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amiedeselfes · 5 months

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Fanfiction list

If you wish to find all my works! Here's a complete list! (would be updated)

Fire Emblem

Contemplative

Pairing: Alear/Ivy

Rating: General Audience

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/F

Characters: Ivy (Fire Emblem), My Unit | Ryuuru | Alear

Additional Tags: Wyvern Riding, Somniel, Awkward Conversations, Awkwardness, Shyness, Female My Unit | Ryuuru | Alear, Fluff, No Spoilers, Not Beta Read, Ivy "I worship the Divine Dragon I'm not a lesbian I swear" Elusia, POV Alear

Celestial

Pairing: Alear/Ivy

Rating: General Audience

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/F

Characters: Ivy (Fire Emblem), My Unit | Ryuuru | Alear

Additional Tags: Female My Unit | Ryuuru | Alear, Wyverns, Somniel, Pining, Shyness, Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Self Confidence Issues, Comfort, Fluff, Alear and her love for all creatures, B support with Ivy spoilers, no beta we die like Lumera, POV Alear

Lucid Heart, Concealed Mind

Pairing: Marcia/Stella | Astrid

Rating: Teen and Up Audience

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/F

Characters: Ivy (Fire Emblem), My Unit | Ryuuru | Alear

Additional Tags: Compulsory Heterosexuality, Post-Path of Radiance, Makalov hate account, Lesbian Character, Minor Elincia/Lucia, Heteronormativity, Fluff, Stabbing, No betaread we die like Greil, POV Astrid

Sweltering, isn't it?

Pairing: Alear/Ivy

Rating: General Audience

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/F

Characters: Ivy (Fire Emblem), My Unit | Ryuuru | Alear

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Fire Emblem Heroes Setting, Female My Unit | Ryuuru | Alear, Summer Ivy, Mentioned Summoner | Eclat | Kiran, pinning, post chapter 9, Not Beta Read, Ivy POV, Worship, Summoning, aleivy, aleivy week

Prepare for trouble, make it double

Pairing: Alear/Ivy

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/F

Characters: Ivy (Fire Emblem), My Unit | Ryuuru | Alear

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Twitch Streamers, vtuber - Freeform, Vtuber Alear, Oblivious Ivy, Illnesses, Muteness, University Student Ivy, Professor Lumera, Pining, Implied/Referenced Sex, Awkwardness, Mechanic Ventilator, Not Beta Read, Female My Unit | Ryuuru | Alear, POV Ivy

Hushed Confidant

Pairing: Ike/Senerio | Soren

Rating: General Audience

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Ike (Fire Emblem), Senerio | Soren

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Fire Emblem Heroes Setting, Age Regression/De-Aging, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Past Abuse, Muteness, Not Beta Read, Family, Flashbacks, naming, Mild Hurt/Comfort, POV Soren

Persona 5

Like a drop in the sea

Pairing: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist, Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Akechi Goro, Kurusu Akira, Amamiya Ren (Persona Series), Persona 5 Protagonist

Additional Tags: Persona 5: The Royal Spoilers, Bath Houses, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Mutual Pining, Third Semester (Persona 5), Confusion, akeshu - Freeform, Confessions, Persona 5 Protagonist Needs a Hug, POV Persona 5 Protagonist, Hugs

A promise between the two

Pairing: Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist, Morgana & Persona 5 Protagonist, Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Kurusu Akira & Morgana, Amamiya Ren & Morgana (Persona Series)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Persona 5 Protagonist, Amamiya Ren (Persona Series), Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro, Morgana (Persona Series)

Additional Tags: Post-November 20 Interrogation (Persona 5), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Texting, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma, Persona 5 Protagonist Needs a Hug, POV Persona 5 Protagonist, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Attempted Murder, Bad Eating Habits, puking, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Eventual Happy Ending, Morgana is Ren's sanity, Caring, Panic Attacks, Mental Breakdown, Akechi Goro Needs a Hug, Ren and Akechi doesn't go fine after 20th November, Not Beta Read, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Akechi Goro, Violent Thoughts

What you wish for

Pairing: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist, Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Akechi Goro, Kurusu Akira, Amamiya Ren (Persona Series), Persona 5 Protagonist, Cognitive Akechi Goro

Additional Tags: Persona 5 Scramble | Persona 5 Strikers, Top Akechi Goro, Top Goro Week, Bottom Persona 5 Protagonist, Threesome - M/M/M, Desire Akechi Goro, Alice Jail, Double Penetration in One Hole, Creampie, Lust, Hand Jobs, Rimming, Dirty Talk, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Established Relationship, Name-Calling, Rough Kissing, Nipple Play, Teasing, Anal Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sex, Not Beta Read, Possessive Akechi Goro, POV Persona 5 Protagonist, Mindbreak

The Ideal Marriage

Pairing: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist, Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Akechi Goro, Kurusu Akira, Amamiya Ren (Persona Series), Persona 5 Protagonist

Additional Tags: Persona 5 Tactica Spoilers, It's actually just the wedding conversation, Short One Shot, Guns, Prince Akechi Goro, Black Mask Akechi Goro, POV Persona 5 Protagonist, Pining, Fluff, and then it gets violent, Non-Graphic Violence, Death Threats, Smooth Akechi Goro, Weddings, Daydreaming, Not Beta Read, Flirting, Canon Compliant

It's living, somewhere else

Pairing: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist, Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Akechi Goro, Kurusu Akira, Amamiya Ren (Persona Series), Persona 5 Protagonist

Additional Tags: Not Beta Read, Dissociation, Character Study, Introspection, Violent Thoughts, POV Akechi Goro, Akechi Goro is Bad at Feelings, Persona 5: The Royal Spoilers, Persona 5 Protagonist Needs a Hug, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Possessive Behavior, Emotionally Repressed, I'm Bad At Tagging, Canon Compliant, Suicidal Thoughts, Insults, Swearing, Denial of Feelings, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist-centric, Mutual Pining, Persona 5 Protagonist Has Bad Parents, Persona 5 Protagonist is a Little Shit, Persona 5 Protagonist is Bad at Feelings, Sad with a Happy Ending, Angry Kissing, Angry Persona 5 Protagonist, Ren & Akechi: arent you tired of being nice dont you want to go apeshit, Codependency, Love/Hate, POV Persona 5 Protagonist, Temporary Character Death, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Power Bottom Persona 5 Protagonist, Bottom Persona 5 Protagonist, Top Akechi Goro, Anal Sex, Possessive Akechi Goro, Blow Jobs

The Rightful Prince

Pairing: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist, Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Akechi Goro, Kurusu Akira, Amamiya Ren (Persona Series), Persona 5 Protagonist

Additional Tags: Persona 5 Tactica Spoilers, Competition, Mutual Pining, Violent Thoughts, Rivalry, Silly, Not Beta Read, Post-Persona 5: The Royal, I just put Akechi in any event I want in Persona 5 tactica and call it a day, Denial of Feelings, Teasing, Banter, Possessive Akechi Goro, Mentions of Crossdressing, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Not Serious, POV Akechi Goro, Akechi Goro Lives

Danse Macabre

Pairing: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist, Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Akechi Goro, Kurusu Akira, Amamiya Ren (Persona Series), Persona 5 Protagonist

Additional Tags: Persona 5 Tactica Spoilers, Persona 5 Tactica, Post-Persona 5: The Royal, Canon-Typical Violence, Blood and Violence, Fights, Battle, Anger, Royal Trio - Freeform, POV Persona 5 Protagonist, Stabbing, Reunions, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Minor Sumire Yoshizawa, Im sorry but Ren just overfocuses on Akechi i swear ill write something better for you later on, Not Beta Read

Indomitable Perserverance

Pairing: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist, Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: M/M

Characters: Akechi Goro, Kurusu Akira, Amamiya Ren (Persona Series), Persona 5 Protagonist

Additional Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha Akechi Goro, Omega Persona 5 Protagonist, Omega Verse, Plot With Porn, Denial of Feelings, Soulmates, Feral Behavior, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist-centric, Love/Hate, Mutual Pining, Attempted Seduction, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mating Bond, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Not Beta Read, Gay Panic, Derogatory Language, Degradation, Mutual Masturbation, Phone Sex, Fantasizing, Thristy Akechi Goro, He has a brain but refuses to use it in Ren's company, akeshu - Freeform, Courting Rituals, Blood and Violence, Temporary Character Death, Developing Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Akechi Goro, Jealousy, Drinking, Mental Health Issues, Mental Anguish, Top Akechi Goro, Bottom Persona 5 Protagonist, Dissociation, Hurt/Comfort, POV Alternating, Persona 5 Protagonist Needs a Hug, Mental Instability, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Accomplice au, Shido Masayoshi's Palace Missed Deadline Ending, Revenge, Murder, Kidnapping, Partners in Crime, Torture, Psychological Torture, Codependency, Gaslighting, Coming Untouched, Nipple Play, (i should probably add shido in the characters but fuck him), Communication, Medical Inaccuracies, Amputation

Status: On Going

Will I Ever See You Again

Pairing: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist, Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Akechi Goro, Kurusu Akira, Amamiya Ren (Persona Series), Persona 5 Protagonist

Additional Tags: Third Semester (Persona 5), Time Loop, Persona 5 Protagonist Needs a Hug, Hurt/Comfort, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Mental Anguish, Depression, POV Akechi Goro, Persona 5 protagonist Needs Therapy, Developing Relationship, Memory Loss, Canon-Typical Violence, Banter, Mental Breakdown, Bouldering, Fights, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist-centric, Ambiguous Akechi Goro and Persona 5 Protagonist Relationship, Suicidal Thoughts, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Fishing, Nostalgia, Sad and Sweet, Not Beta Read, Persona 5: The Royal Spoilers

#persona 5 #fe engage #fire emblem #aleivy #akeshu #persona 5 royal #ren amamiya #fe17 #ivy #alear #goro akechi #akechi x joker #top goro week #fanfiction

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white-boy-bracket · 1 year

Note

i think more ppl shouldve voted hiccup bc hes like if scott pilgrim wasnt absolutely rancid energy wise. like picture for yourself a slightly younger scott pilgrim who day 1 knew women were queens. now put him in viking clothes and make him disabled. thats my beloved hiccup. thats our winner whiteboy.

I do love hiccup. When i was little, back when i still got crushes, i had a HUGE crush on him. Would lucid dream that me and Astrid were fighting over him.

#asks #discourse half hour

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e-wills-afterhours · 2 years

Text

Affairs Of the Heart, Chapter 10

Chapters 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9

--------

"You're up early." Gobber narrowed his eyes as he hobbled into the smithy. The sun had not yet risen. "It's not like you to be workin' before the Terrible Terrors sing." He leaned against a workbench. "Are you sick?"

Hiccup shook his head, grogginess holding on with a vengeance. His brain was fuzzy and body, sluggish; his eyes itched with protest, urging him to go back to bed. The soon-breaking dawn and the cool, misty morning were meant to be enjoyed indoors, fast asleep under a layer of warm furs, with Sharpshot curled up against him. Not even Toothless roused him so early, but Hiccup had a purpose in that shop: a motivation that kept him from dropping his head onto his workbench and dozing off again.

"No. I just have a personal p-project," he yawned. "With all the saddle orders to finish up this week, I figured I needed to do this on my own time."

He rubbed his bleary eyes, brows knitted together as he tried to make sense of the plans he had sketched the night before when he was more lucid. He had hurried home from the Great Hall with a burning idea: a way to win; a way to have the upper hand in his eventual fight with Stefnir Svenson; a way to, well, not die. Or, so he hoped.

Charcoal had moved across blank parchment with conviction, cheered on the by the flickering candle. Toothless had been by Hiccup's side, head on his lap as he sketched out his victory. Hiccup had been in his element, so clever, so confident so…

Idiotic, maybe.

In the dim morning light, he scanned over the plans with new doubt.

"Dragon Blade?" Gobber mused, peering over Hiccup's shoulder, much too close.

Hiccup jumped, resisting the inherent urge to throw his arms over his work. It was not like the older man had not already seen it, and it was not like his mentor was not already used to his more bizarre schemes. Hiccup was no stranger to skepticism, with his penchant for creating remarkable inventions out of the most impractical of ideas.

Gobber scoffed. "What could you possibly need a sword for? Besides, we've got a whole shop full of them, if you felt the need to endanger life and remainin' limb." He jerked his thumb in the direction of the weapon's display: an assortment of untouched swords and axes that were now in less demand than dragon-related wares.

"I need this sword, Gobber. I can't…I can't exactly explain why, right now," Hiccup drummed his fingers against his work station, "but it's important."

The older Viking waved dismissively, in a manner that Hiccup knew all too well, and that he had seen far too often in his younger years. The gesture stirred up some latent resentment and Hiccup frowned, shoulders falling.

"I can't see the use in a flamin' sword when you've got a dragon, but as long as you get the rest of your work done, I can't complain what daft project you do in your free time. Less than a week 'til the Selection." Gobber brandished a thick finger accusingly. "Don't let me catch you slackin'!"

"Not slacking," Hiccup muttered. "More like sitting here, hopelessly lost." He glanced over his plans one more time, scratching his head. "Now, how am I going to apply the Monstrous Nightmare saliva?"

He stood up and made his way for the iron ore.

-------

Astrid leaned in, resting her head on Hiccup's shoulder. They were in the cove under the cover of night and their dragons were sentinels guarding their privacy. It was better than crawling through his window, trying not to step too heavily or moan too loudly. Every creaking floorboard made Astrid tense, like it might give them away. That night, outdoors, only the moon spied on them, luminous in the sky and sparkling over the pond water, neutral and silent.

They had been lucky over the past week, not yet caught, and not arousing too much suspicion. Stefnir still strutted about with his arm around Astrid like he had won some great prize—like she was his trophy to wave over everyone else. She affirmed his superiority. He held her tighter if Hiccup was anywhere around. She hated it: his undesirable traits growing more prominent as her relationship with Hiccup became more comfortable. She had been oblivious before she had someone to compare her fiancé too. Now it was a stark contrast between Hiccup and Stefnir.

She fooled herself into believing that the outcome of the holmgang had already been decided, and that she was free of her arranged marriage, because it was easier. Such imaginings dampened any guilt that cropped up. She did not want to dwell on what was a more likely reality to come: Stefnir defeating Hiccup, winning her officially and holding it against her the rest of their miserable, married lives. Pretending Hiccup's victory was a sure thing was how she could sleep and night. If she convinced herself they were collecting their winnings early, it made everything between them permissible; and she could forget.

Sitting with her lover on the cool grass, tracing his clavicle with her fingertips, felt right. She decided it was what should have been, and what she hoped might finally be—without the stain of infidelity tarnishing what was otherwise so beautiful and effortless. She could laugh with Hiccup, saying whatever stupid thing came to her mind that she might bite back in Stefnir's presence for fear of his judgment. No quip or stumbled punchline fell too flat with Hiccup. She could not remember the last time she had joked around with Stefnir, so carefree.

She sat up, running her hand through his auburn hair, soft and sleek, and missing a crucial piece of ornamentation.

"Handsome," she crooned, and Hiccup smiled sardonically as she twisted two braids in place.

Once a sad excuse to touch him, the small plaits had become enduring symbol of her affection. In public, they were a sort of claim to him, their true significance unbeknownst to anyone else. She never let him go too long without on; and though he rolled his eyes, he let her play with his hair anyway.

"Thank you, Astrid," he said, gently tugging at the braids. "What would I do without you?"

She nudged him. "Not look half as stylish, for one thing."

"Oh, well, that's what matters."

He kissed her forehead and those dormant butterflies in her stomach exploded to life. She felt feminine, girlish—and it was alright as long as she still possessed the ability to grasp him by the tunic or the back of the head, pulling him in for a decisive kiss in which she had the control. Theirs was a relationship of mutual give and take, a dance between lovers. Hiccup surrendered to her as often as he initiated.

Things had been frantic those first few nights together: a bit of talk preceded the passionate entwining of their bodies, hot and breathless in the dark. Time had been running out then, the inevitable wedding approaching that would drive a wedge between them they could not circumvent.

Hiccup's hand was on her waist, innocent and unmoving. Astrid crushed their lips together less often in recent days, savoring the slow and languid kisses instead. She did not know exactly how long they had been in the cove, just talking, being together, and filling in the missing pieces of themselves before things escalated any further that night, as they were bound to do.

Their dragons frolicked and it all seemed too comfortable. Too relaxed. A romantic make-believe born of false sense of security. Astrid picked at her fingernails absentmindedly. There as a nagging fear in the corner of her mind too loud to ignore, even as she tried to muffle it with false, newfound hope.

"Hiccup…the Selection is tomorrow, and the wedding is a few days after that." She took his hand in hers, massaging over his knuckles, appreciating all the subtle details of his skin—contours and textures that made him tangible beyond the passing fantasies of adolescent desire. "You still haven't challenged Stefnir to the holmgang."

He sighed and nodded, fingers curling around her hand with an acknowledging squeeze. "I intend to after the Selection. The kids and their families deserve the village's full attention tomorrow. I don't want to take away from that. It's about them, not about us, or him."

"Hiccup…" she frowned, staring at the grass. "What are you doing about it, though? It's not enough to challenge Stefnir and hope for the best."

Hiccup leaned back on one hand, voice upbeat. "I have something I'm working on. I've been up early every morning. It's going to give me the advantage." His eyes had that gleam—the one that always heralded a stroke of brilliance, bordering on insanity.

"What is it?"

He pursed his lips, tilting his head one way and the other, hands gesturing noncommittedly. "I think it's better if you don't know. Think of is as, um…plausible deniability!"

She wrinkled her nose, yanking her hand from his. "Hiccup—"

He reached for her again, but she folded her arms, clenching her jaw as she glared. His smile did little to reassure her.

"Don't worry, Astrid. I think I've got a real shot." He captured her braid in his palm, smoothing over it with his fingers. It was an innocuous touch, but she still shuddered. She could not look at him and betray her doubt—but he dropped his hand anyway. It fell to his lap, defeated. "You don't think so."

"It's not that I think you can't do it," she clarified, fiddling with his bangs until he jerked away. She dragged her hand over her face, breathing deeply. "Your methods are unconventional. But this is combat, Hiccup—clashing swords that you can't just…think your way out of." She gripped his knee like a vice, leaning in until their eyes met. "You're actually going to have to cross blades with him, and Stenir is brutal."

"I intend to challenge him to a real fight. I'm not going to talk him into surrender, or use Toothless, or anything beyond what is acceptable by the terms of the holmgang. If I'm going to save you from him, then it has to be fair. It can't be anything that breaks the rules or can later be contested—or we'll end up right where we started. One weapon. One shield. That is what's allowed, and that's what I'm going to use." He paused for a beat, then his hand covered hers, warm and comforting. "With, y'know…my particular flair."

"Okay, but what does that even mean?"

He shrugged and she growled—but the way he brushed his fingertips along her arm, sweet and not overly suggestive, tempted her forgiveness. In her foresight, she had brought a blanket to their prearranged meeting, and she felt they should put it to use.

More pretending, more assumptions things would end in their favor. But even delusions could be pleasant for a time.

-----

Vibrant banners adorned with images of dragons waved in the steady breeze. There was not an inch of the village untouched by the enticing aroma of food wafting from simmering cauldrons and stalls, fragrant with fresh produce and delectable concoctions, undercut by the bitter, heady scent of copious beer. It was a typical festival on Berk. The air hummed with excited chatter and dragons' roars. Children hurried about, practically underfoot, paying no heed to the neatness of their attire as they wrestled and played with the carelessness of youth.

The Selection was a formal occasion, like Snoggletog or Vetrnaetr. Although new by comparison, it still an important aspect of Hooligan life. Traditions had to start somewhere, and dragons had become an integral part of their tribe. It had been Stoick's decision to create a significant celebration with dragons as its focus. Any excuse to throw a festival, get drunk, and be merry, went over well the rest of the village, boosting morale; there had been no contest to the new holiday.

For two years, the Selection had been a highly anticipated event: a rite of passage for children turning ten. That had been the arbitrary age agreed upon by Hiccup, his father, and their council for owning a dragon. It was not practical for younger children to select and ride dragons on a whim—something that required skill and some measure of maturity. Only two years in practice, the Selection had been easily and widely accepted as a defining moment in any young Hooligan's life. To be old enough to own and care for a dragon was monumental, marking a transition into a more responsible age. It also served the dual purpose of keeping an accurate census: which families owned which dragons. The whole event was treated with as much reverence as their village could muster.

Hiccup wrapped a fox-fur cloak around his shoulders, pinning it in place with a silver broach. He had designed the decoration himself, sporting the Strike Class emblem, which he had adopted as his own personal sigil. His dark charcoal-colored tunic was trimmed with silver silk samite, embroidered with knotwork at the neck, sleeves, and hem. His belt was thick and snug around his waist, tooled with stylized dragons woven into more intricate patterns on leather that fed into an ornate buckle: all a pretentious display of his wealth and status that was somehow excusable under the guise of formality. On his wrists were identical fur-lined bracers of woven and studded leather. He looked every bit the son of a Viking chief, and he sighed, picking up Sharpshot and setting the dragon on his shoulder, resigned to playing his part of chief-in-training for the day.

The Terrible Terror scurried about on his upper back, wrapping his tail around him for added balance. How fortunate Sharpshot was, unconcerned with meticulous bathing and grooming at first light, or dressing himself in display of his power, assuming he had any. Hiccup did not know if the Berkian dragons had their own social hierarchy in the absence of the Red Death.

"Come on, bud," he said, stroking along Toothless's jaw to rouse the dragon from where he had been basking in the sunlight.

The Night Fury cocked his large head to the side, studying Hiccup's appearance with uncertain eyes.

"Yeah, it's as uncomfortable as it looks." Hiccup did an odd sort of shimmy as he readjusted the belt around his midriff. "Let's go."

As he stepped out into the village with his dragons, he squinted while his eyes adjusted to the bright light the gods deemed fit to bless them with that day. The faint buzz of the spirited crowd was now a dull roar, out in the open.

Everyone was filing toward the old arena, re-purposed as a hub for dragon racing and outdoor merriment. The densely packed throngs of Vikings was not nearly as pungent it normally was, thanks to the standard etiquette of bathing before important events. The twins did not seem all that thrilled, scratching themselves where their clean clothes chafed. They wore no furs, but instead, were covered in an abundance of decent leather garb, still looking quite nice, and positively sullen about it. They nodded as Hiccup walked by, then spit into their hands and scrubbed smudges from each other's helmets.

Up ahead, Stoick the Vast stood, proud and well-armored, by his chiseled throne overlooking the old kill ring where dragons used to bleed out. That day, only happiness would abound as wide-eyed children finally had dragons to call their own—one step closer to being a fully actualized Hairy Hooligan.

Hiccup climbed on Toothless. Sharpshot sunk his claws in deeper to the fur cloak that cushioned him. People scattered to give the Night Fury room without a hitch in their conversations.

Hiccup flew up to join the chief, whose excess of fine armor and sumptuous fabrics made him look prepared to do battle with Thor himself. If possible, the man was more intimidating than usual, even with the ornate beads woven into his substantial beard. Hiccup was certain his regal father could give the god of thunder a good, long fight. Then, they'd probably sit down for a drink and chortle over it afterward, swapping war stories.

Yes. That seemed completely plausible.

"Dad," Hiccup greeted, dismounting Toothless. Sharpshot scurried down his chest until he cradled the Terror in his arms.

"Ah, Hiccup!" the chief exclaimed, patting him hard on the back and his knees nearly buckled. "You look you could be chief."

Hiccup laughed dryly, forcing a well-practice, appeasing smile. "Thanks, dad. I guess that's kind of the point."

He looked down at the group of children, gathered in the arena and jittery with excitement. They gazed around at the swelling crowd, waving to loved ones and friends. Hiccup envied them, wondering what it might have been like if he had gotten to choose Toothless, his father looking on with approval. None of the secrets. None of the lies.

"You and me, son—creating traditions for this village that will endure for generations." Stoick beamed at him.

"Mmn, yeah. Tradition. I'm…I'm all about it," Hiccup muttered.

Stoick chortled again, clapping Hiccup's back as he strode forward with his arms outstretched. His voice was booming, demanding attention in a way Hiccup doubted he ever could. The chatter died down and Hiccup placed Sharpshot back up on his shoulders, standing beside his father like a good and proper heir should. He was flanked by Toothless while his father had no dragon counterpart. Still, in the presence of his tribesmen with all of their dragons, Stoick was in high spirits, feeding off the energy of a happy village.

The chieftain gave a nice speech about youth, responsibility, and the companionship of dragons; powerful, as most all of his speeches were—but Hiccup was busy scanning the crowd.

To the right of his father stood the Jorgensons. Snotlout and Spitelout wore heavy black cloaks of fur-lined wool, held in place by decorative silver chains. Their bracers and armbands were flamboyant compared to their normal dress; and it would have been laughable how identical they looked, had his uncle not cast him a scrutinizing glare. Further down the line were other members of his father's council, including the Hoffersons. Specifically, Astrid.

She was beautiful in all-white furs, gilded threads, and simple beading. Her hair was braided over one shoulder, neat and elegant, with tiny plaits feeding into a larger one. How he wanted to touch it, unwind it, and feel her hair slip between his fingers—but there was a frown on her face marring the otherwise stunning vision she was. She had impeccable posture in a long pale blue shift, overlain with a neutral apron-skirt, fastened above each breast with a bronze broach. A simple belt rested at her hips, cinched tight on her narrow frame, and hanging loose past the buckle. Hiccup had never seen her dressed so affluently—but he suspected it was a perk of being promised to a wealthy merchant family. Indeed, Stefnir stood beside her in garb so flashy it had to be intentional.

Hiccup watched them with fists clenched. Astrid kept staring straight ahead, hands clasped in front of her has Stefnir held her close with a hand on her waist, making Hiccup's eyes narrow.

The rest of their tribesmen cheered as Gobber opened one of the old stalls that had once served as Hookfang's prison. Instead of a flaming Nightmare, however, young dragons ambled out into the light. There were three of each of Berk's most common resident species: Nadders, Nightmares, Gronckles, and Zipplebacks. Twelve in all to choose from, for the handful of kids fidgeting with anticipation. The young dragons, just nearing their adolescence, had been handpicked by Fishlegs, who had nearly hyperventilated when Hiccup had passed him the honor that year.

Gobber corralled the dragons into as neat a group as he could, appearing to be the only soul in the village who did not take the formality of the event seriously—then again, his tunic looked like it actually had been washed, free of stains, and a single bead adorned one half of his mustache. Perhaps that was as much as anyone could hope for.

Stoick uttered a prayer aloud, asking the Allfather and the goddess of youth, Ithunn, to guide the children and shine wisdom upon them as they selected their dragons.

There were more dragons than there were kids, and some would be ushered back to the stables without riders. After a time, they turned feral, beholden to no one and returning to the wilderness with nothing on Berk to tether them. But new bonds were formed between the little Vikings and the dragons they selected: genuine, deep, and beautiful. When first suggested by his father, Hiccup had been a strong supporter of the Selection for that very reason. He knew what it was like to make a real connection with a dragon, and he thought a festival showcasing it was genius on his father's part. He wanted every young Hooligan to one day have that same opportunity.

Even Reyr Svenson.

The kid was an innocent, and so Hiccup did not harbor any ill will for him—but he did roll his eyes when, predictably, Reyr chose a Monstrous Nightmare.

Everyone in the Svenson clan owned one, and dragon preference seemed to run in families. It spoke clearly of their values; attributes they cherished. Hiccup clapped along with everyone else, shaking his head as the rest of the Svenson clan whopped and hollered loudly.

One by one, each of the eight children shuffled forward and chose their dragons, followed by thunderous applause...and then, it was over. The actual ceremony had lasted the span of half an hour, maybe, with all the pomp and circumstance included. It was always short, but that did not mean the festivities were to end. If anything, it was a very pleasant excuse for the necessity of the revels to follow.

The dragon race came next, and Hiccup saw Fishlegs and the Twins muscling their way into the arena. Snotlout disappeared from his father's side as well; and Hiccup's heart began to hammer with gathering adrenaline. He and his friends were to do what they did best: kick ass at riding dragons.

The spectators thinned in the interim as the racers readied themselves, undoubtedly to line up for tankards of beer and cider.

Hiccup plucked Sharpshot from his shoulders and set him on the ground. His Terrible Terror became interested in a nearby pack of his scaly peers, Sneaky among them. The small dragon scurried off.

"Ready Toothless?" Hiccup asked, patting the Night Fury's thick neck.

The dragon warbled and nudged him impatiently as if to say, 'I've only been waiting all damned day!'

-------

Astrid squeezed between bodies, careful not to tread on the hem of a nice dress, or jostle loose anyone's cloak pin. Stormfly obediently stayed put, reserving her premium seat ring side.

"Excuse me. Excuse me. Sorry!" she repeated inching closer to the arena where her fiancé and her lover prepped for the race in too close a proximity. They had their backs turned to one another, and though it was midsummer, an unnaturally cool air blew between them.

"Astrid!" Stefnir said brightly, pausing from adjusting Harbinger's saddle.

His smile was expectant, and she strode over to him with a sidelong glance at Hiccup, but he was busy with Toothless. She tore her eyes away from him for only a moment, to flash Stefnir a dutiful smile as he swept her into his arms. She cocked her head at the last second, and his lips brushed her cheek instead of her mouth.

"Good luck," she told him.

"I won't need it," he replied, and she suppressed the urge to laugh.

His hands were on her waist, eyes traveling over her with an uncomfortable intensity. She looked up at her dragon, peering down through the chains with a soft croon.

"Gods, you are beautiful." Stefnir's voice was suddenly louder, and Astrid noticed Hiccup tense, much to her intended's satisfaction.

"Yes, well, I appreciate all the gifts—but I'm glad this outfit isn't a regular thing. It's really uncomfortable." She shifted the heavy fur stole on her shoulders.

"That's a shame. It suits you."

Astrid scoffed, examining the long, cumbersome dress. "No, it doesn't. I'd much rather have my tunic and my leggings and my—"

"You'll get used to it," he interrupted, caressing the side of her face. He just grinned, haughty. "There's more of this to come, once we're married."

She recoiled, her face scrunched in disapproval. "It's not me."

Dismissive as always, he retorted, "It will be."

He leaned in to kiss her again and she wiggled free from his grasp, blurting out the only escape she could think of. "I need to talk to Hiccup."

Stefnir scowled, glancing up at the other young man accusingly. He reached out and sized Astrid's wrist, tight and unyielding. "Why?"

Her eyes went ice cold, lip curling in challenge, and her fiancé puffed up. He might have looked intimidating, if she any real measure of respect left for him. There was a pull, an inescapable tether between her and Hiccup, and it grew shorter the deeper she fell for him. She felt his presence behind her like the radiant heat of a dragon's flame. Stefnir's indignation barely registered with her; and that false sense of security flared up again. It was a brazen and presumptuous affront to her betrothed when she backed away with a nonchalant shrug of her fur-covered shoulders.

"Wedding details," she answered, and he took a step toward her. "I need to discuss details about the ceremonial sword he's forging for us."

"I'm handling that," he declared. He brandished a finger in Hiccup's direction. "There's no reason for you to talk to him."

From the corner of her eye, Astrid saw her lover drop his arms by his side, both limbs bent stiffly at the elbow. He turned toward them, though she could not read his expression in her periphery.

"You need to focus on the race, for now," she asserted. "I'll worry about the sword and you just keep thinking up that winning strategy." She turned her back on him just as he was about to protest. "I'll be up there, cheering you on!"

A haphazard wave was all the less-than-enthusiastic support she could muster.

She ambled toward Hiccup, not too slow and not too desperate. She did not need to glance back to feel Stefnir's gaze boring into her. Hiccup was the enemy and no impending marriage would ever be enough for her fiancée to trust her around an old flame that, to his knowledge, had fizzled out two years ago. She was always on a proverbial leash, kept in line by Stefnir's unwavering leer.

"Smooth," Hiccup murmured.

He turned back to Toothless and Astrid sidled up to him. The smirk on her face mirrored his. She wondered how much Stefnir could read in their body language from behind.

"I had to get away. He's had a death-grip on me all morning." Astrid whispered, patting Toothless when he nudged her affectionately. She felt the back of her neck prickle, as if Stefnir's scrutiny was the breeze bringing goosebumps to her skin.

Hiccup had the foresight not to glance her over as he replied, "Because you look incredible."

Astrid's face split into a broad grin. Stefnir had told her the same thing all morning, but it was insulting coming from him. Possessive. Even though she felt ridiculous and costumed, a simple compliment from Hiccup had unusual sway over her self-image.

"No more than you do. You make a lovely toothpick."

He was gorgeous, really—which was never a word she thought would apply to him. He was regularly handsome, of course, in his lanky unique sort of way. But that fur cloak on him, the silk trim, and the dark gray clothes worked together. The fine, detailed leather did not hurt, either. He looked every bit the chief Astrid believed he would become; and it was utterly dishonest for her to deny it was a turn on. He smiled, bright and obvious, and that endearing gap in his teeth just added to it all.

"Oh, but you're the prettiest," he teased.

They laughed, tugging at each other's luxurious, but completely uncharacteristic attire.

"Having a nice chat?" Stefnir's voice was low and close, making the two of them jump.

Astrid should have expected it. She was his gem, and she was shining because of someone else—and he could not stand it.

Hiccup rebounded first, standing taller and clenching his fists. "We were, actually."

Stefnir rounded on him, chest swelling again, but Hiccup did not balk. The older man was less than a wild dragon to him, and Hiccup had an almost unshakeable resolve when convinced he was in the right. It did not matter he and Astrid were having an affair; to him, it was a justifiable affair. In his mind, he and Stefnir were already set to fight, though nothing had been declared officially—and Thordamn anyone who tried to talk him down from a ledge he so ardently wished to jump from.

"What 'details' have the two of you worked out?" Stefnir asked him, something menacing behind the disingenuous manners.

Though he was apt to stutter under most interrogations, Hiccup was surprisingly articulate when there was an enemy to outwit. He lied, "Astrid was just suggesting I should wrap the hilt of your matrimonial sword in fine leather. I, uh…I happen to agree with her."

"Do you now?" Stefnir took a step forward.

Hiccup stood his ground. He was sharpest and the most cunning in such moments, his witty tongue barbed with sarcasm and thinly veiled insults.

He said, "Yes. I support most of her ideas. She comes up with plenty good ones. But I'm sure you would know all about that since you're so close and everything."

"And what would you know about our relationship? Or her ideas? Or anything?" Stefnir growled.

"A fair amount. I care about Astrid—about all my…friends."

"Oh? I suppose that's why you've been so distant over the past couple years?"

Hiccup clenched his jaw, muscle twitching. "I had my reasons."

"Well, your friendship is a bit worn out now, I'm afraid"

Hiccup actually stepped forward—a half-step, to be exact, but still an advance. "Really? Did she tell you that herself, or did you just decide that for her, like you do for everything else?"

Stefnir opened his mouth, baring his teeth with a gathering derision—but a horn cut him off: one long, blaring note to signal the start of the race, beckoning spectators back to the arena. Gobber limped into the ring, dragging one large basket with his good arm, marked with a red rim, and kicking the other along the ground for the opposing, green team.

"Racers! Mount your dragons!" he instructed, setting the baskets in the center of the ring. "Astrid, you should get goin' now."

She nodded, lingering a moment longer while Hiccup and Stefnir stared each other down with palpable contempt. They stripped off their fur cloaks and turned back to their dragons. Hiccup folded his fur and set it neatly on the ground, as did Stefnir and Snotlout.

"Astrid...," Hiccup mumbled under his breath, grasping her hand. She felt something cold and metallic squeezed into her palm. He nodded then let go of her abruptly, climbing on Toothless.

Her fingers curled over the object in her hand, mapping the Strike Class emblem by feel alone. She smiled, clasping her other hand over it before sauntering back to her fiancé.

"Good luck, Stef," she said in what she hope was a convincing simper. "I'll be cheering for you."

He scowled down at her from where he sat, poised atop Harbinger. "Will you?"

She kept walking, pinning Hiccup's Strick Class broach on her dress beneath her decorative fur, once her back was to Stefnir.

----

"Oh, come on! That isn't legal!" Spitelout shouted, gesturing wildly at a member of the green team, whose Deadly Nadder had nearly unseated Snotlout with a low hanging claw.

Lap after lap had seen the same aggression. Dragon racing was not a soft and dainty sport to begin with, but there had been far more contact that was necessary, or typical. Meatlug had been shoulder-checked by Harbinger, sending her spiraling into a nearby house. She and Fishlegs had recovered, but the roof had not. At one point, Stoick froze the match so Hiccup could intervene in a midair fight between Barf and Belch and the other team's Nadder. But perhaps the greatest ugliness was not so apparent: a personal grudge between team captains that only Astrid was aware of.

Toothless dove and swerve, both to snatch sheep for points and to avoid the tawny Nightmare, tailing him without fail. The Night Fury pulled off a spectacular grab, skimming the grass, only to climb into a sudden block by Harbinger. Stefnir grinned down at Hiccup, smug.

"Tuff!" Hiccup shouted and Toothless rolled to be free of the Harbinger. The sheep was airborne, bleating in anger as it was thrown to the twins.

"The wool is ours!" Tuffnut cried. Legs locked around Barf's neck, Ruffnut swung from her saddle and caught the sheep, hanging inverted. "The wool is ours!" she repeated.

Another opposing Nightmare was on them immediately, but the Zippleback was too close to the basket. He glided into the arena and Ruffnut sank the sheep in their goal with minimal effort. Gobber marked another point on the wall. He then released the frazzled animal.

The team captains continued into the next lap, and Toothless shrieked in annoyance at Harbinger's persistent close flying. Astrid could not make out their riders' faces, only the furious beating of the dragons' wings. She glanced down the line. Stoick was sitting on his throne with a heavy, intense brow. Beside him, Spitelout was pacing, cheeks puffing with ire. All around her, Hoffersons and Svensons clapped for Stefnir and the green team, while she was a silent supporter of the red team, deep in hostile territory.

"Come on, Hiccup," she whispered to herself, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

She wanted to be in it. Next to Hiccup, she was the second-best player on Berk; and only because Toothless was faster by default. She would have Stefnir off Hiccup in a heartbeat—but she was too precious, lovely, and too valuable to participate in a contact sport. She scowled at the thought.

The spectators ducked, hands over their heads as Toothless and Harbringer flew by, low and fast. The dragons were little more than streaks in the midday sky, powerful and vicious. Astrid clutched her fur stole under which she had secured the Strike Class broach for safe keeping. The wind off the dragons blew her hair and clothes about; and as she and the other onlookers straightened up, she heard the Stoick bellow, "Get 'em, son!"

His encouragement was drowned in tumultuous cheers, people rooting for one team or the other. A horn blew, the black sheep was in play—and Astrid's excitement bubbled up to an uncontainable volume.

She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, "Finish this, babe!" And there was only one person who really knew to whom she called—the one person it was meant for, and the one person who mattered.

The crowd roared as Fishlegs emerged from between two buildings, cradling the black sheep in his thick arms. His eyes were wide and anxious. He kept glancing back at the opposing dragon riders in close pursuit. The other team's Nadder and Monstrous Nightmare tore after him, and poor Meatlug growled with the strenuous flapping of her wings. She looked pained, flying as fast as a Gronckle could, and perhaps faster than was advisable. Hookfang glided in alongside her.

"Fishlegs!" Snotlout shouted, holding up his hands.

The sheep was lobbed and he caught it, just in time for the other team to slam into Meatlug in a tangle of tails and wings.

The poor sheep struggled but Snotlout had an unyielding grip. Hookfang veered away from the trailing dragons, flying low on the final lap to the baskets. Toothless dove to give him cover and, predictably, Harbinger followed.

"TAKE IT TO THE BASKET, SNOTLOUT!" Spitelout pumped his fist into the air, looking like he might explode from the tension. The score was green-six to red-four, and the black sheep would clinch victory for Hiccup's team.

Stoick was on his feet as well, all composure forgotten. He gestured at the arena as if it could make the young man fly faster. "Go! GO!"

It was Hookfang, Toothless, and Harbinger, out in front. Stefnir flew his dragon in a tight loop, attempting to steal the sheep from above, but Toothless cut between them. Harbringer came to a dead stop, smacked in the face by the Night Fury's tail as he passed. The majority of the crowd applauded, including the Stoick and Spitelout, practically dancing on the spot like giddy children. The rest of the spectators booed and hissed.

Harbinger recovered, streaking after Hookfang. Large claws seized the red Nightmare's tail, and Snotlout just barely kept himself from being thrown from his dragon from the abrupt stop.

"Foul! FOUL!" Spitelout bellowed, stomping his foot. Astrid could see the bulging of his neck veins from where she stood.

But there were no such things as 'fouls' in dragon racing. The only rules in dragon were to drop sheep into a designated basket, and that the black sheep was worth ten points. All rough housing was fair, and good entertainment.

Stefnir leaped onto Hookfang's tail, scrambling along the dragon's back toward Snotlout. Harbinger firmly held onto the other Nightmare. No matter how desperately Hookfang flapped his mighty wings, he could not move forward. He would not ignite, nor retaliate. There was an innocent Viking on his back—Snotlout not necessarily included in that tally.

"You dirty—! HICCUP!" Snotlout stood in his saddle, wobbling precariously, and threw the black sheep as far he could.

It fell in a graceful arc, but Toothless was already diving for it. He was a blurred shadow while Stefnir cried out, "NO!"

Then Hiccup had the black sheep, and his Night Fury was too fast and unchecked. He soared into the arena while the opposing team could only watch and swear. The resulting screams of red team supporters was deafening, and Astrid rubbed the lump under her fur, biting back a grin.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, strong and bracing.

"It's alright, Astrid. It was a close game. Stefnir played hard," her father said.

"I should go see him. Show him support," she said, slipping away.

Only when she was lost among the gleeful crowd, did she finally let out a sharp, relieved laugh, unheard by anyone else.

------

"Seriously! What was that?" Snotlout growled, readjusting his fur cloak on his broad shoulders, now back in full decoration. "Did you see how that asshole just attacked Hookfang?"

"I know, right? Or how about the way he kept running into Meatlug?" Fishlegs replied, turning to hug his Gronckle.

"None of that is against the rules," Hiccup told them as they weaved their way through the village.

The Great Hall was their destination. Celebratory rounds of beer and mead were called for. Their tribesmen called out to them as they passed, congratulating them on their win. Hiccup also noticed goods and pieces of hacksilver being exchanged to settle up wagers on the race. The festival was in full swing, and it was a dense pack of Vikings to wade through. Everyone was shopping or tending to their dragons. A few people were already drunk, dancing, singing and laughing their way through Berk. The few ten-year-old kids of the day were congratulated on their new dragons—on now being fully Hooligan.

"Well, it would be against the rules to unseat another rider…if there were any rules," Ruffnut droned.

She ducked, nearly getting backhanded by the flailing limbs of drunken Vikings in boisterous song.

"I prefer to sort of just 'wing' it, myself," Tuffnut said, shrugging.

"Well, at least we won. That's a good thing." Hiccup replied. He waved as a family called out their thanks for the child's saddle he built. The little girl had been one of the selectees, and she was learning how to properly strap a saddle to her new Gronckle. "They played dirty, so I'm glad we beat them."

"Yeah. It's only fun if we're the ones playing dirty!" Ruffnut snickered, elbowing him with a wink.

Hiccup rolled his eyes. Sometimes it was ambiguous whether or not she was making passes at him, and he thought it best not to ask.

"Ugh! This leather freakin' chafes!" Tuffnut groaned suddenly, scratching his privates with vigor.

Hiccup glanced down at his own formal attire, mildly rumpled from the game. His fur cloak was draped over his arm. Astrid still had his broach, but she had been intercepted by Stefnir, steered away before she could speak with him. She had glanced apologetically over her shoulder as she was marched back out of the arena; and Hiccup could only watch, sighing to himself.

The racers climbed the steps to the Great Hall, followed by their dragons. Their supporters clapped and whooped as they sauntered through the double doors. Hiccup spotted his father, beaming proudly and raising his mug. Hiccup smirked and rubbed the back of his neck, always feeling small and inadequate under his father's lofty expectations and abundant praise. Snotlout, however, adopted an obvious swagger. Fishlegs stood straighter, reflecting the glow of their tribe's adoration. Tuffnut was more interested in scoping out the nearest mug of beer he could get his hands on. Ruffnut, well…Hiccup did not know who she was making those heavy-lidded eyes at, but he was glad it was not him.

They sat at their usual table, and they did not have to ask for drinks or food before tankards and plates were being shoved into their hands. Individual compliments were lost among the noise—babbling, laughing, and off-key singing. Someone was playing a lute to encourage melodic screeching, and Hiccup tried not to slosh beer onto the fur cloak now in his lap as hands jovially slapped his back.

He smiled, nodding in acknowledgment. He tipped his mug to his lips to avoid conversation, but through the fans he noticed a commotion, tucked away in the back of the hall. In the shadows and muffled by the surrounding revelry, Stefnir was berating Astrid. He kept grabbing for her, sharp and aggressive, and she kept wrenching free. She snarled something back at him and his fist struck the wall beside her head. Hiccup was on his feet before he even realized it.

He slammed his mug down too forcefully, because Snotlout glanced up at him, bewildered.

"What's with you?" he asked, brow quirked.

"That jar of Hookfang's saliva we talked about?" Hiccup led.

"Yeaaah…?" Snotlout hesitantly followed.

"I'm going to need it as soon as possible."

Snotlout scoffed. "You're crazy, cuz, but whatever." He returned to his drink.

Hiccup excused himself from the table, crossing the hall with tunnel vision. A few people tried to get his attention, but the only thing he heard was the distant argument between his lover and her husband-to-be. Every blow of Stefnir's hand against the wall quickened his pace. Astrid shoved Stefnir back.

Toothless followed his rider, sensing Hiccup's disquiet; and seeing the frustration on Astrid's face tempted Hiccup to command a plasma blast from his dragon. He had not planned to challenge the other man until the morning. But Stefnir's violent hands were too close to Astrid, and she drew back her fist like she was poised to strike; and her fiancé grew louder, slapping her hands away from him. Hiccup was out of patience and restraint.

"Stefnir!" he snapped.

"You!" Stefnir snarled. With a flick of his wrist, something hard and metallic hit Hiccup in the chest, glinting in the light from the sconces as it fell to the floor. "What gives you the right?"

Rubbing his sternum, Hiccup bent down and picked up his broach, clenching his fist around it.

"I have every right," he replied calmly.

Stefnir gesticulated with a flourish, the scowl on his face littered with condescension. "You hang around like you have chance and it's pathetic. Stop putting ideas in her head! She loves me! She wants to marry me!" He thumbed his own chest emphatically.

"Last I checked a happy marriage is a partnership—unless I've failed to grasp the concept entirely."

"We are—!"

Hiccup shook his head. "Astrid. Do you love him?"

She hesitated for a beat and Stefnir leaned in, tall and solid. She inched up the wall until she was at full height, glaring back at him.

"No," she answered.

He recoiled, fingers trembling as he dragged them over his mouth. His eyes were searing coals.

"Do you want to marry him?" Hiccup continued.

Astrid was cold as winter ice.

"No," she answered again.

"You…You lying—!" he seized her by the front of her apron-skirt, and Toothless growled in response to Hiccup's flaring outrage.

"Take your hands off her, Stefnir," he demanded. "I challenge you to a holmgang. Until then, your claim to Astrid is under dispute. She's not mine. She's not yours. So don't touch her."

Astrid flinched as Stefnir snapped the beautiful necklace he had undoubtedly given her with a rough jerk of his hand. Colorful beads scattered on the floor, rolling every which way.

She growled at him, "Put your hands on me again, and I will not hesitate to knock out all your teeth!"

"You are a godsdamn liar!" he accused. "Both of you!"

"If I could, I'd fight you myself! I'm not a trophy—but if that's the way this has to be settled then fine! Let us be done with it!" Astrid hissed. "I never wanted to marry you, but boy did I try."

Stefnir told her, "No. This is a pointless exercise. We will still be married! I will not lose like this!" He stalked towards Hiccup, stopping just sort of their chests bumping, like he had done before the race. "You really think you can beat me in a fight?"

No, thought Hiccup—but he would try his damnedest.

"Yes."

Stefnir's nose almost touched his, and he hissed through gritted teeth, "Then I'm going to enjoy watching you bleed."

#hiccstrid fic #hiccstrid #affairs au #Hiccup and stefnir are basically cockfighting through this entire chapter and I haven't read it in years #i forgot how glorious and hilarious it is

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dctrreids · 9 months

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------@medicbled gifted, " she wakes with a spark and it’s warped into something entirely more menacing under the painted night sky. the haze of a snowy midnight but they’re more than warm and she’s less willing to enjoy it alone ( even if he looks so peaceful sleeping ). the first is a soft kiss to his jaw, skin to his beneath the layers of blankets. “ wake up, mi amor.” a raspy purr against him, gloria shifting at a languid pace to climb on top of spencer. her hands thread through hair, as if she’s soothing him awake; distracting him from every little hungry intent. Lips to his chin, carving a path down the column of his throat—she licks her way back up to his mouth, hips giving a gentle roll. “wake up, your wife needs you.” "

------WIFE. IT WAS a word that felt quite foreign on his tongue, but one that tasted delicious nonetheless. their eloping was met with pleased, soft excitement from the rest of the team and their honeymoon had been granted with immediate approval. finland, time spent exploring the history and sharing it in turn with the woman he was blessed to be in union with. for the rest of his life. doctor spencer reid had a wife ---and it was a woman he'd been in love with for years, no less.

they'd fallen asleep beneath the stars, covered in blankets, with their clothing tossed askew in the privacy of the finnish woods ... a clearing, more precisely. she'd coaxed him into nature, to step out of his comfort zone and into places he had only dreamed of exploring before. beneath the northern lights, the spray of stars above, he dozed. their cabin wasn't far from their setup, the promise of a cheery warm fireplace replaced with the pit beside them, throwing off enough heat to balance out the soft nest of snow buried beneath layers of thick blankets.

it was not the first time he stirred from rest by the nuzzling plea of attention from gloria. the press of her pillowed lips to his jaw had a soft hum pulling from his throat, the rasp of her voice luring him from the land of lucidity. spencer shifted beneath the blankets, unknowingly accommodating as she shifted to perch herself astride. not unlike a cat he leaned into the pat of her fingers, trifling through curled and whimsical strands of thick dirty blond near-curls, and he hummed once more (more clearly) at the touch. hazel eyes slit themselves open, caught gaze of the way the stars, the firelight highlighted her form. she was absolutely gorgeous, ethereal and not unlike a mythological goddess as she lapped a line along the column of his neck. it was the roll of her hips that had his lips parting, haughty exhale turning into the softest of whines, lost against the crack of the fire beside them.

his wife. never in his life did he dream he'd marry, though he'd wanted that life so badly for himself. somehow he'd convinced her to love him. convinced her to wed him. the thought had him training palms, splayed fingers, along the expanse of her thighs. they stopped at the curve of her hip, squeezed in a manner that might be considered possessive if spencer reid were capable of being that sort of man. " my wife ... " sleep rasped at his tone, the lazy smile curling the corners of his lips upward. he lifted his head in slight to capture her lips with his, a kiss as hungry and affectionate as he could manage. " she can have anything she wants. "

#iv. interactions #verse. main #medicbled #medicbled 7 #vii. spicy

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cimmerianbaby · 1 year

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Sacrifice!Verse

Diamond Apple (Dream + Berry)

Miss (Reaper + Error/Geno)

X-Ink (Cross + Ink)

Carnation (Floral + Lavander)

Rigel and Layla (Dusk + Dawn + Yux + Cloud)

Astrid (Astral + Lucid)

???? (Lux + Stärke)

If you have any ask, The ask are open ^^

#sacrifice!verse #ship child #ask open #💎diamond apple💎#🎼miss🎼#❌X-Ink❌#⚘carnation⚘#🌌layla🌌#🦇rigel🦇#🔭astrid🔭

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ungrateful-cyborg · 2 years

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Skaar : 5 ; Wolfy : 9 ; Inge : 15 ; A'idan : 20 ; TA : 7 ; Astrid : 20 ; Kazan : 4

5. How do they feel about ghosts/spirits/hauntings?

Ha! He's superstitious! Having heard many stories during his time on his parents' ship about ghosts and souls that get you lost a sea and snatch sailors to kill them, etc. he feels a healthy dose of dread at the idea of meeting anything That Very Much Should Be Dead. Ghost stories are not something he likes.

Now, he's a monk and there are cases of souls that didn't find peace because they weren't given the rites after their departure in Gyr Abania. In situations like these, if someone asks him to kick the ghosts' ass help them find peace and go to the afterlife, he'll do it... but he'd rather people didn't count on him to do so.

9. Would they save their best friend/lover and let the world die? Or would they save the world?

Oh God... If you ask him, he'd tell you he'd save the world no question asked. Now in reality... I'd say there's a 50-50 chance that he'd do one or the other. Most likely, it'd depend on how many people he's lost so far and how screwed the world truly is.

If it's a case of actual apocalypse, I don't see him let it happen. If it's a case of "the world will change forever but it's not the actual end of the world"... Hard to say.

But if he made a promise to them to save the world no matter what happens, he'll do it and let them die.

15. What would they do if their best friend/lover changed into a dangerous monster?

She'd kill them as gently and quickly as she can and then probably spend the rest of her life blaming herself for not managing to save them from turning into said monster.

(In case turning into a monster isn't a permanent condition though, she'd look for a way to reverse it.)

20. What would they do if THEY turned into the dangerous monster?

He'd probably be overconfident and stay too long near his family or friends and not manage to get away fast enough to protect them from himself, so let's hope someone can stop him from hurting his loved ones before it's too late...

If some part of him remains though, he'll try to resist his instincts as much as he can, and if he's still lucid at times, try to find a way to reverse the issue.

7. Are they fascinated by anything others would find horrific?

Horror is terribly mundane to him. It’s his everyday life, his very instincts. Cruelty, hunger and fear are nothing he finds fascinating. If anything, it’s boring and too well shared even among people who have the luxury of choice, the luxury of being good people without doing much efforts but chose not to.

And even if we think about body horror and things like that... He’s lived his whole life in a city marked by war. Has fought dragons and men. He’s seen enough to fail the find poetry and beauty in destruction and violence.

20. What would they do if THEY turned into the dangerous monster?

I don’t see her resisting for long so uh... rip to anyone near her, I guess xD

Mental fortitude very much isn’t her thing. She’d be quick to just embrace it, especially if she starts fearing for her life.

4. Are they superstitious?

Not as much as Skaar or A’idan are but yeah, a bit. It’s mostly stuff about good day and bad day, omens, etc. but like most of what crosses his mind, he doesn’t talk a lot about it. That said, for Seimei who shares the same cultural background as him, I’m tempted to say that it's probably nothing too surprising or really unexpected and he can pick it up quickly when Kazan lets superstition dictate his decisions.

Thanks for the ask, @inah-ffxiv!

#The More You Know #answered; Inge #answered; Skaar #answered; A'idan #answered; Astrid #answered; Kazan #answered; Wolfe #answered; The Advocate

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kkodzvken · 3 years

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take the dive - sugawara koushi x milf!reader

tags/warnings: smut, 18+ ONLY! slight dubcon, infidelity, post timeskip (suga teaches reader’s kids). overstimulation and slight dumbification, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, semi-public (in an empty classroom)

a/n: this is my piece for @ultimate-astridwriting’s milf fuckers collab, which you can find here!! thank you for hosting this astrid, and thank u to everyone in the server for ur love and support as i worked on this <33. title cred: take the dive by jonghyun

wc: 3.9k

Amidst a faculty full of stuffy old dinosaurs and suits, Sugawara Koushi is a breath of fresh air. He’s a welcome distraction, a pretty face to focus on at dull PTA meetings and assemblies. And you knew that you weren’t the only one making heart eyes at him. Everywhere that he went, heads turned, and moms whispered. At the bus stop, on the sidelines of sports matches, in the waiting rooms outside dance classes.

It was just that, though -- just whispers. Little knowing glances and nudged shoulders, dreamy sighs and brief sinful indulgences. Nothing more than a brief escape from the monotony of your everyday lives. You’d lose yourselves in the fantasy for a few seconds, and then pull your heads down from the clouds and plant your feet on solid ground. You enjoyed your gossip with the other moms, and then you returned home, to your husband and children. To your family.

You love them, of course. Your children are your world, and your husband is a good man. He’s a good man, and that’s what made it so hard. He treats you well, keeps his words soft and never once put his hands on you.

He may be good, but, God, was he boring. You can’t remember the last time that he’d even kissed you, let alone fucked you. He came home later and later each night, too tired from work to do anything but silently scarf down his dinner and plant himself on the couch in front of the television. He dragged himself into bed hours after you did. He tried to be quiet, he really did, but he woke you up every single night with his stomping and shuffling. When you snuggled closer to him, he pushed you off. My back hurts too bad, he’d say, voice tinged with regret. Remind me to book another appointment with the chiropractor.

It was always some excuse or another.

So, really, you couldn’t blame yourself for your wandering eye. You weren’t going to act on it, of course -- you weren’t a cheater -- but the young teacher was something to occupy yourself with. A pretty face to fill your thoughts as you wrangled your horde of screaming kids from swim lessons to dance practice to art classes. A pretty, pretty body to imagine as you fucked yourself with your fingers, teeth sinking into your bottom lip to muffle your moans. You couldn’t help but imagine that it was him, lithe body leaning over yours. No complaints of aching backs and sore muscles, none of the complications that came with age.

You’d leave your husband catatonic on the couch, put the kids to sleep, and then go dream of their hot teacher. You should’ve been more ashamed, but there was a part of you that loved the thrill of it. You flushed whenever you saw Mr. Sugawara the next morning, memories of your illicit thoughts filling your mind, but it also made your body feel electric.

Of course there was a part of you that longed to throw caution to the wind and jump the young man, but your conscience was much stronger than your weak, lustful thoughts. You were happy with the way things were now. As dull as your husband was, and as insufferable as the children could sometimes be, you were happy.

This was all you had ever wanted. A house in the suburbs, a husband with a well-paying job, three kids and a dog. You’re living the fucking dream. You’re happy, you tell yourself.

So why the fuck are you so unsatisfied?

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

With a deep breath, you stare down the heavy glass doors at the school’s entrance. You want nothing more than to find the idiot architect who designed this building, and strangle him for installing pull doors. Your arms are already sore from carrying the giant tray of brownies from your car to the front of the school, and you worry that if you put the treats down to open the door, you wouldn’t be able to lift them up again. A quick glance at your watch tells you that you have two minutes left to reach the gym where the bake sale is being held. The PTA president is notorious for hating latecomers, and you weren’t in the mood to get your head bit off.

You’re debating doing some gymnastics and using your foot to grab the handle, when you notice footsteps approaching from behind you. You open your mouth to ask for help, but they beat you to it. “Let me get the door,” says their syrupy, melodic voice.

Their familiar voice.

Your body practically freezes as a strong arm reaches over your shoulder. Long fingers – fingers that you’ve fantasized about too many times to count – twist the handle and push it open easily. You don’t know how you didn’t notice him approaching sooner, but now that he’s here, your senses are in overdrive. The sweet scent of his cologne, the sound of his breath, the warmth of his body – it’s all too much, and it makes your knees feel weak.

“Mr. Sugawara,” you say, voice coming out much breathier than you intended. This must be some kind of Pavlovian response from all your fantasizing, because there is no reason for your stomach to be twisting right now. “Thank you.”

He grins sheepishly and steps away, and you hate the way that your body screams at you to lean into him. “It’s no problem. Is that for the bake sale? Here, let me carry it for you.”

You try to protest, but there’s really no point. His long fingers are already pushing yours to the sides, and you swear you’ve been electrified as he pulls the tray out of your hands. It’s a shame, really, that he’s wearing a button-down. The sleeves are rolled up to his forearms, at least, but you would’ve loved to see his biceps flex as he carried that tray…

What am I doing? You dig your nails into your palm to snap yourself out of your thoughts, but it’s hard to stay lucid when he’s so beautiful. He carries the brownies with ease, using just one arm to support their weight as the other holds the door open for you. It should make you upset, that you’re so weak in comparison to him, but the thought just makes you feel even more breathless. He’s so strong, so young, and so unlike your husband.

“Thank you,” you say again as he steps into the building behind you. You reach for the tray, but he waves you off.

“Nonsense. I’ll walk you to the gym.”

“Oh, really, you don’t have to—”

“I insist. Anything for my favorite mom.”

His…favorite? His words leave you too stupefied to protest any further, and he takes your silence as compliance. Your body automatically follows in his footsteps as he paces down the hallways.

He looks over at you and smiles comfortingly. It lights up his entire face, but does little to ease your turbulent thoughts.

Your mind is still fixated on his words as you step onto the squeaky wood flooring of the gymnasium. Sugawara calmly walks over to the PTA president, who looks like she’s about to rip her hair out. She’s surrounded by a gaggle of other moms, all jabbering away with concern painted across their faces.

“Is something wrong, ladies?” he asks. His voice snaps them all out of their conversation, and their eyes widen as they take him in.

“Yes,” says the PTA president scornfully. “We were supposed to have the brownies here already! The sale starts in ten minutes, and if this keeps up, I won’t have enough time to inventory everything and make it presentable, and –”

“I have the brownies,” you cut in, resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

She blanches, and looks from you to the tray in Sugawara’s arms. An oh is all she can muster before grabbing the brownies and rushing off.

“Is everything okay?” one of the other moms asks, her voice laced with fake sweetness. “Oh, and you look so tired, dear. If you couldn’t manage your part, you should’ve just said so!”

“It would’ve been no trouble,” another woman says. “I’d have had no trouble whipping up a tray for you! Everyone always does love my baking.”

You grit your teeth and resist the urge to snap at them. It’s always like this – the other moms seem so in tune with their lives of domestic bliss, playing games of politics and constantly competing to be the best. Try as you might, you just can’t satisfy yourself with a life like theirs.

The material of Sugawara’s shirt brushes against you, and you start. He doesn’t pull away as you flinch, instead gently resting his hand on the small of your back. “Sorry to interrupt, but can I steal her away? Mrs. (L/N), I have your son’s science fair project sitting in my classroom. He keeps forgetting to bring it home. Would you like to go collect it now?”

You nod, relieved at the excuse to escape these women and their sickening artificial sweetness. Sugawara gently guides you with the hand on your back. You can’t help but internally smirk at the thinly-veiled jealousy on the faces of the other mothers.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“This is why you’re my favorite,” Sugawara says, once you’re safely out of earshot. “All these PTA moms are so fake. But you’re not like that, are you?”

You nod, still a bit convinced that this is all a dream. He doesn’t remove his hand from your back as you walk down the hallways, and only pulls away when you reach the door to his classroom. He fishes through his pocket and pulls out a ring of keys, before insert one into the knob and pushing the door open. He gestures for you to enter first, and so you do, blinking at the harsh sudden brightness of the automatic lights.

You awkwardly glance around the room. You’ve been here plenty of times before, but that was all during the daytime, when it was packed full of energetic children. It feels…strange, to be alone in a classroom as an adult. Or, well, alone, except for the stupidly attractive teacher that you’ve been lusting over.

“Where’s the project?” you ask, trying to diffuse some of the tension building in your stomach. “I should head home soon.”

Sugawara leans his back against the door and cocks his head. “You know, I know what you say about me.”

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb.” His eyes rove across your body, lingering on your chest for far longer than they should. “I’m not deaf, you know. I hear all the things you say about me. You’re just like all the other moms.” He pushes off the door, stalking closer to you. You instinctively take a step back. “Only difference is, you might actually have the guts to do something about it.”

Your heart thuds in your chest, so hard that you think your ribs might bruise. “I…I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Sugawara. I-”

You take another step back, and another, and suddenly your back collides with concrete. Your body jolts, and you yelp at the sudden pain.

Sugawara leans closer. One of his hands braces against the board behind your head, and the other one comes up to cradle your face. His long fingers hook under your chin and press, forcing you to tilt your head up and meet his gaze. His thumb brushes against your lip, and you can’t deny how the sensation makes your body feel like jelly.

Every rational thought in your mind is screaming at you to run, to leave, to get away from him and go back to your husband, but God, it’s been so long since you’ve felt like this. It’s been so long since someone’s made your heart race and your breaths quicken, since someone’s made you blush like a schoolgirl over a simple touch.

“What was that you said?” he asks, his voice dripping with honey. “You don’t know what I’m talking about?”

You swallow and bite the inside of your cheek. The pain does nothing to clear the fog inside your mind. “I-I don’t, I-”

“You do,” he interrupts, his thumb still toying with your lip. “You’re so fucking obvious. I bet you’re wet already, aren’t you?”

“Mr. Sugawara!” His lewd words make you gasp, but more than anything, you hate the fact that he’s right. Your body has a mind of its own, and it wants nothing more than to wrap your lips around his thumb and pull him closer. It wants to feel his arms wrapped around you, feel his body towering over you.

But you can’t. As much as you want to, you can’t, because you have a husband at home who’s waiting for you. Sure, he isn’t home right now, because he’s putting in extra hours at the office. And sure, he hasn’t touched you or made you feel desired in weeks. Hell, you haven’t had a genuine conversation in weeks. But he’s still your husband! You try and remind yourself of that. You roll the thought around in your head, hoping that it’ll push your thoughts of Sugawara away.

But the young teacher is persistent, and there’s a glimmer in his eye that makes your chest tighten. “Call me Koushi, princess.”

“Don’t call me princess –”

“What, you’re going to pretend that it didn’t make you wetter? Going to pretend that you aren’t clenching your thighs together right now?” He leans in even closer, so that his breath brushes against your ear as he whispers. “Your body doesn’t lie, baby.”

A whine slips past your lips at his words, and then you gasp, mortified with yourself. But the grin that covers his face makes your transgression worth it, because God, he’s handsome. His hand squeezes your chin even tighter, and then trails down to your neck. Your breath catches in your chest. You’re hyperaware of his every movement, of his fingers trailing across your skin, his touch feather-light. It leaves you aching for more.

You instinctively whine again, and he lets out a noise of surprised delight. “Whining like this, and you’re still denying that you want me? What’s got you so embarrassed?”

“I have a husband,” you hiss – or, at least, you try to hiss. It comes out more like a whimper than anything else.

Sugawara looks at you for a beat – and then throws his head back and laughs. It catches you off guard, and you furrow your brow. “Why the fuck are you laughing?”

He collects himself, but his eyes are still gleaming when he looks back at you. “Sure, you have a husband. But that doesn’t stop you from thinking about me, does it? Tell me, when’s the last time that your husband took care of you? When’s the last time that he touched you, or fucked you, or made you feel good?”

“Mr. Sugawara, this is inappropriate–”

“Stop lying to yourself.” His voice suddenly drops, his stare forceful and deadly serious. “Say the word, and I’ll go. We can pretend this never happened. But anyone with eyes can tell that you’re unsatisfied.”

“I…I don’t…” Your thoughts feel like a wave, building higher and higher. They bounce around your head, reverberating against your skull, so loud that you can’t even think.

“Why are you settling?”

“Mr. Sugawara, please, I–”

“Why are you settling, when you know you want more?”

The wave crests.

You don’t know who moves first, but somehow, your fingers are tangled in his hair, and his lips are slotted against yours. It’s not soft, or sweet – it’s a mess of teeth and tongues and feverish breaths. His hands are everywhere. They trail over your skin, explore the curves of your chest and your stomach, grip tightly at your waist to pull you closer.

“Mr. Sugawara,” you pant against his lips. Your lungs scream for oxygen, but you can’t bear to drag yourself away from him for even a second. He kisses so well. It may be rushed, and messy, but there’s so much hunger behind his actions that it makes your head spin. It’s like his lips are a live wire, and every second that they touch yours, they send a thousand volts of electricity arcing through your body.

“Koushi,” he breathes. “Call me Koushi, please.” You nod, and then hurriedly undo the buttons of his shirt, popping a few off in the process. Neither of you care. His hands finally dip beneath the hem of your dress, and he wastes no time in unceremoniously tugging it off your body.

Your hands instinctively go to cover yourself. Age and childbirth have changed your body, and you know that Mr. Sugawara – no, Koushi – is probably used to beautiful young women. You still don’t understand why his eye landed on you. He surely has dozens of girls his age fawning over him, with flat stomachs and perky tits. Why you?

He grips your wrists and pries your hands away from your body. “Don’t do that,” he says, so gentle in contrast to the fire from just moments ago. “Don’t cover yourself up. You’re beautiful.”

Oh.

You can’t remember the last time that someone called you beautiful. You can’t remember the last time that you felt beautiful.

But right now, with Koushi staring at you, eyes blown out with lust… you feel it.

He sinks onto his knees, lips already pressing little kisses against your hips and upper thighs. You try and protest – really, Koushi, you don’t have to – but he shushes you instantly. He hooks one of your thighs over his shoulder and dives in without hesitation. Even through the fabric of your panties, you’re in fucking heaven. His tongue laves against your clit, focusing so much attention onto the swollen bead that you can’t help but let out a moan.

You slap your hand over your mouth to silence yourself. You’re in an elementary school, for God’s sake. The bake sale is at the other side of the large building, but you’re terrified of someone walking past and catching you. Guilt swirls around your heart, but it’s quick to dissipate when Koushi tugs your panties off and throws them over his shoulder. He buries himself into your cunt again, and it’s even better without the barrier. The coil in your stomach is tightening embarrassingly fast, but you can’t seem to find it in yourself to care. His tongue laps at your folds, slurping lewdly.

The pleasure is overwhelming. Your body moves of its own accord. Your hips grind against Koushi’s face, and he moans right into your cunt. His lips move up to your clit again, alternating between licking and sucking. You’re so focused on his mouth that you barely notice his fingers, so long and pretty, collecting your wetness.

You do notice when he fucks two of those pretty fingers into you. He immediately starts scissoring his fingers to stretch you out, before hooking them against that spot inside of you that makes your head spin. Your entire body is shaking with euphoria, so much that you can’t handle it.

“Close,” you cry out, trying to keep yourself upright. “Close, close, please, don’t stop!”

He moans into you again when you tug at his hair. It’s the push that you need to finally fall over the edge. You bite into your palm to keep from screaming as you gush all over him, chest heaving and eyes tearing up.

He keeps curling his fingers, keeps lapping at your clit, until you tug on his hair and cry that the overstimulation is too much. As he lets your leg down and stands up, he makes a show of licking your cum off his fingers, slurping on them loudly. It would make you embarrassed, but you’re too focused on his other hand as it dips down to his belt. The muscles of his stomach flex as he undoes the buckle. You take the opportunity to rake your eyes over his toned torso. He seems so slender when he’s dressed, but his shoulders are surprisingly broad.

He looks up at you with a little smirk. “Caught you staring,” he teases. You blush as he pulls his pants and boxers down in one go, freeing his cock. It’s already hard, and so pretty, just like him. His tip is red and dripping with precum. You want so badly to get a taste, but Koushi has other plans. He spins you by your shoulders, and then presses at the small of your back to make you lay across his desk.

You groan when you feel him slap his cock against your ass a few times, before running it through your folds to collect your wetness. “Please,” you gasp. “No teasing, please.”

“Just came, and you’re already needy?” he chuckles. “That husband of yours must really not be satisfying you.”

You’re spared from having to think of a retort by him sinking into you. A cry leaves your lips, but it’s too good for you to even care about the sound. He feels like heaven as he sinks into you. His cock stretches you out deliciously.

You’re already feeling delirious as he starts to shallowly thrust and work his way in. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he mutters under his breath, more to himself than to you. “So – fuck…”

You can’t do anything but moan and scratch at the table as he starts to fuck into you in earnest. His cock is perfectly curved to hit your spot every time, and soon you’re reduced to a mess underneath him. His balls slap against your ass with every thrust. It hurts, it’s all too much, but it’s so fucking good. You don’t think you’ve ever felt pleasure like this – mind numbing and all consuming, so powerful that it makes your eyes roll back.

“Fuck,” he groans again, bending down so that he can loom over you and leave little bites all over your back and shoulders. “Not gonna last if you keep squeezing me like that, shit!”

“Faster, please,” you beg, and he obliges. He sets an absolutely brutal pace, somehow managing to fuck you hard, fast, and at the perfect angle all at once. Moans and cries spill freely out of your open mouth. When he reaches forward to toy with your clit, it’s all too much, and it sends you over the edge again. Your body practically spasms as he fucks you through your second orgasm. He shows you no mercy, gives you no time to come down. You don’t know if you’re coming again, or if you just never stopped. Your mind is hazy with pleasure and overstimulation.

You’re a twitching mess by the time that he pulls out, but you still whine at the loss. You’re far too fucked out to turn around and look at him, but in the corner of your consciousness, you can hear him panting and stroking himself furiously. His moans are so beautiful. Within a few short seconds, he’s coming all over your ass, painting your pretty skin white with his seed.

You don’t know how long you’re laying there before he taps your cheek to get your attention. “C’mon now,” he says, a tired smile on his face. “Let’s get you cleaned up. We wouldn’t want your husband finding out, would we?”

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bonnabiee · 2 years

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Thinking about the volstruckers and how

10 years is a long time, so many things could happen, could cement in a person, in 10 years

and caleb lost all that time while astrid and eadwulf kept training to be volstruckers, became volstruckers, and carried out the missions of volstruckers. The pain of the gulf between them now and how they couldn’t possibly come from equal footing in experience because astrid and eadwulf left caleb behind. But also how strong must their bond have been that over and over, astrid and eadwulf risk so much to help him, a stranger wearing their friend’s face (or do they see him as bren from back then? has he not changed so much in the time he’s been lucid?)

Thinking about how over and over caleb insists that the volstruckers can’t be trusted and might be working against the nein, but so many times at crucial moments astrid comes through for them.

#critical role #cr2 #cr2 spoilers #cr spoilers #astrid beck #eadwulf grieve #caleb widogast #bren ermendrud #blumendrei

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dsudis · 2 years

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About those eleven years

So almost since the beginning of Campaign 2, I was waiting for a reveal about the eleven years Caleb spent in the asylum following his Big Trauma, because it never made sense by itself--brains just Do Not Work Like That, where you are fully functional and then experience a Big Trauma (even as the cap to a year of unacknowledged slightly less big traumas) and then go into a fugue state for eleven years. Just like. No????

And the explanation that it ended when he was in some fashion healed/restored by a strange cleric supported that! Obviously it ended some curse or spell effect, along with the memory modification!

Except... that’s... never addressed. There’s definitely time when Trent could have done it--Astrid’s mention that there were times when they thought Caleb was improving, and then he lapsed back into the same state, sure sounded to me like he briefly shook Feeblemind or a similar spell, only to have it re-inflicted as soon as a report reached Trent of him becoming dangerously lucid.

Except... why, then? And also there’s never any reveal that that is what happened, or even that Caleb thinks that’s what happened. So canon was just “...yeah, uh, Caleb’s brain just... stopped... for eleven years... and then he got his memory modification broken and he’s fine now other than the PTSD and flashbacks!”

And then along came Mighty Nein Origins: Caleb Widogast, and the explanation that I feel like no one is talking about. It took me a while to recognize it myself, even though I have still been kind of hankering for some explanation! So in case anyone else just didn’t realize what they put on the page for us...

Bren was VERY functional, if somewhat indiscriminately raging, immediately after he ~broke~! He attacks Astrid, using his magic!! Not an ideal reaction, but not an unreasonable one, and definitely the action of someone whose mind is very much his own if overwhelmed by A Lot Of Trauma.

And then...

AND THEN COMES THE MASSIVE BRAIN INJURY. Eadwulf KNOCKED HIM OUT WITH ONE BLOW with a BIG ROCK TO THE SIDE OF THE HEAD, and then they just left him there, unconscious. By definition he has a massive concussion. Probably with a skull fracture, probably bleeding into his brain.

And by morning, he’s come around enough to get up to his knees, but even before Ikithon arrives, he’s in what sure looks like his fugue state--not moving or speaking or expressing emotion, not responding to words or some fairly obvious danger in the form of the other villagers.

Because, you know, brain damage will do that to a person.

And then THAT gets healed by whatever Restoration spell that cleric hit him with, and all of a sudden my boy gets back his frontal lobes and the power of speech, and he is ON THE MOVE.

#critical role #comics #mighty nein origins #caleb widogast #the mighty nein #bren aldric ermendrud #eadwulf grieve #astrid becke

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road-rhythm · 3 years

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Timeline: Hard Mouth ch. 1-16

Someone asked about the timeline for this fic in the comments. A copy-paste of the outline I use to keep track would be way too much for an A/N on AO3, so I decided to just make a post and link to it for anyone who’s curious about how events line up with dates. Comprehensive spoilers for chapters 1-16.

Pre-fic/intro

3 Sydenstar: M9 fight and defeat Lucien in Cognouza.

4 Sydenstar: Plane Shift back to Material Plane and rest. Caleb has a dream that, strangely for him, he remembers in its entirety. M9 spends the day fighting their way through the Ars Ward and discusses next steps. (ch. 1)

Ch. 2-11

5 Sydenstar: Caleb wakes without having received any of the benefits of rest. Veth abducted by a spider and Revivified. (ch. 2) Same night: Caleb wakes up with obvious psychic damage; M9 have a wake for Molly and play Truth or Dare (it’s what he would have wanted). (ch. 3)

6 Sydenstar: Caleb wakes up rested after successfully repulsing the nightmare attack in his dreams. M9 travel through the Ars Ward to discover a vast arsenal of Age of Arcanum WMDs, trigger a deadly security system, and flee into the tunnels of Aeor’s Underwarren. In the tower that night, Caleb unmasks Ikithon as the messenger-assailant in his dreams. (ch. 4)

7 Sydenstar: M9 decide to risk teleportation out of Aeor, but discover they are blocked from doing so. (ch. 5) They penetrate into the Underwarren sewers, where Fjord helps them survive hypothermia and exhaustion with a sea shanty. Caleb continues to be assaulted whenever he sleeps. (ch. 6)

8 Sydenstar: The party fight neo-otyughs, suffer claustrophobia, and penetrate into an older, humbler Aeorian neighborhood buried under a vast garbage dump. At Caleb’s request, Essek learns Leomund’s Tiny Hut. That night, they discuss the purpose of Ikithon’s residuum crystal experiments while Beau receives a dream-visit from Astrid (and wakes everybody up to yell about it). (ch. 6-7)

9 Sydenstar: After only a partial rest, M9 press onward through Aeorian Trash Town in order to escape and find a Ring of Mind Shielding per Astrid’s advice. While clearing a room collapse, Caleb accidentally starts a fire due to a Wild Magic surge effect. The party escape to the next building only to be overwhelmed by giant cockroaches fleeing the same blaze. Sleeplessness, injury, smoke inhalation, and physical and emotional stress take Caleb’s exhaustion level up to 4 (HP max halved), leading Jester to attempt to force another residuum compound-fueled Greater Restoration on him. (ch. 8) Desperate to find an exit, Beau, Veth, Jester, and Fjord scout ahead while Caduceus, Essek, and Yasha stay behind with Caleb, who attempts to outlast Ikithon’s siege with their help. Beau’s life goes a little Kafka-esque, and she learns that surface access is close but that the roach-made tunnels shift around. She grows increasingly suspicious of Essek’s behavior and secrecy. (ch. 9)

10 Sydenstar: The scouting party returns with a mixed report, but Caleb’s exhaustion has progressed such that he cannot be moved (level 5: speed = 0). Beau begs Astrid to turn on Ikithon, but she refuses. Essek sneaks away from camp to start to Send to Ludinus Da’leth but is caught in the act by Beau, who uses Extort Truth to force a confession from him in front of the rest of the party. Caleb suffers a particularly severe breakdown and grows progressively less lucid; he casts Find Familiar with Essek’s assistance in order to release Frumpkin of his own free will rather than have their bond severed by Ikithon. (ch. 10)

11-12 Sydenstar: Caleb enters what appears to be a death spiral, during which the rest of the party, having exhausted other options, attempt to provide palliative care—until Essek realizes Caleb’s pulse may provide a chance to use Convergent Future to force a successful save against Ikithon’s Dream spell attack. While Ikithon delivers what he appears to expect to be the coup de grâce, Caleb and Essek jointly see to it that the future converges on his balls. (ch. 10)

13-14 Sydenstar: M9 chillax in the dome while Essek exerts himself to ensure two (extra-)long rests for Caleb. Jester yells at Artagan until he agrees to a Divine Intervention by cockroach, shortening the party’s path to the surface so they can finally leave Aeor behind. (ch. 11)

Ch. 12-16

15 Sydenstar: The party teleport to Bazzoxan in disguise, where Verin is waiting for them. Caleb casts the tower so that they can remain under the radar; M9 have dinner with Verin, Essek talks to his brother, Caleb is perfectly fine (per usual) and then confronts Essek about his plan to barter himself to Da’leth before collapsing for the night. Ikithon nearly tricks him into revealing the Aeorian T-dock circle before telling him that this was his plan, and the purpose of his assault, all along. He asks Caleb to thank Essek for making it possible. (ch. 12-13)

16 Sydenstar: After updating Essek and Beau on Ikithon’s new approach, Caleb is able to be fully healed (exhaustion level down to 3). Essek teleports everyone to a remote Den Thelyss estate in the mountains east of the Vermaloc Wildwood, where a figure from his childhood cares painstakingly for Caleb and Caduceus and tells the rest of M9 to go fuck themselves. The party decide to take a strict, one-week vacation to recover some. (ch. 13)

17 Sydenstar: After careful consideration, Caduceus declines to cast Modify Memory* on Caleb; Caleb considers asking Jester or Essek instead, but doesn’t. (ch. 13)

18-22 Sydenstar: Physically fully recovered at last, Caleb makes a pact with Beau as they dedicate themselves to taking down the Volstrucker program and its enablers together. She starts teaching him elementary martial arts as an outlet; meanwhile, Essek teaches him Dark Star from behind bars in horny jail. Allura notifies Jester that the Myriad are trafficking a Ring of Mind Shielding out of Tal’Dorei to an unknown destination. Essek is devastated and guilty when he fails a Convergent Future attempt, but Caleb redoubles his personal mental discipline efforts and treats Trent Ikithon to some high-brow comedy the following night; Ikithon leaves without attacking. The night after that, for the very first time, he seems not to cast Dream on Caleb, as Caleb doesn’t remember his dreams. (ch. 14)

23 Sydenstar: M9 hold the Council of Trent re: the need to go public against Ikithon to ensure M9′s families’ safety. They agree to wait 3 more days to hear more from Allura. Caleb asks to hold onto the crystals from Vergesson, telling Beau that he’s trying to jog his memory, then works with her and Jester to teleport copies of a bare-bones witness statement to Allura and Yudala Fon. He gives the original, sealed, to Essek. Beau has another dream-conversation with Astrid, who indicates she might switch sides with more concrete assurance of success and tells Beau that Ikithon has had an unusually strict no-contact policy for Volstrucker re: Caleb. Meanwhile, Ikithon uses an illusory Essek to interrogate Caleb about Aeor again, this time learning about the interesting moon artifact, the rejuvenation chamber, and the pocket beacon that powered it. (ch. 15)

24 Sydenstar: Essek thinks about composing a letter to Uraya Hythenos, but abandons the task to take a walk with Beau, who apologizes to him for assaulting and interrogating him in Aeor. He confides some of his misgivings about his dynamic with Caleb to her, and she urges him to talk to him. Instead, he and Caleb fight about Caleb’s intent to meet Ikithon unassisted that night. Essek gets drunk with Elamrin and makes a number of confessions. Caleb spends the night alone (although Veth works out where he is); Ikithon makes sure Caleb knows that he’s watching, but his only interference is an illusion of Una humming various number sequences. (ch. 16)

25 Sydenstar: In the morning, Caleb bumps into an extremely hung-over Essek. Following an uneventful day and a particularly generous supper, Essek invites Caleb on a walk in the orchard, where he apologizes for the previous day’s quarrel and offers a present to make up for it, a carefully selected frost sloe. Caleb accepts this offer in a manner Essek can’t refuse. (ch. 16)

26 Sydenstar: TBC

_________________________________________________ *Because I fucked up. Modify Memory isn’t on the Cleric list; Jester knows it because of her Trickery domain. I fucking knew that, and I still forgot it when I was writing the fucking chapter. I’m mad about it, but not mad enough to actually edit something.

#my fic #fic: Hard Mouth #Critical Role #I will spare y'all the character tags because this is only of interest to a handful of people already reading the fic

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exmortia · 3 years

Text

Shadowgast soulmate ficlet: Found Familiars

Essek/Caleb soulmate AU where a wizard’s familiar manifests from a fragment of their soul, but if they have a soulmate, the familiar comes from their soulmate’s soul instead. Regular D&D familiar mechanics don’t apply here except for pocket dimension poofing and un-poofing. Rated T for someone almost dying.

Like every student at the Soltryce Academy, the time finally comes when Bren learns how to summon a familiar.

It’s a week-long elective course he wasn’t planning on taking yet, preferring to focus his current semester on the fundamentals of magic, but Eadwulf is the first of their friend group to enroll, and he walks into the dorms next week with a raven perched on his shoulder. It becomes a nearly permanent addition to his friend, large and jet-black, with a deceptively strong beak and eyes filled with confidence and intelligence. Eadwulf spends the next few days answering the same standard question from their peers and teachers - “no, it’s mine.”

Astrid borrows Eadwulf’s notes on the spell and summons her own familiar not long after, a razor-eyed falcon that never stops scanning their surroundings and quietly observing anyone within range. Bren is only a little disappointed when she says “it’s mine, I can tell.” He knows, like everyone else, that soulmates are rare.

Soon it’s his turn, and his friends are making good-natured jokes about what form his familiar will take. They’re hoping for another bird just for the irony of it. “Maybe an owl,” Astrid says with a smile. They make bets. Eadwulf puts ten silver on a songbird, and Astrid puts twenty on a bird of prey.

Bren performs the ritual that night in the privacy of his room. As the incense drifts into the air, he secretly hopes for a feline companion, like the one he knew in childhood. Something soft and warm, curled up in his lap and welcoming him back to his room after a long day of classes. He keeps his eyes closed until the spell completes.

When he looks down, there’s an unexpected shape on his desk, like a scarf dropped lengthwise into a pile. Then it begins to move, glinting with iridescent color in the candlelight as its body slides and shifts on itself, and then he recognizes the creature when a rounded head emerges, tongue flicking out to taste the air in his direction.

“A snake?” he whispers to himself, confused and disappointed. Where he’d hoped for fur (or even feathers in retrospect), he sees shiny black scales like an inkspill across his desk where the light doesn’t hit. There are no emotions in its tapered face and round, lidless eyes. When the initial shock wears off, he takes a moment to focus and reach for his connection with it, hoping that what he finds is a reflection of himself, just like what his friends have, but what greets him is a feeling so new and foreign that he can’t lie to himself anymore.

Bren dismisses the familiar in a moment of panicked shame. He spends the night agonizing over what he’ll say to his friends and what their reactions will be. “It’s not mine,” he whispers to himself, dreading the moment when he’ll say it to them in person tomorrow. “I don’t know whose it is, but it isn’t mine.”

“You have a soulmate,” Astrid will say with a small, tight smile, the words neutral on the surface, but there’s a guarded expression in her eyes. Bren can only nod in reply, feeling like he’s wronged her somehow, as Eadwulf inspects the coiled snake presented to them in Bren’s outstretched hands.

“I’m sure it will come in handy,” he declares, trying to soothe Bren’s worries the only way he knows how. Astrid agrees, and the tension passes as they walk to their first class of the day. Bren considers dismissing his familiar again, but then he looks longingly at the companions perched on his friends and carefully tucks the serpent into the neck of his shirt beneath his robe. Its cool weight settles across his shoulders, the movement a slow, shifting pressure that feels good in the summer heat and even better when he’s working through a difficult assignment later.

Bren doesn’t find out until a few weeks later that his familiar is dangerous. An altercation with another classmate leads to him being shoved against a wall, the other boy’s grip twisted into the front of his robe with one hand while the other pulls back for a swing at Bren’s face, and suddenly there’s a blur of motion and the boy is stumbling back with a pair of tiny red dots on his chin. He almost dies right there on the floor, lips blue and foaming at the mouth, before one of the professors is drawn to the shouting of gathered students. Bren is instructed, under threat of expulsion, to keep his familiar dismissed while in the presence of others.

Ten years ago and hundreds of miles away, Essek Thelyss stands in his laboratory, blinking incredulously at the small, furry creature that has manifested in front of him. The trouble with being a wizard of a long-lived race who can’t summon a familiar is that you don’t know whether your soulmate has already died or just hasn’t been born yet. Essek didn’t think he needed a familiar, particularly, but he’d gotten into the habit of trying the spell once every few years when he remembered, partly because it stung to be an accomplished wizard who couldn’t summon one, and also because he secretly hoped that his soulmate, the one chosen for him by The Weave itself, had not already departed this world.

He’d lost count of the attempts, but it was somewhere between twenty and twenty-three when the spell finally worked, much to his surprise. His new familiar, with its striped orange fur and long tail curled neatly around its legs, sat on his ritual table and looked back at him with eyes that glinted in the low, ambient light. ‘My soulmate is alive out there,’ Essek thought with a relief he would never admit to, reaching out to stroke the cat’s soft fur as it stretched and began exploring the table, then his workbench, and then anywhere it could possibly get into.

In his youth, Essek had hoped for a more suitable familiar - something that could blend in, yet contribute to his image as a formidable spellcaster, like a snake or a spider, but he’d grown accustomed to not having one. His new feline companion becomes a sort of household pet. It’s not physically affectionate beyond the occasional rub against his legs. Mostly, it prefers to sit elsewhere in the room and watch him work from a distance. When he trances, it patrolls the halls and kills any small, unfortunate animal that dares enter his home. He wonders about the sort of person his soulmate might be, to have their soul reflected in this mindful, intelligent, and often ruthless creature.

One night, a little over ten years after he first summoned his familiar, Essek returns from his work at the Lucid Bastion and begins going about his routine, only to find that his familiar is nowhere to be found. He wonders if something has happened to make it decorporealize, like accidentally toppling a heavy object onto itself (unlikely), or maybe it had gotten outside somehow and didn’t care to return yet (a common recurring event). His familiar had changed over the past few months, becoming even more standoffish and less receptive to physical touch than before, so Essek doesn’t worry about its absence until the following day, when his familiar is still nowhere to be found. Before using his components to repeat the summoning ritual, he decides to make a quick search of his tower, and there, crouched in the furthest corner beneath a display cabinet in an unused room, his familiar stares back at him with wide, unblinking eyes.

When Essek reaches for his companion, its sudden, piercing, feline scream sends him pitching backwards in shock, until he’s on the floor and his familiar has left behind a series of long scratch marks where it fled. Essek is shaken for the few moments he sits there, confused, and then later, deeply concerned for someone he’s never met before.

This state of mind becomes normal for Essek over the next eleven years. His familiar is a ghost, hiding and wedging itself under furniture and bursting from its hiding spot in a terrified, screaming bolt of fur and claws when Essek unknowingly gets too close. Sometimes he goes weeks without catching sight of it, but Essek finds himself too sentimental to dismiss his former companion. He fears for the source of his familiar’s soul fragment, whoever this person is, and whatever it was that must have happened to them to cause this.

Hundreds of miles away and a few months later, Bren, now Caleb, accepts a torn-off piece of stolen bread from his new goblin companion, and hundreds of miles away, Essek’s familiar creeps out from beneath the workbench in his lab and slinks out of the room, but not before making brief eye contact with Essek, who stares back in disbelief with a set of alchemical reagents forgotten in his hands.

A few weeks later, after being roughed up and chased out of town again, Caleb remembers his silent protector from his school days, and Nott watches with fascination as a black snake appears in Caleb’s hands with a snap of his fingers. Nott’s fascination turns to concern as he spends a long moment staring at it, drowning in the memory of those days at the academy before he and his friends caught Trent Ikithon’s eye. Later that evening, Nott asks to hold his familiar, and Caleb worries for a moment, but it allows itself to be handed over, and Nott must constantly adjust her grip as its body moves and slips between her fingers.

“I think he prefers his master,” she says kindly, and although Caleb hadn’t cared to gender his familiar, the pronoun rings true somehow. Caleb accepts the snake from her and tucks it back into the neck of his coat where its cool, comforting weight helps quiet his intrusive thoughts.

It takes a few more months before Essek can run his fingers through his familiar’s striped fur again. Progress has been slow, but steady, and Essek is relieved not just for his familiar, but for the unnamed soul attached to it.

Things eventually return to the way they were before, and then continue to change. His familiar becomes his shadow, dutifully following him into every room of his tower. Where before it would perch out of arm’s reach to watch him work, now it walks across the paperwork on his desk and jumps into his lap and demands attention, before it’ll curl up and allow him to keep working. It’s an adjustment compared to what he’s used to, but there’s a weight lifted from his shoulders when he thinks about his soulmate now. At least, most of the time. His familiar refuses to leave his home and still vanishes for hours when he gets visitors, even when they remain on his doorstep and converse with him briefly through the open door.

The day comes when a group of strangers walk into the Lucid Bastion. Even among the chaos that follows, Essek’s attention is drawn, inexplicably, to one of their group - a surprisingly well-spoken human with copper-colored hair and pink, freckled skin, covered in mud and Luxon knows what else.

Caleb, dressed in nothing but leather straps, had dismissed his snake familiar out of necessity back in Asarius. When the situation in the Bright Queen’s throne room eventually dies down, his attention is drawn to a figure sitting near the dias, imposing in equal measure to the other high-ranking drow around them, but something about this individual catches his attention and keeps it indefinitely.

Later, when he and the Nein are free to wander Rosohna, Caleb decides not to risk going about with his venomous, spring-coiled companion for now, just in case there’s a misunderstanding with the locals or the guards.

Essek has his work cut out for him, and these new people don’t stay strangers for long. Despite his frustration at their behavior (often disrespectful and almost always culturally inappropriate), he finds himself responding eagerly to their requests for help when needed. When he sees them, his attention is always drawn first to their wizard, Caleb Widogast, and when he teaches Caleb that first dunamantic spell, it’s a challenge to monitor Caleb’s attention to the correct page of Essek’s spellbook, rather than Caleb himself. Everything about this human man, from the way he murmurs to himself while he works, to how he wrings his hands together during tense conversations, to the purely unexpected talent and raw power in the spells he demonstrates, has captivated Essek over the time he’s spent with these newcomers.

Caleb quietly scolds himself whenever the Shadowhand catches him staring. He’s not accustomed to being around dark elves, and even after the novelty wears off, something about their assigned handler, his new and unexpectedly generous teacher in the dunamantic arts, is drawing his attention and thoughts like an arcane compulsion. Caleb carefully keeps this to himself, not wanting to jeopardize their tenuous position in Roshona or the Shadowhand’s willingness to share his knowledge.

Eventually, as the weeks pass and their relationship with Essek grows out of familiarity and Jester’s brute force method of making friends, the Nein are invited to the Shadowhand’s tower for breakfast and the promise of some collaborative spellwork.

Caleb is regrettably late to the event as he makes a detour to find spell supplies, not wanting to impose on their host any more than necessary. When he arrives, there’s an awkward, semi-private moment where Essek answers the door and greets him. Then he’s led further inside where the others are gathered around a large table, and there’s a weird sort of prickling in the back of his mind as he enters the room. Fjord and Beau are talking and leaning against the table while the others are seated in a small group on the opposite side, except for Jester who is kneeling on the floor and talking to someone or something in a high-pitched voice.

A moment later, Jester makes a sad sound and watches Essek’s familiar slip out from under her hands to go trotting across the floor towards its master, or so she thinks. The cat’s gait breaks into a run, and she gasps as Caleb suddenly falls to his knees, his expression that of a mother who’s been searching all day for their missing child as the cat jumps into his arms. Essek’s familiar must be super friendly with other wizards, she thinks, until she sees the startled look on their host’s face. ‘This is the first time in many years that my familiar has not hidden itself from visitors,’ she remembers him saying as they arrived at the tower, and then he coaxed the cat towards them after she asked if she could pet it, which it accepted with mild, friendly interest. Now Caleb is clutching at its orange striped fur as it rubs against his face over and over again, purring loud enough for everyone to hear, and she’s not sure, but it looks like he might be crying a little.

Caleb carefully stands with the cat cradled in one arm, its outstretched paws making biscuits in the air. He reaches out towards Essek, and there’s a small flash of arcane magic before Caleb’s serpentine familiar appears there, balanced in a tight knot of coils in his upturned hand. Essek stares at it, motionless, until the snake begins to move, its body quickly sliding away from its master and into the space between Essek and Caleb, apparently not caring if it falls before it’s caught.

Essek reaches out with both hands to meet the snake’s trajectory, and soon the familiar is wrapped around Essek’s forearm, coiled tightly in place like a permanent fixture. Essek lifts his arm and stares into its eyes, carefully running his fingers across the black, iridescent scales with a gentle reverence.

“He’s yours,” Caleb chokes out in joyful tears, knowing but not caring that his friends are watching with a combination of amusement and concerned looks. “I always wondered, but I never dared hope . . .” Caleb clears his throat as Essek stares at him, the drow’s expression hard to read. “He, uh, likes to be up high, around your neck, where he can, um . . . he’s v-venomous by the way. I had to learn that. From experience. But he is a good snake, a very good snake,” Caleb insists as more tears threaten to wet his face. In Caleb’s arms, his new familiar trills and then purrs louder, satisfied, when he bends down to nuzzle his face into its wonderful, beautiful orange fur.

Essek makes a quick decision not to ask about what happened to his feline familiar over that eleven-year period. Maybe later when they’re comfortable and alone. For now, he admires his snake companion, the subtle magical thread of connection between master and familiar already transitioned, painlessly, from old to new. He feels whole and complete, and not just from finding his true familiar. Essek’s affection is quiet and immeasurable as he meets Caleb’s overjoyed grin with his own soft smile.

“Thank you for this,” is all Essek can say without his voice breaking. Later, after Caleb’s friends have staged a friendly interrogation about what happened and what it means for two wizards to exchange familiars (and after he’s taken Caleb’s advice and tucked his new companion into the neck of his robe where it fits perfectly), he’ll take Caleb upstairs, his former familiar dutifully following its new master, and spend a few hours alone with his soulmate. At the end of trading stories about their lives and hardships and hopes for the future, he’ll hold the human’s face in his hands and take the first step towards sealing their bond with a kiss.

#shadowgast #caleb widogast #essek thelyss #critical role #critical role fanfiction #can't watch the new episode until later tonight so I wrote this instead #non-wizards could probably gain a familiar this way #I've got another ficlet idea too hmmm

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