#and the chicken one is usually cockatrice

[sailor-arashi]

[vedgie-demynm]

BEHOLD…

MY MYTHSWAP AU!!!

So, in this Au, Crafty is the only non-mythical critter, while the other seven are all different kinds of mythical creatures!!!

Here’s each character here!!!

Even if Crafty is a plain ol’ pony in this au, they’re still just as important and loving as the others; in fact, they’re the ✨protagonist✨! They stumbled their way into the Realm of the Myths while taking a stroll as they thought about somewhere they could paint, before they met DogDay and Bobby in the woods. During their three years in the Realm of the Myths, Crafty’s been careful, they’ve been loved, and they’re learning more each day!

DogDay is a Werehound, but instead of every full moon, it’s every Solar Eclipse he turns into a monster, while every Lunar Eclipse, he’s your good ol’ normal sun dog!

His younger sibling, CatNap, is a Sphinx, well, except without the “human face” part, lol… Much like his brother, they, too, can turn into a monster, except it’s more at will, and mostly during waxing crescent moons!

Bobby Bearhug is an Onikuma, although, she did use to be an average critter, like Crafty. She, along with Picky, brings in food for the others every night. She stays close by with CatNap because when she became a demon, he was right there by her side… d’awww!

Kickin’ Chicken is a Cockatrice, and since it doesn’t really specify what kind of dragon the rooster has to be, he’s part leviathan! He’s an expert at surfing, and is basically the “rich, popular kid” trope (except he’s the sweetest to his friends!) He and Bubba were best friends ever since they were toddlers, and Kickin wouldn’t want their flame to extinguish any time soon! He even talks about many different themes whilst baking with his sister, so that he doesn’t get too bored.

Bubba Bubbaphant is a Siren (mainly because none of the mythical elephants didn’t really fit ToT), but instead of singing and testing the limits of his beautiful voice (/j), he infodumps about one’s interests to try reeling them in! The nerd’s a bit meaner in this AU, since ocean sirens are usually that way, but he can tolerate his friends!

Picky Piggy is a Boar; she’s pretty violent, but that doesn’t stop her from having fun with her friends! In fact, she uses her violent tendencies to her advantage whenever she cooks! She’s Crafty’s best friend, and she’s the one who made them their “horn” out of a party hat! Picky’s the (adoptive) older sister of Kickin, and she makes sure he’s healthy, both physically and psychologically! (What a sweet sister… sob…)

And last, but DEFINITELY not the least, Hoppy Hopscotch, the jumping Jackalope! She’s pretty mischievous, in fact, to the point where DogDay made her own Time Out Chair™️! She even steals all of the coffee sometimes, so that she can have more energy than when she’s normally hyperactive; but, she is patient whenever she needs to — in fact, out of all of them, she’s likely the most patient.

BTW!!! You can ship anything in this AU, but I have only 3 simple rules:

Nothing Problematic

Nothing that would be in Alabama

And each ship should be to each character’s romantic interest

For example, on what each critter is (of course, there are all headcanons):

Crafty is Lesbian (they/them)

DogDay is Bigender and Bisexual (he/her)

CatNap is Non-Binary and Bisexual (he/they)

Bobby is Transfem and Pansexual (she/they)

Hoppy is Questioning her Interests as of now (she/they)

Bubba is Bisexual (he/him)

Kickin’ is Transmasc and Gay (he/him)

Picky is Transfem and Lesbian (she/her)

That’s all, Folks! Love y’all!

(platonically, of course—)

[space-robinhood]

Usually don't draw Michael as a human, but I thought about how big his chicken would have to be in order for him to be a jockey as one and cockatrice Benson was born. It's because he's umm, a Nether Chicken or something like that!!

[eiirisworkshop]

Of Desire, Preference, and Convenience

The first in a series of Witcher oneshots Also available to read on Ao3 here.

~

The sun was just a sliver clinging to the horizon when Geralt, Jaskier, and, of course, Roach came into sight of the town they had set out from a couple days before. As they drew closer on the road a young man, barely more than a boy, spotted them from where he was sitting at the threshold of his home, whittling by lantern light so the shavings fell outside the door. Upon seeing them, he stood, stared a moment, set aside his woodworking, and ran towards the center of town well ahead of them.

“Well,” Jaskier said, cutting himself off in the midst of kvetching about the several minor injuries he'd sustained over the course of Geralt's hunt, “that's not the worst welcome you've ever gotten.”

“He's not the welcome,” Geralt grunted shortly.

Sure enough, by the time they got there, what felt like most of the town had spilled into the square to gawk. With slight commotion, the crowd parted to let through Geralt’s current employer, the local Baroness, flanked on one side by a retainer, on the other by some relative. Reins in hand, Geralt led Roach forward, hauled the decapitated head of a recently slain monster from under the canvas across Roach's back, and dropped it with a heavy splat on the flagstone at the Baroness's feet. Both noblewoman and mare did the same halfstep back, away from the splatter of gore.

Several parents in the crowd shielded their children's eyes.

“I solved your cockatrice problem.”

“I can see that,” the Baroness said tightly, one hand raised slightly to steady her relation, who had bristled. “You have done a great service for our town and saved untold lives. You have our gratitude.”

“I prefer gratitude in the form of coin,” Geralt said flatly.

“And you will have it,” the Baroness assured. “But we are not a wealthy town, especially this time of year. I offer you the hospitality of my household to make up for the limits of what I can offer you in gold. With my nephew visiting,” she glanced aside to her relation, “there is only one set of rooms available, but it's more comfortable than the inn, we can give you a meal, and a bath, wash your things.”

“Yes, um.” Jaskier sashayed forward and leaned around to preemptively answer on Geralt's behalf. “We gladly and humbly accept.”

~

While Geralt settled Roach into the Baroness's stables, Jaskier sat in the courtyard on the edge of a low wall, lute propped on his thigh, playing for a gathered gaggle of the younger members of the household, including the Baroness's son, his companions, and several servants. There was applause as the song ended. Jaskier lay his palm over the strings to quiet them. “Thank you, thank you! Are there any other requests?”

“I want to hear about the witcher beheading the cockatrice,” one of the servant girls said with a slightly alarming glint to her eye. Judging by the state of her apron, she probably worked in the kitchens, and the thought of her with a knife was also somewhat alarming.

“Ha, well.” Jaskier bowed his head briefly. “It does usually take me more than a few hours to write a new song, I'm afraid.”

“Besides,” the Baroness's son said superiorly, lolling his head toward the kitchen girl, “that'll be gross and gory, nothing a delicate thing like you would want to hear.”

She leveled him with the most unimpressed look. “I've ripped the heads of chickens with my bare hands. It works better if you twist,” she said with unaffected desensitivity. “Even with the head gone the bodies keep moving for a while sometimes.”

The young noble did a very poor job of covering for the full body cringe that ran through him. Jaskier brushed a thumb across his nose and muttered, “Basilisks do that too...”

“And besides,” the girl continued, echoing her young master's tone, “the last three songs have all been about gross gory monster slayings and this pansy narrowly avoiding being beaten to death or eaten.” She jerked a thumb at Jaskier.

“I prefer Dandelion, actually,” Jaskier said, rocking back a bit while he finished processing that, no, really, she had just said that, to his face.

She ignored him completely. “I don't think one more story of the sort would suddenly be a problem for me. I’m not a delicate flower.”

“She's right.”

Jaskier and his audience all looked sharply up and around at the growled comment, Geralt's approach having been preternaturally quiet.

“Hey, now,” Jaskier began, on the verge of taking offense.

“About the twisting. Works the same on anything with a skull small enough to get a hand around.” He shrugged. “Including humans.”

Jaskier bowed his head again to hide his expression of incredulous, horrified, amusement and busied his fingers with a few chords. That served nicely to draw the group's attention, spare anyone the task of figuring out how to respond to that, and give the Baroness's son a moment to pull himself together without any more needling. The kitchen girl, for her part, looked like she might be in love.

“So,” she said after a moment when it became clear Jaskier was just noodling lyriclessly, “since your bard hasn't had a chance to write about it, maybe you could tell us how you beheaded the cockatrice?”

“With a sword,” Geralt said flatly.

She blinked a couple times, stopped fiddling demurely with the end of her braid, and nodded slowly. “Right.”

Jaskier stopped playing and offered, “I do have a song about his swords.”

“You have five,” Geralt corrected. “And they're all shit because that's what you write whenever you can't think of anything else.”

“That is not true!” Jaskier objected, electing to ignore the giggles from his audience. “At least two of them are decent.”

“Excuse me, sirs?”

Geralt and Jaskier both turned toward another, older servant who looked like she might have been the girl's mother. She smiled gently once she had their attention. “Your accommodations are ready.”

“Fantastic,” Jaskier said, standing up.

Geralt clapped one large, rough hand on Jaskier's shoulder and steered the bard in front of him, following the woman. “C'mon, buttercup.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes, said nothing, and resisted the urge to elbow Geralt in the ribs. The effect wasn't worth an additional bruise.

The guest apartment they were shown to was about a room and a half—a bedchamber with a sitting area, and an anteroom with a bath. The servant woman pointed out to them where their bags were stacked by the settee, and the basket that had been provided for their dirty laundry, then she curtsied politely and left them be.

Jaskier shed his doublet easily, tossed it in the direction of the basket, toed off his boots, and went for the tray of food set on the low table. They hadn't made it back into town until after dinnertime, so their meal wasn't elaborate, but there was hot meat, bread that was less than a day old, cheese, fruit-filled pastries, and plenty of wine. He stacked some meat and cheese on a slice of bread, took a bite, made an appreciative sound in his throat, then turned to watch Geralt meticulously divesting himself of his weaponry and armor.

“Food's good.”

Geralt hummed a short acknowledgement. He definitely needed a bath—his hair, what of it was loose, was stringy and dark with grime. It must've felt disgusting. Jaskier felt filthy enough and he hadn't gotten covered in ichor. Geralt got down to his shirt, paused to roll his neck, then stripped to skin. Jaskier turned quickly to pour himself a cup of wine and did not stare at the way the muscles of Geralt's shoulders and back moved as he raised his arms. At least he didn't stare much. He was just observing. For creative purposes. As always.

He did, however, watch as Geralt walked past him naked toward the door of the bath room.

Mouth half full, Jaskier gestured at the food on the table. “Aren't you going to eat?”

“I'll eat when I'm clean.”

“'I'll eat when I'm—' Bah!” Jaskier shifted things around so everything including his cup of wine and one of the bottles fit on the tray. “There's no law that says a man can't eat while he bathes.”

Geralt pulled open the door and took a step back, expression stunned, as though the steam curling lazily from inside had struck him.

Jaskier cocked his head with curious concern. “Are you alright?”

“I'm fine,” Geralt grunted, then continued into the room. Jaskier rolled his eyes, gathered up the tray, and followed. He realized about halfway to the door what had struck the witcher—the steam wafting from the bath smelled distinctly of lemongrass and lavender. It was pleasant, but fairly strong even to Jaskier's ordinary human nose.

The bath itself was part of the room's architecture; a large tiled tub built into a sort of dais raised a couple steps up from the floor, underneath which was a firebox of smoldering coals to keep the water hot. There was an elaborately grated drain in the floor, several additional buckets of clear water, and a basket of bottles, jars, soaps, stones, and brushes perched on the wide rim of the tub.

Geralt grabbed one of the buckets of water, stood on the grate in the floor, and dumped the bucket over his head, water flowing in rivulets down his body, cutting tracks through the grime that had gotten under his clothes. Jaskier turned his back to hook one ankle around the edge of the door and pull it closed so the heat wouldn't all escape.

While Geralt began washing with a cloth from the linen rack, Jaskier set the tray of food on the corner of the dais, then took off the rest of his own clothes, grabbed a cloth, and began to do the same. He finished the process more quickly since he was less dirty to start with, so he carefully moved the tray of food to the edge of the tub. He climbed in and sank into the hot, scented water with a satisfied groan—and a slight hiss when the water hit the scratches he had acquired on the road. He took up his wine in one hand, his stack of bread, meat, and cheese in the other, took a sip, took a bite, and leaned his head back, eyes closed. “I probably shouldn't have expected less from a town whose whole thing is its mineral springs, but this is nice.”

“Mh.”

For a while, they were both quiet, Jaskier eating and drinking by feel while Geralt washed. Then, at the splat of a cloth being discarded, Jaskier opened his eyes again. He watched Geralt snag a piece of cheese from the tray and cram it efficiently in his mouth, then take a stiff-bristled brush from the basket of bath things, sit on the edge of the dais with his emptied bucket partially refilled at his feet, unknot the tie holding his hair out of his face, and start brushing out his own mane as he'd done Roach's not long before.

Jaskier knew Geralt wouldn't believe him if he ever told him, but he really was beautiful. Not in a feminine way, not quite in the compellingly unearthly way Yen was, though that was more like it. With his long white hair and amber eyes, his constellation of scars that told a thousand stories the man himself rarely if ever voiced, his striking stature, the control to his moves which spoke both of strength and of a gentleness a lucky few were blessed to bare witness to, Geralt of Rivia was beautiful in his own way. Not that Jaskier ever would tell him. That...that was another urge to be resisted, for the effect wouldn't be worth the bruises.

Instead, he shifted in the bath, hazy water lapping around his waist, and leaned forward against the side of the tub to eat a pastry without dropping any crumbs or sugar in the water. He sucked a bit of filling off his thumb. “Wouldn't it be less trouble and less mess if you, I don't know, braided your hair back? Or kept it up?”

“Yes,” Geralt sighed and dunked his brush in the bucket.

“Then why don't you?”

Geralt shrugged.

Jaskier grinned slowly. “You like it, don't you? You like the way you look with your hair down.”

Geralt resolutely did not respond.

Jaskier laughed, the sound echoing off the tile brightly. “Melitele's tit's, I'm right!”

Geralt glared at him and he sacrificed one dry hand to splash water at him in rebuttal.

“For what it's worth,” Jaskier continued, “you're right too. You do look good with your hair down.”

Geralt looked at him dubiously. Jaskier shrugged. “You have nice hair. And the way you tend to wear it works well with the whole,” he gestured broadly at his own face with his half a pastry, “jawline-that-could-cut-stone situation.”

That earned him an inscrutable snort. Geralt carried on brushing out his hair. Jaskier finished his pastry, dusted off his fingers, and started snooping through the offerings in the basket. One jar was full of a citrusy smelling powder that fizzed against his damp fingers when he poked it experimentally.

“Oh, that's interesting.” He dumped it in the water where it hissed and produced a thick froth of fine, foamy bubbles. “That's very interesting. I like that quite a lot, actually.” He unstoppered a bottle to sniff at its contents, pulled a face, and moved on to the next, then the next, then the next. “We ought to find the glaziers' shop before we leave town; this glasswork is really excellent. Exactly the sort of thing you tend to carry potions and tinctures around in. I know you've had a few break on you recently. Honestly it must be some sort of cosmic joke that the best inert-but-moldable material to make containers out of is so brittle. Ooh, that's nice! That's, hm, I don't know what that is. Here, smell this.” He held out the bottle.

“I can smell it just fine from over here.” Geralt glowered at him through locks of wet hair. “It's almond.”

“Almond in a poison kind of way, or…?”

“No.”

“Wonderful.” Jaskier sniffed at the bottle again while Geralt dumped out the dingy water he'd been rinsing his brush in, poured a little more from one of the other buckets, and resumed the process. Jaskier poured a little of the bottle's contents into his palm and rubbed it between his fingers. “I think it's a hair oil.”

“Probably,” Geralt agreed and just kept brushing.

“Come here,” Jaskier huffed.

“I don't—”

“Like using soap on your hair, it makes it feel like straw, yes, yes, we've had that conversation a few times,” Jaskier said. “This isn't soap. I know you know the difference. Let me help you.”

Geralt's expression didn't appreciably change but Jaskier could see him considering.

“The sooner your hair is clean, the sooner you can actually get in the bath and relax,” Jaskier pointed out. “Ridiculous strength and healing or no, you've got to be sore. I'm sore and you took significantly more battering.”

With what was definitely not a resigned sigh, Geralt got up and moved to within arm's reach of the tub, his back to Jaskier, who grinned.

“I know you,” Jaskier singsonged as he poured more oil into his hand and started working it into Geralt's hair. It was always amazing to realize, again, just how much hair Geralt had. Truly, mane was the right word for it. And the way he wore it, in addition to being quite fetching, lent itself nicely to dramatic movement. There was a lyric to be found somewhere down that train of thought and Jaskier starting humming to himself as he followed it.

“What are you thinking about?” Geralt asked after a moment, voice low.

“Hm?”

“You hum when you think.”

“Oh.” Jaskier shrugged and scritched his fingers against Geralt's scalp. “Just trying to come up with ways to describe your hair color.”

“It's white.”

“Well, yes, obviously, but that's not very poetic. Also it doesn't—” He broke off and dropped his hands, ceasing his attentions entirely. “You have no idea what light does to your hair, do you? You can't see it.”

“I can see my own hair.” Geralt turned over one shoulder to pin Jaskier with a look that quite plainly questioned his intelligence.

“Sure, but only part of it.” Jaskier leaned on his elbows on the edge of the tub. “Only the ends. And never from behind or from a far.

“I've seen other people with white hair.”

“We're not talking about other people's hair. We're talking about yours. And you don't know how it shines in sunlight, almost too bright to look at; or turns liquid and metallic like quicksilver in moonlight; or reflects a stormy sky as though it, too, could flash with lightning—and sometimes I could swear it does.”

Geralt licked his lips and took a breath. “If you write an entire song about my hair, I will finally kill you.”

“If you were ever actually going to kill me for something like that, you would have done it a long time ago.”

With a sideways tip of his head that was unmistakably reluctant agreement, Geralt got up and went back to his bucket. “I do like,” he said as he started brushing the excess oil out of his hair, and with it the last of the grime, “that you haven't ruled out my killing you for other reasons.”

“I figure horse-related reasons are the most likely,” Jaskier said cheekily, rubbing the rest of the oil from his hands through his own hair.

That drew a snort of what passed for laughter from Geralt. “You haven't been doing anything to make Roach want you dead, have you?”

“Well, not that I know of.” Jaskier almost fumbled his cup of wine in slick fingers as he refilled it. “It's hard to be sure, though—she's almost as inscrutably irascible as you.”

Now Geralt chuckled properly and Jaskier beamed into his wine.

Geralt reached for the partial bucket of clear water, dunked his head in it, then sat up quickly, flipping his wet hair out of his face with an arching spray of water. He ran both hands through his hair, combing with his fingers a few times, then wrung most of the moisture out, manhandled the bulk of his hair up to the crown of his head, twisted it deftly into a bun, and tucked it into itself so it would stay.

“Honestly, that is one of your more impressive talents,” Jaskier said mildly. Geralt grunted, stepped up on the dais, swung one leg over the edge of the tub, then the other, then sank into frothy water up to his neck at the opposite end from Jaskier. He lifted one hand, shook the water and suds off, and folded some meat and cheese together to eat.

“On the subject of your talents,” Jaskier segued. “Namely, y'know, violence—I have to know, what the hell possessed you to tell a group of adolescents, one of whom already seems to have a potentially murderous streak, that ripping the heads off of people is the same as decapitating a chicken?”

Geralt smirked. “Did you see that boy's face?”

“That I did,” Jaskier laughed. “Did you see the girl's face though? The murderous one. I think she's fallen for you.”

Geralt rolled his eyes, finished his meat and cheese wrap, and one-handedly took the bottle of wine for himself. “She's far too young for me.”

“Obviously.” Jaskier pulled a face of disgust. “What do you take me for? Don't answer that. Come back in a decade, though, and she'll be grown and you will be exactly the same. I'm speaking from experience of course.”

“You haven't changed appreciably, either.”

“Myehh.” Jaskier waved a hand dismissively. “I'm just babyfaced. I looked about twelve until the summer before you met me. Trust me, I am quite aware of all the ways I've gotten older.”

“In a decade she'd be married, anyway,” Geralt continued. “And I, unlike you, am not keen to make enemies of husbands”

Jaskier flicked water at Geralt's face, and was rather proud to earn a slight flinch. “She might not be, though. A decade later and I'm still not married.”

“Well, yes, but you're…,” Geralt's nose wrinkled a moment, “you.”

“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?” Jaskier reached across the bath and attempted to snatch the wine back. Geralt held it fast.

“Did I mention the making enemies of husbands?”

“That only happens sometimes!” Jaskier abandoned his cup on the ledge and stood for better leverage on the wine bottle, foam clinging around his waist.

“Of course. Sometimes you're making enemies of wives. Or mothers.” He let go of the bottle and Jaskier fell backward, knocking his breath out on the far side of the tub.

He wheezed and spluttered, then jabbed a finger at Geralt. “It is not my fault that everyone worth my company who'll actually look twice at me is either already married or have a very controlling family.”

He took a swig of wine from the bottle as Geralt had. The witcher arched an eyebrow at him and cocked his head slightly. “Maybe you should focus a little more of your efforts on that third camp.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The ones you think wouldn't look twice at you.”

“Ha. No. That's—no.” Jaskier turned to the tray of food, put the wine down, and intently perused the pastries. “I do rather like my head attached to my shoulders, difficult as that may be to believe. What about you, though?” he asked without looking at Geralt. “And don't say 'because I'm me' or anything like that. I know for a fact your options for willing—eager, even, and of-age—partners are not limited to whores and megalomaniacal sorceresses.”

Geralt sighed. “Everyone but the whores want things I cannot give and bring things I have no desire to possess. Even the whores do, sometimes.”

Jaskier turned back to frown at Geralt over a tiny lemon tart. “What sort of things?”

Geralt shook his head, shrugged, and looked away.

“That's not an answer.”

He shrugged again.

“Geralt.”

“I don't feel things,” Geralt snapped.

“Oh, don't give me that 'witchers don't have emotions' spiel.” Jaskier crossed one arm over his chest and took a bite of his tart. “I know you know that I know that's a crock of horseshit.”

“That's not what I mean,” Geralt rumbled and grabbed the wine back.

“Then what do you mean?”

Geralt took a drink and gestured broadly with the bottle. “People...like people. You seem to constantly be mooning after someone. I'm surprised you haven't spent the past week regaling me with embellished accounts of the beauty and charm of whoever you fixated on as your 'muse' in the last town, whether I want to hear them or not.”

“Do you want a pastry?” Jaskier held the plate out.

Geralt stared at him flatly for a moment. “I'm not hungry.”

“That's just as much horseshit as the idea that you don't have emotions.”

With a roll of his eyes Geralt traded the wine bottle to his damp hand, picked up a pastry with the dry, and took a bite. “The point,” he said, chewing, then took a drink, “is that you have feelings about people you want. I don't do that.”

“You….” Jaskier screwed up his eyes in concentration, then shook his head. “Give me that.” He took the wine from Geralt and drank. “You definitely seem to do that, at least sometimes.”

“I don't.”

“Then I need you to explain Yennefer to me.”

“She's…a friend.”

“I think you and I define 'friendship' differently,” Jaskier said slowly. He shifted how he was sitting, his foot slipped on the bottom of the tub and brushed Geralt's leg under the water. He pulled his foot back quickly.

“I'm not in love with her,” Geralt said, hawk-like eyes following a bit of swirling foam on the surface of the water. “I never was. I've never been in love with anyone. I've cared about people—usually against my better judgement.” His gaze flicked briefly up to Jaskier's face then continued to the ceiling as he leaned back, lifting one elbow to rest on the edge of the tub, bubbles clinging along the line of a scar as water ran off his skin. “Had plenty of sex. Even had sex with people I've cared about.” He shook his head. “Never fallen in love. I don't think I can.” He shoved the rest of his pastry in his mouth.

Cautiously, Jaskier held out the last of the bottle of wine and bumped it against the witcher's fingers in a silent offering that Geralt accepted.

After a moment—needed as much to take stock of his own sinking heart as anything else—Jaskier asked, “Do you want to? Fall in love, I mean.”

Geralt snorted and looked at him. “Seems like an awful lot of trouble.”

“You're not wrong,” Jaskier admitted, grimacing. “Is that a 'no,' then?”

Geralt shrugged. He pushed up on one knee and twisted to set the now-empty bottle safely on the dais.

Jaskier took that as confirmation and sank deeper into the water, pulling his knees to his chest—one of them popped and he winced. “Ow. What if…. What if someone fell in love with you? Really fell in love, someone who knows you.”

“That would be their misfortune.”

“It's not so bad,” Jaskier mumbled. Geralt stared at him. It took a second for Jaskier to notice. “What?”

Geralt continued to stare, brow furrowing.

“What are you looking at me like that for?”

“Are you in love with me?” Geralt asked, either incredulous or horrified. Hard to say which was preferable.

“I—wh—huh? No, no, of course not,” Jaskier stammered. “Not 'of course not;' I don't mean I or someone wouldn't. It's definitely something someone might, hypothetically do—be in love with, I mean.” He clasped his hands in front of his face, knuckles to his lips, choosing to believe the flush he could feel in his face could be blamed on the wine and the warmth of the water. “If, hypothetically, someone were—then what?”

Geralt shook his head. “Why?”

Jaskier dropped his face into his palms. “Fuck.” He tossed his hands up, shaking his own head helplessly. “I don't know.”

Geralt stared a second longer, then stood up to get out of the bath. Jaskier averted his gaze and halfway shielded his eyes with one hand. “I—Geralt, I'm sorry.”

“There's no point in apologizing for things beyond your control.” Geralt poured another half-bucket of clear water over himself to rinse away the salts and suds, then grabbed a bath sheet to dry with and strode out to the main room, hair falling from its unsecured bun, leaving the door open behind him.

“Geralt!” Jaskier swore under his breath, hauled himself out of the bath, rinsed with the rest of the bucket, wrapped himself in a bath sheet and followed. “I'm not apologizing for having feelings or for what they are.”

“Then what are you apologizing for?” Geralt threw Jaskier's pack at him from across the room, flipped his own open, and pulled out a pair of trousers.

Jaskier swore again and more deflected his pack than caught it. “For making you uncomfortable!”

“I'm not uncomfortable.” Geralt hitched his trousers up his hips and tied the laces.

“You are a terrible liar when it's not by omission.” Jaskier stooped to dig through his pack, found a chemise that was long enough to cover himself, and straightened back up, gesturing with the garment. “If you weren't uncomfortable you'd still be in that bath, luxuriating like a frog in a rainstorm because that is the only way you ever relax, and I am kicking myself for fucking that up because I, apparently, am constitutionally incapable of keeping my mouth shut.”

“Apparently.”

“Oh, hush.” Jaskier pulled his chemise on, let his bath sheet drop, crossed his arms, and took a breath. “I didn't mean to say anything. I wasn't going to say anything. I haven't said anything!”

Geralt took a step towards him. “And why not? To keep hanging around under false pretenses?”

“Because it's not important!” Jaskier flung a hand out in a wide gesture of contradiction. “You are, without question, my best friend in the world and nothing about that is false. Having you as a friend is more important to me than whatever one-sided fancy I might be harbouring. You, of all people, know my track record with love affairs is abysmal—we were justtalking about it—and it is far more important to me to not ruin this,” he gestured between them, “and that is why I never said anything.” He took another breath. “Right after you'd gotten through explaining that you don't fall in love is probably the worst possible time to have said anything, so of course that's when I let slip—and I'll admit it stings a little to hear in such certain terms, and I'm still a bit baffled about the whole thing, really, but it doesn't change the situation. I already knew things were hopeless on my end. I am asking for exactly nothing from you but that things stay as they've been. I'll get over it. Eventually.” He shoved a hand through his damp hair and shrugged. “At this rate it might take me another decade but that's, what, three heartbeats for you? It'll be fine.”

Geralt advanced on him, expression unreadable but intense.

Jaskier put his arms up over his face in an ultimately feckless warding gesture, eyes shut tight. “Really should have put horse reasons farther down the murder list,” he squeaked.

Hands closed over his wrists and pulled them to the sides of his shoulders.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said firmly.

He warily opened one eye, then the other, and looked up into Geralt's face, feeling very much like those amber eyes were looking through him.

“What else would you want?” Geralt's tone was as piercing as his gaze.

Jaskier swallowed and shook his head. “I'm not asking for anything. I refuse to ask you for anything you can't give, and you just told me you can't give,” he gestured as much as he could with his arms immobilized, “anything.”

“I'm not asking what you're asking for,” Geralt growled. “I'm asking what you would want.”

Jaskier retreated as much as he could, leaning back away from Geralt to study him warily. Geralt waited. Jaskier closed his eyes a moment. “Fuck it.” He inhaled deeply and looked Geralt in the eye. “Sex, kisses, cuddles. To wake up, not just at your side, but in your arms. To be able to tell you everything I think of you no matter how stupid or overwrought—and, no, I don't do that already. To sing you the songs knocking around in my head I would never dare perform in public. Maybe, occasionally, to be allowed to ride with you when I'm not on death's door. To know—” He stopped to breathe and looked down. “To know, maybe even be told once in a while, that you're glad to have me around.”

Cautiously, he let his gaze find its way back up, over all the scars, to Geralt's face, searching his expression. For a moment that felt like an eternity, nothing happened, then one of his wrists was suddenly free, there was a hand at the base of his skull, and Geralt was kissing him. He kissed back. Then his brain caught up with him and he smacked at Geralt's chest, mumbling, “Wha—? H'ng om, G'ral', w',” until Geralt gave him enough room to actually talk. He took a breath. “I'm very confused; what is happening right now?”

“I'm kissing you,” Geralt said like it was obvious, which, to be fair, it was.

“Yes, I noticed that.” Jaskier realized his hand was still resting on Geralt's chest and he quickly removed it. “Why are you kissing me?”

“You said you wanted to.”

“I said I don't want anything from you, then you demanded I tell you what I would want anyway!” Jaskier huffed. “I don't want to ask you for anything you can't give.”

“You're not.” Geralt let go of him entirely. “You don't get to decide what I can and cannot give; I'm the only judge of that. Nothing you said you'd want is something I can't do.” He paused. “With the possible exception of the songs.”

“Well, I don't want anything you don't want to give, either!”

Geralt looked highly annoyed. “You're such an idiot.”

“Excuse me?”

“I wouldn't do anything if I didn't want to.”

“You just told me—”

“That I don't fall in love.” Geralt rolled his eyes dramatically enough it turned into a rather equine head toss. “You can want to fuck someone without being in love with them.”

It was Jaskier's turn to stare. He ran a hand over his face. “Hang on, hang on. You want to fuck me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Geralt shrugged and swept a hand in an up and down gesture encompassing Jaskier's whole body. “I have no idea.”

“Why didn't you say anything?!”

“I assumed, given your predisposition towards reckless forwardness, that if you were interested, you would have said so.” Jaskier sighed, hands on his hips, head down. “That's fair, actually.” He looked up. “It doesn't bother you that I'm in love with you? Wow, that feels weird to actually say.”

“Not as long as it doesn't bother you that I don't feel the same.”

“Of course not!” Jaskier said earnestly. “I told you, I'm happy with your friendship. Anything additional is an unexpected, but very welcome, bonus. Though,” he hedged with a grimace, “also liable to ruin my chances of ever actually getting over you.”

“Does that bother you?”

“Why would it bother me to not stop wanting what I want when I have it? I only mention that in case it's a concern for you.”

“It doesn't.” Geralt tilted his head curiously. “You wouldn't rather want someone…more reciprocal instead?”

“No, see, part of the whole being in love thing is wanting that person even if it's not the most practical choice. C'mon, you've seen the kinds of decisions people make.”

“Pavetta,” Geralt sighed.

“Exactly. So, no. I don't want anyone else instead. I can't promise I'll never find any, um, distractions, but I'm not getting the impression you'd object too strongly to that.”

“I don't care.”

“Fantastic! And, of course, you'd be welcome to join.”

Geralt pulled a face.

“Or not!” Jaskier held his hands up, palms out.

“You wouldn't expect me to…include you, would you?”

“With other people? Only if you want to. Far be it from me to tell you how to spend your money. And I am kind of terrified of Yennefer, but—actually, no, I don't think I should tell you that.” Jaskier rubbed at his temple.

“I know you watched.”

“Oh, well, yeah, that is what I wasn't going to say. Anyway, no, do what—and who—you want. With or without me.”

Geralt nodded. “Alright. Then I think we're on the same page about this.”

“Whatever this is,” Jaskier said, gesturing between them.

“How does 'friends who fuck sometimes' sound?”

“Hm, I might prefer 'best friends who fuck a lot.'”

Geralt snorted, a hint of indulgent humor lighting his eyes. “Sure.”

“In that case….” Jaskier took a step forward, putting himself solidly in Geralt's personal space, lay both hands on his chest, then reconsidered and reached up to loop his arms around his neck instead. “Take me.”

Geralt rolled his eyes, but lifted Jaskier by the waist, easily walked the three steps it took to pin him to the nearest wall, and kissed him again, hard. Which, well, that sure was an experience. And Jaskier sure wasn't wearing pants. He tangled his fingers in Geralt's hair and kissed back—kissed down, which, frankly, he was not expecting to find himself doing with Geralt, even if he'd found himself kissing Geralt in the first place, but his wandering fantasies hadn't taken into account the fact that Geralt could throw him around like a rag doll. Truly a glaring oversight.

As it turned out, his wandering fantasies had made several glaring oversights.

~ Sprawled on the coverlet, Jaskier rolled over to smush his face against the nearest part of Geralt, which happened to be his ribs. “Truly,” he said, muffled, “your gifts are wasted on monster hunting.”

Geralt hummed in what could just as easily have been agreement as exasperation, pulled Jaskier up, and tucked his face against Jaskier's neck, arms around his back. Jaskier yelped slightly at being moved, then smiled softly, shifted to lay more comfortably against the unyielding angles of Geralt's body, pressed a kiss to his temple, and combed his fingers through his hair, now almost dry. “You are never getting rid of me now—”

“I already couldn't get rid of you,” Geralt mumbled.

“That's true,” Jaskier mused, still combing. “And you did try, though not very hard, you have to admit. Especially considering you could’ve, apparently, put me up somewhere I couldn't get down from, like a rambunctious kitten or something. I did know, in theory, that you could have—I mean, I've seen you fight—but I'd never really considered the implications. What's even more incredible than your strength, though, and stamina—can't forget the stamina, whew, I am…not nineteen anymore, but that's beside the point—”

“Jaskier.”

“—your precision, Geralt, I swear. And that's to say nothing of your attentiveness. Really, though, you're never getting rid of me, I'm staying right here, because I utterly adore you and because now that I know what I'd be missing I honestly believe any other lover would leave me bereft and unsatis—”

“Jaskier,” Geralt growled, “please shut up.”

He chuckled but obliged, ceasing his combing to trace his fingers along the layered lines of scars on Geralt's shoulder and arm. Some of them he knew the stories—he'd been present for a few of them, written odes to more of them than that—others he didn't know, and knew better than to ask. He started to hum, fingers of his left hand fretting amongst Geralt's hair until they gave up the exercise around the third repetition of a single bar he hummed over and over while he tried to think of a verb that both fit the melody and made any sense in context. By the time he'd settled on rained, which was a bit more metaphorical that he'd been hoping for, but fit, the breath washing over his collarbone had gone even and slow.

“Geralt?” he asked softly. “Are you asleep or just breathing slowly?”

“Breathing,” came the muffled reply.

“Right. Good. It's just a bit hard to tell since I can't see your face and I'm pretty sure your heart rate is half mine or less at any given moment.” Jaskier pushed himself to sit up, sort of peeled himself off Geralt's skin, wincing at the sensation and the certain amount of not-fun hair pulling that went with it, and rearranged himself to press his ear to Geralt's chest.

Geralt sighed. “We need another bath.”

“You have been covered in far worse,” Jaskier pointed out. “Even just today. But,” he conceded, “yes. We did make a bit of a mess.” He poked at a bit of said mess just above Geralt's hip.

A moment later Geralt asked, “Are you going to get up so we can do that?”

“Eventually,” Jaskier hummed. “Probably.”

With a sound so low in his chest Jaskier probably wouldn't have been able to hear it if he didn't have his ear right against his heart, Geralt levered himself up, pushing Jaskier off of him in the process. Jaskier was just about to protest being unceremoniously dumped aside when Geralt scooped him up and tossed him over his shoulder so he wound up squawking indignantly and scrabbling for purchase against Geralt's back instead. “Telling you I enjoy being manhandled was amistake!”

“Probably,” Geralt agreed mildly.

Jaskier craned his neck to try to see exactly where he was being carried. “Geralt, I swear—don't you dare drop me in the bath.”

“You can tell me if it's cold,” Geralt said, then did exactly what Jaskier had just told him not to do.

There was a fair bit of splashing as Jaskier grabbed at the side of the tub to keep his head above water and just barelyavoided knocking over the tray of food still perched there. He huffed and glared. “Not as warm as it was, but amazingly, no, not cold.”

Geralt nodded appraisingly, “Good architecture,” and left the room.

“Where are you going?” Jaskier called after him. He got no answer but Geralt returned shortly with the other bottle of wine from the table and a length of leather cord. He handed Jaskier the wine, wrangled his hair back up into a bun more quickly now that it wasn't so wet, tied it up with the cord, grabbed a couple cloths, and joined Jaskier in the bath.

Jaskier took a swig of the wine, then held it out to Geralt who accepted it and did the same. Most of the foam from earlier had fizzled away by now, leaving only a drifts of fine bubbles swirling on the disturbed surface of the water, which was hazy but still clear enough to see their legs through.

Geralt casually dropped one of the washcloths on Jaskier's head, set the wine aside, and set about giving himself a perfunctory scrub. Jaskier also made a pass at washing. “So…,” he said slowly, then laughed at himself. “Why the hell am I feeling awkward now; we're already through what ought to be the awkward part.”

“Hm,” Geralt hummed unhelpfully.

Jaskier watched him a moment as they washed. “It's just,” he began again, dragging his eyes back to his own lap, “you haven't really said, well, anything, except for telling me to shut up, which isn't exactly unusual for you, nothing to be worried about, but, uh, I would appreciate some feedback?”

He hadn't meant for his voice to pitch that up into a question.

Geralt looked at him curiously.

“I mean,” Jaskier wrung out his cloth and draped it on the side of the tub, “it was good for you, right?”

Something softened in Geralt's gaze and a smile tugged subtly at his mouth. “Yes.”

Jaskier let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and felt something loosen in his chest. “Great! Fantastic. Glad to hear it.” He leaned forward, elbow propped on one knee in the water. “Anything else to say about it? Any notes?”

The softness to Geralt's expression vanished. “It's sex, Jaskier, not a ballad.”

“I will save the argument they're ultimately the same thing for another day,” Jaskier dismissed. “I'm serious, though—is there anything I should know? For next time. Assuming of course that there's going to be a next time? It sounded like we agreed on this being repeatable.”

Geralt rolled his eyes, pulled Jaskier into his lap, and growled against his throat, “There will be a next time.”

“Oh good,” Jaskier breathed, fingers digging into Geralt's shoulders where he'd caught his balance.

“Fucking you is far more convenient and much less fraught than dealing with a brothel.”

“I don't know how I feel about being called convenient but I have definitely been called worse.” He loosened his grip and stroked the upward swept hair at the back of Geralt's head while Geralt traced the tip of his nose along the line of a tendon in his neck, inhaling deeply. “Do you...like how I smell?” Jaskier asked curiously, trying to make sense of the plenty welcome attention.

“Mm; it's situational.”

“Noted,” Jaskier laughed, then took Geralt's jaw in hand and caught his mouth in a kiss. “Is there anything you like that I have voluntarily control over?”

Geralt shrugged. Jaskier gave up with a rueful sort of sigh and leaned their foreheads together for a moment before maneuvering out of Geralt's lap and settling against his side instead. “Let me know if you think of anything.”

“I will,” Geralt promised, and reached for the tray of food.

~~

End of fic! Read the rest of the series on Ao3 here.

[shnowyfox]

all my mlp ocs in order of creation

DayDreamBreeze. also my original gamertag on minecraft! i uhm. shes not supposed to be a cheese changling. She's inspired by a fluttershy toy i had and the beautiful artwork for the honey queen chrysalis from ink rose's interpretation of her backstory. i swapped the honey for water and she's supposed to be a pegasus? but i drew her as a changling here for some reason and i have no clue why

Casey Cockatrice. Seeing pony youtubers discuss the show in their oc form, and thinking "wow, they're all just pegasi" i was like "i should do that but not be a pegasus" so i made an oc and never did that lol. probably a good thing though. anyhow. Casey was originally supposed to be an angel cockatrice but I didn't know how to do that without just making a chicken with a lizard tail until just now im realizing i should make it a dutchie omg. Casey enjoys the ponies and wants to befriend them but is confined to the everfree forest, so she has dawned a blindfold so she doesnt hurt anyone and she likes to hang out with zecora and collect herbs with her. she still just kinda does chicken/dragon things most of the time like pecking at the ground and sitting on treasure. The ring in her comb is supposed to be a halo. halos stuck in the character's design physically (usually through the hair or something similar) was a common thing i did for characters that were close to me at the time.

Lemon Lily. She is. very bright. she was supposed to have a much more subtle color palette but i didnt do that and now she looks like sprite lmao. anyhow. i drew her randomly when i went through a small mlp phase a few years ago, mainly just attraction for chrysalis, but i guess she exists. her cutie mark is supposed to look like a water lily made of lemons but it kinda just looks weird idk. i'd say her talent is supposed to be like.. maybe floral arrangement? i think i had some inspiration from early mlp background ponies and i remember the florists were my favorite.

JASON!! my favorite little idiot. he's a griffin i made in pony.town after realizing if i use the singular freckle and closed the eyes, it looked like he had tiny eyes and angry brows lol. all i do with him is act vaguely like skydoesminecraft and boop people with my bird fingers.

DayDreamBreeze 2.0. i literally drew this bitch and didn't do anything else with them. ever.

then is autumn breeze whom i've drawn literally in like my last post so im not doing it again rn. she's my LOE pony and if you want her lore go to the post where i drew her on my phone.

Honey Suckle. The only OC that I have surviving evidence of actually writing their backstory and whatnot. They were created with the idea of them experimenting on their body trying to turn themselves into a bee (basically beeatris as a horse, i know none of you know my persona beeatris but its pretty much her without the demonic activity and disney fairy influence), though i have thought of maybe changing it to her wanting to become a breezy or a changeling. She lost her horn because of this experimentation and is fluffier and has patches of hair on her eyes because of it. i forgot if she had a cutie mark or if i just didnt draw it or if it's overgrown? I think a lot of this character's experimentation was based off of memories of my brother who had leukemia and tried experimental treatments, mainly the fuzziness he got from his chemo or steroids i forgot which one it was. I also drew her as a kirin, idk if that was supposed to be a thing of like.. me doing it as an alternate idea of what she's aiming to achieve, as an alternate form of what she was born as.. or if it was just a doodle.. but it was pretty cool. a good quote for her is the vine thats like "i am a wolf on all levels but physical"

Next is Pegasus. I originally had a different name for them but i don't think i can share it here. Pegasus is also related to my brother though and is very cool. they're really just a celestial body as a pony like Celestia and Luna, but with more of a crystal pony inspiration. also, they speak enchanting table only and i think thats really funny. same size as Luna. also, she can hide in Luna's hair.

Stone Hoof. based somewhat off of Smokey Quartz from Steven Universe, i thought it'd be cool to also give them speckling like an appaloosa horse or vitiligo. you can't see their cutie mark but it's supposed to be a yoyo and i put it in the shape of the symbol of leo since im a leo and i designed them on the same day as pegasus lol. they are intended to be a friend to Honey Suckle.

Finally, we have... I didn't name this one actually. uhm. well! it looks kinda like scootaloo, especially g3 or 3.5. which was unintentional but she was one of my favorite ponies and i had a few toys of her so it kinda makes sense that this is what my brain thought of when i thought "well loved my little pony doll". The hair is based off of the fettucine hair on those g4 plushies and also somewhat based on dreads. the patterns on their hooves is the heartshaped horseshoe from those promotional toys where you can scan them in for video game perks. and the wings are colored after discord's wings. I also got inspo from Stitches from Animal Crossing.

those are the horses. 1 like = 1 more horse post.

i also have customs i made as a kid that i dont have pictures of but i could redraw. but they're basically just "this character but i painted this animal on their face."

[mythopoeticreality]

For the ask game - 🐣 for Maedhros, 🍄 for John Uskglass and ❄ for Feanor please?

Ahhh! I'm so sorry this took a bit xD Been trying to catch up back with my normal schedule since Thanksgiving last week >.< Anyway! Thank you so much for sending these, they were fun to think about! Uskers one ended up a bit longer than I expected but, well, he's Uskers, so xD But, yeah, let's see what we've got here!

🐣 for Maedhros:

I like to think that on Tirion Maedhros acted as wingman for his younger brothers a lot-- aaand more than once it ended up backfiring. I mean just being himself, naturally charming and strikingly handsome, he's ended up in a few situations where people have assumed he's flirting with them when oh...wait, no, actually that wasn't what he meant at all xD He usually manages to clear things up pretty quickly, no harm really done, but yeah, he's had a few awkward moments, and gotten a few stories that his brothers tease him about though.

🍄 for John Uskglass:

Kind of loosely tied into the idea of "a food headcanon" and more having to do with the idea of "luxury" and the differences between Faerie and England, but a part that's always stood out to me in the books is that moment where The Raven King is sitting down to discuss the terms of King Henry's surrender with the man and his court. And they're all there in their fine robes drinking wine, and John instead is drinking ewe's milk from a stone cup.

You could probably put much of this down to legend and emebelishment made over the centuries, as with most things about the Raven King, so much is really unclear. But from what we've seen of Faerie, both in JSMN itself and in other stories, there is a sort of...absence of simpler, human comforts in Faerie. Warm beds, cheerful fires, good food, you know, the more hobbit-ish pleasures in life xD You're as likely to see a Faerie King sleeping on piles of furs as a proper bed, and The luxuries in brughs like John Hollyshoes' are as much glamour as anything else-- even the very real treasures within it in reality are in a state of squalor and decay. It does make me wonder what a younger John Uskglass would have been used to -- especially begining his life as the Nameless Slave -- before his conquest of England.

What would have been food fit to serve for a King in Faerie? The descriptions of the Feast shared between the Gentleman and Stephen before they go to fetch the Moss Oak might be some hint -- honeyed hummingbird pie, roasted Wyvern and Salamander, cockatrice combs spriced with saffron and powdered rainbows -- but the thing is, those dishes were served at an inn run by humans, and at a feast taking place a few centuries into the Raven King's reign in England. I can easily picture food in Faerie being of a far simpler kind before Uskglasses's reign encouraged much intermingling between Fairies and Mankind -- wild fruits and berries, stolen milk and honey from farmer's livestock, Maybe with a few finer dishes stolen from mortal tables as well, sprinkled in there every now and again -- it certainly fits in well with that image of the Raven King we see, as a young man.

I can see The Raven King as being more used to that sort of thing, in the begining, honestly. Can see him as half-wild, and definitely tempted by the sorts of simple luxuries of, say, a warm goblet of Hippocras on a cold winter's day, or the scent of a well seasoned roast chicken, it took him some time to get used to it. to see it as...his own in a way? I could easily see him taking his meals on his own -- If one would consider a loaf of bread, and perhaps a few tarts stolen from the kitchen (Old habits die hard, and he was raised by Faeries) or an apple or some berries picked from the orchards a "meal"-- as easily as I can see him spending his free time alone perched up upon the castle parapets, or spending his nights preferring the ground and a pile of furs to any down mattress. I dunno, I don't think he shunned any of these more human luxuries, persay -- John Uskglass is most definitely an Enjoyer of Nice Things -- but again I just think it took him a moment to get used to them and appreciate them fully if that makes sense? Much like it took him some time to really connect with and understand the rest of his Kingdom, really...

❄ for Feanor:

Generally I see Fëanor as nooot really much enjoying the winter months and preferring to keep himself locked up in the warmth of his forge during them? xD That said, a concept that's always really intrigued me is Tonfui -- that is, the Noldorin Yule in earlier conceptions of the Silm. And honestly? I can definitely see Fëanor going all out during the season, if only to further show off his prowess as a artisan and a craftsman. Just Saying, the guy had *definitely* spoiled his sons when it comes time for gifts...

[budoshoujoofficial]

Hajime! Enter the Budo Shoujo!

CHAPTER 1 - THE DAY THE WORLD STOOD STILL

No one was prepared for that fateful day. It was the ultimate nightmare. The ruins of a British castle excavated, only to reveal the hiding spot of that ancient evil. It was said that his wings blackened the sky, and his cry made the wolves cower in fear. But worst of all was his gaze. His gaze paralyzed all who peered into it. Well, paralyzed wasn’t the right word. They were petrified, turned to immovable statues.

“Those poor saps could not kill me. Wiped out my generals, destroyed my ogres, but I still live” he shrinks down into a humanoid form and adjusts the tie of his suit with hands atop his bat like wings. He fluffs the feathers of his chicken head and blinks his four eyes. “It has been quite a while. Things have changed quite a bit. Looks like I need some assistance.”

Miyagi History Museum

“It’s rumored that this sword belonged to a samurai from Echigo, who was lost in… WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!” The tour guide screeches as the monster crashes through the window. She was immediately petrified as the creature shatters a pot. “I heard rumors of a great warrior, cursed to sleep here. Wake up, and claim your rightful place by my side.”

A swirling mist gathers, and a samurai no older than 25 appears. He wasn’t entirely human, at least, not anymore. A black and white fish tail on his back, and fins on his ears proved that fact. He sinks into a bow. “My lord, I am the Shiro Utsuri. It is an honor to serve you”

The Cockatrice, as the monster would come to be called, ignores his introduction and picks up the sword that was next to the pot. “Come. I need your assistance to wake my mage, Ivanovi. I sent him away before the final battle.”

The samurai nodded, and off they went, transported back to Europe.

The unnamed German Town was practically uninhabitable. Anyone who tried to settle in it would find themselves ill, or misfortunate. “Cursed the place. A delightful touch” the Cockatrice laughs. “Shiro Utsuri, spill your blood on the ground. That should wake him up”

The samurai nods and cuts his palm. The dripping blood causes a rumbling, and then a man… bat… abomination to crawl out of the ground. Like the Cockatrice, he had hands atop wings, but that was the only similarity. He had a webbed tail and his head was human, with two large ears on the top. “Behold, a proper vampire, awakened by blood and ready to serve” the Cockatrice introduces the thing in front of him. The Shiro Utsuri backs away, shocked.

“Sir, you live! It is a joy to see” Ivanovi grins, revealing sharp fangs. He looks at the Shiro Utsuri, a little confused. After all, he had yet to see a human that looked quite the same as that. But, Ivanovi was quick to adapt to his surroundings, regardless of the time and place

“I do, yes. But alas my work was undone. We were unable to march the Ogre hordes on this pitiful land.” He laments to his vampire confidant. “Your magic is required again”

“I understand, my lord. Perhaps it would be advantageous to gain another sorcerer” the vampire suggests. “I heard rumblings of a sorcerer across the ocean. Thirty years ago she was trapped in stone”

“Oh? In those lands? Intriguing. Let us head there. Perhaps we will have better luck in those lands. After all, the east lands and the britons managed to uncover the secrets of their war arts. And it seems with time, they have become less of an interest for the people of this planet. It should be an easy conquest”

“Of course, your excellency. We will enact swift retribution for what they did all those years ago. But first, we will find this sorcerer near a college called Oceanside University” 

Oceanside University. Not as good as Harvard but it was definitely better than Bluff State. It held standard classes, your usual mid sized university fare. It had sports teams too, but they weren’t really of importance in any division. The campus was beautiful though. Nestled next to a rocky bluff overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. It became a great hiking spot, as well as the subject of many urban legends. However, the most notable things about this university was its support of martial arts clubs. Instructors frequently came to teach clubs in obscure arts, both eastern and western. There were often showcases and mock battles, both to the awe and sometimes ire of other students.

“TO~!” a fiery ginger calls out as she jabs the wooden bayoneted rifle, called a Mokuju, at her training partner. She was practicing Jukendo, a rare weapons based Budo. Because no one else practiced it at the school, she trained with the Kendo club. 

“Kote! Men!” The blonde kendoka on the other side of the gym calls out. She then shouts, to signal her next strike. “how ya doing over there Marie? because you face me next” she calls out after finishing the set.

“doing just fine Cara, but you’d better be ready. I’m feeling it today” she laughs “Gotta impress the newbies after all.”

“IPPON! Good job new girl” Came from the next gym over. A stocky tomboy had thrown her opponent to the ground perfectly. This Judo exhibition was for new students, and she was fresh meat. Well, not anymore… “The name’s Lily. You’d better remember it” the tomboy chuckles

Outside, other clubs were attempting to recruit

“Why not join Kyuudo? ” The team captain of the japanese archery club gives a pamphlet to a tall and graceful first year walking by. “Hm, Lily did say to try a martial art. I think I can spare some time. My name is Angel, would you be able to tell me more?“

Passing her was a girl with a wrapped Naginata. She was confident, sitting down at the club table. “Good afternoon Tomoko”

“good afternoon ladies. How is recruitment going?”

These five ladies didn’t know what was about to happen. As they all leave where they were, they were transported to a mysterious dojo. A man with a gold tessen welcomes them in. “Ladies, I’m sorry to bring you here without warning, but it seems the world needs your assistance.”

“Huh?” The tomboy, Lily, asks. “The world needs us? Why?”

“You five have excellent spirits, and limitless potential in your chosen Budo”

“But I-“ the ballerina, Angel asks, confused

“You too have potential, if you choose to go through with it, white swan. I understand you five are nervous, but the evil we face will not wait for you to  become confident. I have no doubt he’s on his way here to collect the trapped trickster mage Xola.”

“Trickster mage? Great evil?” The redhead, Marie was confused. “Are you saying we’re going to be War Artists?” 

“Budo Shoujo” the man corrects her. “War Artists are our European counterparts. Like origami, we evolved similar skills with different variations. How do you know about them?” 

“My dad is a huge fan. He’s a HEMA enthusiast, so he used to show me reruns of captured fights” she smiles. 

“Oh. How interesting” something clicks in his mind. “Well, red eagle, sine you know them, you must recognize a henshin weapon. I believe yours is a Mokuju” he passes her an ornately carved wooden rifle. She takes it and immediately transforms. She was decked out in a white gi and red hakama with maroon armor. The shoulder cover resembled a wing, and her helmet resembled an eagle’s head. 

This sparks an interest in the other girls, who clamor to the weapons. Well, except Lily, who just gets a yellow Judo belt. As she places it on, she transforms as well. Her gi and pants were yellow, complimenting the belt Although Judoka don’t wear helmets, she wore a bear eared visor to obscure her face.

Angel inspects the white yumi as she’s transformed into a white gi and Hakama, a black wing like pad across her chest to protect her from the string. A swan mask covered her face, but gave her sight to aim.

Cara, the Kendoka, brings the shinai to Chuudan, the basic stance, then Jodan, the high stance, and then transforms. Her hip flags looked like fins, same with her shoulder pauldrons. The fish like elements were the only deviation from the normal blue of a Kendo uniform. 

Finally, Tomoko picks up the ribbon wrapped polearm. “A naginata themed hero? Kawaii ne~!”She transforms, her helmet sporting horse ears and a neatly groomed mane crest. Her hakama was tied up with shin guards. 

“Your main opponent is the Cockatrice. No doubt he has awoken Ivanovi the vampire. I also have a report in from Japan that he woke a cursed Samurai known as the Shiro Utsuri.”

“A cursed Samurai? Vampires?” Angel asks. She was still taken aback, wearing an unfamiliar uniform for a sport she only just considered. And they were asking her to take up arms against ancient evils?!

The man nods. “Sadly so. But if you all work together, you should be able to defeat them, and whatever monsters he throws your way.” As he explains this, one of his lookouts, the captain of the Kyudo club, runs into the dojo. “He’s here. Heading those the stone that the sorcerer is in” he blurts out.

“Ladies. You must go now. I trust that you will drive them back”

The girls nod and run out towards the bluff. At the top, there is a singular stone, the fated resting place of the sorceress Xola and the target of the incoming villains

[nonbinarycrap]

FANTASY CREATURES SHOULD HAVE DIFFERENT SPECIES!

LIKE FAIRIES FOR FUCKS SAKE! THEY SHOULDN'T LOOK LIKE FUCKING TWINKS!

Istg, i have to keep thinking about the fact fairies look like some sexy woman or some femboy.

I WANT TGEM TO HAVE DIFFERENT TYPES OF SPECIES!!! SOME FAST SOME SLOW! SOME FAT SOME SLIM! SOME MUSCULAR AND SOME LOOKING LIKE A STICK!

I swear to god, i made a whole ass essay of these guys, and it's only a page long.

First, fairies. As I said. I think there'd be different kinds of'em. Some would be peaceful and some are fucking demons. The faster ones are more carnivorous while the slower ones are mostly herbivores. So, therefore, there should be SOME kind of fat to the herbivores. Carnivorous fairies would hunt insects and small rodents. Herbivores would eat berries, herbs, and literally any vegetation.

Herbivores and carnivores, if they work together, would have some kind of farming like today's society or, like in Beastars, expect carnivores aren't likely to cannibalize on other fairies. Some may do, but some won't.

Carnivores have more slimmer or muscular bodies, depending on the species.

Fairies most likely do NOT have any natural predators. If they do, then the carnivorous ones would have such instincts. Some fairies are poisonous and will be able to kill anything that consumes it.

Some fairies might look ugly to keep away predators. Or some fairies might have VERY skilled hiding skills ANYTHING!!

Fairies are not some twinks or ugly looking shits. There are multiple ways to imagine fairies. This is just my take.

Along with the cockatrice. There are MULTIPLE species of chickens and snakes! It should not be just a rooster and some green ass snake. Imagine! A hen and a fucking cobra! HOW COOL WOULD THAT BE?! How about a Delaware and a RATTLESNAKE?! It may not have the rattle, but it COULD AS WELL BE THE VENOM!

A minotaur?! WHAT ABOUT THOSE?! IT COULD AS OXEN OR SOMETHIN SMH-

Anyway, I'm sorry, this is not my usual thing but I'll be taking two weeks off for studies and exams.

Edit: Someone may or may not have asked this already, so if they did, creds to them. But I thought this all up myself

[deathclawstudios]

Spark form #31: Meet the Cockatrice! A mishmash of a chicken and dragon from medieval legends.

Cockatrice sparks are skittish and very shy. They usually have one big scary friend that they cling to.

many more spark forms are on their way! Hope these help you all to make your own spark OCS for the comic!

[wellthatschaotic]

do you have a favorite food or other misc item from your source that doesnt exist in this world? (if you're ok with me asking about your source. if you're not, feel free to ignore this :)

-comet

okay this one is really funny because it means something VERY DIFFERENT where i come from vs here

so cockatrice are like, chicken-lizard-things, right? about the size of big dogs, and venomous. they usually travel in twos (sometimes threes). (fun fact my neighbors when i was Very Smol had a pet cockatrice named Eggs. y'know how some humans have guard dogs? Guard Cockatrice. not sure how my parents felt about me playing wither her but oh well-)

cockatrice are tasty though! really tasty! and used in a lot of foods! one of my favorite foods for sure! (besides my sister dalia's pastries. dessert yum :) )

now the fun part is cockatrice meat is shortened to "cock". meaning "i want some cock" has VERY DIFFERENT MEANINGS KLDAJFKL

it's so funny to me ever since i learned what cock can mean on earth just jaklxdjfkldjkla

(also i LOVE rambling about source go ahead and ask stuff!!)

[monstersdownthepath]

Monster Spotlight: Cockatrice

CR 3

Neutral Small Magical Beast

Pathfinder Bestiary 1, pg. 48

Breeding as quickly as the roosters they resemble, Cockatrice are foul-tempered, territorial, deliciously tasty creatures famous for their ability to turn flesh to stone with a single bite. Like roosters, they feed primarily on seeds and small insects, but aren’t shy about ripping apart any creature smaller than them that they manage to catch up to, especially if there’s multiple Cockatrice around... And there will likely always be. Again, they breed and grow as swiftly as chickens and live in similarly communal flocks, leaping to one another’s defense when a predator presents itself.

The reputation of a Cockatrice as a beast best avoided is spread largely by adventurers who’ve come by their nests and seen them decorated with stone sculptures of rabbits, snakes, large insects, and other small creatures. In truth, a swarm of Cockatrice is a menace truly worthy of this fear, but a single one is by no means deserving of its CR 3 designation. They struggle to deal lethal damage with their bite, which deals 1d4-2 damage, and a pathetically low DC 12 Fortitude save negates the mystic petrification for which they’re so famous. Even failing the save means taking only a meager 1d4 Dexterity damage, which is only truly threatening if the beast can make multiple attacks in a round... And it cannot, only able to do one bite per turn.

Adding on to the train of terrible but amusing qualities, the weak damage of a Cockatrice’s beak means that while it can (and does) digest stone, it cannot actually bite through the stone that it creates like a Basilisk can. Its prey must be small, very small, lest it choke to death on the chunks of rock that result from the transmutation of any flesh it eats. The petrification (mercifully) isn’t even permanent! Being reduced to 0 Dex by the damage turns the victim to stone, but they can make a new saving throw each day to build up to three successes or failures; three failures means the victim is stuck as a rock until cured, but three successes lets them return from their state. And, again, since Cockatrice cannot break stone, victims will usually return to flesh wholly intact, perhaps missing some fingers or hair but otherwise fine.

I’ve said this several times already, but a Cockatrice is only deserving of its CR 3 designation if there’s at least three of them, enough that them ganging up on a single victim can be an actual threat. If there’s only a single one in an encounter, it can be easily conquered by a Familiar, as humble weasels and ferrets are, uniquely, completely immune to a Cockatrice’s petrifying bite.

You can read more about them here.

[evolutionsvoid]

Bufugo are a bird-like creatures that are somehow both beautiful and painful to look at. They are found in sunnier, tropical climates, mainly showing up where their favorite food grows. Bufugo are about the size of a turkey and, despite their fancy feathers, have about the same flying grace as they do. Despite their winged appearance, Bufugo don't really fly. The best they do is jump really high or glide. Instead of flying, they prefer both a terrestrial and arboreal lifestyle. Their clawed arms are good for climbing trees, and their little legs certainly give them a lot of speed! They are very high energy creatures, always running around, chasing things and making a whole lot of racket. If you think of song birds as elegant stage singers, these are the rowdy drunks with a washboard who keep storming the stage. All their running about and screeching is actually them searching for food and claiming territory. They like to locate promising sources of food and then try to keep others from stealing it. Their cackles and shrieks are them warning others and telling them to scram, which is kind of strange because I am pretty sure no Bufugo actually listens to such a demand. There always seems to be a couple of them trying to sneak in to nab a morsel, or one who decided a outright charge (complete with fanfare) is the best strategy to scare off the keeper of this fruitful patch. What usually results is a whole lot of screaming and running around, as the one protecting its claim tries to scare off the intruders, while the offender tries to loop around to snag a snack for the road. While it would be easy to say that the biggest and toughest Bufugo gets the best territories, that really isn't true. While these creatures are not big fans of sharing, they hate the puffed-up head roosters who hog all the goods even more. This means that a group of smaller, wilier Bufugo will team up and launch an attack against the claim holder. This all-out assault is often more than any big Bufugo can handle, and they are forced to retreat. The team will then celebrate with a meal, which then will devolve in a screaming brawl as they fight over who gets what. At the end of the day, I think you can just call these fellows "active foragers," because these territories and claims don't really exist for longer than five minutes. So what is all this fuss about? What is it that the Bufugo fight over so crazily? Why, it is their favorite food: Peppers! Though Bufugo are omnivorous creatures, the main staple of their diet is peppers. Sure, they can eat bugs, worms, fruits and small critters, but the real meal they want is that spicy goodness! A fruitful pepper patch is what they desire the most, so that is what they fight over most often. They love nothing more than snapping a fresh pepper off the vine and chowing down! Such a pick, however, isn't just about flavor and nutrition! Bufugo like peppers for one very important reason, and that is defense! As everyone should know (and if you don't, you really need to expand your palate), peppers are fruit that have quite a kick in them (they are fruit, right? I believe they are a berry, but people use them like vegetables...cripes, I am a dryad and I don't even know)! A chemical that is found in them gives a burning sensation to many species who try to eat them. Some can be pretty mild, while others darn well nearly set your mouth on fire! However, not all species are affected by this chemical. Birds are immune to such burning, as they are the ones who help spread the seeds! Bufugo are another species that does not feel the pepper's heat when they take a bite. Despite this, the Bufugo tend to flock towards the peppers with the strongest burn, and why do think that is? It is because they use this burning chemical as a weapon! Similar to a cockatrice, the Bufugo will chow down on a pepper and store the most potent parts in a specialized crop. In there, they will mix and mash it with their saliva, creating a potent stew. When threatened by a predator or intruder, they will take aim with their narrow beak and fire a fine stream of spit. This attack is always aimed at the face, hoping to splash into the eyes and mouth. Non-avian species who get a dousing of this will suddenly feel like their face is aflame! It is a full dose of pepper heat right in your eyes! While it is not as deadly or infectious as a cockatrice's spit, those who feel it will tell you it isn't a pleasant experience! Such burning can last for hours and, depending on the type of peppers used to make it, it can leave you temporarily blind. Such an attack easily drives off predators, or can distract them long enough for the Bufugo to escape. While it is a potent weapon, it is one that they seem to have way too much fun with. Some species with such an ability save it for just the right moment, fearful of wasting it and getting caught in a jam. Bufugo, on the other hand, like to spit this stuff at anyone who even looks at them funny. This makes them quite notorious with the locals, and especially with foolish tourists. You get some fool sneaking up for a closer look at this gorgeous bird, only to get a fiery stream right to the face! And don't forget when these rambunctious creatures get into your garden or on your farm! Best wear eye protection before driving them off, or else you'll be suffering!      

Due to its burning spit and mischievous nature, the Bufugo has gained some fame in the local cultures. The most obvious thing that people have latched onto is their spicy saliva. Quite a few potent seasonings and hot sauces bear mention of the Bufugo, either in name or as a mascot. Their spit is also valued as an ingredient itself, said to be even hotter and more flavorful than the peppers they dine on. Some folk raise Bufugo like chickens, selling their feathers, eggs, spit as well as their pre-seasoned meat! Some chefs and cooks value the ingredients these Bufugo farms provide, while others curse their existence. Bufugo are not tame creatures, even when raised on a farm. They tend to escape the coop from time to time, and they never fail to find the fanciest garden in town to feast on. One chef's prized ingredients can wind up devouring the ingredients of another local cook! The Bufugo also tend to show up around fiery festivals and celebrations. Lots of costumes bear the feathers of these birds, especially for performers who specialize in fire breathing! It is no surprise they show up on so many garbs and paintings! They are quite gorgeous, but do be careful when you go for a peek! Chlora Myron Dryad Natural Historian ----------------------------------------------------- Birds don't feel capsicum, you say? Ho boy, lets make a bird!  I hate making birds! Freaking feathers! And yes, I do realize the hands are wrong for such a creature. Got screwed up when I outlined it and just had to make do. (And now that I think of it, this is really isn't a bird is it? Boy this is so confusing).  

[dragonskxn]

Villain Anna slowly starts creating her own collection of various dragons and dragon-like creatures that she made with her serum. Here's a few examples:

Drakes - usually any four-legged creatures that don't develop wings after the serum. Cattle are the most common. Horns become larger, back spikes appear, more muscle mass, etc.

Dragons - four-legged creatures that gained wings. Horses are the most common.

Cockatrices - pigeons, doves, chickens and other poultry, like turkeys. They develop leathery wings and snakelike tails, as well as venom.

Manticores - feline creatures that gained wings, a scorpion-like tail, and fire-breathing abilities. Very rare; Anna only has one for now and it's a housecat.

Amphipteres - serpents that have sprouted feathery or leathery wings. Gained fire-breathing abilities. Constrictor snakes still constrict, venomous snakes still have venom, etc.

Wyrms - any no-legged creatures that did not become amphipteres. Gained fire-breathing abilities.

Fae - insects like dragonflies and wasps. They get larger, with stronger bites and stings.

Phoenixes - birds of prey. The fiery draconic DNA in their bodies allows them to set their own feathers aflame without any harm. They have a "burnout" after a short period of time, however.

Salamanders - the name speaks for itself, except these salamanders breathe fire and have an extreme resistance to fire. They like to sleep in Anna's fireplace.

Hydras - mostly aquatic creatures like eels. Grow to a larger size from the advanced serum and have the ability to regenerate multiple heads if one is cut off. She also did this on geese. Because geese are evil by nature.

Imps - any small yet intelligent creatures that are good at infiltration -- rats, raccoons, mice, etc. They grow little wings and sharper teeth and claws.

Wyverns - any winged flying creatures that didn't turn into cockatrices. Bats, mostly. Stronger wings and fire-breathing abilities.

Nosferatu - a special name for one of the first creatures to successfully transform under the advanced serum. A vampire bat that grew to the size of a large horse, sprouting an impressive maw of teeth, larger ears, a long tail, and bones strong enough for someone to ride on ( and back spikes to grab onto). He has a collar with his name on the tag :)

[caitlinsmithfmp2]

Dragon Subspecies

Due to the large amount of Dragon like creatures that appear in almost every ancient culture in the world, many Dragon subspecies and variations have popped up over the centuries. Some of these variations appear in my story and I will cover these and other subspecies that make up the main basis of the Dragon family, although the main type that appears in the story is regular Western Dragons, I would like to explore the different variations that could be implemented into the story and my project:

Fae: The smallest subspecies of dragons, a fraction of the size of usual dragons, Fae are one of the newest dragon variations and stay at quite a small size for the majority of their lives. They are also called fairy dragons due to their tiny size and much more harmless appearances compared to their full sized ancestors.

Wyverns: A type of bipedal dragon subspecies, mainly identified by their lack of front legs and ferocity in battle despite a lack of flaming breathing abilities, Wyverns are one of the main subspecies of dragons are are almost as popular as usual dragons. Using their wings essentially as a set of front legs, Wyverns have an interesting design and can move around in numerous ways. With Wyverns almost first appearing as the emblem on the Welsh flag, Wyverns have gained lots of popularity in dragon and fantasy based media and games, some of the dragons in my story appear as Wyverns to add variety into the designs.

Cockatrice: Subspecies of Wyverns, Cockatrice are essentially two legged serpent like creatures with the head of a rooster and chickens feathers covering a portion of its body. Although they are small, they are extremely deadly creatures that can breath fire and kill any animal simply by looking into its eyes, first appearing in Old English Myths, it is thought that by incubating a chickens egg under a toad that a Cockatrice can be created, alternatively this process can also produce a Basilisk (a small snake like creature that is extremely venomous and can kill with just its eyes).

Drakes: Another one of the main dragon types are Drakes, this subclass is very similar to modern lizards, lacking wings and four legged, Drakes cannot fly but host some of the most fierce aspects from their dragon relatives. They are though to be very agile and fast, able to harness the elements and attack with great velocity, Drakes are often depicted as being the size of a horse or rhino making them smaller then typical dragons. They are a newer subspecies but are very popular, I already have a few in my story as their abilities and appearance is interesting.

Hydra: One of the most well known dragon subspecies is the Hydra, known for having upwards of three heads, Hydra are a type of aquatic monster and are most well known from Greek mythology. Famously part of Heracles twelve labours, any warrior forced to face off against a Hydra would have to be careful as cutting off any of the creatures heads would cause two more to grow from the wound, defeated only by cauterizing the wounds before the heads can grow, Hydra have poisonous blood that can be deadly even after the creature is defeated.

Kirin: Also known as Qilin, Kirin are one of the more unusual subspecies of dragon, similarly to Drakes, they have a lack of wings and walk on fours but are more similar in appearance to Chinese dragons. With scaled bodies that are shaped similarly to a horse or deer, Kirin often have manes around their heads, cloven hooves and modern versions usually have unicorn like horns. Although they can look very intimidating as they can set themselves alight, Kirin only harm those who perform foul deeds and are actually shown as very gentle, beautiful, nature loving creatures.

Amphiptere: Another unusual type of dragon, depicted as limbless but winged serpents, they originate from North African myths and are one of the lesser known dragon types. Unlike many other dragons, this type have bat or bird like wings mixed in with colourful feathers that make it a rather unusual looking creature, Amphiptere also sometimes have beaks, making them a lot more bird like then reptilian.

Lung Dragon: Lung Dragon is the main terminology used to describe the classical Chinese dragon, best known for their lack of wings, short legs and iconic colouration, Lung Dragons are often colourful with unusual mask like faces, long bodies and the ability to fly despite not having wings to aid them. Most regularly associated with water, air and the Chinese royal family, Lung Dragons often hold the aspects of other animals such as turtles or fish, this determines some of their main features and colouration. Lung Dragons are likely the oldest of the dragon species ad myths as dinosaur bones found by the Chinese were placed into draconic like forms.

Wyrm: Although there are many strange dragon types, Wyrm Dragon are some of the weirdest, lacking both legs and wings, Wyrms are somewhat more snake like then other dragons. Despite not being able to fly and having no elemental abilities, Wyrms are said to be fast and agile creatures with the ability to paralyze other living things, often living in or around water to conceal themselves, there are also subspecies created from Wyrms including Sea Serpents and Quetzakoatl (winged Aztecian Wyrms).

Lindwurm: The final main dragon variation is the Lindwurm, origination from Old English and Germatic myths, this dragon type is also very strange looking. With a serpent like body, lack of wings and two clawed front legs, Lindwurms drag themselves around and are very flexible and fast creatures, they appear most often in European myths and are uncommon to be found in media. Salamanders are a subspecies of Lindwurms, having great control over the element of fire, Salamander have many legs over the Lindwurms two but still lack wings and the ability to fly.

I find all of these dragon types really cool, it is interesting the variety that have popped up over the centuries and how different cultures have their own versions that each vary fairly widely. There are a few types that I find cooler then others such as Fae, Wyverns and Drakes, these are the ones I would be most likely to put in my story along side normal Western Dragons, I will keep this in mind when designing the dragons I want to model and will try to add a cool variety to the story and this project.

[draconesmundi]

I live in the South of England!

As a northern Englander I of course wave my hand and say “anything that isn’t Cumbria or Northumberland is THE SOUTH!” but for the sake of this discussion I’ll keep ‘southern england’ as Bristol, Cornwall, Devon, Dorset, Hampshire, Isle of Wight, Oxfordshire, West Sussex, East Sussex, Kent, Somerset, Wiltshire, Berkshire, Gloucestershire, Surrey, Greater London and Hertfordshire. (in my bio it says I live in Scotland and if I drink just enough irn bru I might one day fully be Scottish, but for the moment I am a displaced Northumbrian, hence the preamble that only a northerner would care about ;) ) As someone from the UK I have wayyyyy too much research on UK dragons so your answer may be more detailed than most!

The main difference between southern and northern UK is that you in the south get an extra dragon, you get the wonderful vouivre (Vivernus viride) or ‘green wyvern’. This dragon is especially famous for the story of the Wyvern of Mordiford, an incident that occurred in a small town in Herefordshire, where a girl tried to domesticate a dragon, with dire consequences. These days a vouivre can grow a meter or so long, but historical stories talking about how fierce this animal is means it may once have been bigger - the one depicted on a famous bench on Crowcombe, Somerset, is taller than the men trying to spear it. It is a green animal covered in ‘eye spot’ patterns.

Another difference between north and south England is that Sussex coined a good name for the lindorm (Vivernapterous fafnirus), which has a lot of names throughout the UK, the general name being ‘wyrm’, whereas in Wales it’s the ‘anfanc’ and a few areas in Scotland it is ‘beithir’. In Sussex the lindorm is named ‘knucker’, after the ‘nicor’ or water monster from a mishmash of germanic mythologies. Knuckers live in ‘knucker holes’, which are these really deep ponds found in Sussex which look like regular ponds on the surface but just dive straight down into the earth some 15 meters.

The most famous knucker story from Sussex is the one where a lad named Jim Puttock baked the dragon a poisoned pie in order to slay him. There is a similar legend in Yorkshire about a dragon eating a treacle tart to keep its jaws shut so it exploded when it tried to breathe fire. There are quite a few ‘kill a dragon with baked goods’ stories in the UK. More knuckers include the Essex Serpent and St Carantoc’s serpent of Ker Moor in Somerset.

Knuckers can grow to huge sizes (20 ft!) and spend the winter and autumn asleep either underwater with their snout at the surface like a hibernating alligator, or in a hole made by invading a badger sett or natural erosion under a tree. They eat a variety of small and large mammals. They are serpentine with very small forelimbs, and bear a wattle like a chicken’s comb on their heads.

Then we get to the most famous dragon type in the UK, the one we usually think of when we hear the word ‘dragon’, the smok (Drakon drakon), a reddish brown animal with two broad winglike fans on its back, webbed decorations on its head looking like ‘ears’ and a forward pointing nose horn. Y ddraig goch from the Welsh flag is a good idea on what these animals look like, and the name is nicked from the Polish language because in Dracones Mundi I don’t want to call this the ‘European Dragon’ or the ‘Western Dragon’ when there are many dragons in ‘the west’ and Europe. The Bisterne dragon of Hampshire and the Deerhurst dragon of Gloucestershire, as well as various sightings of dragons living near burial mounds are likely caused by these dragons. They live in mountainous environments in natural caves (unless they were purposefully placed in burial mounds in days of yore) and eat rabbits, hares, goats, sheep, deer and large birds (mythology exaggerates their size somewhat...).

Lastly, there is of course the cockatrice (Basiliskos gallimimus), the most famous of which, in the south of England, is the Wherwell cockatrice of Hampshire, which hatched out of a ‘ducks egg’ (or someone purposefully put a cockatrice egg among duck eggs for malicious reasons) and was killed by a man named Green, who introduced the dragon to a mirror, and, in a classic case of a cockatrice’s poor understanding of mirrors, the animal killed itself trying to fight its own reflection!

So southern England has a smok, cockatrice, knucker and green wyvern!

[reve-de-dragon]

The Basilisk

The Basilisk is a bit tricky to talk about because of its counterpart, the Cockatrice. It is unsure whether the two are synonymous or not. In modern media, the two term have come to different meanings, the basilisk being a snake, and the cockatrice a draconic rooster.

The most common description of the Basilisk is the one found in the Natural History written by Pliny the Elder in 79 AD.

“There is the same power also in the serpent called the basilisk. It is produced in the province of Cyrene, being not more than twelve fingers in length. It has a white spot on the head, strongly resembling a sort of a diadem. When it hisses, all the other serpents fly from it: and it does not advance its body, like the others, by a succession of folds, but moves along upright and erect upon the middle. It destroys all shrubs, not only by its contact, but those even that it has breathed upon; it burns up all the grass, too, and breaks the stones, so tremendous is its noxious influence. It was formerly a general belief that if a man on horseback killed one of these animals with a spear, the poison would run up the weapon and kill, not only the rider, but the horse, as well. To this dreadful monster the effluvium of the weasel is fatal, a thing that has been tried with success, for kings have often desired to see its body when killed; so true is it that it has pleased Nature that there should be nothing without its antidote. The animal is thrown into the hole of the basilisk, which is easily known from the soil around it being infected. The weasel destroys the basilisk by its odour, but dies itself in this struggle of nature against its own self. “

It is thought that this version of the basilisk may have been inspired by the cobra, who as well crawls upright and in some species can spit venom, which may have been confused for a deadly gaze.

In france however started the word cocatris, which gave cockatrice. This word has a different meaning to the own it has today.

The cocatris, coquatrix, or cocadrille is actually often the name of the egg from which the basilisk is born : The beast is supposed to be birthed from the egg or semence of an old rooster, incubated in filth, or by roads or serpents. The cockatrice is also sometime the result of the breeding of a chicken and a snake or a toad. The term then became a synonym.

In these time the beast can be described in different way : the rooster dragon that is currently known as cockatrice, a serpent, or a snake that grows legs with age, making it a sort of lizard.

Usually, the basilisk can be killed in similar way in all myths : through its deadly ennemy, the weasel, through the crow of a rooster, with a mirror, to reflect its deadly gaze back at it or with rue, the plant that it despises and is the antidote to its venom, knowledge that the weasel has and uses against it.

Several stories of basilisks involve them having made their lair in the bottom of wells, killing thoses that look down in it to spit or throw rocks, but have also be known to kill off plants by slithering on them or looking at them, poisoning waters, or killing cattles by slithering under them.