he’s helping Duck with an “unexpected house guest.”

He’s anticipating another dragon, almost drops his cargo when he sees how wrong he is.

“Indrid?”

“Barclay! I, when Joseph mentioned we were getting dinner from town I hoped it was the Lodge but seeing you is better still.” The other man is in a thick sweater and is wearing one of Duck’s wraps as a makeshift skirt, “I’d get up to hug you but I’m a bit weak at the moment.”

“I got you.” He sets the bags down and leans in for an embrace.

“I’m glad you fellas know each other.”

Barclay remembers burying his fingers in fine, silver hair while Indrid kissed him and worked his clever fingers inside him, promising he’d make him feel wonderful. He did. Every time.

“Yeah.” He blushes, spots Joseph registering this information and--knowing him--storing it away for later.

He was already making frequent trips to see the dragons, but as weeks give way to months he finds that whenever he’s not working, his feet ache to wander up into the hills.

Tonight, he and Joseph made dinner for the four of them (Indrid’s taken up residence in Duck’s home, and the dragon seems deeply uninterested in making him move). The dragons are on dish duty, so he and Indrid wander back to the library where Joseph has lit a fire.

“You really ought to tell him how you feel.”

“Is it that obvious?” Barclay fiddles with the bracelet on his wrist.

“Very. Then again, I know what desire looks like on you.” Indrid bumps their shoulders together playfully.

“But he’s, uh, he’s got Duck. He wouldn’t want a human, no matter how much we like each other.”

Indrid wordlessly moves to the bookshelves, smile widening as he finds a tome bound in blue leather and brings it back to the rug, “I found this when I was fetching books for him the other day.”

“Holy fuck” Barclay stares at the drawings, faded and labeled with draconic runes but undeniably that of a dragonborn fucking the living hells out of a very happy knight.

“I believe it tells the story of a knight who agrees to take a fair maiden's place as an offering and ends up enjoying his new station in life. It’s clearly been read often, though the anatomy is off in places.” He indicates a drawing in which it’s obvious the human doesn’t have balls to go with his enormous cock.

Barclay wants to say something witty, but all he can think about is gripping Joseph’s horns while he twines his tongue around Barclay’s cock.

“Yes, it’s giving me ideas too.” In the firelight, Indrid’s uncovered, brown eyes are almost red.

“Yeah?” Barclay sets a hand on his knee, “I’m no dragon but, uh-”

Indrid leans in, kissing him gently, “While dragons have their appeal, you are what I want right now.”

Barclay lets himself be pulled to the ground and is suddenly very glad dinner required so many dishes.

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

“I didn’t realize you’d be taking notes while you did this.” Indrid smiles, amused, as Joseph scribbles something at the top of a fresh page. They’re heading down the hall in Duck’s home, Indrid having agreed to be the subject of a very exciting day of research.

“I’m not. Not, not that I’m uninterested but, um, since I need to be able to observe everything, Duck will be the one actually fucking you.”

Indrid stops dead, heart fluttering in his chest, “He...is he just doing this as a favor to you?”

Joseph smiles, shakes his head, and Indrid understands that he was reading all the times Duck looked him over with those green eyes correctly.

They reach the bedroom and step across the threshold wearing twin expressions of confusion; Duck forgoes nesting in favor of a bed, but the mattress, a dozen blankets, and every pillow in the house are now on the floor, the dragon busily arranging and rearranging them. Then he sniffs the air and turns, pinning Indrid to the spot with a toothy grin.

“Why the nest?” Joseph drags a chair across the floor and positions it between the pillows and the fireplace.

“Dunno, ever since you told me that today was the day, I’ve had the itch to build one. Gotta make sure you’re comfortable, sweet thing.” Duck holds out his hand and Indrid reaches for it.

“Not yet. Indrid, please undress so I can make some notes.”

“You’re killin me here Joe.” Duck growls as Indrid moves towards the chair, peeling off layers until he’s naked. Joseph scribbles some notes. Indrid would feel like a scientific specimen were it not for the way the pupils in those blue eyes dilate each time he looks at him.

“I just need some measurements.” He pulls a ruler from the pocket of the notebook and kneels down, gingerly taking Indrid’s cock in his palm.

“I, I should mention that is generally frowned upon when it’s just humans.” Indrid squirms as hot breath skates up the sensitive skin.

“Humans are touchy about size.” Duck adds, settling his claws on Indrid’s hips from behind. He’s good foot and a half taller than the human, which always makes Indrid feels safe in his embrace; those have been more frequent these last few weeks, Indrid using the cold weather as an excuse to cuddle with the living furnace whose home he shares.

“Hmmm, if they have less genital variation than dragons, I could see how size would become the point of competition.”

“Variation?”

“Dragons got all kinds of set-ups” Duck grinds against Indrid’s ass, “Joe and I happen to have the same kind, where we can lay in someone and get, uh, laid in if we want.”

“Laying?” Indrid squeaks, “I, I’m not opposed but I’m not prepared either.”

“Nah, won’t do none of that today.” Duck blows hot breath down the back of his neck, “if you want, we can try some other time. Can even let Joe take notes. And if he’s good” Duck rests his chin atop Indrid’s head and looks down, “I’ll even save some for him.”

Joseph’s head snaps up, eyes wide, and for an instant Indrid expects to be sandwiched between two dragons, which sounds deliciously warm. Then Joseph collects himself, “Yes. I’d, um, I’d like that. But for now, I need one more measurement” his tongue flicks the air near the head of Indrid’s cock, “may I?”

“Please. Ohhhhhhhyes” He moans as Joseph licks his shaft, “that’s lovely, so veryOHgods” he bucks his hips as Duck digs his claws into the meat of his thighs.

“That’s very helpful, Duck, he’s getting wonderfully hard.”

“I aim to please. Now hurry up before I start fuckin him here and fuck up your data.”

“Just a second..there, done. Duck, please kneel, Indrid do the same but keep facing me.”

“Yessir.” Duck pulls them both to the floor. Claws spread his ass open and the tip of one pokes the base of the plug he put in earlier, “heh, you let Joe help you with this?”

“N-no” Indrid cranes his neck back for a kiss.

“I didn’t want to overstep.” Joseph replies matter-of-factly.

Indrid runs his mouth along Duck’s jaw, “next time I’ll make him warm me up with his tongue before putting it in.”

A moan from the chair as Duck rumbles, “good thinkin, he’s fuckin incredible with his tongue. But you better let me watch.”

“Of course.”

Fabric shifts behind him and then Duck’s wrap falls to the floor. The plug joins it and then a solid, ridged cock is teasing his cheeks.

“You ready, sweet thing?”

“Yes.” Indrid pushes his ass back, whines when only the first half-inch is pushed in.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get the whole thing. Just gotta go slow, don’t wanna hurt my mate.” Duck pauses, “huh, sorry, that just came out.”

“I don’t mind.” Indrid sets his hands on top of the dragon’s.

“Fascinating.” Joseph scribbles more notes.

“You like the idea of bein my mate?” The question is shy, Duck hiding his face in Indrid’s neck.

“So very much. You make me so happy, Duck, you take such good care of meEEEoh, oh I see.” He snickers as Duck thrusts shallowly and laps at his throat, “you like being a good mate, don’t you sweetheart?”

“Fuck yeah. Wanted to, to do this months ago, wanted, when they gave you to me I wanted to climb into bed with you, fuck you sweet and slow and tell you nothin was gonna hurt you now, that you were all mine, keep this cute little body safe under the covers. Under me.” He thrusts several inches at once and Indrid moans, bounces in his lap in search of more, Duck click-growling each time he pushes down.

“Please, please, I want it all, Duck, pleasepleaseAH, AHhnnnngods” he grabs Duck’s arms as they wrap around him, the dragon bottoming out with a groan.

“Holy shit.” Joseph stares at them, and Indrid follows his gaze down to his lower belly, where the outline of Duck’s cock is unmistakable.

“Oh I like that a great deal.” He whispers, biting his lip as the outline slowly moves.

“Me too. Fuck, fuckin love how small you are, you barely fit on my dick and you’re still beggin for it.”

“How could I not?” Indrid purrs, relaxing against Duck’s chest, “this is going to sound very silly, sweetheart, but please, please” he tips his head up to kiss Duck’s chin, “take me?”

A tender, deep purr, then “anythin’ you want, sugar.”

Indrid lets his mouth fall open, spilling moans across the floor as Duck fucks him with abandon. It’s so much, almost too much, but it’s all he wants, to be taken and cared for by the magnificent, loving creature behind him.

The stretch and drag of Duck inside him is so intense he barely registers his own orgasm, though he cums hard enough to splatter some on Joseph’s leg. Then he’s holding on and whimpering as Duck spills into him, hotter than a human and so plentiful it drips down his thighs before the dragon even pulls out.

“Got what you need?” Duck pants, still holding Indrid to him.

“Yes.” Joseph is purring, gaze drinking in the two of them.

“Good. C’mon, sweet thing, let’s do see how my nest holds up to me mating the fuck outta you.”

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

Duck said it was fine to use the glyph to come in without knocking, so that’s what Barclay does. He sets the cake he made in the kitchen, wanders down the hall in search of the others. They weren’t at Joseph’s, so odds are good they’re here. Muffled voices direct him towards the bedroom, but when he arrives his libido kicks all sensible thoughts from his mind.

There’s a giant mound of cushions on the floor, at the middle of which he can see Duck’s tail, the spines of his back and, occasionally, his head. Indrid’s feet and calves are just visible, so limp he’d worry he was asleep except for the little moans he knows quite well. And sitting by the fire, watching the scene with an obvious tent in his lap, is Joseph.

Two scales snouts snap up into the air. Duck notices him, whispers something to Indrid, who waves and then pulls the dragon back down. The same can not be said for Joseph, who is licking his lips like he’s just seen a gourmet meal.

Barclay smirks, moves to the chair but stays standing, stroking one horn as he does, “I’m not interrupting research, am I?”

“Um” Joseph’s cheeks go golden, “yes and no. I, I really was making notes at first but for the last hour it’s been, um, hard to focus.”

“Wonder why. Wait, holy fuck, they’ve been doing this for an hour?”

“One hour and twenty-four minutes.”

“Knew Indrid had stamina but that’s impressive. Uh” he trails a finger up Joseph’s leg, scales as smooth as he’d hoped, “how long have you been dealing with this?”

“Most of that time.” Joseph’s breath catches charmingly as Barclay straddles him.

“Babe” he kisses the warm column of his neck, stopping to pay special attention to each scar, “I know you’re dedicated to your work, but I’m pretty sure they’d let you join them.”

“I didn’t want to be rude.”

“My polite dragon” Barclay nuzzles his cheek, “you still deserve to be taken care of, you know that, right?”

Joseph nods, tips his head to the side so Barclay can nibble his throat while undoing his wrap. What he finds is spectacular; a pointed cock with circular ridges and, beneath it, a slit just begging for his tongue to tease it. But since he’s not done kissing him yet, he adjusts his balance so he can close one around the shaft and slide the fingers of the other into the slit.

The dragon makes a series of hurried clicks and growls, throwing his arms around him and kissing his face, “Barclay, you, you’re so wonderful, I never thought you’d want this, ohgoodgods.”

“I do, babe. I wanna know what my whip-smart, handsome dragon likes, wanna make you come apart” He squeezes lightly and Joseph growls.

“I did not wait this long to cum on you while you’re clothed.” Clawed hands grip his ass as Joseph stands and carries him to the nest on the floor, dropping him into it with uncharacteristic carelessness. Which he then remedies by methodically removing Barclays clothes and folding them into a pile.

“Mmmm, hello dearest.” Indrid turns his head to kiss him as Joseph rolls him to face the other two.

“Hey. Gotta say, you look really good like this.”

“Damn right he does.” Duck’s hips stutter and Indrid squirms happily, “heh, shoulda known Joe would pick that for you. He’s got a thing for thick thighs.”

“Huh? OH! Ohfuckyeah.” He moans as Joseph manhandles him to thrust his cock between his thighs. Teeth nip his neck as golden pre-cum streaks his skin. The scales of his cock rub wonderfully on the base of Barclays own, and soon he’s so hard he’s ready to promise Joseph anything he wants for the chance to cum.

Cool, human fingers encircle his shaft. Indrid grins, “I may not be able to move much, but Joseph seems to be more than capable of getting you to fuck my fist.”

Barclay dips his head forward with a groan to kiss his shoulder.

“You don’t gotta worry about movin’” Duck grunts, tongue darting out to Indrid’s cheek, “all you gotta do is lay here and take my cum like a good little mate whenever I say.”

“Yes, yes, oh goodness Duck please, take me, use meAHnnnnn” a whimper “so much.”

“Shhh, s’okay sweet thing, I’m almost done.”

Joseph purrs in his ear, “cum for me, big guy, cum for me while I coat your thighs and, gods, and Duck breeds your boyfriend into next week.”

“Fuuuuck.” Barclay spills helplessly into Indrid’s hand, holds tight to his shoulder and Joseph’s right arm as the dragon cums between his legs. There’s a muffled curse and an “eep” from beside him, then Duck rolls off Indrid and begins licking the humans cum from his stomach.

“I, I think you built a very sturdy nest.” Joseph curls his body around Barclay and drapes his tail over Indrid’s legs to brush Duck’s.

“Thanks, handsome.”

“I also think living with Indrid for months has made your mind assign him the position of partner, hence the nesting.”

“Makes sense.” Indrid murmurs.

“And--oh” Joseph sighs as Barclay kisses him.

“Promise you can share more theories later, babe. Right now, how about napping with your boyfriends?”

Joseph purrs deeper as they all cuddle closer, “I like the sound of that.”

[shera-dnd]

Love for a Dark Heart

Adding now to the list of things I can’t fucking believe I got paid to write: My FFXIV character falling in love with herself.

Honestly I could have kept writing this for another 5k words more, but I set the rules so I’m gonna stick to them

As usual you can follow this link right here to read it on AO3 if you’d prefer that. If you’d like to have a fic written by me you should feel free to donate to my ko-fi (rules for donations over here) and let’s get going with the fic

You are a rational woman.

You try to deal with the facts and not let emotion rule over your decisions. That doesn’t mean you’re cold hearted or any such thing, but when it comes to wielding aether you really cannot let your emotions get in the way, lest your magic escape your control entirely.

It’s why you joined the Arcanists Guild so long ago, their approach to spell craft was exactly what you needed, and after many long months of training you had even mastered the lost art of summoning. It had been your calculated and well crafted spells that had felled the Primals and even bested Gaius and his Ultima Weapon.

But what did that amount to?

You’ve been betrayed, the Sultana is dead, your friends are lost, and the nations you fought to defend probably have a price on your head by now. All your possessions now fit neatly into the tiny backpack you brought along in your journey to Ishgard, and the only people left to console you are Alphinaud and Tataru, but in all honesty you’re usually the one consoling them now.

But Ishgard still welcomes you and still needs you. House Fortemps has embraced you and the least you can do is fight to protect them as well. Just keep fighting and saving people until everything gets solved, it definitely worked just fine the first time you tried that, so why not try it again?

You don’t want to be bitter, you don’t want to be angry, you genuinely feel sorry whenever you snap at Alphinaud or Haurchefant, you know they’re having a hard time too. Still it is so hard not to just let that frustration fester in your heart.

One day you’re walking the streets of Ishgard, trying to work the anger out of your system, when you hear a man muttering something. It was a story about a man who fought like a beast, who wielded the Darkness like other men would wield a blade. Something about this story sparks your curiosity and next thing you know you’re pressing the man for details.

It seemed your mystery man had died in battle with the holy knights of Ishgard and his corpse had been dumped in the Brume. It was unfortunate, but mayhaps you could still find his corpse, maybe even his soulstone.

You weren’t thinking of wielding the darkness, were you? No, it was simply academic curiosity. You just couldn’t leave such a thing unstudied, right? Of course. Now to make your way to the Brume.

No pulse, no breathing, skin as cold as the snow around you, that man was a corpse. At least he was a corpse with a soulstone, maybe you could study that. You just have to take it and-

A voice calls for you in the dark.

You wake up confused, but still intact. Better yet, the man you thought dead was now alive and well in front of you. His name is Fray and he was a Dark Knight. Apparently so were you now.

Perhaps embracing the dark should have been difficult, it should have been the kind of decision you pondered over and considered all the pros and cons. It wasn’t supposed to be something you did on a whim, but in reality it was the easiest thing you’ve ever done.

You were stronger now. How else could you wield a weapon so massive? How else could those knights strike you with their blades and barely make you flinch? How else could you take all that anger, and frustration that you had repressed for so long, and give it such a beautiful shape as it cut down those hallowed bastards? 

It felt good.

It felt too good.

Perhaps the life of a Dark Knight was exactly what you needed.

In the weeks that passed no one questioned why you disappeared every night or where you went. You had gone through a lot, and they just wanted to give you space to heal. Besides, who would question what the Warrior of Light did with her spare time? It almost made you feel bad for what you were doing.

Almost.

It was hard feeling bad now that you have started studying the Darkness. No, studying would imply a lot more research and controlled tests. What you were doing was more like exercising it, working out a muscle you didn’t know you had until now. If that meant killing your fair share of monsters then so be it.

Especially when working that metaphorical muscle also seemed to improve your physical ones. Even your eye sight seemed to have improved somehow. With time your tunic had been replaced by plate armor, your glasses by a full helmet, your book of spells by the biggest sword you could carry.

There were still hiccups when adapting to this new life as a Dark Knight. No matter how many times you attuned yourself to the Darkness you could only ever hear whispers of that voice in the dark that had once called your name. It worried you, and frustrated Fray to no end.

Frustration seemed to be Fray’s default state. Always furious at the people around you who insist on asking you to fix all their problems, ready to throw threats and insults any time someone so much as  thought of interrupting you. You try to be nice, you try to de-escalate, to help those people anyway, but you know deep down that you agree with her.

Her? Wasn’t Fray a man?

Doesn’t matter, Fray can use whatever pronouns she wants. You just can’t remember her ever telling you she changed those. 

Wait did she just mention fighting Leviathan? Had she been there with you on that ship? Surely you’d remember that.

Why hadn’t she mentioned that before?

Maybe if you still saw the world through your old scholarly lens, maybe if you still distanced yourself, studied the situation, maybe then you would have realized what was happening. You really can’t help but feel a little stupid when the truth finally reveals itself.

When Fray takes off her helmet it is your face that you see, your eyes that stare into yours, your voice that challenges you. She was your Darkness, your repressed rage against those who used you again, and again to suit their needs; your frustrations with this world that would exhaust you to the bone before finding any solution that didn’t involve you, your need for someone to just step up and care for you even once.

If only she hadn’t hurt those people, if only her first answer wasn’t to just draw her sword on those she saw as a threat to you, maybe then you’d let her go.

Your swords clash and ultimately she’s the one to fall. Your Darkness, your heart, your…

...Esteem, lies defeated before you and you don’t know how to feel. She was a monster formed from the deepest abyss, yet when you hear her declare that she will always be there for you, if only you were to call her, you can’t help but feel hope.

It was only after you exposed yourself to just about every guard, and soldier at Dragon Head that you decided that it’s about time you came clean to your friends.

Alphinaud and Haurchefant didn’t understand why you had made the decisions you had, but they couldn’t think of anyone better to wield such a power. Tataru trusted you with her life and just a bit of Darkness wouldn’t get in the way of that. Estinien claimed that he understood, that he too struggled against the evil that granted him his powers. In the end it all felt too easy, too unearned.

Still, there was a nation to save and a war to stop. Your little existential crisis would have to wait. You could almost hear Esteem screaming at you for ever forming that thought. 

Soon it wouldn’t be just almost.

Weeks passed as you traversed Dravania, searching for a way to stop this war. For a moment you had hoped that by exposing the lies of Ishgardian nobility you would finally put an end to this, but of course that just led the holy men of Halone to do what they thought was right, which just happened to be capturing and torturing an innocent man.

You went in to try to save a man, to make those self appointed saints pay. You didn’t go there to lose a friend, yet that’s what you did.

You kept your composure long enough to reach your private chambers in the Fortemps manor, but as soon as the door closed behind you, you collapsed. You could have saved him, you could have prevented this, you could have jumped out of the way, or pushed him away, or just done anything.

But you didn’t, and now he paid the price for it.

What a pathetic excuse for a Warrior of Light you are.

“You’re no such thing!” A familiar voice calls. You don’t know when or how you summoned her back, but there she was.

Esteem lifted you from the ground and laid you in your bed. You noticed now that instead of the black armor she had favored in your fight, now she wore one of your old robes and your old glasses. It was almost funny thinking of a being of pure aether deigning to wear glasses for some reason.

With a gentleness you didn’t know either of you had, she caressed and soothed you as she repeated those same words over and over again, “it wasn’t your fault.”

It felt pathetic to only have a shadow of yourself to care for you, but for now it didn’t matter. All you could do in that moment was cling, cling to the kind words and the soft touch of the only person who cared enough to offer, and try as hard as you can to believe in what she’s saying.

“Rest now, you fool,” she asked, her voice just as gentle as before.

“Please stay,” you pleaded, unsure if she would disappear the moment you closed your eyes.

It was a selfish thing to ask, to force her to stay in the material world simply for your own comfort, but Esteem wanted nothing more than for you to be selfish, so there was never any doubt that she would oblige.

The next morning she was still there, asleep somehow, still holding you in her arms. It shamed you to admit that this was the closest you’ve ever been to another person. No one had held you this close, no one had ever let you fall asleep in their arms - or fallen asleep in yours for what that matters - had she been more than just a piece of your own heart, perhaps you would have found reason for embarrassment.

There was certainly some strangeness to it, of course. Waking up in your own arms and seeing your own face in the morning was as surreal an experience as you could imagine right now. Though it did allow you some interesting introspection. You shifted in bed a little, trying to get a good look at your own face, wondering if you had ever looked this peaceful before.

“If you even consider rising from this bed I promise you the Archbishop will be the least of your worries,” she grumbles without even opening her eyes.

“I did not know you could sleep,” you comment.

“Neither did I,” she replies. She pushes herself into a sitting position, having completely given up on the idea of returning to your shared slumber, “if I must be honest, I don’t even know how I was granted physical form once more.”

“Yet your first response to sudden corporealization was not to question it, but to attend to the sobbing mess on the floor,” you are by no means attempting to mock her, it simply sounds odd to you.

“What am I to say?” She jested, “I’m quite fond of that sobbing mess.”

At that you averted your gaze. It felt embarrassing somehow, to have someone declare their fondness so bluntly, even if that someone wasn’t an actual person.

“Have we truly grown so alienated from affection?” She sighs, her voice a mix of worry and disappointment.

You motion to protest, but a knock on the door interrupts you both. With a gesture, she requests you stay in bed while she handles this. That may be the worst idea you have ever heard, but you’re far too tired to protest.

“I’m glad to see you’re awake and well,” Alphinaud greets her cheerfully, “If you’re disposed, I’d like to ask-”

“I’m not,” She interrupts, “now, you may be on your way.”

The poor boy is too stunned to reply, and does nothing to stop her from slamming the door on his face. A smug smirk forms on her face as she strides back to you.

“Must you be so rude to all my friends?” You say as you glare at her.

“Must you put the needs of every last soul above your own well being?” She shot back, matching your stare.

You’re the one to break the stare first, “I’ll try not to.”

She nods and gives you a satisfied smile as she sits next to you, “now do try to rest. Wouldn’t want me to be rude to poor Alphinaud for naught.”

In the weeks that followed she had been ever by your side. Like your old summons she could effortlessly appear and disappear from thin air, combined with her nature as a being of pure aether it made you suspect you had somehow called upon an egi of Esteem’s former self. This was promptly disproven by the fact that her response to any direct commands was a simple and direct, “sod off!”

By all accounts she should simply be darkness aspected aether, given shape and purpose by your needs and desires, as unreal as Ysayle’s false Shiva. Yet here she was, talking when she wanted to, sleeping when she wanted to, eating when she wanted to--seven hells she even has different tastes than you. There was no other way around it, Esteem had become her own person somehow.

Part of you worried that you had somehow created a Primal of your own heart. That had now been buried under the far more substantial worry that you have been utterly mistreating an actual person with thoughts and feelings, who had done nothing but help you and care for you for weeks. This in turn had been buried under the mess of feelings that struck your heart at the fact that this woman had held you in your sleep for weeks now. Mayhaps you should just focus on hitting things with big swords for now.

On that angle things have been a lot simpler. Your preparations for the journey to Azys Lla were now almost concluded, and as you waited for Master Cid to finish his work you took your time to aid a fellow Dark Knight by the name of Sidurgu.

That man quite proudly embodied the mass of hate and anger you expected from a Dark Knight, a trait that seemed to invoke Esteem’s disdain and earn him quite a share of her unkindly remarks. Neither his emotional state nor her opinion of him were ever aided by the fact that you surpassed him with ease.

You may have stumbled onto this power like a blind fool, but it had somehow suited you with a natural ease that eluded your companion. It was in the pursuit of more power - under the guise of aiding a young girl that Sidurgu had taken under his wing - that you found yourself once more doing menial tasks for moogles. At least today you’d have the catharsis of beating them within an ilm of their lives for it.

What you did not expect was for them to burst into song and dance afterwards.

“‘Tis love! ‘Tis love!” They profess with their tiny voices, “all-powerful, shining love!”

Suffice to say that the both of you were completely befuddled by the performance - Esteem loudly laughing in the corner she carved for herself in your mind - had Rielle, your shared charge, not appeared in that moment you were sure you’d both sit like that for an hour.

It was only as you made your way back to Ishgard that Sidurgu took you aside to talk about what had unfolded. He mocked the idea that love could be the true power of Darkness, but you could see that sharp edge on his voice begin to dull ever so slightly.

A year ago you would have been just as dismissive of such an idea, to properly channel aether you require coldly calculated theorems, not something as nebulous as love. 

Yet here you are. You’ve wielded anger and frustration like weapons for months now, why can’t you wear love like an armor?

You loved your friends and that gave you strength.

You loved Eorzea and that gave you strength.

You loved yourself and that…

...Well, did you really love yourself that much? Not as much as you should if Esteem were to be believed, but she does. She loves you, and that gives you strength.

It’s with this context that you begin to notice the little things she does, even when she’s not around. The gentle touches, the kind words, the worry in her eyes after a rough fight. It had been her love that helped you strike down with your blade, it had been her love that held you up when an enemy would fell you. It made you oh so keenly aware of her heartbeat - surprisingly human and comforting - next to yours as she held you both together.

Had you loved her too this whole time?

Perhaps you should have questioned this before the worries of facing Garleans, Ascians, and the Archbishop, loomed this close in the horizon. Perhaps you should have questioned that Esteem’s love didn’t come just from some magically ordained purpose. Perhaps you should have questioned what it meant about you that you so willingly accepted and reciprocated that love.

By the time you arrive at the Fortemps manor that night, you have already made your decision and you find her in your room, reading a spicy romance novel from Emmanellain’s secret stash. Steeling yourself in a way you hadn’t done since facing Ultima, you approach her and bring your lips to hers. It was a fleeting touch, but it had the whole of you buzzing with nervous energy.

With the most detestably smug smile, she brings you close again so she may kiss you back and, as if she hadn’t just shaken your very soul with that act, returned to her reading.

You stare at her, utterly confounded by her lack of any real reaction. It takes her a moment to realize you are still staring and the words that escaped her mouth would infuriate and haunt you for the rest of your existence.

“Was I wrong to assume we’d been lovers for at least a month now?”

Perhaps you really should have just stuck to hitting people with big swords.

[evelhak]

“Ancient” wlw ships

This is such a self-indulgent post but I need to get my thoughts out. Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about all the girls I shipped in fiction when I was a kid and didn’t realize I was shipping them.

I mean, they pretty much all had boyfriends or ended up marrying a man, and I was pretty much on board, in my eyes it was just some part of the story that needed to happen, because it always did. I think the common thing with these characters was that the female best friend was, at least more often than not, narratively more important than the guy, or just seemed to have a much greater emotional impact in the story.

Thinking about this has been so fun and eye-opening that I just feel like sharing a list of my biggest ancient wlw pairs that I only now, years later, realize were totally in love in my mind, I just didn’t have a concept for it yet. I’m sure that’s relatable for some people, but maybe there’s someone out there who was shipping these same characters??

This will include mild spoilers. And it’ll be long.

1. Cornelia & Elyon from W.i.t.c.h.

I COMPLETELY lived in these comics when I was 8-12 years old, and nothing in it was as compelling to me as Cornelia and Elyon. Guess I was already a sucker for best-friends-to-enemies-to-friends-again, even though I didn’t realize I also wanted them to become lovers. Best friends was all there was to me back then, that was the name I assigned to the highest form of love in my head. Which I still don’t see as invalid? I just didn’t realize I would’ve related to the romance aspect between best friends a hell of a lot more than I did to any of the relationships the W.i.t.c.h. girls had with their boyfriends. Cornelia and Caled was almost as bad as Buffy and Angel! Cornelia and Peter was just boring af. All the other W.i.t.c.h. girls’ boyfriends were all equally boring to me except for Will and Matt, but that was because their struggle to admit their feelings for each other was written in a funny way, not because their relationship had any actual depth.

But Elyon and Cornelia would’ve been perfect! I mean if your best friend has the ability to understand you so well, that with her magical intuition, she can draw you a picture of a guy you’re going to fall for, a guy she has never met... why would you even want to be with that guy anymore? Why wouldn’t you just be with her instead?? What Cornelia and Caleb had was limerence (I actually applaud the comics for eventually treating it as such and showing how it was harmful to both of the characters!) but what Cornelia and Elyon had was true love that transcends dimensions. Cornelia never gave up on Elyon, not even for a moment, after she became the W.i.t.c.h. girls’ enemy, and when she was in trouble, Cornelia had a hunch from another dimension, and she didn’t hesitate to come to her rescue. (The fact that during the same mission she also manages to fall for the dude Elyon drew for her in the past seems more like an accident, to be honest. The real deal was patching things up with Elyon, it was both more emotionally impactful AND more plot-relevant!)

It was also really sad to read the comics sometimes, because Elyon was absolutely my favourite character, and she wasn’t around much after the first arc, being a queen in another dimension. But every time there was a flashback to when Elyon was still living on Earth and being cute with Cornelia I was like MOOOOORE.

2. Sora and Layla from Kaleido Star

If you haven’t watched this anime you’ve missed. SO. MUCH. This is probably my favourite anime ever. And it features another type of ship I LOVE. Which is partners in some sort of activity, usually sports. When it’s written well it’s just so impactful and intense. These girls are routinely risking their lives in their passion for acrobatics, so they need to have absolute trust in each other. And oh boy is the relationship between them written well. I love it when two characters initially don’t get the way the other thinks or sees the world, but as they grow closer, it’s the other’s way of thinking that really unlocks something huge for them.

Also what’s so compelling about Sora and Layla is that there really isn’t anything like them in any other anime, that I’ve come across, at least. These partnerships are always between two guys in a sports anime, the partnership is at the heart of the story and the emotional stakes are so high it’s no wonder most people don’t want to ship these guys with their intended female love interests. Kaleido Star takes this even further because the guy who is in love with Sora is literally a joke, or the fact that he’s in love with Sora is a running gag, and nothing more. All the focus is on Sora and Layla as partners, and how they change each other's lives for the better.

Also the way Sora pines for Layla when she’s away or not paying enough attention to her is SO... I mean you don’t even have to think it’s romantic for it to absolutely melt you. Although it feels pretty heavily romantically coded, and it doesn’t even feel like queer baiting, because it’s just SO real and honest. And how Layla can’t stop thinking about how Sora is changing her as a person. There’s no question about the fact that the relationship between these women is the true meat of the show.

3. Anne and Diana from Anne of Green Gables

I read these books over and over again as a kid, and the Netflix show renewed my love for these two. They are kind of ridiculous, but SO cute. Looking back, it seems obvious that they had a crush on each other, they were just SO giddy all the time they were alone. Sure, you can excuse all their romantic gestures (like changing locks of hair, and vowing to never leave each other with joined hands and grand words) with saying Anne just romanticizes everything, but it never really felt like just that to me.

I’ll never forget how devastated Anne was about Diana getting married, and I don’t remember the wording but initially she wished she could keep Diana to herself for their whole lives. And every time they talked about marriage it was something they were both gonna do not as individuals, but rather the emphasis seemed to be on the shared experience, and how their children would be best friends and all that. It was all about them together. Like their romantic fantasies were nothing without the other somehow in the picture.

I don’t hate Anne and Gilbert but I don’t love them either. Gilbert has always been just sort of “meh”. He’s okay, but also the kind of love interest that can never compel me much.

4. Chocolat and Vanilla from Sugar Sugar Rune

Seriously, this would have been SO GOOD if it was canon.

Think about it, best friends, chosen to compete against each other for the throne. These witches go to the human world to attract male attention and collect feelings from the men, turning the feelings into heart shaped crystals and whoever collects more will be the queen. I mean... the story was good as it is but if they had ended up together and been queens TOGETHER?? That would have been the best story. It could have had SUCH a compelling best-friends-to-competitors-to-enemies-to-friends-to-lovers storyline! There would have been room for so much character development.

And if my memory doesn’t betray me the story would not change much at all if they didn’t end up with the guys they do end up with! Especially Vanilla’s guy is like an afterthought and Chocolat’s guy is... well, a sum of my least favourite tropes, including the one that will remind everyone about Mortal Instruments a LITTLE too much, so he can get lost for all I care.

I cried many times while reading this, and it always had something to do with these two girls.

5. Yoko and Liao from Yoko Tsuno

Okay, these two might have a problematic age gap, I’m not sure, but I didn’t know of that possibility as a kid, they just looked the same age to me. I was a huge Yoko Tsuno fan as a pre-teen, and there were so many interesting female adventurers in this series but for some reason the dynamic between Yoko and Liao was my favourite, even though Liao only appeared in one album. I just really felt like I needed to see more of these characters interacting and where their relationship would develop.

There was something about them that seemed rather original to me then, and a nice change. The reader had already gotten used to Yoko as the hero, she was always saving the day everywhere, she was like The Doctor in a way and not only because she time-travelled. She is simply badass. In Liao’s story there’s a prophecy about a girl who speaks to a dragon and saves everyone, and Yoko thinks that girl is her because she’s from the future and knows the dragon is a machine, but it turns out to be Liao, and that was somehow really satisfying. Yoko treats Liao obnoxiously in the beginning, doesn’t give her much credit, but is deeply humbled after Liao needs to save her ass multiple times because she’s just too sure of herself. It was cool to see how Yoko really needed to grow in this story and realize her limitations, and how wrong she was to treat Liao the way she did and look down on her just because Liao was physically weak, had a temper, and came from a much earlier time period than Yoko.

By the end they are clearly very attached to each other (Liao weeping in Yoko’s arms and Yoko confessing how full of herself she was when they met) and respect each other, and I just really would’ve liked to see where they would go from there. I thought about them meeting again A LOT when I was a kid.

That’s my big five! :D I could go on but this is already long, I need to sleep, and these are the characters that I’ve been thinking about the most lately. If you read this far for some reason it would be cool to hear if you have any similar (or different) experiences.

[wavesofinkdrops]

Reclaim

Read on AO3

FenHawke (Dragon Age), Rated: M

"Elves’ ears are the target of much derision from people across Thedas − Fenris knows that. So it's surprising to him when Hawke, on the other hand, can only find delight in them."

A/N: Sorry for the extensive notes at the start, this does need to be said first! Okay so, number one: HELLO! It's been forever, I know, I haven't written fic in at least over a year, maybe more. So if you're still here, welcome back! If you're new to my works, I hope you enjoy any you find! Now for a first disclaimer: I have not played a single Dragon Age game. I hope there's no glaring mistakes in plot or characters because of this, though. Small (more serious) disclaimer on the actual content of this fic. I'm fully aware that much of the comments and discrimination faced by elves in DA is linked to what indigenous peoples face. I am not Native American, and I am not North American in general. I have read up on and stayed up-to-date on indigenous politics relevant to me as well as those of the States, but I can't guarantee my discussion of the themes involved is perfect. I'm not going into my personal identity, so please do not ask about that. If there is something I could have dealt with better or differently, please let me know! I'm happy to grow, but I will not take personal questions. I've tried to deal with the topic in a way that is respectful, with Fenris reclaiming features he's been shamed for his entire life. At the end of the day, I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing this!

Warnings: Mentions racist comments, internalised racism, and some mildly suggestive content. Overall, though, this is fluff and learning self-acceptance. Without further ado, enjoy!

Fenris knows humans don’t like elves’ ears. They consider them strange. Unnatural. It’s likely why all of the insults and slurs aimed towards them usually have something to do with said ears. He’s heard all of them in all their forms, at this point, so they really don’t phase him—he’s learned to ignore them.

He’s learned to accept he will never be considered on the same level as humans because of such a small feature as his ears. He’s learned all of it over years of living in Tevinter as a slave, and even later as things he’s had to face across the rest of Thedas. Just because Tevinter is the only place where slavery is openly admitted and accepted hasn’t meant it’s much better elsewhere.

And Fenris thinks Hawke has noticed it. He wouldn’t necessarily call it embarrassment over them, they’re just perhaps not his favourite part of himself. They’re not what he wants others to notice first about him, but of course they do. But Hawke has noticed this resignation, this quiet shame.

Hawke’s persistence in ensuring Fenris knows just how much he loves his ears is thus entirely surprising.

That’s why he’s confused when they’re lying in bed and Hawke traces the pad of his thumb across the shell of Fenris’ ear. His movements are gentle, and when Fenris looks at him the only thing he can see is easiest described as love. There’s a small, thoughtful—almost lost—smile on Hawke’s face, his eyes as if admiring instead of disparaging or even curious. Fenris lets him.

That’s when another finger accidentally tickles behind his ear, and Fenris lets out a small noise. Hawke’s eyes widen.

“They do that?”

Fenris furrows his brows in confusion. “Do what?”

“Your ears just… flicked.”

Fenris blinks at him. “Yes, sometimes they do that.”

At that, Hawke’s face lights up with a wonderful smile. Fenris adores that smile—it’s one he sees whenever Hawke has found something entirely delightful. Usually, though Fenris would never admit he noticed it since the thought flusters him, it’s a smile always directed at Fenris.

“Can I do it again?” Hawke asks quietly, now propped up on an elbow, his hand cupping Fenris’ jaw.

Fenris can’t help it when some of his bafflement slips into his words. “Yes?”

It’s not long before Hawke’s fingers are behind his ear, and gently move against the skin. It lightly taps against a nerve, and Fenris’ ears flick again. “Maker…” Hawke whispers. Before Fenris can ask what Hawke means, Hawke’s gathered him into his arms again and pulled him against his chest. “And just when I thought you couldn’t get more perfect.”

Fenris doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just remains quiet. He’s too confused to even notice the blush that spread on his cheeks.

———

It’s another while before there’s another “incident” with his ears. Calling it an incident is perhaps a bit too ominous, but Fenris isn’t too sure what else to call it. So incident it remains.

He’s reading a book, trying to wade through every slow and difficult word, but refusing to back down until he’s finished the chapter. He’s reading out loud to Hawke, which despite the initial embarrassment of stumbling over every word, becomes easier with every step. Voicing the letters helps give them more life.

Hawke suddenly interrupts him. “Fenris.”

Fenris looks up in confusion, certain he’s made a mistake somewhere. Or perhaps Hawke is tired out for the evening. After all, he’s read this children’s story twice already, at least until they find another book for him to read through.

Hawke just smiles, that soft, unbearable smile, one Fenris doesn’t know what he’s meant to do with. “You’re beautiful when you concentrate.”

That takes Fenris by surprise. It seems only to delight Hawke further as he sits up, his smile brightening further.

“Pardon?”

“You’re stunning when you concentrate.” Hawke reaches over, taking a hand between his own. “The way your brow furrows, your nose lightly scrunches when you make a mistake, the determination in your gaze?” Fenris stays silent, not knowing what to say to that. “And even moreso when compliments take you by surprise. Your ears perk up, as if you just… want to pay attention to every second of every word you’re being told. And then they droop gently, when you’re blushing.”

“I hardly blush,” Fenris insists, though the certainty of the words falters even in his own ears.

Hawke kisses the inside of his wrist, a motion that Fenris will never tire of. “None of this is a bad thing. They’re all parts of you—things I love about you. All of them.”

Fenris gives a small huff, accompanies it with an unconvinced smile. “Even my ears?”

Hawke’s unabashed honesty makes the breath catch in his throat. “They’re one of the best parts of you.”

Fenris finds he has no words, after that.

———

They’re in bed again, Hawke presses him deeper into the mattress. The dinner they shared with the others got languid, so they excused themselves and instead headed to a more secluded location to continue the game that had been going on between Hawke’s hand and Fenris’ thigh under the table for the better part of an hour. So now, Hawke’s mouth leaves his own, peppering kisses across his jaw, his cheek and—

Fenris moans, louder than he expects—louder than he’s ever heard himself moan. His hand comes to cover his mouth, his cheeks warm from surprise and arousal. Hawke draws back, a wolfish grin on his face. With any more clarity of mind, Fenris might’ve thought it ironic that it’s Hawke who plays the wolf.

“I’m sorry, you caught me by surprise—” Fenris starts, hand moving from his mouth to cup Hawke’s jaw in an apologetic motion.

Hawke shakes his head. “I don’t want you to apologise, Fenris.” He presses a chaste kiss to his lips. “I’ve never seen you just… let go like that. If you enjoy yourself, why not let yourself do that?”

Fenris thinks about it for a second, but can’t come up with a reasoning. “Neighbours?” was the half-hearted attempt he gave it.

Hawke laughs, a deep rumble in his chest. “Be as loud as you’d like, Fenris, that’s what we’re here for.”

Hawke moves back in, slowly but gently teasing the shell of Fenris’ ear with kisses, before actually lightly nipping at it. Fenris lets a whimper escape at that, the motion making him incredibly aroused. Hawke continues, drawing out various noises as he teases and kisses and bites at his ear, his neck, his jaw. It goes on forever, and Fenris is almost begging him by the time they get to the main act.

Well, maybe he can yet be convinced his ears aren’t awful.

———

He’s tempted to go about it with a fork and a wall. Somewhere, sometime he’d heard that’s an effective enough method to pierce another’s ear. On the other hand, Anders informs him it’s inadvisable, which normally would only have encouraged him. But when Anders describes the potential failures of the plan he takes his suggestion to do it the proper way.

So instead he finds himself sitting on a kitchen stool, Anders passing a needle through a sterilising flame. He’s never been a fan of needles, and it probably has something to do with the ritual that branded him with lyrium, despite his few memories of the event. Anders tells him to lean his head, and Fenris does. With no warning, the needle pierces through the lobe, and Fenris hisses—though he admits that Anders’ lack of warning means it’s over before it really even began. Isabela walks in, a pouch in hand.

“Found some jewellery for the pretty elf,” she announces with a grin, dropping the pouch on the table. “All of them polished and primped and cleaned, don’t worry,” she assures Anders at his look of concern.

“Well, that’s good. Could you pass me a suitable earring, then?” She does, and Anders finishes sanitising the piercing before inserting it.

Anders steps back. “It doesn’t look half-bad, I’ll admit.”

Fenris resists the urge to make a snide remark at Anders, remembering he’s still helping him. He stands, and goes to the small mirror they brought over for him to check his appearance in. The small gold ring in his ear looks… really good, even if he admits so himself. It almost feels… well, like he’s taking back something he’s been taught to dislike.

And hoping that Hawke will appreciate it too makes it all the better.

He turns to Anders again. “Next one.”

Anders raises an unconvinced eyebrow. “We already did one, is that not enough for the day?”

Fenris returns to the stool, shaking his head. “I wanted two or three, in total, so hopefully I can count on you to finish the job. That way I don’t have to ask Isabela to pick up a fork and stab my ear with it. I heard it works—”

“Alright, alright, I do not want to hear Hawke’s rage if he finds out I let you do that. I’ll do two more, then. And we hope they don’t all get infected at the same time.”

“The only reason I’m even here, mage, is because the only thing I just about trust you for is being good with medicine.”

It’s Anders who rolls his eyes, Isabela eyeing the banter in amusement. Anders continues with the process, each time cleaning and sterilising and Fenris hissing with lack of preparedness. In the end, there’s a golden ring at his lobe and one near the tip of his ear, next to a small glittering stone. A chain links from the stone to the lower ring, and altogether, for the first time in his life he finds himself liking how his ear looks.

He can’t wait for Hawke to return.

———

It’s perhaps another two weeks before Hawke returns, and the piercings have begun healing well already. Anders, for all his faults, was a decent healer.

Fenris is there to greet Hawke when he comes back from one mission or another, but he’s taken out the earrings for now. Instead, Hawke kisses him and Fenris welcomes him back, before quietly telling him to prepare for a surprise that evening.

Hawke’s intrigue is obvious on his face, and Fenris just leaves it at that before heading to his own tasks and business. Before long, dusk washes over, and he heads to their bedroom to find where he put the jewellery. It’s only been a few hours since he took them out, but Anders had warned him not to keep them out too long for fear of the holes closing. He puts them back in, before sitting into the armchair in front of the large window, facing away such that when Hawke enters he won’t immediately see the ear in question.

Fenris hears the door to their room open, Hawke humming some tune as he walks in. There’s very little the man does quietly, though Fenris appreciates that—it’s difficult to spook someone when you can be heard coming from a mile away. He’s grateful for it, whether it’s a habit or he’s just picked up on doing it from noticing Fenris prefers it.

Hawke walks over to Fenris, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“So, what’s this mysterious surprise of yours?”

Fenris grins to himself, before standing and facing Hawke as he draws him into a gentle kiss. Then he smiles up at the mage, before drawing slightly back from his face, tilting his head just so that Hawke would immediately notice.

Hawke’s eyes drift to the golden ornaments, before widening and his hand coming up to feel the rings and chain there.

“You did this while I was away?”

Fenris hums. “I wanted to surprise you. You like them so much it’s almost contagious, and I wanted to do something to make them… look nice. Plus,” his grin turns mischievous, “I hear they can also assist other ways.”

Hawke laughs. “You… you are amazing and full of surprises, aren’t you?” He observes the jewellery some more, fingers flicking the chain and Fenris’ ear flicking in return.

“They’re still somewhat sensitive, so gentleness is advisable, but soon enough they’ll be fully healed.”

Hawke merely shakes his head, smiling broadly, drawing Fenris into a kiss. “I didn’t know you could get even more beautiful,” he whispers, tugging Fenris even closer than he already is. “And here you are, doing exactly that.”

“I’m glad you like them, then,” Fenris says softly, hands tracing Hawke’s shirt.

“And I’m glad you do, as well. I want to cherish every part of you until you come to love all of them.”

Fenris shakes his head but can’t help the way warmth spreads in his heart at those words. Perhaps Hawke knows already just how much it means to him. And if his intentions are any indication, perhaps he knows even better than Fenris did.

[nitewrighter]

Omg I loved the ASOIAF Gency post you wrote recently! Can you write more?

God this has been languishing in my drafts since... September?? Jesus...

Anyway, a continuation of these ficlets!: 1, 2, 3

-----

“I mislike this,” said Orisa as Efi carried her helmet over to her, “I am your sworn shield, I will not have my oaths or her family’s... undermined like this!”

“And I’m quite capable of traveling on my own!” said Angela but both Efi and Orisa gave her skeptical looks and her lips thinned and she glanced off. No woman in her right mind would travel the Stormlands alone, but then again, no woman in her right mind would flee her betrothal with the intent of lying her way into the Citadel at Oldtown, either.

“This isn’t just about her, Orisa,” said Efi, “I want to go to Oldtown when I’m old enough, too. And I don’t want to be married off, either.”

“Your dowry could be in the form of books?” Orisa said a little helplessly, “Perhaps even Valyrian manuscripts!”

Efi gave her a half-lidded look with one corner of her mouth tugged up.

“...the marriage is the problem,” said Orisa, glancing off.

“The marriage is the problem,” said Mercy in agreement.

“It would only be to get her to the Citadel!” Efi insisted, “Then you could come right back to Aurochs-ford!”

“Taking the marriage out of the equation might force the Storm lords to re-evaluate their little feud as well,” said Mercy, “Disrupt things enough so they cool their heads. Maybe buy enough time for the Iron Throne to step in.”

“See?” said Efi, “You could be saving the Storm Lands in the long run! This definitely falls under ‘Sworn Shield’ duties.” Efi gave a glance to Angela, “If we can give her a chance...then maybe when I’m old enough...”

“You can forge your own Maester’s chain?” said Orisa with a tilt of her head.

“Not a full chain,” said Efi, “…Gold, iron, and black iron links for sure, though...” she said, trailing off thoughtfully.

“I only need the one,” said Angela, “Silver.... though... lead might be useful as well...”

“If you’re still at the Citadel when I get there, we’ll get a Valyrian steel link together!” said Efi, her hands balling into fists with excitement.

Angela chuckled a little, “I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves.”

“Indeed. Neither of you are at Oldtown yet,” said Orisa, flatly. She looked back at Efi, “I will see her safely to Oldtown at your request, my lady,” she said with a bow of her head.

Efi touched a small hand to the side of Orisa’s face, her brown eyes bright.

“And then I am coming right back to Aurochs-Ford,” said Orisa, furrowing her brow.

Efi giggled and brought her skinny arms about Orisa’s neck. Orisa pulled herself up to her full height to embrace her, bringing Efi up off the floor.

Right back to Aurochs-Ford.

Right back to Aurochs-Ford.

Orisa’s eyes opened in a gray morning light and she quickly sat up in bed and gauged her surroundings. She was in a bare, wooden room, the foliage of a tree outside suggesting she was on the second floor of a building. Her own well-rested state quickly set her on high alert. She sat up in bed--Bed--right, they were in an inn. The mattress was stuffed with hay but it was still the finest sleeping conditions Orisa had since leaving Aurochs-Ford. She wondered if Lady Efi was doing all right. Probably still puzzling over those dusty old books of Valyrian alchemy and inventions, maybe even bogarting the castle blacksmith to forge her another obscure and specific little gear for her devices.

Orisa flinched in bed to see the door opening, her hand quickly going for the sword hanging on her bedpost, only to see Mercy in the doorframe, the very image of a pleasant septa with a tray of honeyed oatcakes, boiled eggs, and mugs of weak ale and goat’s milk.

“I overslept?” Orisa said looking out the window.

“No, I just woke up early to check on our lordling,” said Mercy, setting the tray on a table. She smiled a little. “He’s still alive---in remarkably better shape than last night, as well.” The relief in her voice gave Orisa pause.

“Do you still wish to go through with this?” said Orisa.

“What, I could bring books as a dowry?” said Mercy with a huff as she flaked shell off of her egg with her thumb, “I’m sure they’ll be perfectly wonderful reading when Lord Akande puts our houses to the torch.”

“You seemed to get on well with him,” said Orisa, frankly looking for any excuse to end this folly of a quest and get back to her young charge.

“Even if I did tell him--what would happen then? ‘Oh, by the way my lord, I’ve been lying to your face for the past three days because I’ve been desperately fleeing our marriage!’ That’s a wonderful start to things!” She huffed, “No,” she said, taking a bite out of her egg, “I said I would go to Oldtown, and I’m going to Oldtown, but if you wish to go back--”

“No one in their right mind would travel these lands alone,” said Orisa, flatly.

Mercy gave her a steady look, her mouth slightly tight at the corners in a not-quite smile. They were both highborn, but Orisa’s family had let her pursue knighthood while Mercy had seen more instruction in courtesy, embroidery, and the arts expected of ladyhood. There was admiration in Mercy’s eyes, maybe even a little envy. An idealist who longed to be practical, she gave off the air of someone who never quite fit the role set for her, and she had Orisa’s sympathy for that. Believing in the ideals of knighthood, that was a solid thing to believe in--but it definitely got more complicated being a woman.

“...I’m going to Oldtown because I--I don’t want to be a burden,” said Mercy, taking a bite out of her egg, “But I feel like a burden on you.”

Orisa glanced down, “I am doing this for Lady Efi,” she said, snapping an oatcake in half, “I want to believe in the world she believes in... but she is young and idealistic, and I know, being older, you have a greater understanding of just how much stands in your way.” She took a bite of her oatcake and chewed.

“I won’t let her down,” Mercy said, her eyes fierce, gulping down her own mug of goat’s milk.

“Intention and execution can be two very different things,” said Orisa.

“...well,” said Mercy, standing up, “We’ll set deeds to words, then. We’ll get out before our lordling wakes up. You finish breakfast and get your armor on, and I’ll saddle Dynast.” Her hands balled into fists with determination. “I’m already packed.”

Orisa gave a short huff through her nostrils. “That may be your most practical suggestion since this whole quest started.”

Mercy beamed before slipping out the door.

Mercy grabbed her satchel from her room and made her way to the stair leading down to the inn’s ground floor, humming. She froze at the sight of a dark haired figure on the stairs, his hand braced against the wall and his body tensed. Unthinkingly, her foot made contact with the first step and it creaked beneath her weight, and the figure on the stairs flinched at the sound and looked sharply over his shoulder at her.

Genji. He was awake. How was he awake already?! There was still a weary shine to his eyes, he still wasn’t back to full strength from his injuries, but there was an alertness in his stance that filled her with dread.

“My--?” she nearly started saying, ‘My Lord?’ but he put a finger to his lips and she quieted herself as she craned her neck to try and see what he was seeing.

“I’m only asking if you saw someone bearing a standard with two dragons on it,” A woman dressed in black and white with white hair--Lysene, perhaps--was addressing the innkeeper. Behind her were three men, of equal height, too lean to be highborn, the lower halves of their faces obscured by yellow cloth. Mercy would have tried to identify the sigils on their tunics but her own fear at being seen forced her to draw back behind Genji.

“I’m not at liberty to discuss who’s currently staying here,” said the innkeep.

There was the hard metallic ting of a dagger piercing wood and a long period of silence.

“...as innkeep it is my duty to assure my patrons safety so long as they are under my roof,” said the innkeeper, “You want to wait for them on the road, you can wait for them on the road. But there’ll be no bloodshed here.”

“A woman of business,” said the Lysene woman. There was the clink of coins in a sack hitting the wood next, and both Mercy and Genji tensed.

“...They’ve paid, too. And my service they’ll have,” said the innkeeper.

There was the sound of steel being drawn and Mercy’s breath caught in her throat.

“...leave her,” said the Lysene woman, “We’ll get what we need, with or without her.”

Silently, a bead of sweat quivering down his temple, Genji slowly backed up the stairs. Mercy tried to follow suit as silently as she could, but then one stair creaked loudly beneath her foot and the Lysene woman’s head swiveled sharply to the stairs.

“Go—Go!” Genji hissed under his breath as they both rushed back up the stairs.

“Septa—?” Orisa was stepping out of her room,  holding her sword in its scabbard, not yet belted to her hip, when alarm filled her face at the sight of Genji next to Mercy. “You’re—?” Orisa started but then cut herself off as the Lysene woman and her three compatriots rushed up behind them. Orisa read the situation in an instant and sidestepped in front of them.

“Find another exit,” said Orisa.

“What other exit?!” blurted out Mercy, but Genji hurried down the hall to an unglazed, shuttered window and threw it open, “Genji—I mean—My lord!” Mercy’s head jerked back to Orisa at the clash of steel on steel behind her. There were a few panicked seconds where Mercy was transfixed, watching as Orisa blocked the short sword of the Lysene woman before clocking one of the cloth-faced sellswords behind her with her buckler-bearing arm, dazing him before a hard kick in the stomach sent him tumbling backward and she once again clashed blades with the Lysene.

“Septa!” Genji’s voice sounded behind her. He had one leg out of the open shutters of the window, one arm braced on the frame, the other out toward her. She hiked up her skirts and rushed after him, hearing Orisa’s sword sing and gauntleted fists make contact with grunting flesh.

“It’s one knight!” The Lysene woman was barking behind them, “You fools can’t take out one knight?!” before there was another loud clang of steel.

Mercy felt Genji grab her forearm and she stumbled out the window after him onto wooden shingles that creaked with rot. Genji was already nervously sidestepping across the short row of shingles that formed an awning around the ground floor of the inn’s exterior, before Mercy saw he was moving towards the stables.

“We can’t just leave her!” said Mercy.

“She’s in full plate armor, she has a better chance if we get the horses and she’s not worried about us being in the crossfire,” said Genji, still edging forward.

“It’s four on one!” said Mercy, one hand against the side of the inn and the other bunching her skirts up for easier movements as she sidestepped after him. There was a sudden clatter behind her and her head swung around to see one of the brigands tumble out of another shuttered window, and roll backwards off the awning before landing with a grunt in the mud below.

“...three on one,” said Mercy, blinking incredulously.

“The skill of the Warrior and the strength of the Smith,” Genji said, impressed, “I guess the Seven really are with you two!”

“Genji, the stables!” Mercy said furiously, still sidestepping forward.

Genji gave her an odd look.

“My lord, the stables,” huffed Mercy, another prickle of stress burning on the back of her neck, wondering if her panic in the situation had given her away in other ways.

“...you can call me Genji,” he said, still sidestepping forward, “I rather like the way you say it, Septa.”

“That is not appropriate,” Mercy said, glancing down and blushing furiously.

“Well you’ve already seen me naked, I’d say we’re well past--” He reached the edge of the awning closest to the stables and sucked in a breath, “Oh this isn’t going to be pleasant.”

Mercy closed the distance behind him. “Do you need--?”

“You can barely move in those sept skirts as is--I’ve got this,” said Genji, dropping to a squat and positioning himself with his back to the edge, He braced his hands on the shingles and then pushed his legs out over the edge, grunting in pain as he dropped to a hanging position before grunting in pain again as he dropped to the ground, the length of his own body significantly reducing his fall. “Ah---” his hand went to his side as his feet hit the ground, but he shook his head, “Okay, your turn.”

“Right--okay--” Mercy started haltingly as she reached the edge and turned around but then she heard another groan and craned her neck over to look at the sound’s source. The sellsword Orisa had knocked out of the window was stumbling to his feet, muddy, shaking his head out of a daze, and he saw Genji. He drew a short dirk from his side and broke off in a stumbling run toward genji. Genji followed her line of sight but his injury slowed his reaction. Mercy wasn’t fully sure what compelled her to suddenly leap off the corner of the awning, but there was a half-beat where she felt the cold morning air rushing up her skirts and her arms flailing with nothing to grab before she dropped like a stone... right onto the sellsword with a grunt and a splatter of mud, her elbow slamming his face into the muck. She rolled off him and stumbled to her feet, panting. Genji looked from the unconscious sellsword in the mud, up to her.

“...don’t know which of the seven to thank for that,” he said, his eyes wide.

“Come on!” said Mercy seizing his arm and rushing to the stables.

“Ow--injured--ow!” said Genji as the muddy Septa pulled him into a run.

-----

The Lysene woman fought with both a short sword and a dirk, and her attacks were relentless. But her remaining fellow sellswords seemed to be more of a liability than a threat if they didn’t have the element of surprise. Orisa’s biggest disadvantage was the narrowness of the hallway they were in... if she could just find a way to get her opponents down stairs to the Inn’s dining area, maybe she could more properly maneuver... or maybe that would give them more space to flank her. Orisa had at least successfully backed them up to the point in the hallway so they couldn’t access another window to go after Genji and Mercy, but her brow furrowed as the Lysene woman and her two remaining compatriots kept their blades pointed at her.

“You were sent by Lord Akande, I take it?” said Orisa.

“I’m afraid the answer to that’s going to cost you,” said the Lysene woman.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then,” said Orisa.

“The Shimada lordling slipped from our grasp before... but we had expected him to die, I suppose we underestimated his house’s banner lords...” said the woman.

“I am under no banner but the Seven’s,” said Orisa, and she felt a surprising strength in what had previously been merely a cover story. To have a sword sworn to the Seven, to defend this grievously injured Lordling purely because he was attacked out of treachery rather than on the field of battle, it was thrilling, it was knightly.

The woman gave a derisive snort. “So I can’t expect you to counter Lord Akande’s offer with one of your own. No amount of piety will make a hedge knight anything more than a hedge knight.”

“...and I can’t expect you to hold to any word,” said Orisa, her eyes narrowing.

The woman grinned wolfishly before lunging forward, Orisa stood her ground, meeting the woman’s long blade with her own before glancing off the woman’s dirk with her buckler. Orisa’s shield and helmet were still back in her room, so she could count on the Lysene to go for the face. The woman kept up her assault and Orisa gave a bit of ground. Her attacks were aggressive, clearly she was trying to use the advantage of lighter armor lending greater stamina to keep up a relentless barrage of attacks, but Orisa remained calm. This was waves breaking on stone. One of her compatriots flanked Orisa only to get a hard buckler to the face, Orisa using the movement to pivot and yield space to back into her room where her helmet and broadshield were. The Lysene woman lunged forward with her short sword and Orisa tilted her torso in its movement to grab her shield. Orisa knew she wasn’t a small target, but the right movements could send virtually any blade scratching uselessly across the plate of her armor--and just in time, too. In seizing her shield, she yanked it up, her arm only looped in one strap, and used the weight of it to slam it hard into the shoulder and side of the Lysene woman sending her staggering to the side trying to regain her footing. Orisa kicked the other closest sellsword in the stomach, knocking him onto his back, only to see the third man in the doorway, pointing a crossbow at her. Orisa froze.

But then, there was a shattering sound and the crossbow-bearing sellsword’s eyes rolled back in his head, goat’s milk dripping down his piecemeal armor and he swayed and collapsed onto the floor. Mercy was standing behind him, the lower half of her skirts caked in mud, the broken top half of the jug from their breakfast in her hands. Orisa blinked in surprise, and even Mercy seemed a bit stunned at the collapsed sellsword drenched in goat’s milk at her feet before she seemed to snap out of it and shake her head.

“You--!” the Lysene woman scrambled to attack Orisa from the side, her attack panicked and messy, only to get cuffed hard in the face by Orisa’s buckler and get splayed out on the floor. The other sellsword, seeing the only two backing him up now unconscious, scrambled to the side of the Lysene woman, shaking her shoulder. “Lady Ashe?! Lady Ashe, get up!” but Orisa was already rushing to the door, properly strapping up her shield and grabbing her helmet as she and Mercy hurried down the hall and down the inn stairs.

“Genji’s gotten the horses,” said Mercy, as they darted across the tavern floor, tables groaning against the wood as Orisa’s armored frame shoved them aside, “Come on!”

They rushed out into bright, damp morning air to see Genji astride Dynast, holding the reins of a large honey-colored mare. 

“You made it!” said Genji, as Mercy scrambled up onto the saddle behind him and Orisa swept up onto the mare and they all took off into gallops down the road from the inn.

“Who’s horse is this?” said Orisa.

“Didn’t have time to ask! I imagine it’s one of the sellswords’!” said Genji, they were all half-yelling over the thundering hooves. 

“We’re stealing a horse?!” Orisa blurted out.

"Borrowing!” said Genji.

“IT IS NOT KNIGHTLY TO STEAL A HORSE!” said Orisa, her pauldroned shoulders bunching up.

“They attacked me,” said Genji, “Hardly good folk. You, on the other hand, have valiantly defended a grievously wounded storm lord and commandeered a mighty steed.”

Orisa blinked a few times. ‘Oh...I... I suppose I did.”

“It was like something out of a song!” said Mercy, her eyes bright.

“A song...?” Orisa started hesitantly. She tucked a stray braid of hair back, “...I suppose it will be a good story to tell Lady Efi when I return.”

“...Lady Efi?” said Genji, “I thought you said you were sworn to the Sev--”

“To Oldtown!” said Mercy, spurring their horse forward.

“To Oldtown!--Ow--ow..” Genji had punched a fist into the air with excitement, quite forgetting he was still injured. The dew seemed to make everything sparkle. Orisa wasn’t sure if it was the rush of adrenaline confusing the senses, making the light seem brighter, the sky bluer, the air cleaner, or perhaps it was the days of rain before. Orisa rolled the grip of her gauntlets on the reins of her own mare, a bright flare of thrill thumping with her heart in her chest. She looked over at Mercy, her arms gingerly wrapped around Genji’s waist, avoiding his injury as they rode, then Orisa scoffed a little, her own expression partially hidden by her own horned helmet, and her sound silenced by the thunder of galloping hooves, feeling the Inn shrink into the distance behind them. This was a terribly foolish thing they were doing, but at the same time, would anything but something terribly foolish give her the excitement she was feeling now? Were valor and stupidity two sides of the same coin? Perhaps theirs was a tale like Florian the Fool. 

Like a song, indeed, Orisa thought with some amusement. 

[wistfulcynic]

The Eternal and Unseen (1 of 3)

SUMMARY: Misthaven University is an ancient place, and as all ancient places do it guards some secrets. Secrets such as Emma Swan and Killian Jones, a fae princess and her royal guardian, whose true identities are well concealed behind the guise of average college students—if not quite well enough to foil the plot their enemies have hatched against them. Now their friends will have to come together, putting their own differences aside to battle an enemy that threatens them all—fae and vampire and werewolf together… plus one very baffled human named David. 

For @cssns​​ 

a/n: Thanks to @spartanguard​​ and  @optomisticgirl​​ for the prompts that planted the seeds of this idea and to my TERRACE-mates @thisonesatellite​​, @ohmightydevviepuu​​, and @katie-dub​​, without whom I might never have found the right way to encourage them to grow, and of course INCOHERENT GIBBERING NOISES OF DELIGHT to @carpedzem​​ for the absolutely stunning art about which I cannot possibly say enough good things. Please zoom all the way in and appreciate the perfection of all the little details she included. The tiny wee fronds on the plant! The shape of the light! Emma’s feather earrings! Her red cloak! Her hat! (the hat you guys, the hat!!). Everything about it is so, so gorgeous and Nat is so talented and creative and such a joy to work with ❤️❤️❤️.

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On AO3 Rating: M Words: 3.9k (first chapter)

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CHAPTER ONE: 

David Nolan was always surprised by people’s reactions when they learned he was the Resident Assistant for H.C. Andersen Hall at Misthaven University. Sure, it was the oldest dorm on the campus, built of dark stone in a high Gothic style, with tall towers and pointed arches, way back when Misthaven and her people still believed in magic. And sure, the heavy wooden doors had a way of creaking on their iron hinges and the windows rattled in their frames when the wind was high... sometimes even when it didn’t blow at all. But this was merely rust and weather and David was a practical man, not one to be troubled by such things as can be plausibly explained away.

And yes, Andersen did have that reputation, though David was certain it could be no more than simple silly student gossip. As an upperclassmen dorm its occupancy was by request only, and over the years it had come to be known as the place where some of the more… unique students tended to convene. But that was surely no reason for people to give that startled twitch or to take a wary step back from him when he told them about his job. Or for the other candidates to look so relieved when they learned it was he and not they who’d be taking over from the last RA, a guy called Walsh who had, in the words of one, “Still not recovered from the trau—er, the experience. But hey, good luck, man.”

A thousand years ago when it was known by another name, Andersen alone had been the university, a haven for scholars of every kith and creed and a place where learning took precedence over any rivalry, however ancient. The building had both schooled and housed them, fed them in its great dining hall with food cooked in the basement kitchen, tutored them in the tower classrooms with books procured from the vast library. When lessons were completed the scholars found repose in the common room, a comfortable space with an enormous fireplace, large, overstuffed chairs, and carved wooden tables where lively debates were had each night until the fire died and they withdrew to their rooms to sleep. (Rooms which, David observed to his delight, were twice the size of those in the other dorms and always single occupancy—no roommate squabbles for him to contend with.) As the university grew and newer dorms were built, as the ancient covenants were forgotten and magic faded from the land, fewer and fewer students chose to reside in the newly christened Andersen Hall. At present there were only eight, plus David, who despite the strange reactions he encountered was thrilled to be the RA there. Eight residents, and all upperclassmen, he thought to himself. Andersen had to be the easiest gig on campus. How odd that no one else had seemed to want it.

The hall itself stood just at the edge of the modern campus, tucked against the so-called enchanted forest that marked the border of Misthaven on three sides. It was an ancient forest, whether enchanted or not—a forest of twisted trees and clinging moss and the shrouding mist that gave their country its name. Very little sunlight survived to reach its floor and thus such things as grew there fed on decay, most digging their roots deep into the soil to wrench what nutrients they could from it and barely peeking the tips of their grey-green leaves above the ground. Other valiant species reached out for whatever light could penetrate the dense canopy, stretching upward into vines that curled around the trunks and branches of the gnarled trees to unfurl their broad leaves hopefully as close as they could to the sky. And so it was of course these very leaves and vines and branches that crept up Andersen’s stone walls and scraped against its windows, and cast deep and shifting shadows that fell both outside the hall and in.

So yeah, David reflected, Andersen Hall was old. And dark. And with each successive year it sank a bit more deeply into the forest’s embrace—a perfectly benign embrace, most of the time, although perhaps not ideal when you found yourself alone in your dorm with the music in your headphones never quite as loud as the branches across your windows, or the distant howls of wolves, or the much less distant scrabblings of other creatures to which it was not always wise to put a name. So, yeah, there was that.

And the students who chose to live in Andersen were characters, that was for sure. Even David had to admit that he’d never met anyone quite like them before. But, he reminded himself, at the end of the day they were just students. Just kids like all the others, despite the sometimes unnerving focus of their attention and the surprising depth to their eyes. Just college kids discovering themselves, exploring their quirks and hobbies and interests.

Take Emma, for example. Emma Swan, as graceful as her name implied and even more beautiful, with her warm smile and wry humour and the spark of mischief in her green eyes. One of the nicest girls David had ever met, tough and smart but with a kind and generous heart and a tender vulnerability that made him wish it were still fashionable to slay dragons. He’d gladly slay one for her—or anything else that might threaten her. His urge to protect Emma at all costs—though from what dangers it was never quite clear—surprised him with its persistent and overwhelming strength.

Also surprising was Emma’s choice of dorm-room decor; the space in her room not occupied by the bed, desk, television, and mini-fridge that were standard even in Andersen rooms, she had filled entirely with plants. Plants the like of which David was certain he had never before seen, long and twisted vines that clung and crept across the stone walls, broad leaves and pointed ones and flowers in unexpected colours. He’d examined them with a frown the day she moved in, mildly unnerved by how comfortably they already seemed to inhabit the space but convinced by Emma’s soothing reassurances and the evidence of his own eyes that none of them were anything college kids might wish to dry and smoke. And while keeping what was essentially a greenhouse in a dorm room may be a bit unorthodox it wasn’t strictly against the rules—David had even made a special visit to the Chancellor to ensure Emma wouldn’t run into any difficulty later on, if another student made a complaint, for example. The Chancellor’s eyes had widened to an alarming size, but he’d confirmed that yes, students were allowed plants in their rooms, and there wasn’t technically a limit on their number, then hustled David from his office with the rather thin excuse of a dentist appointment he suddenly remembered he had.

And as for Emma’s habit of chatting to her plants as though they understood her words, or chuckling to herself as she did so, or singing as she watered them—a low and haunting tune in a language David felt he really ought to recognise—all while wearing a pointed hat made of green straw with flowers round the brim which she called her ‘special gardening hat’… well, she wasn’t bothering anyone and David really didn’t think it was his place to judge.

And actually, Emma’s plants weren’t even the most unusual things that could be found in the rooms of his residents. Victor Whale, a slender, pale young man who gave the impression of feeding off his own nervous energy, had what looked to David’s admittedly untrained eye like an entire laboratory set up in his room—tall shelves lined with specimen jars and long tables loaded with Bunsen burners under simmering beakers of… substances in which David felt it might be wisest not to invest too much careful thought. He had not spoken to the Chancellor about those burners and didn’t intend to, both because he didn’t wish to draw attention to them and because Victor with his wild hair and wilder eyes, the sardonic smirk he nearly always wore and the barbed comments he loved to make, did not rouse quite the same protective instincts in David as Emma did.

That, and he wasn’t entirely certain the Chancellor would agree to meet with him again.

Of all his residents, the one David felt he could relate to most was Graham. They shared a similar taste for plaid shirts and brown leather jackets, and a similar appreciation for the simple joys that could be had in the great outdoors. Graham had an deep, instinctual understanding of nature that David envied; several times he’d caught the younger man in conversation with the dogs he met on the walks he liked to take or the squirrels who paused to chatter at him from the branches of trees, even the deer and other creatures that crept out from the forest to scratch at his window, serious conversation that did not appear one-sided. Graham spoke to animals as Emma did to plants—in the manner of folk to their brethren—but the connection went deeper even than that. Every few weeks he went out to spend all night in the woods, generally, David couldn’t help noticing, around the time of the full moon—and when David inquired why Graham simply replied “The animals need me.”

If animals of the furry variety had need of Graham, the feathered kind flocked, quite literally, to Snow. There never seemed to be a time when she wasn't accompanied by some feathered friend or other, and her dorm window was always open so they could come and go as they pleased. She kept bowls of seeds on her shelves and handfuls of them in her pockets and had been delighted when Emma gave her a tree so the birds would have somewhere in her room to nest—a tree that within a week had overgrown its pot and sunk roots into the stone floor of Snow’s room in a way David again found himself opting not to examine. He himself passed many a pleasant afternoon with Snow in that room, listening to her talk about—and to—her birds. It amazed him now how little attention he’d paid to birds before. They were astounding, beautiful creatures, and the sound of Snow’s voice, melodic and soothing as she stroked their feathered heads, was… well, it was… it was something he sometimes felt he could listen to forever.

Snow’s best friend in the dorm was Ruby and though David liked Ruby perfectly well he had to admit he was a bit baffled by how close the two were. They didn’t seem to have a whole lot in common. All but the bravest of Snow’s birds fled when Ruby approached, and the ones that stayed eyed her warily and stuck close to Snow as she flashed them a grin and licked her chops. Er, her lips. She licked her lips and it made the birds nervous, and… and at any rate, Ruby was bold and charming but just a bit wild. She liked to party and to stay out late, often not returning to her room until the early hours of the morning. Andersen had no curfew so David said nothing, though he couldn’t help noticing that in sharp contrast to Ruby’s habits Snow was usually in bed by 10 o’clock. Not that he paid her or her sleeping habits any particular attention, certainly not, just that he happened to notice she always left her room at around 9.45 to go wash her face, always wearing such cute pajamas and trailed by a flock of bluebirds—and it wasn’t like he made a point of being out in the common room when he knew she’d be walking by, he just… well, he happened to be there sometimes. That was all.

Yet despite these differences Snow and Ruby were the best of friends, and while Emma was more solitary and a bit distant until you got to know her, she also got along well with them. Ruby got along with just about everybody, including Belle, who David sometimes forgot was even among his residents. Belle had an unnerving way of appearing very suddenly where she was least expected and of disappearing without warning from places she’d been moments before. She was a quiet, studious young woman who moved as though her feet didn’t quite touch the floor and was so pale he sometimes fancied he could see through her. She was hardly ever in her room or even the common room, preferring to spend her time in the library.

“You might say she haunts the place,” August had remarked with a wry note in his voice that David imagined was significant, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on why. Feeling at something of a loss, he had simply nodded. “She certainly does spend a lot of time there,” he’d agreed, then frowned when August laughed.

August was a bit of an odd one, the only person in the dorm whom Ruby actively disliked, so much that she actually snarled at him whenever their paths crossed. He took only evening classes and was never anywhere to be found during the day. At least once a week he returned from his classes accompanied by a young woman—always beautiful and rarely the same one twice—and David observed that while August preferred to sleep the day away those women would stumble from his room quite early the next morning and looking awful—pale and drawn and thoroughly exhausted. Before leaving they all would go to Emma’s door, knock three times slowly then three times fast, and when it opened they all smiled the same sheepish smile and stuttered the same apologies as they slipped into her room. When they emerged from it they were as new women—pink-cheeked and bright-eyed, glowing with health and quite pleased with themselves, wreathed in satisfied smiles.

David felt uncomfortably as though he ought to do something about this, though he had no idea what. The women always seemed so thrilled when they arrived—clinging to August’s arm and chattering brightly as he smiled at them with a peculiar sort of fond disinterest—and so contented when they left, after they’d seen Emma, at least, and as no formal complaints were ever lodged David was left with nothing more to go on than a feeling of vague discomfort.

He’d attempted to broach the subject once with Emma but she had simply shrugged and said “Groupies. What can you do?” and so he’d let it go.  

So those were his residents. Four women—Emma, Snow, Ruby, and Belle, and four men—Graham, Victor, August… and Killian.

Ah, yes. Killian.

David liked Killian, he truly did. It was a point of pride with him to find something to like about every one of his residents, though he had to admit that finding that thing for Killian posed something of a challenge. It wasn’t just that Killian preferred his leather black or opted for dark button-downs or obscure band t-shirts instead of plaid. It wasn’t even that he was mouthy and arrogant, smarter than most everyone he met and not afraid to let them know it. No, the challenge for David when it came to liking Killian was Emma. Or more specifically, the way Killian looked at Emma. And the way she very much looked back.

“I suppose that’s one way to ‘guard’ her,” Victor remarked one evening as they sat around the fire in the common room, Emma laughing with Graham in one corner while Killian glowered darkly at the pair of them from the other. “Very dramatic, you know. Very Charlotte Brontë. Or is it Emily, I always get them mixed up.”

“Piss off,” Killian snarled, returning his attention to his textbooks just in time to miss the glance Emma shot him from the corner of her eye.

“‘Course I suppose she doesn’t make it easy for you—” Victor began, then smirked when Killian slammed his book shut and got up. “I’m going to bed,” he declared and stalked from the room, Emma’s eyes following his every move as he went.

“Enemies to lovers slow burn, 100k,” Belle whispered to Ruby on another occasion, a rare instance when she left the library to join them for breakfast. Ruby nodded sagely and both of them sat back, observing Emma and Killian’s heated argument about the best way to make a cup of tea with all apparent enjoyment. David wasn’t entirely certain what that meant, or that he liked the way his residents seemed to find the pair’s squabbles so entertaining. He knew only that if Emma and Killian really thought anyone believed they hated each other the way they both so loudly and frequently proclaimed, they were seriously deluding themselves. Their little snarky comments and defiant challenges were some of the most obvious flirtation David had ever seen, especially when combined with those damned looks. Looks that all but screamed how much they would prefer to resolve their differences with physical action than with words, and that they had already imagined how those physical dispute resolutions might go—frequently and in great detail.

David did not approve of those looks.

Nor did he approve, as the summer heat faded into the cooler air of autumn and the green leaves of the forest’s trees took on brighter hues, of the way Emma and Killian’s snappish words began to lose the battle with that oh-so-evident longing to touch. Slowly at first and tentatively, small brushes of arms and fingers that before long began to linger… In principle he supposed there was nothing wrong with what they were doing, or with the budding feelings they continued to deny. He would be one hundred percent in support of it, in fact, were it not so damned blatant—those sparks of tension that turned the air electric, the raw hunger in Killian’s eyes as he watched her, the answering ache in hers when she watched him—David had come to think of Emma as he would a little sister and he did not appreciate being slapped in the face, so to speak, by the evidence of her active sexual interest in a man whom David was not at all convinced was good enough for her. It annoyed him so much that he almost—almost—found himself agreeing with Victor, who had taken to rolling his eyes and muttering “I wish they’d just fuck already” a bit too loudly whenever Emma and Killian got into one of their ‘disputes.’

He would have been able to officially disapprove the night he caught them doing tequila slammers in her dorm room—alcohol was discouraged in the dorms, even for students of legal drinking age—except that had turned out to be nothing but a very bizarre dream… although… had it been a dream? It must have been, though it had seemed so real at the time… but he remembered only catching sight of them through her slightly open door and reaching up to knock… the next thing he knew he was groaning as he woke in his own room, his head aching and feeling full of cotton wool, Emma sitting by his bedside with her ‘world famous hangover cure’ in one of Victor’s beakers explaining that he was the one who’d overindulged... “So unlike you, David, I’m really very shocked,” she’d said with that glint in her eye… and when David confronted Killian about the incident he’d merely scoffed and said “Tequila, mate? You were definitely dreaming. You know I only drink rum, and that in the company of ladies more… amenable than Swan.”

Of course, on the late October afternoon when David accompanied Graham on his walk and they stumbled upon Emma and Killian beneath a tree in the forest, wrapped around each other and kissing so deeply that he wondered how they could also be breathing—well, that was most definitely not a dream. It was also not in the dorm and therefore not technically within his jurisdiction, so he simply caught Graham by the arm and turned back the way they came.

The energy had shifted between Emma and Killian, he realised with a curious sort of bittersweet thrum in his chest. An unmistakable shift yet hard to define, as though they were hovering just on the cusp of something both nebulous and truly extraordinary. And despite them being right out in public—seriously, right off the footpath—the way they’d held each other was so intensely intimate that interrupting them, even to ask them to move to a more appropriate location, would have felt like the worst kind of intrusion. Plus of course there was no telling what uncomfortable circumstances David might find himself waking up in if he dared to cock-block Emma Swan.

Now where in hell had that thought come from?

A few hours later Emma and Killian returned to the dorm, flushed and mussed and with leaves in their hair, buzzing with that newly shifted energy—and holding hands, though they let go both reluctantly and immediately upon realising they were being eagerly observed.

“Well well well,” smirked Victor, elbowing David in the ribs. “Looks like August owes me twenty. I should probably thank you, Jones.”

“Bugger off, mate,” muttered Killian, entirely without his usual snarl, and then with a defiant glare and a flush high on his cheekbones, he sauntered after Emma into her room and shut the door firmly behind him.

“Well, I think I’ll go put on some very loud music,” Victor remarked, and retreated into his own room, leaving David alone in the common room feeling vaguely unsettled.

The next morning Killian and Emma arrived at breakfast together, radiating happiness and unable to stop touching, and, David would swear to it, with actual stars in their eyes. They left for their morning classes with their arms around each other, returning in the afternoon in the same manner, and when Victor and August tried to mock him about it Killian just laughed.

“We’ve worked out our differences, mates,” he said, with a waggle of his eyebrows. “I’m certain you know what I mean.”

“It’s sweet, really,” August observed one evening a week or so later, in that dry, supercilious tone of his that grated on David’s nerves. “Though possibly not the wisest move, sleeping with the woman under his protection. I’ve seen the vows they have to take, you know, and they are intense. It could literally be the death of him.”

“The heart wants what the heart wants,” Ruby snapped, baring her teeth as Snow placed a soothing hand on her arm. “Not that you would know anything about that.”

“You’re right of course,” August agreed, his eyes flashing red in the firelight. “What would I know about love and loss, I’m only three hundr—”

“Well, I think it’s great they’ve finally gotten together,” said Snow loudly, glaring first at August then Ruby then August again. “I hope they’ll be happy.”

David hoped so too, genuinely. Even he could see how good the two of them were for each other. She smoothed his rough edges and he drew her out from her shell, and the dangerous sparks of their attraction settled down into the far gentler flame of new love. It was sweet, and he did approve, and yet—still he felt unsettled, a vague sensation of unease twisting deep in his gut. He’d call it a premonition, if he believed in such things. But he was a sensible man, a man of science and the twenty-first century, and so he firmly ignored it.

Two days later Emma Swan disappeared.

___

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A Lipless Face That I Want to Marry, Ch. 4

<- Chapter 3 | Chapter 5 ->

Summary: Chilton’s recovery is slow and painful, and he is a cranky traumatized bastard who might be determined to push you away.    

1,878 words

Twelve days. Six surgeries. Fifteen blood transfusions.

“Did you bring me something to eat?” he whined. Considering he could barely lift his voice above a whisper, it was an impressive feat that he could whine. “Tell me you smuggled something edible that does not go into a tube through my nose.”

“I’m sorry, honey-bear,” you pouted. “But you know I can’t until the doctors OK it.”

“I am a doctor.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re still at a high risk of going septic—no outside foods covered with outside bacteria. Besides, they won’t let you eat solids yet, anyway.”

“Sanguinaccio dolce. Mango smoothie. Crème brûlée. Yamakake Soba...” he listed off non-solid things you ought to have snuck in for his enjoyment.

“And how would I get them in there?” You rapped your knuckles on the clear acrylic of the hyperbaric oxygen therapy chamber.

He scowled. “This is not a zoo. No tapping the glass.”

You grinned and pulled a chair alongside the chamber so you were sitting next to him.

“Did you bring the laptop?”

Slinging the messenger bag you were carrying off your shoulder, you pulled out a smooth rectangular object and held it up proudly. “That I did. I’m ready to write if you’re up for it,” you said, but added with some hesitation, “Are you sure you want to do this now? You should be resting, and… I don’t know if it’s a good idea for you to relive what happened.”

“I am sure,” he snapped. “I may drop dead at any moment, so we will finish this now. While I still draw breath.”

You stiffened imperceptibly in your chair. The reminder that, despite making it this long, he was far from out of the woods was an unwelcome dagger in your chest, which you quickly plucked out and stuffed away in the box of things you weren’t going to think about.

“As for the wisdom of my reliving it—I feel his teeth every time I close my eyes. I may as well profit from the experience.”

Dr. Chilton was growing anxious that it had been nearly two weeks since his encounter with Francis “The Red Dragon” Dolarhyde, and he had not yet had the chance to publish on the subject. He had wasted far too much time being unconscious and dying—he needed to send a letter in to the American Journal of Psychiatry before some know-nothing crackpot took a swing.

He was the foremost authority on the Dragon—the only person to have communicated with him and lived who was not, himself, a fugitive for murder (or a blind girlfriend, but he doubted Reba was going to publish anything). This was his achievement. His way of staying relevant. The definitive analysis of the Red Dragon for the Journal, and then a spectacular ending for his book once he had his own hands to type with again. No one would take this opportunity from him.

After living with Frederick Chilton for over three years in relative domestic harmony, there were times you forgot what you ever used to dislike about him. Why you hated him so intensely when you first met.

This was not one of those times.

As you took dictation from your glass-encased fiance, you felt a crushing wave of empathy for the man’s poor secretary. He was demanding and fussy, making you read back every sentence to him line by line and mercilessly correcting any mistakes or omissions. He spoke slowly because of his weakened lungs and raw throat, and the thick glass and lack of lips made him difficult to understand, especially with nurses walking through and machinery beeping and whirring in the background—but when you tried explaining that to justify a transcription error, he took it as a personal affront.

You had to support him no matter what, you reminded yourself. This was much harder on him than you. You can always leave if you want you; he can’t. So when he was frustrated and cranky, you were patient and kind.

It took five hours and ten rewrites to get through two thousand words he was satisfied with submitting for publication, and you were nearly crying by the time you left.

***

Thirteen days.

High protein intake is critical to a speedy recovery in burn patients, but Frederick’s mangled digestive system could not tolerate protein very well. Keeping his kidney off the precipice of failure was a tightrope walk involving dietitians planning his every calorie intake, and daily blood work monitoring.

As a medical doctor, Frederick Chilton was aware of, and understood, these things. However he still rejected them as excuses when you once again did not bring him any outside food.

“Then what is the point of you coming?” he snapped, and immediately wished he had not. You stood frozen in the doorway of his recovery room unsure what you did wrong. You were right, of course—his throat felt like he had fellated broken glass. As much as he longed to chew something flavorful, with texture, he could not have swallowed solid food anyway. He closed his eyes. Softer, he asked, “Did you bring the March issue of the Journal of Psychiatry?”

You let out a held breath, unfreezing, and pulled the magazine out of your bag, presenting it with an upbeat flourish. “Delivered to your doorstep.”

“Would you read it to me?” He sighed, humiliated. It was not only that he could not hold the publication—even if you were to flip the pages for him, with only one working eye and no reading glasses, it was hopeless. He was completely dependent on you.

A cough shook his body as if to punctuate how completely he was broken. Useless. Weak.

The metal feet of the visitor’s chair scraped on the white floor like nails on a chalkboard as you dragged it close to his bedside, making him wince until you settled down and helped him browse for an article of interest.

He could barely make himself care about the content of the study. As you read, you rested one arm on the mattress right next to his, where it lay helplessly prone alongside his body, and he could feel the warm weight of you sinking into the cushion. The pressure was uncomfortable on his inflamed tissue, but soothing to something deeper. God, he wanted to be soothed. He wanted so badly to feel any kind of comfort. Anything to latch onto. He closed his eyes and got lost in your voice. For a moment, he could almost forget about the searing pain in each of his limbs and pretend he was at home, in his bed, with you.

The soothing, steady lull stopped, and he opened his eyes, horrified to find you looking intently at his ruined face. His nostrils flared painfully. “Do not stare,” he warned.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to,” you said. “I finished the article. I thought you fell asleep.” You searched for somewhere else to settle your eyes—the metal bar at the edge of the bed. Your lap. A flower arrangement.

You made such a show of not staring at him that he was even more certain that you had been. He was hideous. Perhaps that entertained you. You were probably already planning for Halloween. Red-hot thoughts swirled around his head like cinders.

Before you could get through a second article, a nurse came in with a tray of mushy hospital food. Humiliation stung deep for you to even see the damned tray, and it annoyed him that you did not immediately excuse yourself. There was no way in Hell he would allow you to watch such a disgusting, embarrassing process—being spoon fed like a toddler, the nurse wiping off his toothy chin of the spillage meant to be kept in check by lips.

“Go home,” he grumbled, leaving no room for argument.

You had barely been there for half an hour.

***

Fourteen days.

“Do you want to look at venues?” you offered, tucking him in with the extra blanket you had a nurse bring because he was cold.

“Venues?” he repeated with clear exasperation. He let out a weak cough.

“It’ll be fun! It’ll take your mind off things.” You grabbed your laptop off the plastic visitor chair where you’d left it, and excitedly held it up so he could see the screen from his prone position. There was already a search typed into google with preview images of scenic gardens glowing with string lights and towering ancient library ballrooms.

“I thought it went without saying our wedding date is… postponed.”

Your shoulders deflated. “I know, but… you’ll be out of the hospital by next year,” barring complications, “so we can use the time to plan. We were going to have to postpone anyway if you couldn’t pick anywhere that was good enough for your standards,” you teased.

“It is pointless.” He laughed bitterly, humorlessly, and your brief smile dropped.

“It isn’t… pointless.”

“I will not be able to visit any of the locations.”

“But we could make a list of places you want to visit when—”

“Stop!” he hissed.

“Oh,” you said quietly. “OK.” You sounded small. Too small.

“I… uh...” Frederick tried to say something. Something to make you sound less small and wounded. Fragments of thoughts and half-formed apologies stuck in his sore throat. Fuck, his skin hurt. Parts of it were starting to heal, but in the short-term that only made it worse, because now it itched, too. Pain. Itch. Guilt. Cold. You deserved so much more than him. “You should go,” he said at last, finally settling on the only way to make it better.

“Wh-what?”

“Just… go,” he croaked.

“I’m sorry. I won’t bring it up again. What do you want to talk about? Or, I can shut up and we can listen to music, or...”

You were apologizing. Again. Because he was being an asshole. It disgusted him how weak he made you. You used to be so fierce. Stubborn and unstoppable. But being with him was slowly killing your fire.

“Get out of this place. I want to be alone.”

It was better this way, he thought. It was better for you to get away from him.

You stared at him silently across what now felt like a vast distance of white laminate flooring. His beautiful, pale, mismatched eyes were fixed on the ceiling, hard and uncompromising. He blinked rapidly.

You wished you knew what was going on in his head. You wished you could fix it for him. But right now, as much as it pained you, he wanted you to leave, and maybe that was the best you could do.

“OK,” you relented. “I’ll be back tomorrow, all right? I love you.”

The only sound as you packed your laptop away and slipped your coat over your shoulders was his ragged breathing, the beeps and tones of hospital machines, and the occasional cough. He waited until you were almost out the door before replying, “I love you, too.”

[escherstrange-ffxiv]

#9: Friable

cw: LONG. Like 1000 words long.

10 seconds for Lord Losstarot to open his mouth.

"Young master! I've been looking for you!" Atelloune might have been old but her grip was tighter than iron.

"My apologies Atelloune, I was-" The maid dragged him home sprinting. "There's no time - keep your head low if you see any Temple Knights," she hissed.

-

8 minutes to reach Losstarot Manor, matters gone south.

She practically shoved him through the servant's entrance; as a child it was nothing, but with his newfound height he hit his head on the doorframe.

There was no time for apologies. The house was in chaos.

Two servants at the fireplace threw stacks of parchment into the flames. Several others dashed about carrying this or that, his mother directing them in the middle of the room.

"Isillud! Good you're here," His brother Sydney clapped his shoulder and spun him around, "Go check on Joshua, make sure he's dressed warmly and ready to leave."

"Wait, leave? What's going on?"

Sydney's face darkened. "Father announced he's throwing his lot with the Dravanians." He pushed Isillud to the stairs. "Inquisitors will come soon, go!"

-

Isillud hissed as he tripped on the last step and banged his shin, cursing his growth spurt. Of all the times to happen. He limped to their shared bedroom where Joshua stared at a bag, clutching a book. "Izzy, do you think there'll be time to read when we're fleeing Ishgard?"

He rubbed his shin. "Wherever we're going will have new books, Joshua. Have you packed?" He ran a mental checklist of things he needed and how much time they had left.

The boy pushed the pack to him, "I've packed for us - clothes, medicine, bandages. Syd gave us gil, mama gave us food and drink...Have I missed out anything?" He gave the contents a quick look and removed a set of clothes to change into. "I know it'll be cold, but don't bring the fur coat. It'll be heavy if we need to outrun any Temple Knights. Yes, the cowl is a good choice."

His Scholasticate robe hit the wall and fell into a crumpled heap, never to be used again.

-

Gone in 6 minutes, farewells unsaid.

Their mother's shrill protests echoed through the house, stopping them in their tracks.

"Unhand me, do you KNOW who I am?! How dare you treat a lady with such disrespect?! I TOLD you, my sons are not home! My husband is the heretic, arrest HIM!"

The butler beckoned to them from Lord Losstarot's study. Inside, he pulled a book and a bookshelf slid aside to reveal a narrow stone-hewn stairway. "This leads to the Firmament. Your brother bid you meet him in Gridania." He handed Isillud a torch. "May Halone keep you safe."

Joshua took a lingering look at the doorway before following.

-

Ishgard's lords had long promised to rebuild the Firmament, but an excuse or other always came up - another dragon attack, not enough hands, not enough funds. It lay ruined, an empty promise to win a seemingly endless war. Now the rubble gave them a chance to hide from the skeleton staff of sentries.

The last sentry at the exit looked too long at their direction. Suddenly he waved, beckoning them close. Before Isillud could speak the watchman pushed a clump of yak hide into his palm.

"Your father is a righteous man."

Isillud narrowed his eyes, and headed out to the snowfields beyond to discard the hides at first chance.

-

4 hours through Coerthas, the brothers fled.

Joshua hugged his knees, drawing his feet away from the river bank. "We didn't get to say farewell to mama."

Isillud was trying to sit straight under the bridge...and failing. He resigned himself to discomfort, his head pressed against the top of the bridge. "We'll get a chance," he lied.

Joshua sidled up to his brother and sniffled. Isillud wrapped his arm around his brother's shoulder.

The sniff became a sob, which became a hiccup, which became several gasps for air. Isillud rummaged through the bag, unwrapping a pack of tablets. He passed one to Joshua along with the waterskin. What would happen after the medicine ran out? Would they be able to find an apothecary? One who would accept their order? What happened if the gil ran out?

His ears twitched: the sound of snow and twigs crunching under steel boots. He drew Joshua closer, shrinking into the darkness at the side of the bridge. "Breathe normally. That's it. It's going to be all right. You're going to be all right," he whispered, a night prayer he was no longer sure The Fury heard.

-

Isillud's geography wasn't the best, but he was certain they were not in Gridania. Crystal spikes weaved and twisted, reaching for the magenta sky above. Surely no inquisitor would venture this far.

Joshua slept on his back, their bag slung in front of him. Finally his awkward, gangly form had some use. Adulthood didn't sound so awful anymore. Yet to come of age in uncharted terrain, alone and lost, the future now frightened him for a different reason.

Figures ahead in the gloom were too blurry to make out. Friend? Foe? The ground pulled out from under his feet before he could consider his choices, hearing only a woman cry, "Oh bollocks!" and some blobs jogging towards them before he fell into the darkness, welcoming him with outstretched arms.

-

And so in 1 day House Losstarot fell, doomed by its head.

[aboveallarescuer]

Daenerys Targaryen in A Storm of Swords vs Game of Thrones - Episodes 3.7 & 3.8: The Bear and the Maiden Fair & Second Sons

In this series of posts, I intend to analyze precisely how the show writers downplayed or erased several key aspects of Daenerys Targaryen’s characterization, even when they had the books to help them write her as the compelling, intelligent, compassionate, frugal, open-minded and self-critical character that GRRM created.

I want to make it clear that these posts are not primarily meant to offer a better alternative to what the show writers gave us. I understand that they had many constraints (e.g. other storylines to handle, a limited amount of time to write the scripts, budget, actors who may have asked for a certain number of lines, etc) working against them. However, considering how disrespectful the show’s ending was to Daenerys Targaryen and how the book material that they left out makes it even more ludicrous to think that she will also become a villain in A Song of Ice and Fire, I believe that these reviews are more than warranted. They are meant to dissect everything about Dany’s characterization that was lost in translation, with a lot of book evidence to corroborate my statements.

Since these reviews will dissect scene by scene, I recommend taking a look at this post because I will use its sequence to order Dany’s scenes.

This post is relevant in case you want to know which chapters were adapted in which GoT episodes (however, I didn’t make the list myself, all the information comes from the GoT Wiki, so I can’t guarantee that it’s 100% reliable).

In general, I will call the Dany from the books “Dany” and the Dany from the TV series “show!Dany”.

Episode 3.7, "The Bear and the Maiden Fair", was written by George R. R. Martin himself and is one of the two scripts that he wrote and that show!Dany appears in (the other is episode 1.8, "The Pointy End"). Because the quality of show!Dany's screentime is obviously improved thanks to the influence of her creator, I decided to talk about episodes 3.7 and 3.8 (which was written by David Benioff and D. B. Weiss) in a single post in order to highlight the former's strengths and the latter's weaknesses.

Episode 3.7: The Bear and the Maiden Fair

Scene 6

JORAH: Your Grace. Yunkai. The Yellow City.

BARRISTAN: The Yunkish train bed slaves, not soldiers. We can defeat them.

JORAH: On the field, with ease. But they won't meet us on the field. They have provisions, patience, and strong walls. If they're wise, they'll hide behind those walls and chip away at us, man by man.

DAENERYS: I don't want half my army killed before I've crossed the Narrow Sea.

Dany's initial conflict in the books is different from that of her show counterpart:

“Are those slave soldiers they lead?”

“In large part. But not the equal of Unsullied. Yunkai is known for training bed slaves, not warriors.”

“What say you? Can we defeat this army?”

“Easily,” Ser Jorah said. “But not bloodlessly.” Blood aplenty had soaked into the bricks of Astapor the day that city fell, though little of it belonged to her or hers.

“We might win a battle here, but at such cost we cannot take the city.”

“That is ever a risk, Khaleesi. Astapor was complacent and vulnerable. Yunkai is forewarned.”

Dany considered. The slaver host seemed small compared to her own numbers, but the sellswords were ahorse. She’d ridden too long with Dothraki not to have a healthy respect for what mounted warriors could do to foot. The Unsullied could withstand their charge, but my freedmen will be slaughtered. (ASOS Daenerys IV)

As the quote shows, in the books, Dany's victory against Yunkai is quite likely, but it comes at the expense of the Astapori freedmen's lives, which Dany isn't willing to risk. Unfortunately, as I mentioned before in previous reviews, the Astapori who decided to follow Dany in the books are not introduced in the show, so this conflict can't exist for show!Dany.

Instead, the show focuses on the possibility of the Yunkish refusing to surrender by staying inside the city and letting show!Dany's army starve. I'm not a fan of this change because it's uninspired; it's too much like Dany's initial problem in Meereen:

“...Perhaps we can starve the city out.”

Ser Jorah looked unhappy. “We’ll starve long before they do, Your Grace. There’s no
food here, nor fodder for our mules and horses. I do not like this river water either. Meereen shits into the Skahazadhan but draws its drinking water from deep wells. Already we’ve had reports of sickness in the camps, fever and brownleg and three cases of the bloody flux. There will be more if we remain. The slaves are weak from the march.”

“Freedmen,” Dany corrected. “They are slaves no longer.”

“Slave or free, they are hungry and they’ll soon be sick. The city is better provisioned than we are, and can be resupplied by water. Your three ships are not enough to deny them access to both the river and the sea.” (ASOS Daenerys V)

It seems that this change was made not just because the Astapori freedmen were not included in show!Dany's story, but also because the events of ASOS Daenerys IV are being stretched out for four episodes (from this one until the season finale). This would explain why the show writers ultimately decided to introduce the sellswords in the next episode instead of in this one, which is another departure from the books, where they're introduced right away:

“Those are sellswords on the flanks. Lances and mounted bowmen, with swords and axes for the close work. The Second Sons on the left wing, the Stormcrows to the right. About five hundred men apiece. See the banners?” (ASOS Daenerys IV)

In the books, Yunkai is already prepared to wage war against Dany if it's necessary. The possibility of a siege is never brought up.

In the show, we'll have two scenes with Dany and her counsellors assessing the enemy forces (one in this episode and another in episode 3.8, which I'll discuss below), unlike the books (which only has one). Each is quite similar to one another, with the second more closely (though not entirely, since, again, the Astapori freedmen are nowhere to be seen) resembling the conflict in the books for actually introducing the sellswords.

Also, it's disappointing that we don't get to see onscreen quite a few moments from the books that showcase Dany's intelligence. The first is that she eagerly wants to apply her lessons with Barristan about how to assess her enemy forces, so she goes with Jorah to see them and then makes a reasonable guess about their strength:

Her Dothraki scouts had told her how it was, but Dany wanted to see for herself. Ser Jorah Mormont rode with her through a birchwood forest and up a slanting sandstone ridge. “Near enough,” he warned her at the crest.

Dany reined in her mare and looked across the fields, to where the Yunkish host lay athwart her path. Whitebeard had been teaching her how best to count the numbers of a foe. “Five thousand,” she said after a moment.

“I’d say so.” (ASOS Daenerys IV)

What's also missing from the show is Dany applying the knowledge she acquired from the Dothraki to contextualize the danger that her Astapori freedmen are going to face against the sellswords:

Dany considered. The slaver host seemed small compared to her own numbers, but the sellswords were ahorse. She’d ridden too long with Dothraki not to have a healthy respect for what mounted warriors could do to foot. The Unsullied could withstand their charge, but my freedmen will be slaughtered. (ASOS Daenerys IV)

Finally, unlike in the books, we don't have a scene on HBO displaying that show!Dany learned important lessons with both the Qartheen and the Astapori. Such lessons inform why she's certain that both Yunkai and the sellswords will at least come and listen to her offer:

“But if they do not come—”

“They’ll come. They will be curious to see the dragons and hear what I might have to say, and the clever ones will see it for a chance to gauge my strength.” (ASOS Daenerys IV)

That being said, there is good in this scene too: 

JORAH: We don't need Yunkai, khaleesi. Taking this city will not bring you any closer to Westeros or the Iron Throne.

DAENERYS: How many slaves are there in Yunkai?

JORAH: 200,000, if not more.

DAENERYS: Then we have 200,000 reasons to take the city.

ASOS Daenerys IV doesn't have a scene where Dany explicitly states that she is in Yunkai because she wants to free the slaves (though her thoughts and actions speak for themselves, making it obvious that she is). The show, on the other hand, makes that fact loud and clear for anyone to grasp it. Dany's selflessness is probably the most important aspect of her characterization, so it's no wonder that this scene (which draws attention to it) was written by GRRM himself. (Benioff, in contrast, focuses on Dany's supposed "Littlefinger style ambition" or on her "divine mission", but never on her moral principles)

*

Before I talk about this show scene in relation to the books, I want to reiterate that yes, it is racist at its core; it employs North African extras as slaves who will be freed by a character played by a British actress, after all. There's no excuse for this and I don't blame any person of color who dislikes show!Dany for this.

That being said, as @yendany​ already laid out in this post, the slaves of the books are of multiple ethnicities; they range from "pale Qartheen" to "ebon-faced Summer Islanders". This stems from the fact that GRRM never meant for the slavery that Dany is battling against to be race-based; he was, instead, inspired by the slavery in the ancient world. Parallels between Dany's storyline and US slavery, on the other hand, are non-racial in nature. Furthermore, it's crucial to notice that Dany is the only major character of ASOIAF interacting with people of color and caring about their struggles in the first place.

All of this is to say that yes, there is racism in this scene (and the books aren't exempt from it), but this is the fault of the show's production. Neither show!Dany nor Dany are white saviors because of it and their storylines still have thematic significance despite GRRM's and D&D's shortcomings. 

In the books, this is not the mode of transportation that the Yunkish envoy chooses to get to Dany:

The envoys from Yunkai arrived as the sun was going down; fifty men on magnificent black horses and one on a great white camel. Their helms were twice as tall as their heads, so as not to crush the bizarre twists and towers and shapes of their oiled hair beneath. They dyed their linen skirts and tunics a deep yellow, and sewed copper disks to their cloaks.

The man on the white camel named himself Grazdan mo Eraz. (ASOS Daenerys IV)

That being said, I would argue that this was a good change because it illustrates the oppression of the Yunkish slaves (who, let's remember, come from lots of different societies and cultures in the books) and reinforces the necessity of show!Dany's revolution.

Meereenese seldom rode within their city walls. They preferred palanquins, litters, and sedan chairs, borne upon the shoulders of their slaves. "Horses befoul the streets," one man of Zakh had told her, "slaves do not." Dany had freed the slaves, yet palanquins, litters, and sedan chairs still choked the streets as before, and none of them floated magically through the air. (ADWD Daenerys VII)

~

The Brazen Beasts did as they were bid. Dany watched them at their work. “Those bearers were slaves before I came. I made them free. Yet that palanquin is no lighter.”

“True,” said Hizdahr, “but those men are paid to bear its weight now. Before you came, that man who fell would have an overseer standing over him, stripping the skin off his back with a whip. Instead he is being given aid.” (ADWD Daenerys IX)

Considering that the palanquins (along with the whip and the tokar) were used to call attention to the mistreatment and the oppression of the unprivileged in the books, it's not surprising that they were also added in the show in an episode written by GRRM to convey the same point.

*

MISSANDEI: Now comes the noble Razdal mo Eraz of that ancient and honorable house, master of men and speaker to savages, to offer terms of peace. Noble lord, you are in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, and Mother of Dragons.

Again, thanks to GRRM's influence, Dany's and the envoy's titles are both announced as a formality, not as comic relief (at best) or as a sign of Dany's arrogance (at worst) like, for example, in her first scene with Jon Snow in season seven.

Also, this is not a key detail, but the Yunkish envoy's name was changed from Grazdan mo Eraz in the books to Razdal mo Eraz in the show. I don't see any reason why GRRM would change his name, which makes me question to which extent the show writers altered certain parts of GRRM's script to their convenience (and they certainly did, as I will show below).

*

RAZDAL: Ancient and glorious is Yunkai. Our empire was old before dragons stirred in old Valyria. Many an army has broken against our walls. You shall find no easy conquest here, khaleesi.

In the books, the Yunkish envoy speaks Valyrian like the Astapori did:

“Missandei, what language will these Yunkai’i speak, Valyrian?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” the child said. “A different dialect than Astapor’s, yet close enough to understand. The slavers name themselves the Wise Masters.” (ASOS Daenerys IV)

And yet, we are seeing the actors talk to each other in English, which is used in the show to indicate that the characters are speaking the Common Tongue. On its own, this is a superfluous change. Still, it's irritating that the show writers allow show!Dany and the Yunkish envoy talk to each other in English here and then will later prevent her from speaking to the freedmen in the same language (which she does in the books, because they also speak Valyrian) at court in episode 4.6. The implications that she's too removed from reality (and her subjects, as seasons five and six will imply), that she is actually quite similar to a master and that she should abide to the Meereenese traditions are all distasteful and completely out of line with what happens in the books. Unfortunately, it could be argued that the seeds of these negative implications are in this episode (though they only become negative in retrospect because of later events and not because of GRRM's writing).

*

Unsurprisingly, the Yunkish envoy's words are almost copied word by word from the books:

RAZDAL: Ancient and glorious is Yunkai. Our empire was old before dragons stirred in old Valyria. Many an army has broken against our walls. You shall find no easy conquest here, khaleesi.

~

“Ancient and glorious is Yunkai, the queen of cities,” he said when Dany welcomed him to her tent. “Our walls are strong, our nobles proud and fierce, our common folk without fear. Ours is the blood of ancient Ghis, whose empire was old when Valyria was yet a squalling child. You were wise to sit and speak, Khaleesi. You shall find no easy conquest here.”

Small changes are made in show!Dany's response to his statement, however:

DAENERYS: Good. My Unsullied need practice. I was told to blood them early.

~

“Good. My Unsullied will relish a bit of a fight.” She looked to Grey Worm, who nodded. (ASOS Daenerys IV)

In the books, this is a subtle but affectionate moment between Dany and Grey Worm. Dany is alluding to Grey Worm having previously told her that the Unsullied "thirst[ed] for blood" and that he hoped to show her that "the Unsullied learn the way of the three spears" (in stark contrast to the Yunkish bed slaves).

In the show, while the context surrounding show!Dany's mention of the Unsullied was changed from the books, I would argue that the scene is no less effective for it. It displays show!Dany's intelligence by having her recall Kraznys's advice and be intent on following it.

*

In both versions, the Yunkish envoy attempts to bribe Dany into leaving the city:

“And yet, why should we speak thus harshly to one another? It is true that you committed savageries in Astapor, but we Yunkai’i are a most forgiving people. Your quarrel is not with us, Your Grace. Why squander your strength against our mighty walls when you will need every man to regain your father’s throne in far Westeros? Yunkai wishes you only well in that endeavor. And to prove the truth of that, I have brought you a gift.” He clapped his hands, and two of his escort came forward bearing a heavy cedar chest bound in bronze and gold. They set it at her feet. “Fifty thousand golden marks,” Grazdan said smoothly. “Yours, as a gesture of friendship from the Wise Masters of Yunkai. Gold given freely is better than plunder bought with blood, surely? So I say to you, Daenerys Targaryen, take this chest, and go.”

Dany pushed open the lid of the chest with a small slippered foot. It was full of gold coins, just as the envoy said. She grabbed a handful and let them run through her fingers. They shone brightly as they tumbled and fell; new minted, most of them, stamped with a stepped pyramid on one face and the harpy of Ghis on the other. (ASOS Daenerys IV)

~

RAZDAL: If blood is your desire, blood shall flow. But why? 'Tis true you have committed savageries in Astapor. But the Yunkai are a forgiving and generous people. The wise masters of Yunkai have sent a gift for the silver queen. There is far more than this awaiting you on the deck of your ship.

DAENERYS: My ship?

RAZDAL: Yes, khaleesi. As I said, we are a generous people. You shall have as many ships as you require.

DAENERYS: And what do you ask in return?

RAZDAL: All we ask is that you make use of these ships. Sail them back to Westeros where you belong and leave us to conduct our affairs in peace.

In the show, the envoy offers her even more rewards than he had in the books; while the Dany of the books was offered "fifty thousand golden marks", show!Dany was offered an unspecified amount of gold that fills the deck of a ship and "as many ships as [she] require[s]".

In both versions, Dany declines the offer. Show!Dany is explicitly shown refusing it because of her moral duty towards the slaves (who, let's remember, come from lots of different societies and cultures in the books), which is a callback to episode 3.3:

Even if we don't have show!Dany attempting to spare the Astapori freedmen's lives like she does in the books, GRRM still hammers home that her ultimate goal is selfless - to free the Yunkish slaves and end slavery in the region.

*

Dany's "gift" to the Yunkish envoy was altered from book to show, but her sole request was largely kept the same:  

DAENERYS: I have a gift for you as well. Your life.

RAZDAL: My life?

DAENERYS: And the lives of your wise masters. But I also want something in return. You will release every slave in Yunkai. Every man, woman, and child shall be given as much food, clothing, and property as they can carry as payment for their years of servitude. Reject this gift, and I shall show you no mercy.

~

“I have a gift for you as well.” She slammed the chest shut. “Three days. On the morning of the third day, send out your slaves. All of them. Every man, woman, and child shall be given a weapon, and as much food, clothing, coin, and goods as he or she can carry. These they shall be allowed to choose freely from among their masters’ possessions, as payment for their years of servitude. When all the slaves have departed, you will open your gates and allow my Unsullied to enter and search your city, to make certain none remain in bondage. If you do this, Yunkai will not be burned or plundered, and none of your people shall be molested. The Wise Masters will have the peace they desire, and will have proved themselves wise indeed. What say you?” (ASOS Daenerys IV)

I would say that these scenes have the same spirit, though there are some differences between them as well.

In the books, Dany tells the envoy that she'll give him three days to free the slaves only to deceive the Yunkish and attack them when they least expect it. This, as I've argued before, is no proof of Dany's "tyranny", but rather her prioritization of the freedmen's lives (who would have been slaughtered against mounted warriors if not in a surprise attack) over the nobility's, which is an attitude that she should have maintained throughout the rest of ASOS and the entirety of ADWD.

On HBO, show!Dany will not attack Yunkai in the same night, so having her give the master three days to decide what to do wouldn't have the same significance. One could argue that show!Dany is being more explicitly threatening than Dany ("Reject this gift, and I shall show you no mercy") during her interaction with the envoy, but this line is certainly not out of character for Dany, who tells Barristan that "Yunkai will have war" in the same chapter where her talk with Grazdan takes place.

There are key things in common between the books' depiction of the scene versus the show's as well: Dany promises that "Yunkai will not be burned or plundered, and none of your people shall be molested"; show!Dany's gift is the envoy's life "and the lives of [his] wise masters". Dany asks for as much "food, clothing, coin and goods" as the former slaves can carry "for their years of servitude" after three days; show!Dany asks for "every man, woman and child" to "be given as much food, clothing and property as they can carry for their years of servitude". These show lines exhibit that, ultimately, show!Dany is also primarily focused on freeing the slaves and on attempting to be as conciliatory as possible.

*

One small detail is altered from books to show regarding the envoy's answer to Dany's offer:

RAZDAL: You are mad. We are not Astapor or Qarth.

~

“I say, you are mad.” (ASOS Daenerys IV)

In both versions, the envoy calls Dany mad, but Qarth is never brought up as an example of Dany's "treacherous" nature, only Astapor:

“You took Astapor by treachery, but Yunkai shall not fall so easily.” (ASOS Daenerys IV)

~

“And yet, why should we speak thus harshly to one another? It is true that you committed savageries in Astapor, but we Yunkai’i are a most forgiving people.[”] (ASOS Daenerys IV)

This addition was most likely made because, on HBO, show!Dany locked show!Xaro and show!Doreah inside the former's vault to die. I suppose that it makes sense for the show writers to pay attention to their own continuity, though that makes me question why Kraznys and the other Astapori slavers weren't also aware that show!Dany was not (in their perspective) trustworthy by the time she arrived to negotiate with them. It wasn't convenient to pay attention to the continuity in the beginning of season three, I guess. I also doubt that GRRM wrote this bit of his own volition (unless he was told to do so).

*

Now we get to what some people tend to see as the most controversial parts of Dany's exchange with the envoy. On HBO, it's show!Dany's decision to take the envoy's gold; in the books, it's Dany's burning of the envoy's tokar:

RAZDAL: You are mad. We are not Astapor or Qarth. We are Yunkai and we have powerful friends. Friends who would take great pleasure in destroying you. Those who survive, we shall enslave once more. Perhaps we'll make a slave of you as well.

REZNAK: You swore me safe conduct.

DAENERYS: I did, but my dragons made no promises. And you threatened their mother.

~

“I say, you are mad.”

“Am I?” Dany shrugged, and said, “Dracarys.”

The dragons answered. Rhaegal hissed and smoked, Viserion snapped, and Drogon spat swirling red-black flame. It touched the drape of Grazdan’s tokar, and the silk caught in half a heartbeat. Golden marks spilled across the carpets as the envoy stumbled over the chest, shouting curses and beating at his arm until Whitebeard flung a flagon of water over him to douse the flames. “You swore I should have safe conduct!” the Yunkish envoy wailed.

“Do all the Yunkai’i whine so over a singed tokar? I shall buy you a new one ... if you deliver up your slaves within three days. Elsewise, Drogon shall give you a warmer kiss.” (ASOS Daenerys IV)

People who think that the Dany of the books is more morally grey than show!Dany tend to use the event above as an example that supposedly "proves" their point, since Dany's burning of the envoy's tokar in the books doesn't happen in the show. Not only this conveniently ignores that the show cut so many of Dany's moments of compassion and self-deprecation and that it gave show!Dany many scenes that complicate her character's morality more than any from the books (e.g. her decision to feed one master to her two dragons arbitrarily), it also overlooks the fact that Dany uses her dragons to intimidate the envoy (rather than to punish him in any way). By making sure that he takes her seriously, Dany's threat of a "warmer kiss" becomes much more alarming, which is only necessary in a world where men think that it's normal to underestimate her and dismiss her as a "whore". More importantly, it must be remembered that Dany's threat to the envoy (who was never actually hurt) was made because she wants to free the slaves of Yunkai. All in all, considering a) the level of damage she caused (none), b) her selfless intentions and c) that we're talking about a book series/TV show full of rapists and murderers from a pseudomedieval world, this is not a morally grey action.

It must be noted, however, that GRRM himself observed that show!Dany's burning of the envoy's tokar was a moment cut from his original script and that he wishes that it had been included. I suppose I can understand why the author is frustrated by this particular change, since this has ramifications later when Yunkai remembers what happened to Grazdan and then refuses to accept any peace agreement until Dany marries another slaver.

Still, I think that the exclusion of this moment is compensated by this show change:

RAZDAL: Take the gold.

DAENERYS: My gold. You gave it to me, remember? And I shall put it to good use. You'd be wise to do the same with my gift to you. Now get out.

~

“You’ve soiled yourself. Take your gold and go, and see that the Wise Masters hear my message.” (ASOS Daenerys IV)

In the books, Dany doesn't take the envoy's gold. In the show, however, she does.

Like with Dany's burning of the envoy's tokar, show!Dany's decision to take his gold is not really a morally grey action because it's motivated by (and will finance) her anti-slavery campaign.

Like with Dany's burning of the envoy's tokar, this decision leads many fans to judge show!Dany much more harshly than they should, as this stupid gifset shows. @yendany​ has already exhaustively laid out why neither Dany nor show!Dany (whose actions, albeit often undermined in comparison to her book counterpart, are still in keeping with Dany's motivations) are imperialists, so check out her metas about this issue.

By comparing these two scenes, my intent is to argue that the omission of Dany's burning of the envoy's tokar isn't that detrimental in the grand scheme of things. Its purpose was not to make Dany more morally grey as some people think, it was meant to complicate the negotiations of a peace agreement between Dany and Yunkai (which never occurs in the show). If they wanted something to complicate the peace agreement (which, again, was never added into season five), they could have brought up show!Dany taking Razdal's gold (which, while also not a morally grey action, would certainly piss the Yunkish slavers off), but they would have to have cared about adapting Dany's ADWD storyline well to think about that.

*

BARRISTAN: The Yunkish are a proud people. They will not bend.

DAENERYS: And what happens to things that don't bend?

This response from show!Dany portrays her as more unyielding than the books do. This is not necessarily a bad thing (and it's not as if Dany didn't struggle with accepting the slavers' actions, opinions and customs in the books as well), but it goes against how the books have Dany still developing her political values along the way based on her experiences. Also, while this original line is fine on its own, in light of the show's ending, it may have helped to portray show!Dany as inflexible enough to become a Well-Intentioned Extremist in the eyes of the show writers and some fans (we know, however, that this ending is OOC for show!Dany as well and that it carries many, many horrible implications).

*

DAENERYS: He said he had powerful friends. Who was he talking about?

JORAH: I don't know.

DAENERYS: Find out.

Again, is this from GRRM or the show writers? In the books, as I already said, Dany knows who the Yunkish's "powerful friends" are right away:

“Those are sellswords on the flanks. Lances and mounted bowmen, with swords and axes for the close work. The Second Sons on the left wing, the Stormcrows to the right. About five hundred men apiece. See the banners?” (ASOS Daenerys IV)

This was changed because, again, they want to make the events of ASOS Daenerys IV last for multiple episodes. Still, I wonder if GRRM cared enough to respect the show's continuity or if the show writers made changes to what he wrote.

Episode 3.8: Second Sons

We get back to D&D's writing of show!Dany with "Second Sons".

Scene 7

Remember when I said that we would get two scenes of Dany and her advisors assessing the enemy forces in the show (this only happens once in the books)? Well, we have reached the second one.

BARRISTAN:  Men who fight for gold have neither honour nor loyalty. They cannot be trusted.

JORAH: They can be trusted to kill you if they’re well paid. The Yunkish are paying them well.

Show!Barristan's and show!Jorah's counsels above are show only.

It's not out of character for Barristan to distrust sellswords and men who don't behave in a way that is socially perceived as honorable in general. The problem is that the show writers have him express his feelings only for show!Jorah to question and refute them without show!Barristan being allowed to give any response, which undermines the latter (like they did in episodes 3.3 and 3.5 as well) in the eyes of the audience in favor of show!Jorah's perspective.

In the books, both Jorah and Barristan are shown distrusting sellswords, especially Mero:

But when Mero was gone, Arstan Whitebeard said, “That one has an evil reputation, even in Westeros. Do not be misled by his manner, Your Grace. He will drink three toasts to your health tonight, and rape you on the morrow.”

“The old man’s right for once,” Ser Jorah said. “The Second Sons are an old company, and not without valor, but under Mero they’ve turned near as bad as the Brave Companions. The man is as dangerous to his employers as to his foes. That’s why you find him out here. None of the Free Cities will hire him any longer.” (ASOS Daenerys IV)

What's irritating about this change in show!Jorah's character is that Jorah's attempts to isolate Dany from other men are a key aspect of their relationship in the books. Having show!Jorah trust the sellswords if they're well-paid overlooks this side of their dynamic and portrays him as reasonable rather than often motivated by jealousy like he is in the books. It also helps to popularize stupid takes like this one.

I would also like to call attention to Dany's response to their advice in the books:

“It is not his reputation that I want, it’s his five hundred horse.[”] (ASOS Daenerys IV)

As I said before, I find it interesting that Dany isn't really concerned about the sellswords' lack of morals. Moments like this and the one later in ADWD Daenerys VIII when she finds that being “dishonorable and greedy” can be advantageous if she wants the sellswords to turn to her side show that Dany is actually quite down-to-earth and flexible and doesn’t suffer from moral righteousness like the show writers seem to think.

Show!Dany expresses a similar view by thinking that the Second Sons might turn to her side because she has a larger strength (more on that below). That being said, she is mostly shown listening and making questions:

DAENERYS: You know these men?

~

DAENERYS: Is he more titan or bastard?

~

DAENERYS: How many?

~

DAENERYS: Enough to make a difference?

The books don't show Dany being as dependent on her advisors' feedback as show!Dany is. I don't want to be overly judgmental of show!Dany, but this is something that irks me because Bryan Cogman has said in an interview that he thinks that Dany relies too much on Jorah to obtain information about Essosi culture. It's not untrue that he gives her knowledge that she doesn't have, but this statement ignores the fact that Dany applies that knowledge and has her own (because she's lived in Essos for longer than Jorah) and that she has her own opinions and makes many decisions on her own as well. The show often overlooks these nuances because the writers are intent on making her more ignorant and ineffective than in the books to "compensate" for her strengths and achievements (more on this later).

*

JORAH: Only by the broken swords on their banners. They’re called the Second Sons. A company led by a Braavosi named Mero, the Titan’s Bastard.

DAENERYS: Is he more titan or bastard?

JORAH: He’s a dangerous man, Khaleesi. They all are.

A rare occasion where show!Dany is allowed to have a sense of humor (which her book counterpart displays much more often). What's a shame is that the show writers only know how to write offensive jokes for her (see also this one) and for most of the other characters in general.

I also dislike the implication that show!Dany's joke indicates that she is underestimating the threat that the Second Sons pose. It's certainly not out of character for Jorah to be condescending towards Dany, but I don't think that's how the show writers intended his response to come across; as I've talked about exhaustively by now, the show writers have a much more positive view of Jorah than GRRM does.

*

Another change is that the show writers increased the size of the Second Sons. In the books, the Stormcrows (which was condensed into the Second Sons in the show) have five hundred men and the Second Sons five hundred as well, making them one thousand rather than two thousand men:

“Those are sellswords on the flanks. Lances and mounted bowmen, with swords and axes for the close work. The Second Sons on the left wing, the Stormcrows to the right. About five hundred men apiece.[”]

~

DAENERYS: How many?

BARRISTAN: Two thousand, Your Grace. Armoured and mounted.

As I will show later, this goes in line with the show writers' tendency to undermine Dany against the sellswords in comparison to the books. It also goes in line with how they previously undermined the value of show!Dany's possessions compared to what she has in the books to undermine to extent of her sacrifice.

*

DAENERYS: How many?

BARRISTAN: Two thousand, Your Grace. Armoured and mounted.

DAENERYS: Enough to make a difference? (after Barristan nods "yes") It’s hard to collect wages from a corpse. I’m sure the sellswords prefer to fight for the winning side.

JORAH: I imagine you’re right.

DAENERYS: I’d like to talk to the Titan’s Bastard about winning.

Like in the books, show!Dany is also aware that her military strength vastly surpasses that of the Yunkish's and that this might persuade the sellswords to turn to her side.

My gripe with the show (which I'll talk about below) is that it'll challenge the fact that show!Dany would indeed triumph in a battle against Yunkai more than the books ever did. There, the conflict for Dany was not about whether she would win or not (she certainly would), but rather that winning would have meant allowing more freedmen to die as collateral damage than she's willing to do. Once again, the show writers are going to miss the point, which makes show!Dany seem less effective than her book counterpart.

*

DAENERYS: I’d like to talk to the Titan’s Bastard about winning.

BARRISTAN: He may not agree to meet.

DAENERYS: He will. A man who fights for gold can’t afford to lose to a girl.

In the books, Jorah is the one who questions if the sellswords will meet with Dany:

“The slavers like to talk,” she said. “Send word that I will hear them this evening in my tent. And invite the captains of the sellsword companies to call on me as well. But not together. The Stormcrows at midday, the Second Sons two hours later.”

“As you wish,” Ser Jorah said. “But if they do not come—” (ASOS Daenerys IV)

Which is in line with his tendency to question her authority (though, to be fair, this is one of the least offensive examples). Meanwhile, Barristan is the one who respects Dany as his liege.

Dany's answer to her advisor is also different:

“They’ll come. They will be curious to see the dragons and hear what I might have to say, and the clever ones will see it for a chance to gauge my strength.” She wheeled her silver mare about. “I’ll await them in my pavilion.” (ASOS Daenerys IV)

As I had already mentioned in my review of episode 3.7, this moment indicates that Dany learned important lessons with both the Qartheen and the Astapori, which is why she is sure that they will agree to meet with her.

On HBO, show!Dany brings up the fact that sellswords "can't afford to lose to a girl", which is true, but why would that be a reason for them to agree to meet with her? Isn't it more likely that, because she is a girl and, therefore, not perceived as a threat, they don't even bother going to meet with her because they (think they) know that she will lose? I don't really understand her point, which seems more like a typical moment of faux empowerment from this show.

*

BARRISTAN: Your Grace, allow me to present the captains of the Second Sons, Mero of Braavos, Prendahl na Ghezn, and, um…

DAARIO: Daario Naharis.

Much has been said about how none of the two show versions of Daario resemble his book counterpart in physical appearance (check out his description in the books here), so I'm only making a brief acknowledgement of that (admittedly radical) change in this review and leaving it at that. It's not really relevant to what I want to focus on (i.e., the changes in Dany's characterization and storyline from book to show) and I dislike how some people keep overfocusing on his looks to point out that Dany supposedly has a ~bad taste~ in men. It's much more important to acknowledge that Daario (both versions) gives Dany the chance to have sexual autonomy for the first time in her life.

*

MERO: You are the Mother of Dragons? I swear I fucked you once in a pleasure house in Lys. JORAH: Mind your tongue.

In the books, it's not Jorah who answers this asshole, it's Dany herself:

“I believe I fucked your twin sister in a pleasure house back home. Or was it you?”

“I think not. I would remember a man of such magnificence, I have no doubt.”
 (ASOS Daenerys IV)

His next insult is also adapted word by word from the books, which hints at the show writers' priorities:

MERO: You’ll all be slaves after the battle, unless I save you. Take your clothes off and come and sit on Mero’s lap, and I may give you my Second Sons.

DAENERYS: Give me your Second Sons and I may not have you gelded.

~

“What say you take those clothes off and come sit on my lap? If you please me, I might bring the Second Sons over to your side.”

“If you bring the Second Sons over to my side, I might not have you gelded.” (ASOS Daenerys IV)

Heck, the amount of profanity in the books is already problematic and the show makes it worse by adding even more:

MERO: Why? I didn’t mind hers. She licked my ass like she was born to do it.

~

MERO: Show me your cunt. I want to see if it’s worth fighting for.

~

MERO: After the battle, maybe we’ll all share you. I’ll come looking for you when this is over.

And that's not even considering that the sellswords get one scene for themselves in this episode (more on that later), ugh.

To top this all off, many of Dany's excellent comebacks to the sellswords' remarks in the books are erased in the show:

“Woman?” She chuckled. “Is that meant to insult me? I would return the slap, if I took you for a man.” Dany met his stare. “I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the Unburnt, Mother of Dragons, khaleesi to Drogo’s riders, and queen of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros.”

~

“No need. After my eunuchs cut it off, I can examine it at my leisure.”

~

“So it is from you they get their courage?” Dany turned to Ser Jorah. “When the battle is joined, kill this one first.”

The last remark is included, but is also decontextualized in a way that prevents it from displaying Dany's competence like it does in the books. I'll get to it later.

*

DAENERYS: Give me your Second Sons and I may not have you gelded. Ser Barristan, how many men fight for the Second Sons?

BARRISTAN: Under two thousand, Your Grace.

DAENERYS: We have more, don’t we?

BARRISTAN: Ten thousand, Unsullied.

DAENERYS: I’m only a young girl, new to the ways of war, but perhaps a seasoned captain like yourself can explain to me how you propose to defeat us.

DAARIO: I hope the old man is better with a sword than he is with a lie. You have eight thousand Unsullied.

Like in the books, Dany inflates her number of Unsullied:

“Five hundred of your Stormcrows against ten thousand of my Unsullied,” said Dany. “I am only a young girl and do not understand the ways of war, yet these odds seem poor to me.” (ASOS Daenerys IV)

~

“It is true that I am only a young girl, and do not know the ways of war. Explain to me how you propose to defeat ten thousand Unsullied with your five hundred. Innocent as I am, these odds seem poor to me.” (ASOS Daenerys IV)

However, the show writers have show!Daario find out that show!Dany was lying about her military strength when this never happens in the books. Indeed, they seem hellbent on undermining show!Dany, since they even decreased her actual number of soldiers from eight thousand and six hundred in the books to eight thousand in the show.

This change heavily implies to me that the show writers believe that show!Dany is indeed "only a young girl, new to the ways of war" and that they want the audience to perceive her as one. (see also David Benioff saying that show!Dany goes "back to being a really frightened little girl" when her dragons are stolen in season two or Bryan Cogman's comment on her supposed ignorance of Essosi culture)

And this is just so wrong because this is the opposite of what GRRM is doing in the books.

As I already analyzed in this meta, in the books, Dany is the one who correctly guesses the enemy's military strength (yes, she is the one who gets to do that in the books, not Daario). Dany is the one who is shown applying her knowledge of the Dothraki forces to understand (on her own) that her freedmen are vulnerable against the sellswords. Dany is the one who applies her historical knowledge of the Second Sons to intimidate Mero. Dany is the one who gets to outline the tactical plan to take Yunkai (which the show writers will frustratingly have show!Daario concoct in the next episode). Dany is the one who stayed in the room and listened as her military commanders worked out the details to implement her plan. The latter case is particularly noticeable because GRRM cared to show Dany exposing her plan onpage, but he didn't care to write about how her advisors fleshed it out: that's because he prioritizes the development of his female lead character over his supporting male characters'. Despite certain flaws in his writing, GRRM goes out of his way to portray Dany as more than just a "young girl, new to the ways of war". It's a shame that the show writers can't do the same with her show counterpart.

The thing with Dany (both versions) is that she is a power fantasy in so many ways; she is the female protagonist of ASOIAF, she is genuinely kind and selfless, she is mother to three dragons and to thousands of people, she is a dragonrider and will become an action heroine, she is the only monarch with a claim to the Iron Throne who gets her own POV chapters, she is from a family renowned for their godlike beauty, she is a messianic hero, she fulfills so many prophecies, she has so many titles (and all of them were hard-won), she is the Fire of the song of ice and fire...

To many fans (including the show writers), she just can't be that big of a deal! There must be something wrong with her! If she is holding so much power, there must also be the risk of her becoming a tyrant. If she is a successful conqueror, she must also be ignorant (sometimes she is, sometimes she isn't, like a normal person) and arrogant (she isn't) and not think far enough ahead (she does). If she is a revolutionary who gets to enact her idealism (and deal with the negative results of her mistakes) onpage, she can't be the embodiment of hope for the future at the same time.

What I'm saying is that the show writers' tendency to undermine Dany's positive qualities and overstate her flaws (or create new ones or judge her by unfair double standards) mirror the ASOIAF fandom's and that the underlying assumption behind these attempts (i.e. that Dany can't be as great as she seems to be) is misogynistic at its core.

*

PRENDAHL: Our contract is our bond. If we break our bond, no one will hire the Second Sons again.

This is not a very important change in the grand scheme of things, but, in the books, Mero is the one who says something along those lines:

“You are worth fighting for, it is true,” the Braavosi said, “and I would gladly let you kiss my sword, if I were free. But I have taken Yunkai’s coin and pledged my holy word.” (ASOS Daenerys IV)

Prendahl, on the other hand, brings up that the Stormcrows (which is his company in the books) has the support of Yunkish forces and predictably dismisses Dany as a "whore" in order to explain why he won't join her side:

“The Stormcrows do not stand alone [...] We fight beside the stalwart men of Yunkai.” (ASOS Daenerys IV)

~

“What you are,” said Prendahl na Ghezn, “is a horselord’s whore. When we break you, I will breed you to my stallion.” (ASOS Daenerys IV)

His anger at Dany stems from both his misogyny and the fact that Dany's sack of Astapor led to the deaths of some of his relatives:

“That Prendahl is Ghiscari by blood. Likely he had kin in Astapor.” (ASOS Daenerys IV)

While these changes are not the most significant ones, it's noteworthy that Prendahl only appears in one scene seen through Dany's perspective in the books and receives more detailed motivations than in the show, where he gets a scene of his own (more on that later).

*

DAARIO: You have no ships. You have no siege weapons. You have no cavalry.

DAENERYS: A fortnight ago, I had no army. A year ago, I had no dragons.  

While I like that show!Dany is at least allowed to offer a response to show!Daario's remark, this wasn't supposed to have happened in the first place. Neither Daario nor any of the men that Dany interacts with are shown questioning her in this way in the books. It's another infuriating attempt to undermine show!Dany. Moreover, she is the one who is shown to be conscious of her own limitations in the books, not Daario:

Dany considered. The slaver host seemed small compared to her own numbers, but the sellswords were ahorse. She’d ridden too long with Dothraki not to have a healthy respect for what mounted warriors could do to foot. (ASOS Daenerys IV)

Why was this changed? I'm not sure. Because the show writers are deliberately trying to make show!Dany look worse than her book counterpart? Because they are unaware of the sexism underlying their writing choices? Because this makes show!Daario seem "more interesting" in his introduction (to the detriment of show!Dany's characterization)? All of these reasons or something else entirely?

Also, while I enjoy show!Dany's assertion on its own, I also know that it's probably informed by Benioff's false belief that Dany "feels like she has this almost divine mission and nothing is gonna prevent her from achieving it". The Dany of the books is neither prophecy-driven nor aware of her heroic destiny and, while it wouldn't be a problem if she were, it is a problem in the show because its writers constantly undermine, look down upon and villainize her character for her ambition, her drive and her self-awareness.

*

MERO: Show me your cunt. I want to see if it’s worth fighting for.

GREY WORM: My Queen, shall I slice out his tongue for you?

DAENERYS: These men are our guests.

In the books, as I've already mentioned in my review of episode 3.7 above, Grey Worm and Dany's brief interaction is different. I like how their show interaction displays his protectiveness of her, though it was unnecessary to add more sexual harassment to do so. Also, in the books, Jorah is the one outraged at Mero's treatment of Dany, though not primarily because she doesn't deserve to be treated like this, but rather because he wants to keep her to himself:

“I will like the taste of your tongue, I think.”

She could sense Ser Jorah’s anger. My black bear does not like this talk of kissing. (ASOS Daenerys IV)

*

DAENERYS: You seem to be enjoying my wine. Perhaps you’d like a flagon to help you ponder.

MERO: Only a flagon? And what are my brothers in arms to drink?

DAENERYS: A barrel, then.

MERO: Good. The Titan’s Bastard does not drink alone. In the Second Sons, we share everything.

In the books, Dany gives Mero a wagon of wine too, but there is a strategic reason behind why she does so - it makes them easier targets to attack at night:

“An hour past midnight should be time enough.”

“Yes, Khaleesi,” said Rakharo. “Time for what?”


“To mount our attack.”


Ser Jorah Mormont scowled. “You told the sellswords—”

“—that I wanted their answers on the morrow. I made no promises about tonight. The Stormcrows will be arguing about my offer. The Second Sons will be drunk on the wine I gave Mero. And the Yunkai’i believe they have three days. We will take them under cover of this darkness.” (ASOS Daenerys IV)

In the show, there's no purpose behind her favor, which is ultimately just what it seems to be. Unfortunately, this goes in line with the show writers' tendency to diminish Dany's skills and agency, which I've already criticized above.

*

MERO: In the Second Sons, we share everything. After the battle, maybe we’ll all share you. I’ll come looking for you when this is over. DAENERYS: Ser Barristan, if it comes to battle, kill that one first. BARRISTAN: Gladly, Your Grace.

I've said above that Dany's order to kill Mero first in battle was decontextualized from the books to the show in a way that prevents it from showcasing her competence. Here's why:

“The Second Sons have faced worse odds and run. At Qohor, when the Three Thousand made their stand. Or do you deny it?”

“That was many and more years ago, before the Second Sons were led by the Titan’s Bastard.”

“So it is from you they get their courage?” Dany turned to Ser Jorah. “When the battle is joined, kill this one first.”

The exile knight smiled. “Gladly, Your Grace.” (ASOS Daenerys IV)

As we can see from the quote, in the books, Dany orders Jorah to kill Mero first in battle to Mero's face in response to his poor attempt of self-aggrandizement. By doing so, she aptly manages to undermine him, which makes this a noteworthy display of her rhetoric skills and her self-composure.

On HBO, show!Dany tells show!Barristan (instead of Jorah) to kill Mero first as an emotional response to him slapping show!Missandei's butt. This change is both gratuitous (since it's more harassment that was never in the books to begin with) and superfluous (since we already knew that show!Dany has admirable moral principles, but we didn't get to know more about her capabilities like we do in the books).

Scene 8

This scene is pointless (for being about minor characters who were never meant to have scenes of their own and taking up time that could have been invested on show!Dany's development and storyline), redundant (for not telling us anything about them that we didn't already know) and offensive (for giving us more unnecessary profanity and female sexualization).

First, the scene doesn't even spend that much time on these commanders' decision-making, it's mostly about being gratuitous for its own sake:

MERO: She won’t talk so much when she’s choking on my cock. DAARIO: Eight thousand Unsullied stand between her and your cock. MERO: My cock will find a way. Tell him. Is there any place that my cock can’t reach? DAARIO: She’ll tell me whatever you pay her to tell me.

What does this say about Mero other than the fact that he's a misogynistic prick (which was already abundantly clear)? Why are we getting a scene featuring him that isn't seen through show!Dany's eyes?

PRENDAHL: That dragon bitch. She talks too much. DAARIO: You talk too much.

Like I said above, the show gives us more time with Prendahl and still manages to give him less detailed motivations than in the books (where he's not just driven by misogyny, but also by resentment for the deaths of his relatives during Dany's sack of Astapor).

MERO: Daario Naharis, the whore who doesn’t like whores.

DAARIO: I like them very much. I just refuse to pay them. And I’m no whore, my friend.

MERO: She sells her sheath, and you sell your blade. What’s the difference?

DAARIO: I fight for beauty.

PRENDAHL: For beauty?

MERO: We fight for gold.

DAARIO: The Gods gave men two gifts to entertain ourselves before we die, the thrill of fucking a woman who wants to be fucked and the thrill of killing a man who wants to kill you.

MERO: You’ll die young.

I'm gonna talk more about this when show!Daario meets with show!Dany in the next scene, but I really dislike the implication that he is only motivated to fight for show!Dany because of her beauty rather than because she has more chances to come off as the upcoming battle's winner. In the books, Dany's victory against Yunkai was certain (her main struggle, as I already said, was that she didn't want so many of her freedmen to die in battle).

Show!Daario's hedonistic nature is arguably in character with his book counterpart:

“...I count no day as lived unless I have loved a woman, slain a foeman, and eaten a fine meal ... and the days that I have lived are as numberless as the stars in the sky. I make of slaughter a thing of beauty, and many a tumbler and fire dancer has wept to the gods that they might be half so quick, a quarter so graceful. I would tell you the names of all the men I have slain, but before I could finish your dragons would grow large as castles, the walls of Yunkai would crumble into yellow dust, and winter would come and go and come again.” (ASOS Daenerys IV)

But this is beside the point. Again, why are we spending time with him and these men when they were only meant to service Dany's development and storyline in the books?

Their strategic concerns are only briefly addressed and their plan to solve them is ridiculous and nonsensical:

PRENDAHL: What do we do about the dragon girl? We can’t beat eight thousand Unsullied on the battlefield.

MERO: There won’t be a battle, and we don’t have to deal with her eunuchs. We only have to deal with her.

PRENDAHL: She’s wellguarded.

MERO: Tonight’s a new moon. One of us slips into her camp past her Unsullied and her knights.

What's even stupider than the plan itself is the fact that it works in the show. Yes, the show validated Mero's plan, because it would rather show off his abilities rather than those of its female protagonist. To validate anything that Mero says or does reinforces how tone-deaf the show writers are to the unfortunate implications in their writing.

In the books, Dany's guards are actually competent and catch Daario when he attempts to meet with her, so this plan obviously wouldn't have worked there:

“The Unsullied caught one of the sellswords trying to sneak into the camp.”

“A spy?” That frightened her. If they’d caught one, how many others might have gotten away?

“He claims to come bearing gifts. It’s the yellow fool with the blue hair.”

Daario Naharis. “That one. I’ll hear him, then.” (ASOS Daenerys IV)

To top it all off, their moronic plan is worked out while another woman is being sexualized just for the sake of it:

DAARIO: Which one of us?

MERO: Close your eyes, love. Three coins. A coin from Meereen, a coin from Volantis, and a coin from Braavos. The Braavosi does the deed. One for each of us, darling. No peeking. 

DAARIO: Do you hear me? Follow my voice. I’m right here. You have something for me? Valar Morghulis.

I'm not trying to say that the books are free from gratuitous sexualization and misogyny; they are definitely not. That being said, the military commanders' and the envoy's slut-shaming of Dany stands in contrast with how Dany becomes a mother and a cult figure to the Yunkish freedmen by the end of the same chapter. This contrast could be interpreted as social commentary about how Dany falls prey to a Madonna-whore dichotomy based on whether she's loved or hated by the people of this patriarchal world. The moments where Dany interacts with these men in the books (and the show) add to such social commentary; this show only scene where these men interact with each other without show!Dany's presence don't have anything meaningful to say. It manages to be both pointless and offensive at the same time.

Scene 9

DAENERYS: Nineteen?

MISSANDEI: Yes, Your Grace.

DAENERYS: How can anyone speak languages?

MISSANDEI: It only took Your Grace a year to learn Dothraki reasonably well.

DAENERYS: Yes, well, it was either learn Dothraki or grunt at my husband and hope… What do you mean, “reasonably well”?

MISSANDEI: Dothraki is difficult for the mouth to master. So guttural and harsh.

DAENERYS: Drogo said I spoke Dothraki like one born to it. It gave him great pride.

MISSANDEI: Athjahakar.

DAENERYS: Athjahaka.

MISSANDEI: Athjahakar.

DAENERYS: Athjahakar. Well, I suppose I’m a bit out of practice.

MISSANDEI: Your High Valyrian is very good, Your Grace. The Gods could not devise a more perfect tongue. It is the only proper language for poetry.

I love show!Dany and show!Missandei's relationship and am up for any scene where the two get to interact with each other just for the sake of it. That being said, why does their first bonding moment have to be about how show!Dany's Dothraki language skills aren't as developed as she thought they were? Ugh, she is so lacking in self-awareness because she's too arrogant, amirite? Only a man who's sexually interested in her would praise her skills, amirite (more on this later)? The underlying implications in these show only additions are annoying and unintended at best and offensive and malicious at worst.

Besides, why couldn't they have had show!Dany and show!Missandei talk to each other about their difficult past experiences and how they empathize with one another? Why couldn't the scene have focused on showing that they are growing fond of each other or explored the interesting aspects of their book dynamic (With the necessary adjustments to fit show!Missandei's age, of course)? So much wasted potential.

Also, I hate that they have show!Dany say that her Dothraki is rusty, since it implies that she hasn't been interacting with her khalasar at all (unlike in the books, where she constantly talks to them and/or thinks of them and/or is shown to be in the same room with them).

*

I've already talked about how Daario never successfully invades Dany's camp in the books because her guards are actually qualified there and how this is another way to undermine her character's competence. I'm going to address other things now.

For starters, the setup of show!Dany and show!Daario's second meeting is changed from the books. There, she was fully clothed in the company of her retinue. On HBO, show!Dany is much more vulnerable: she is naked, taking a bath, with only with Missandei by her side and at the mercy of show!Daario's willingness to spare her. It's an unnecessary and offensive change made solely for the sake of hyping up show!Daario's character (at the expense of the female lead character's effectiveness).

I also want to focus on this part of their interaction:

DAENERYS: You were sent here to kill me? So why haven’t you?

DAARIO: I don’t want to.

DAENERYS: What do your captains have to say about that?

DAARIO: You should ask them.

DAENERYS: Why?

DAARIO: We had philosophical differences.

DAENERYS: Over what?

DAARIO: Your beauty. It meant more to me than it did to them.

DAENERYS: You’re a strange man.

DAARIO: I’m the simplest man you’ll ever meet. I only do what I want to do.

DAENERYS: And this is supposed to impress me?

DAARIO: Yes.

It's true that the Daario of the books also brings up Dany's beauty as a reason why he decided to join her, but we shouldn't take his word for granted. Unlike in the show, the books never question that Dany's odds of winning a battle against Yunkai are indeed very high, so it stands to reason that Daario turned to her side primarily because he's opportunistic and, as Dany puts it, "would sooner sup on gold and glory than on death".

Meanwhile, on HBO, because of the writers' numerous attempts to undermine show!Dany's military strength, skills, possessions and accomplishments, show!Daario's statement that he decided to join show!Dany because of her beauty seems like something that we're supposed to take at face value. This is gross and, in light of how they tried to imply that her subjects followed her primarily because of her beauty in the final season, predictable.

*

In the books, Dany is suspicious of Daario for a few reasons: she is initially afraid that he's spying for the sellswords and Yunkai (and that that would lead to her surprise attack backfiring) and considers the possibility that he's not really turning to her side, but rather that he simply wants to save his own skin. She accepts his service because she knows that he would have nothing to gain by betraying her (especially after he had already betrayed his fellow captains and after her dragons themselves failed to convey any hostile reaction against him), that his five hundred men would guarantee a victory against Yunkai and that she must be open-minded and trust other people, in spite of the prophecies about the upcoming treasons.

On HBO, show!Dany is also initially wary of show!Daario:

DAENERYS: You were sent here to kill me? So why haven’t you?

DAARIO: I don’t want to.

DAENERYS: What do your captains have to say about that?

~

DAENERYS: And this is supposed to impress me?

DAARIO: Yes.

DAENERYS: Why would I trust a man who murders his comrades?

However, as we can see, her questions are not the same. Unlike in the books, show!Dany is at show!Daario's mercy, so she questions why he didn't kill her right away (which signals, to her, that he might be trustworthy). Unlike in the books, show!Dany is (rightly) more doubtful of the killings of his fellow captains as indication of his reliability, especially since he could eventually do the same to her (though, again, he never does so when he has the perfect opportunity here) and since, unlike in the books, her dragons are not present in the scene (and, therefore, are not shown to lack any suspicion of him). It's certainly reasonable of show!Dany to accept show!Daario's service, though I wish she had more agency like she does in the books. It's irritating to see show!Dany being threatened (just for the sake of making a male supporting character seem more interesting to the audience) when she never had to be.

*

As a final note, Mero's early death is another change (along with Barristan's early identity reveal) that prevents Jorah's betrayal from being revealed the way it was in the books.

Main differences in GRRM's writing versus D&D's writing

GRRM's episode reinforces show!Dany's selflessness by showing her explicitly put her fight for the Iron Throne aside to focus on freeing thousands of Yunkish slaves and by having the Yunkish envoy offer her even more rewards than in the books (which highlights the extent of the sacrifices she's making for the Ghiscari slaves). D&D have undermined the extent of show!Dany's sacrifice in comparison to the books before and don't care about highlighting this aspect of show!Dany's character in episode 3.8.

GRRM's episode portrays show!Dany as competent and poised in her interactions with the Yunkish envoy. D&D's episode goes out of its way to undermine her and make the sellswords look better.

GRRM's episode features a new scene from the viewpoint of a minor character that adds to the storyline (because it highlights the oppression of the slaves). D&D's episode features a new scene from the viewpoint of minor characters that doesn't add add anything to the storyline (because it's focused on being gratuitous for its own sake).

With crucial differences like these, one can tell that show!Dany's portrayal would have improved if GRRM had been more influential in the show's writing choices. This is not to say that he's flawless or that the medium of a TV series doesn't have its own inherent limitations, only that he cares about her characterization, development and storyline in a way that D&D never did.

My comments on the Inside the Episode 3.7

Weiss: Daenerys is coming into her own in a powerful way in the season. She's always been very negatively predisposed towards slavery because she knows what it feels like to be property, I mean, she was a very fancy slave for all intents and purposes, she was somebody who was sold to another man, taken against her will and I think that her feelings about slavery have started to really inform her reasons for wanting the Iron Throne, it's finally started to occur to her that, if I want to take on this responsibility, it's almost - it's incumbent upon me to do something with it, and she sees this great wrong, probably the greatest possible wrong surrounding her, and she's decided that she's not just going to take back the Iron Throne because it's her right, she's gonna take back the Iron Throne because she is the person to make the world a better place than it is. She is going to not just take it, she's gonna use it for something greater than herself.

This is actually quite an insightful comment from Weiss's part; it's certainly much better than most comments (from him and especially from Benioff) that came before or that will come afterwards. I especially like that he acknowledges show!Dany's past as a sex slave and that he associates these past experiences with her decision to become an abolitionist.

I would only add three things: first, in the books, Dany is always aware that "it's incumbent upon [her] to do something with [power]", it's not something that only occurs to her after she becomes an abolitionist. Second, while show!Dany (and her book counterpart) imposes higher moral standards on herself than most characters of this series do, this doesn't mean that we should do the same. In other words, we shouldn't judge her too harshly if she ever decided to abandon her anti-slavery crusade, for she would simply be doing what any other feudal lord would do: focus on her individual goals. Third, to view show!Dany's attempts to do good (and her reflections about whether she's doing good) as something that anyone could or would do is dismissive of her character's individual principles and experiences and creates a lot of double standards against other characters.

Show!Dany's clothes

A Storm of Swords doesn't give us any description of Dany's outfits during the moments that the show is adapting in these two episodes, so I don't have much to comment. Here's a mosaic of all the outfits show!Dany wears during these two episodes:

I like that the white dress that show!Dany is wearing has a slave collar in homage to her freedmen, for what was once a symbol of oppression becomes one of social justice. Also, that dress is quite similar to show!Missandei's, making this another instance where they are seen with matching outfits: 

Also, @slytarg​ has speculated that show!Dany's clothes in season three were a homage to Mother Mary, which is an interesting possibility.

[blankdblank]

Acorn Castles

Ok, here is the Firebender series. I know! I finally finished it after having been swamped with ideas for other series. :D

All –

@himoverflowers​​, @theincaprincess​​, @aspiringtranslator​​, @sweeticedtea​​, @thegreyberet​​, @patanghill17​​, @jesgisborne​​, @curvestrology​​, @alishlieb​​, @jogregor​​, @armitageadoration​​, @fizzyxcustard​​, @here2have-fun​​, @lilith15000​​, @marvels-ghost​​, @catthefearless​​, @imjusthereforthereads​​, @c-s-stars​​, @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore​​, @mariannetora​​, @shes-a-killer-kween​, @ggbbhehe4455

Hobbit/LotR – @abiwim​, @jotink78​, @pastelhexmaniac​

x Thorin – @evyiione​, @deepestfirefun​, @queenoferebor​

@bun-bun-the-rabbit​​

Bruised and bloody you sat by the stream waiting on the Dwarves to finish bathing for your turn. None of the Dwarves wished to see you in pain or so badly afflicted by training. Dwalin out of all of them bore the weight the hardest, silently wringing the blood stain from his knee on his pants from a move ending with his leg hitting you in the nose. There was little faith when Gandalf showed up with your shivering wide eyed self to BagEnd after having wrangled another innocent bystander into the mix of his Journey claiming you would be the perfect Dragon Slayer.

A life of isolation on a tiny island with nothing but snow, snow and more snow a prank from the other young adults in the village ended with your being sent out to sea on a patch of ice. Another world where you should have been raised from firmer stuff but you were a scientist, a dreamer child of the two top researchers in protection of whales and all Arctic life leaving you less than popular for their impressions of the villagers who had been there forever holding less than factual impressions of each creature you came across.

It was decided to train you up as you couldn’t be left alone and no matter how hard you were hit even by accident you always got up and even once made Dwalin impressively scoot back half a foot in a full body slam at his urging leaving you groaning on your back in the collapse after. A rousing round of claps and cheers sure didn’t help your dislocated shoulder Oin was less than gentle in twisting back into place triggering a three day death of your arm unable to be rotated at all issuing warnings to him not to mend your dislocations that way again, because they knew it would occur again.

You were never greatly overweight, but in the surface of the water it was as if you were looking at a stranger. Thin and lean with dips and curves tracing each burning torn muscle throbbing to warn you of its injuries through each movement. Even in drying you could feel the silhouette of your figure had altered beyond what you had assumed possible. Not that you lacked motivation, you had scores to any task you wished to take on, merely when it came to fitness you preferred having a trainer or workout buddy, something severely lacking back home where you had no friends except for your giant fluffy bear dog now splashing through the lake following Thorin’s raven Roac. He loves to run and so the treadmill was your go to for cardio, something now helping at least to keep you from a heart attack through the body morphing wrestling and weapon training bouts.

Using your severely blistered hands bundled in sturdy unforgiving bandages small smooth stones were gathered up and in a circle you began to build the first house. Always while the men bathed or hunted for supper once you had been guarded through gathering wood or water on your own you would be found creating tiny villages with stones, clover, moss, twigs, leaves or any other items you might find around camp. Each day growing more extravagant with crude shovels from sticks used to carve out little lakes or streams through the town stirring soft grins onto your face. The act itself childish from the days of their youth stirring memories from each Dwarf of their own building blocks from days long gone, yet the act all the more admirable to them as it showed along with your adamant resolve that there were similarities between your races and upon that you might just find comfort in Erebor.

“Uncle, she’s doing it again.” Kili murmured in Khuzdul using his arm in a faked scrub of his face and hair to block the movement of his mouth.

“I see that,” Balin replied while Thorin wrung out his hair on the bank slowing himself to dry a bit more before pulling on his pants. Always as the leader he had to inspect his Company, even the ever unwelcoming Bilbo who did all he could to puff up and make certain it was known he did not take kindly to stares. You had shared that back home you would often wake up with small bruises without source. But the truth was far from comforting as through training they could find hand prints and large swollen bruised chunks of your body often leading to one or more of them to have to excuse and re-gather themselves from bursting into tears for the pain them in their stronger physiques had put upon you.

He hated this, but you would never survive if you were not trained, even in speaking often found to be too shy to meet the eye of those who spoke to you around the dinner fire. Gaze forward making certain not to impose. Not to be a hindrance. Not to create extra work for the Dwarves who made note of every accomplishment. Including the first time you could lift the saddle of your horse on your own halting Bofur and Bifur from assisting you on dressing him every day that stirred a wide smile from yourself to the ground in a silent moment of self pride bolstering the mood of the men on the beginnings of that gusty unpleasant day.

“Ah, a fine village, is that your former home?” Bilbo asked, the Hobbit’s arrival at your side had the Dwarves’ beards bristling as they didn’t notice his departure and from irritation on the chance you might be hindered from your silent hobby of assumed he was ridiculing you.

“Oh, no. There’s a game, back home, where you get to build your village and there are these houses with animals in them and you can go through the island fishing and collecting fruit and digging up treasure. I usually just recreate the layouts from the different versions I saw in a book on the game.”

Bilbo grinned inching closer on his knees helping to secure a tiny fence you secured the end of by winding another blade of grass to bind it to the twigs around it. “Well a fine job you are doing if I might say so. Built many a fairy dwelling myself in my Fauntling days.”

“Well, way I see it, if I build a Kingdom a day from here to Erebor I might be strong enough to face a Dragon.”

Bilbo patted your arm, “That is a marvelous plan. Perhaps I might take up building myself to practice planning on burgling a hoard. Confidence is half the effort, well concluded.”

Smirking to yourself as the words sank into the hearts of the hushed Dwarves you said, “Or at the very least I could fib and say I have experience in building to make it on a work crew. Lord knows there will be plenty to rebuild if it’s how I picture it. Dragons aren’t very slender creatures, all tail and wings bound to knocked a wall or two.”

Bilbo asked, “Any clue on how to face him yet?”

“Well, one would hope he has just left when we arrive, but fill a hand with dirt the other with wishes, which fills faster. What my Dad always said.” It wasn’t pride in your tone but pain, they could all feel the pain those words inflicted on you, how harshly they resonated and now they all had a deep ache to ensure any wish of yours possible to fulfill they would ensure came true. “Truth is, our Lords and Princes slew our Dragons to the last one proving their might. There isn’t much known about them to the public past they are gone now.”

Bilbo wet his lips seeing your melancholy gaze to the moss roof you were adding to a little bridge with a road underneath to help with rainwater collection, “Why does that make you sad?”

Glancing up you shook your head saying, “It seems you can’t throw a stone without hitting someone or a people with a terrible tale to tell about the Fire Nation, where I came from. Nothing but cinders and burnt bloody paths to bring about our glorious empire.” His hand extended to land on your knee drawing your eyes to his, “We’re not all bad. Some of us are just trying to make it day to day while our soldiers are out ruining our honor. We used to be so great, so good, that’s why the dragons gave us their fire in the beginning. And we repayed them by hunting them down and mounting their heads on our temple walls.”

Bilbo shook his head while the Dwarves just about were ready to cry for this truth they were just learning, “You are not bad. Farthest thing from it. There is no Fire Nation here, you are from the Shire.” He said nodding his head, “Consider yourself an honorary Baggins. I’m certain together we can see the end of that greedy old dragon, hopefully he’s long to bones when we get there, but in these lands our Dragons from what I’m told give naught but grief and destruction, no fire givers here. Two separate buckets entirely.” That drew a weak try for a chuckle from you and he wet his lips asking the question burning at him, “How did you end up all alone where Gandalf found you?”

“Oh,” you sighed out, “My father angered the Fire Lord so he banished us to a Northern Water Colony in the middle of a tundra of an island. The other children despised me, for where I came from, what they thought I was. But my parents were scientists, studied the animals and plants, what little there was. One day they must have snuck in unhitching my wagon from the trailer and left me and my dog out on a block of ice not realizing it’d break off and send me out to sea.”

“Varmints!” Dwalin growled drawing your eye a moment luring mutters of his try to not rant about how they didn’t deserve your company or presence on their island at all for treating you as such.

“Wasn’t all bad, I got big Bo out of the move. He doesn’t mind my company.”

.

“Trolls have the ponies,” Fili whispered to Kili only to have them flinch when you whispered behind them.

“What are trolls?” They both looked at you and you asked, “Like live under bridges, Trolls? We only have those in stories. How do you fight them?”

Kili, “Best way is daylight, but that’s hours off yet.”

“Boggins!” The pair said and rushed off to fetch Bilbo.

Under furrowed brows your eyes narrowed finding the ponies and from behind a tree you eyed a giant bubbling cauldron for a stew. All at once Bilbo was suddenly upside down gripped by a hand without a source and in the moment of deliberation whether or not to disarm to the order of the invisible Troll the men all seemed to be looking up at. Hard and fast you raced out and slammed your feet into the cauldron sending it onto the now screaming trio you caught faint slivers of from the scalding liquid sliding down their bodies. While the Company had gathered to catch Bilbo, who was sent flying your eyes scanned over the clearing to your quickening breaths asking, “Where are they?!”

The last of the liquid had lessened to where you could barely make it out in the campfire aiding in shadows to blot out their heavy steps in the grass, “What does she mean?” Gloin asked stirring questioning mutters from the Dwarves.

A swing of an arm straight for your head had Thorin shouting, “Down!”

You complied and Bifur asked, “You can’t see them? At all?”

“Sunlight,” you muttered, “Turn around! Cover your eyes!” A hand back to the campfire through a deep inhale spurred on a stunning back flip away from the invisible trio and in a wave of arms to a pausing position with hands joined outstretched in front of you the Dwarves’ mouths dropped to the wave of fire flying from the wood to your palms. A circle of your hands and a wave like motion of your arm to your right to a lift of your leg to ease it back close to a lunge began the circle of the brightening flames behind your back. The swing of your left arm came with a pendulum spin with your leg kicking up as your torso dropped to rise again, a quarter of a pirouette motion with your leg came before another dropping spin with arms guiding the flames to spark up. Fingertips gliding through the wall of flames stirring up blips of lightning while the Trolls shielded their eyes and the Dwarves turned while Bilbo hid himself behind Bombur. 

Brighter and brighter in the distance the Elves on guard took notice of the sunlit bubble just hours to midnight. Deep breaths to the dimming of the light had the group peeking out to watch your final paused pose with palms sliding together in front of your chest through the drop of your foot to plant beside your other foot. Bilbo asked in his inching step out, “Fire Nation? You, didn’t mean, literal fire the Dragons gave you?”

“Well,” you said then wet your lips that only stayed dry like the rest of your mouth. “We have an internal flame, I’m only self trained. Dad hated benders, having worked so long under them.”

Dwalin, “benders?”

“Those in the Fire Nation who can control fire. My parent’s were non-benders I couldn’t tell them. But there was no shortage of books to sneak from the library on bending techniques.”

Thorin just about hummed out, “You can control fire? Does Gandalf know of this?”

“No.” A whine from Bo turned your head to find him dragging a sack of potatoes you claimed and opened, “Potatoes?” That had the search for treasure on lit by a torch from the campfire you had sent the flames back to. Inside the hoard from the food you followed Thorin’s call to bring you over.

“Miss Pear, here,” your eyes fell to the twin blades and bow with a quiver he packed for you with arrows from several other half packed quivers found within the hoard. “These are more suited for someone your height, Elven made by the looks of it, light and sturdy. Might not trust the lot, but the forest dwellers can smith a fine blade.”

“Thank you,” to your braid hanging frayed over your chest his eyes sank making yours as well, “Something on me?”

Catching those same silver flecked purple eyes looking down at him he shook his head stealing another glance to your dusty dirtied wild curls normally in a shimmering white with speckles of tiny hues of colors temptingly close to opals under direct moon or sunlight nearly driving the Company to requesting a lock of it to treasure always. “Just, your braid has seen better days. I must ask though, did your parents have hair similar to yours?”

“Oh, no. Mother had the curls, but she went into labor while a volcano erupted and sought shelter in a temple for the spirit of the magma. When I was born my eyes and hair were like this.” Down your gaze shifted and you added, “Part of why I was decided to wed my betrothed.”

Balin, “You we’re separated from your lover?”

Locking eyes on him you shook your head, “I’ve never met Turok, his father once in passing when I was a child. He was a General and spoke to the Fire Lord who proclaimed the match.”

Thorin’s brows furrowed, “The Fire Lord proclaimed your match?”

You nodded, “Anyone of standing in the Fire Nation weds who the Fire Lord chooses for us.”

“That’s absurd!” Came at once from the Company and Bombur said, “And terribly cruel. Did you find one you wished to marry but could not?”

“No, I was sent to an all girls school once my match was set and I was secluded from any males outside my bloodline. Until we got sent to the Water Tribe village that is. There was no risk of any trying to befriend me let alone try for a match with me.”

Thorin let out a growling breath and locked his eyes on yours to say, “There is a great deal of cruelty I wish to blow back onto your clan for what you have endured.”

Dwalin said, “We will ensure when we are toasting and feasting to our return you will have no shortage of dance partners.”

“Oh, well, you might have to teach me the dances. We weren’t allowed to dance until our wedding lessons for the ceremony.”

For a tense moment the group held back their comments and Bombur broke the silence, “We should load the wagon with the food we have found, what could be salvaged, then rest up for he night back at camp and move on ahead.”

.

Across your back Bo slept in his usual way covering most of your body comforting the Dwarves that while you had a thick fur coat too warm for the chilly front rolling in leaving you just to your bedroll and a thin blanket that you would be warm enough. Past the now statue Trolls and bunnies and foxes eating the veggies from the spilled cauldron Gandalf strolled curious of what had occurred through the night. The trunk spotted through the cover parted by his staff on the back of your wagon he had found you, Bo and your things inside of he eyed the gold and treasure that with a muttered enchantment would not be visible to any outside the Company while inside the wagon.

Drawing back his staff he continued past the wagon finding you again with the creeping sunrise seated upright on your own a bit of distance from the camp giving off a faint shimmer through your morning meditations. Another odd trait the Dwarves tolerated once Gandalf had given his best guess it was a time for reflection to see if the Valar might send you guidance on your road ahead. A stick crunching underfoot opened your eyes and he could feel your return to the present next seeing your body turn and rise to grin in the usual way and welcome him back again.

Disbelieving Gandalf eyed you with Bofur and Bifur holding your hands a few moments into Thorin’s defense of you in that if Gandalf, who brought you into this Company, doubted your abilities then he did not deserve a demanded performance of said abilities. The dispute solidifying that there would be no trip to Rivendell souring Gandalf’s mood entirely to vanishing on the wind as soon as he had arrived to try and speak with Elrond to lure the Company there.

“Don’t you lower your eyes,” Gloin said as you helped to clear up camp in readying to head out. “Stubborn Wizard should have never thought he could demand a display, you were trembling after stoning those Trolls. No need to strain yourself without cause.”

Dwalin patted your back in passing you with his saddle resting on his shoulder in a subtle sign not to back up. “Listen to him Lass, not as if the wandering folk can control our Company. Barely a month all together that Wizard has traveled with us always off on the wind. You have seniority.”

Oin came over triple checking, “You are certain you are not burned?”

“Fire is more than heat, it’s light, a living thing. I can be burned but it would take some doing and I would have to be caught off guard.”

Oin nodded passing you a kerchief with a few berries in it, “A snack, last not scavenged by critters before the looming frost.”

He walked off with your thanks and the group made certain that you made it up onto your horse with ease as Nori and Dori secures their ponies behind Gandalf’s horse to pull the wagon they shared the front bench to. South you turned and for days stealing glances back when pausing for breaks distant echoes of more horses kept luring your attention to the empty distance even through the start of another deluge. Grumpy in the wagon Bo slept or moped looking through the front window lying on top of your bags while you sat under your rain cloak trying to keep from nodding off at your body’s urge to curl up when it rained. Another adorable trait for the Dwarves who ensured to have your tent ready upon camping on rainy days to grant you a mini nap before waking you for meals.

“I heard it that time,” Ori exclaimed as you turned for the end of the green pastures towards the distant mountains with slightly rockier ground around a well worn dirt path the men claimed their kin used often when they cross these ways.

“See! I’m not crazy!”

“No one said you were,” Bombur said patting his hand on your leg to his right unable to reach your knee on your tall horse.

Thorin stayed in a huff, “Probably those Elves Gandalf was so keen on visiting. We will lose them in the pass to the Mines.”

“What’s that like?”

Dwalin, “Dark,”

Fili, “Thousands of goblins,”

Kili, “Wargs too! One of the most winding forgetful paths our kin have laid to ward off intruders.”

“Sounds cozy,” Bilbo muttered and Thorin glanced back at you with a nod of his head, “If you feel up to it you could ride up with us up front.”

“I’m good back here out of your way. You know the path. Besides I have a habit of startling my horse friend here still.”

Lowly he chuckled and turned forward remembering the time a you had woken up from another rainy day nap and made your horse rear up sending you hard onto your back in the mud after your full body jerk to a leaf hitting your face. “Change your mind just trot on up.”

.

Dark and full of screeches the pass stretched on and on. When a glowing breath of a tiny flame behind your hand to peek at your pocket watch on your lap signaled for the night to camp in the pitch black cavern. A small cave was located and thanks to your flame between your palms it was lit up for all to sit inside once two axes were used to secure the cover for the entrance.

Between Bifur and Bofur you crept to the dark lapping river announcing its location even in the dark, another silent marker for their kin who unlike you and Bilbo had a clear view of the path with their eyes so tuned to the dark. Listening between shuddering breaths uncertain of when you had ever been in a place so dark stirring up a fear you didn’t want to admit their kind could not understand as the darkness was not debilitating to them. By feel alone each water skin was lowered into the frigid waters bubbling until full signaling your move to fill the next. “What is that?” You asked eyeing a glint in the distance to your right upstream.

By the sound of their collars shifting you knew they eyed the path to the right finding the odd glint you must be speaking of. Along the muddy ground under the surface it bumped and bobbed until wetting your lips you set the skins down to dunk your arm down nearly to your shoulder. Biting back a wince and gasp from the temperature you kept reaching seeing it was lower than your hand causing your knees on the edge of the river to slide. Onto your belt securing your over shirt the pair took hold to keep you on the shore watching your shift back as the slimy muddy mess with the glowing core came closer to the surface. “It’s slimy,” You muttered and from the hard rocky edge of the stream your other hand lowered to start scrubbing only brightening the area. Hastily Bifur removed his cloak to dangle around the water above your heads and hands blocking some of it. Above the surface the brightly glowing stone with a milky galaxy of glittering mist and waves in spectrums of colors shifted in your palms now fully cleaned narrowing the pupils of the awed Dwarves and yourself. Their focus shifted to returning to the cave as you asked, “What sort of stone is this?”

Bofur said, “Best take it inside.”

“Right,” You said hastily plopping it though the neck of your shirt darkening the world to you again for Bifur to re-secure his cloak around his neck. “Sorry.”

Bofur patted your back translating Bifur’s signing, “No apologies, we admired it as well. Quite a treasure you found there.”

Water skins were gathered up and to the cave the pair guided you to find the Dwarves smirking taking notice of your soaked sleeves. “Fall in?” Kili chortled out to Fili’s snickering.

Bifur however signed that you had found something and mouths dropped with Gloin saying, “Glowing stone? What stone?”

After ensuring the cover was secured behind you, awkwardly you dug into your outer shirt to bring out the lemon sized stone filling every crack of the cave with brilliant light. Dropping the jaws of the Dwarves who each tenderly took their chance to inspect it while Bilbo straightening up the blanket he had set down for your spot to keep a chill off you from the freezing stone similar to his spot. At his side you heard the debating Dwarves unable to come to a conclusive name for the stone that as Bilbo finally got his turn he asked noticing the tears in your eyes at another glance to the swirling colors inside that had quickened and slowed by how far it was from you. “Miss Pear, why are you crying?”

Post subtle sniffle you answered, “I don’t know why, but there’s something about it that makes me sad. Like an old memory.” Ori beside you patted your back and you said shaking your head, “Maybe it’s like something from an old story sparking up in my head.”

Ori, “I used to cry seeing gourds, took me a while before I remembered about this one scene of parted lovers from a tale our Amad told us when we were little. It will surface in time.” He smiled as you glanced his way, grinning to his, “You will see.”

Dwalin said, “Might be able to wrangle up something to help cover that if you like.”

“No, I have an idea.” The men got to fixing dinner while subtly you crept out to dig in the hoard from the Troll trunks. With a handful of copper cups full of white gold coins and a white gold chain the men smirked seeing you sit on the cold dirt by the ponies napping in the safe warm cave that with your hands you dug a hole just a bit larger than the stone lighting the activity.

Hot and hard into your palms you blew licks of flames until you felt the right temperature to lift the first coin you flattened to their awe to fill what they realized was a mold in the dirt. Steadily the hole was filled until the back was forged. Next the first cup was heated and using the dagger in your boot thin strips like wire were set aside then woven into a pair of trees. The trunk spiraled splitting into smaller groups of spiraled branches reaching to the edges matching the shorter roots. Then against the back you used your water skin to clean and polish smooth with more flames from between your lips and hard pressed of your sore but finally blister free fingers. Each motion skilled after years of trinket forging on your room while the other children played outside.

Actions luring the Dwarves into a trance the tree now heated was pressed into the white gold and set aside to cool. The other side of the stone would be covered with copper with the coins flattened and cut to weave another tree pressed into the front. That through the tiny holes they had noticed you wet your lips and with the tweezer kit Nori had passed you strips of both copper and white gold was woven into hinges and a hidden securing lock on the other side along with a harnessing loop to hook into the chain. In securing the stone inside your new locket you couldn’t help but giggle to the claps from the Dwarves who each took a turn inspecting the craftsmanship of the impressive bit of jewelry.

Balin, “You will make a fine jeweler, Miss Pear.”

“Perhaps for fun, I doubt I could make a living from lockets.”

The Dwarves scoffed and took to sharing the history of their kin surrounding jewels including shared bits of jewelry tucked on their persons that each had accomplished forging themselves for certain markers in their growth with the youngest trio showing woven bracelets yet to be old enough to be trusted alone to the forges just yet. Around your neck the chain settled and the locket rested surprisingly light to your chest as Thorin said, “Well maneuvered on the hinge as well, not a sliver of light to be found.”

“Well wouldn’t be a good way to pay you back if I got us killed out here by giving us away.”

His sentimental grin widened and he hummed, “I look forward to uncovering more of your hidden talents in Erebor.”

Pt 2