#Black Dragon Artifacts

[froggiewrites]

Into the Dragon's Den

Pairing: Dragon!Ace x Reader

NSFW

Summary: This job is going to change your life. With the treasure from the dragon’s hoard, you’ll never have to work again, you’re sure of it. But when he catches you in the act, you find you’ve bitten off more than you can chew. Everything in this room is his, and he insists that includes you. But really, would it be so bad to play your part? Warnings: AFAB!Reader (no pronouns or gendered language used), Smut, Size Kink, Objectification (Reader treated as a treasure), Oral Sex (Reader receiving), Praise Kink, Biting/Marking, Tail Sex, Overstimulation, Possessiveness, Vaginal Sex Word Count: 3k Halloween Special 2024

It’s impossibly warm within the dragon’s lair. Your clothes are soaked through with sweat, sticking to you with every step, but still you press on. Your current discomfort is nothing compared to the bliss that’s going to follow, once you get this gold.

You had no idea how large his hoard was, when you first came here. You knew that even a small hoard would pay for you to live comfortably for the rest of your life, but the amount of gold, jewels, and priceless artifacts in this cave could feed an entire kingdom for a century, at least. You can’t pocket it all, of course, but if you choose wisely you’ll be able to live like royalty once you find the right buyer for it all. You’ll never have to work a day again in your life, safe and protected and cozy in a little piece of land just for yourself. You can’t help the smile that creeps onto your face from the thought.

The dragon is nowhere to be seen, hopefully out hunting or something else that will take it a while. You’re no dragon slayer, and you don’t care to be. You don’t want to kill such a magnificent creature, simply relieve it of some loose change and trinkets. Nothing it will miss. You didn’t even bring anything to defend yourself other than a tiny dagger, one that couldn’t pierce a dragon’s hide even wielded by the greatest warrior. You’re a would-be thief, nothing else.

Your eyes drag over the room you stand in, clearly burrowed out by massive claws and set with a fire that would leave nothing but ash were it set upon you. The floor is a beautiful volcanic glass, which you would love to chip away and take with you, but while your dagger would certainly be able to take off a piece or two, it would also shatter immediately on impact. You instead settle for a large pile of gold jewelry. You can see dozens of precious gems peeking out, sapphires and rubies and diamonds catching the dim light so beautifully you’re drawn closer like a moth to a flame. You spot a particularly beautiful necklace, with an orange gemstone that looks like fire itself inlaid in the center, and you can’t help but reach out for it. It’s only once your fingers have wrapped around it that you hear the rumbling voice behind you.

“Are you sure you should be touching that?” The voice is deep, rumbling, but there’s a hint of joviality to it, laughing like there’s a joke here, and you’re the punchline. You whip around to see it, or him, towering above you. You expected some horrible beast, a lizard spanning the length of the room, but standing before you is almost a man. He’s frighteningly tall, at least double your height, and his biceps and pectorals are larger than your head. His hands, which are reaching toward you, are tipped in black claws that could easily rip you to shreds. He’s hardly clothed, just a simple pair of shorts that leave nothing to the imagination, and most of his exposed skin is covered in beautiful, glistening red scales. His cheeks are dotted with both freckles and smaller scales, and his eyes are piercing, his pupils slits that you can see grow wider as he looks at you. His grin is filled with razor sharp teeth that you can imagine ripping into your throat. On either side of his head are curling horns reaching for the sky. You’d call him beautiful, were you not so terrified. There is a large tail behind him, whipping back and forth with an audible swish. You feel like a mouse caught beneath the claws of a cat, waiting to be toyed with before being ripped to shreds.

One hand wraps around your waist, while the other plucks the necklace easily from your grasp. He holds it up to the light as he pulls you closer, allowing the gem to sparkle and shine. He hums, which is more of a rumble, before holding it up to your neck. His eyes seem to strip you bare as they rake over you. His grin grows wider. “It suits you. Would you like to wear it, little one?”

You stare, mouth agape, and he laughs again, showing off every one of his teeth. You force yourself to answer. “I–I couldn’t possibly.”

His eyes narrow slightly, and you feel as though you’ve failed some kind of test. “You could. I wouldn’t have offered if you couldn’t. It’s a lovely piece.” With the way he’s staring, you can’t help but feel he isn’t talking about the necklace.

You don’t know what role you’re playing here, but you know he’s massive and gorgeous and terrifying, so you try to fulfill it anyway. “Then I suppose I would.”

He grins, pulling you close until you’re pressed against him and releasing you, delicately clasping the necklace around your neck. It’s thick and heavy, feeling almost like a collar. His claw traces gently along where it falls on your neck, leaning down to admire the shine of gold against your skin. “Lovely,” he murmurs, and you can feel his hot breath against your face, smelling of smoke and burning oak. He leans closer, his tongue, which is far longer than a regular man’s, tracing along the path his fingers took. You shiver, and you can feel him grin against your skin before nipping right at your sweet spot. 

You yelp. “Wh–what are you doing?”

His voice is low when he whispers in your ear. “I’m enjoying what’s mine.”

“What?”

“Everything in this room is one of my treasures.” His nips at you again, before his lips brush gently against the spot to soothe the marks he surely left. “And such a lovely one just snuck in to make their place here. How lucky am I?” Another nip, another kiss, then a gentle suckle against your skin. You whine at the sensation, heat flooding you, and he laughs again.

“I’m–I’m not–ah!” His hand inserts itself between your thighs, making you instinctively clench them around it as he presses into you through your pants. He slowly drags up, watching as you whimper and whine under his heated attention.

“Not what? Mine? Or a treasure?” He chuckles, and you feel the sound echo through his chest as it presses against yours. “You’re both, sweet thing. Unless you care to explain why else you’d be here?” His tone is still hot and seductive, but the words carry a challenge. His teeth are still against your throat, and for the first and only time his bite is enough to draw blood. He quickly licks it away, soothing it with his long, forked tongue, but the message is clear.

You whimper, the sound coming from deep within you, though whether it comes from fear or arousal you don’t quite know. You open your mouth to confess, to submit yourself to him, to say anything at all, but you’re met with that same tongue entering your throat. The kiss is horribly sloppy, wet and wild and wanting, as his hands slowly start to move. One keeps pressing against your clit through your pants, tortuously slow, while the other reaches for your chest. You expect to feel him paw at you, but instead you feel a slight sharpness from his claw down the front of your shirt, cutting it and your bra in two. They don’t fall off immediately, stuck to you with sweat, and he makes a discontented grunt before peeling them off of you. You involuntarily squeak at the sensation, and start to pull back, but something scaled and rough wraps around your waist keeping you still. 

His tail holds you firmly, tight enough to keep you from squirming but not tightly enough to bruise. The sensation of his scales scraping against the bottom of your breasts is interesting, and you can’t tell if it’s discomfort or pleasure that makes you shiver. He seems to enjoy it either way. The tip of it starts to make its way down, slipping below the waistband of your pants and pressing lightly against your clit. You gasp against him, and he grins against your lips.

You finally get a moment to breathe as he pulls back to admire your upper half, the way your skin looks pressed against his snails, your exposed chest and the way it heaves as you try to catch your breath. His pupils start to overtake his irises the more he looks at you. “A wonderful addition to my collection,” he murmurs hotly, leaning in to nip at your tits. “The crowning jewel, really. I’ll have to find the perfect place for you. Somewhere you’ll catch the light just right.”

He leaves marks all over your torso, hickies and bites that you’re sure will stay for days. He turns his claws to your pants, finally removing his hand from between your thighs to drag a claw on the outsides of either pant leg and quickly ripping them off. His tail still lightly rubs against you as he peels off your panties and finally exposes you fully to the heated air around you. He finally leaves your chest alone, kissing down your stomach to meet his tail blocking his path further down. His tip leaves your clit, and you let out a pathetic noise that he absolutely delights in.

“Don’t worry, treasure. I’d never leave you wanting.” He looks up at you, scales catching the light, and gives you a smile you could almost be convinced was filled with genuine affection. But the hunger, the wanting, the possession still reflects in his eyes, betraying him for the animal he is. His tail leaves your midriff, and his hands find your thighs, spreading them easily. “You’re dripping, sweet thing. You really are perfect. Could you really blame me for wanting to keep you all to myself?”

You struggle to speak in your lust-infused haze, but you manage. “I–I’m not perfect.”

“Oh, but you are, treasure, even if you don’t know it. You’re going to love being mine, I promise. I take very good care of my things.”

You find yourself coming unraveled underneath his gaze, bare and vulnerable. The truth comes out of you almost like a compulsion. “I was trying to steal from you.”

He chuckles. “I know. You seem a bit greedy.” He easily lifts you, placing your thighs on his shoulders, his nose pressing into your core. “It’s alright. So am I.”

With that, he dives in, eating you out like a man starved. His tongue is much longer than a human’s, finding places within you that you didn’t even know were there to be found. He makes loud slurping sounds, ones that make you blush despite yourself. You’re suspended in the air, coming unraveled on his tongue, unable to muffle your cries as he buries himself into you. You clench your eyes shut, overwhelmed by the sensation. Your hands tangle in his hair tightly, pulling at every movement of his tongue, and he growls against you with every tug. 

He murmurs against you, “So sweet, darling thing.” HIs nose brushes against your clit, and you begin to fall, only to be caught by his tail, held midair, only supported by him. Every sensation you can feel is him, from his tongue to his tail to the warmth of the air in his lair, he is the only world you are allowed to know. His claws dig into the plush of your thighs as he continues his feast, showing his strength, his lethality, but never threatening to truly puncture. You wonder how many people have been ripped to shred by the hands holding you, how many have been consumed by the mouth that presses against you.

He continues to lap away at you as you cry out, muscles tensing as you build towards your climax. He’s unrelenting as he greedily tastes you, lost in your flavor, the feeling of your thighs clenching around his head, the softness of your skin underneath his tail. You manage to open your eyes just long enough to glance down at him and see there is not a single millimeter between him and you. As he feels you grow closer and closer, one of his hands reaches for your clit, gently rubbing against it, and you finally come unraveled around him. He doesn’t slow for a moment as you cry out and clench around him. Your orgasm ravages you just as he does, pleasure bursting through you. You expect him to pull away, to begin to prepare to enter you, but he doesn’t slow for a moment, letting out soft moans against your mound as he continues.

“W–What are you–”

He growls against you as you try to pull him back. “Mine.”

“Please, it��it’s too much!” You cry as he hits a particularly sensitive spot again.

When he hears your noises shift from pleasure to discomfort, he seems to find himself for a moment, finally pulling you off of him slightly. His chin is dripping with your juices, his cheeks shining from the wetness covering them. His eyes are completely blown out, and he looks almost lost as he pulls back. He only focuses again once he looks up at your face, and he seems to remember where he is. You maintain eye contact for a moment, as one of his hands comes up to lightly brush against the necklace you’re wearing. “A treasure, a feast, a beauty. You really are perfect.” His voice is filled with a quiet awe, enough that you allow yourself to ignore the heat of possession burning beneath the words. “And you’re all mine.”

Some part of you wants to deny it, but more of you is lost in the haze of it all, and you find yourself muttering, “Yes, yes, yours!”

“Yes, treasure, yes.” He kisses your thigh before he begins lowering you, holding you with his arms instead. Something scaly and hard begins to slither up your thigh, and you whine as you feel his tail dip against your entrance. “Just a bit more, sweet thing. To make sure you’re ready.”

“Please,” you mutter, for mercy, for more, for whatever he’ll give you.

“Of course.” His tail slowly enters you, stretching you easily after all of his attention earlier. He pushes and pushes, making you feel wonderfully full. His tail grows wider as it continues, threatening to tear you in two, but you manage to accommodate him anyway. “So good for me, treasure. Doing such a wonderful job. You were made for this. For me.”

You feel the alien sensation of his scales against your walls as he slowly pulls it out and pushes it back in, testing how far you can stretch, how much of his you can take. He murmurs soft praises with every inch you’re able to fit, about how perfect you are, about what a wonderful addition to his collection you’ll be, about what a prize you are. “You’ll stay with me forever, treasure. I have the perfect space for you in my bed, and the firelight will illuminate your beauty just right. You’ll wear all of the jewels you could ever desire. And you’ll feel pleasure like this every night.”

You cry when he pulls out of you, but you’re quickly silenced by the sensation of something far larger poking against your entrance. “Don’t tense up now, treasure. You’re doing so well. It’ll be alright.”

A strangled moan leaves you when he inserts himself, stretching you wider than any point of his tail did. Tears prick at your eyes, and your thighs tense, but you force yourself to take a breath and relax.

“Just like that. You can do it.” He slides and slides for what feels like forever, and you look down to see where he meets you. His cock is monstrous, and you clench around him when you see the bulge in your belly from your body trying to accommodate it. He moans. “Ah, just like that. Perfect. So perfect.”

He pulls you impossibly closer, kissing you with something resembling tenderness. Then, all at once, he pulls out and slams into you quickly, a single hand on your hips moving you up and down at a breakneck pace. You cry out, and he quickly silences you with another deep kiss, bouncing you on his cock like you were made for nothing more than this. His hips pound against you as his other hand reaches for your clit. His claw briefly presses against your skin, but mercifully you find his fingertip rubbing against you instead. You can hear nothing over the blood rushing in your ears and his heavy breaths as he continues to rut against you. His lips leave yours and you whine. He’s saying something, but you can’t make out the words. His tone is enough, wanting and desperate, for you to know he’s singing your praises again.

The heat of it all is quickly becoming too much, and you can see he’s losing himself as well, as his thrusts become even faster and his hand tightens around your hips. The fire moves through you without mercy, pleasure blinding you and taking your breath away as you come cum on his cock. He follows soon after, and you can feel warm spurts of cum fill you as he moans loudly against your ear. When he does, he falls backwards into the pile of treasure behind him, taking you with him. He doesn’t pull out for a moment as he pulls you close, tucking you into him and pressing your head into his chest. His heart is pounding, his skin is on fire, and his breaths are unsteady. He’s come fully and truly undone. 

You don’t know if it’s minutes or hours that you lay there before he pulls out. You feel horribly empty when he does, cum dripping out of you onto his thighs. He laughs when you whine.

“I hope you’re prepared, treasure. We have a wonderful time ahead of us.” His grin is all teeth, his pupils retracting back into slits, and you’re forced to remember once again there is nothing human about the thing sitting beneath you. “You’re going to love being mine.”

Tag List: @pandora-writes-one-piece

[internalloops]

DA:TV rant … if you are of the mind that BioWare can do no wrong /its games can be criticize or if you truly enjoying the game and are loving everything that you’ve seen so far this post is not for you. Please move along and if you don’t want me showing up on your feed please block me.  I will not be engaging with any fan that will not allow me to take up space and vent my feelings on the disaster that is this fucking game.

*Also a lot of spoilers!!

.. it’s horrible, like I knew I was going to be disappointed but holy fucking shit …

I’m about to finish act one and .. they destroyed their entire lore … BioWare destroyed their ENTIRE lore /world build of Dragon Age

Minrathous has NO SLAVES !!! They are briefly talked about via shadow dragons but they’re are none visible at all in the city ( but they have the animation to give a poor person “fake money” )

The qunari who literally fought and tried to kill solas in trespasser have been turned into mindless brutes who willingly joined the evil gods … because they command dragons ?

The blight except for one mission is harmless. They purposely turned it into a bio weapon and then (besides the dark spawn spawning from it like something out of an MMO) due to *plot armor, no one actually contracts the blight ???

The black chantry minus one building that you go through in a side quest doesn’t exist? No chantry members , no talk of the black divine ..

Dalish are all engineers now and part of the veil jumpers ( which should not exist lore wise) and all elven magic has been converted into cyberpunk technology and artifacts. Very little talk about their oppression and they are all very willing to drop all their history , even their distrust of solas , to flight the old gods .

Varric Has been demoted to inspirational speaker and narrator he has no other role and the entire team acts like he died , even when he’s in the room with him ( I think BioWare actually planned to kill him but then chickened out ) and is a husk of his former self

Same with Morgan , you can’t interact with her at all and she’s given the same mysterious background as flemeth ( the theory that she carries mythal spirit is very strong right now )

Lyrim potions don’t exist, in fact lyrim doesn’t exist at all besides the dagger. All magic has turned into technology, and if you play as a mage mana just has an automatic replenish rate /cool down effect that you can level up.

Evil gods go back and forth between an actual intense adversary and threat to the world, and a typical Disney villain.

These are just the few I can think of off the top of my head, there is so much more than this …

The game can literally be summed up as Mass effect andromeda x2 with God of war animations and marvel style writing ( not the avengers I’m talking about the recent shit)

Also for the people who want to kill solas or simply dislike him, the game pushes a sympathetic view of him on you ,even your companions who outrightly want to kill him will feel sorry for him. And I’m saying this as a solavellan fan. Yes they’re options to be mean to him and antagonize him, but you won’t get anyone agreeing with your actions ,at best they’ll be neutral about it. Now this might play out differently for those who picked the “chooses to stop him “ option , but for those who’s inquisitions wanted to save him but they wanted their rooks to hate him … you’re not gonna be happy about what you get ..

The only thing that keeping me playing is the reveal of history of ancient elves and Titans and solas’s story. And Assan!! Assan can do no wrong !! Everything else is a slog to get through.

[felassan]

The Art of Dragon Age: The Veilguard Deluxe edition (DA:TV artbook bonus stuff). [source, via]

"The deluxe edition features: - An elegant foil-stamped slipcase and cover - Gilded pages - A ribbon book marker - Two lithographic art prints housed in a sleek portfolio" [source]

It looks like the two lithographic prints are this mural (which is from the 2020 TGA teaser iirc) and this art of Solas with a wolf by Matt Rhodes (which is from the Gamescom 2020 video iirc). The packaging's color theme-ing is black and gold, reminding of this version (that pic is from 2021) of the game's branding/color theme-ing, and also of course bringing to mind the Golden/Black City. the Golden/Black City was featured on the vinyl cover arts.

The knife here on this cover looks like the 'blue lyrium' [?] dagger, but also simultaneously not like it.

This artbook cover one is more gnarled in appearance and the 'ring' of the handle isn't complete (the way the 'broken' handle could almost be an Evanuris headpiece-shape... if it was a bit more symmetrical, it would look like Elgar'nan's headpiece).

It has extra spiky bits protruding off it too and it looks like something is growing on it. Maybe this is what happens if/when the blue [lyrium?] dagger becomes red (Blighted)? because this gnarled kinda vibe reminds me a bit of Meredith's sword Certainty in DA2, and of that body horror way in which red lyrium growth looks on people. It also reminds me of the tendrils of Blight corruption on walls and the ground and stuff in DA:TV screenshots, and the gnarled red lyrium darkspawn we've seen (look at this darkspawn's back for example).

Or maybe there's simply more than one dagger? There's two rising Evil Gods.

in the background of that image is the now-familiar geometric patterning with the concentric rings around the outside that tend to represent the Veil, and also the multiple almooost-overlapping circles/spheres inside that is suggestive of an eclipse* (something which we can see in the DA:TV screenshot with the dragon, which keeps coming up, which speaks to a lot of the pertinent imagery/symbolism e.g. Elgar'nan overthrowing his father the Sun and darkening the sky, and something which to me makes sense in a Witcher-style Conjunction of the Spheres kinda vibe, multiple realms colliding, like, if you tear down the Veil, you're bringing two 'bodies' or realms together to 'overlap' once again - the Fade and the waking world). [*in the 'eclipse' link there it's just searching the word on my blog btw, since I've banged on and on about that lots before and I don't wanna repeat myself loads in this post hhh]. the placement of the dagger over that design and what it represents makes sense; as we saw in the gameplay reveal video, the dagger was part of Solas' ritual to tear down the Veil/move the Evanuris prison.

On this cover, we can see two eyeballs in two of the corners (the eyes remind me of the Inquisition hairy eyeball, the eye motifs cropping up around Lucanis, Pride, and the Fade peacock feather/eye motif [image from this post]). in the other two corners is a sword that reminds again of Certainty. Meredith brandishing the sword is part of this DA:TV mural in the bottom left, underneath Ghil. surely not a coincidence. :D maybe a Certainty-like sword is the final corrupted form of the dagger, or one of them? in TN, the red lyrium idol changed shape enough that a ritual-blade sprang from its base.

the background of this middle cover also contains triangles, reminding of ancient elven artifacts and ancient elven magic-tech (like with Bellara, the Veil Jumpers etc) and the recurring triangle symbols in DA art around Fade/Veil/magic-y stuff (example from the Tevinter Nights map below).

The cover on the right has more geometric patterns, circles, rings etc. (all these patterns remind of the art in the vinyl booklet btw). and, in the center, the eye again. 👁️

[dalishious]

Life in Rivain - What We Know Going Into Dragon Age: The Veilguard

For the first time in the game franchise, it has been confirmed that players will get the opportunity to explore Rivain. As such, we will finally be learning a lot more about Rivain upon its release. This piece is about the information we have thus far.

Location & Population

The Kingdom of Rivain, founded in -44 Ancient, is located on the northeastern peninsula of Thedas. Surrounded nearly entirely by water, its only land connection is Antiva.

Those native to Rivain are called Rivaini. Just like any nation in Thedas, there are different racial/ethnic backgrounds who live there – however, the majority of Rivain’s population is Black.

There is also a notable qunari population in Rivain, dating back to when they arrived in Thedas in 6:32 Steel. Kont-aar still exists as a large Qunari settlement in the northern part of the nation – it is regarded as peaceful.

The capital of Rivain is Dairsmuid, which sits on the Rialto Bay. Dairsmuid is the only place in Rivain that has any real Chantry control.

Relations

Because Rivain has a lot of flavour profiles found only in the northern part of Thedas, other nations highly value their food exports. As Rivain is friendly with the Qunari, they are willing to trade in Seheron, too.

Rivain has a “less-than-cordial” relationship with Tevinter. It also has an unserious rivalry with Antiva.

Culture

The Rivaini are traditionally a matriarchal society, believing that women are best suited to rule. Major decisions within a community rest on the head of elder women, who is often a Seer (see: Magic).

Rivain has a currency-based economy. However, there is, generally speaking, a greater value placed in making sure everyone has what they need over monetary gain. For example, if one community has a bad year the neighbouring communities will send supplies and labour to ensure its people do not suffer.

“The Rivaini people trace their roots to pantheist ancestors, and many in Rivain still believe that their god and the universe are one in the same.” —Dragon Age: The World of Thedas vol. 1

Rivain is has the most diverse range of spiritual beliefs in Thedas, because the Chantry failed to become the monopoly like they did everywhere else. The three most common spiritualties are Andrastianism, the Qun, and unnamed traditional Pantheism beliefs.

Daily life for an average citizen of Rivain differs greatly across the nation, because it is such a patchwork of cultures that co-exist in relative peace. Life in Kont-aar for example, is structured by the Qun, where life in a remote village in the southern tip would likely be highly influenced by the Raiders who call Llomerryn home.

Magic

Traditional Rivaini beliefs hold their Seers in high regard. Seers are female mages who specialize in peacefully communicating with spirits and even intentionally invite them into their bodies. They act as wise women and leaders of their communities, for whom people go to for guidance.

Twice a year, the Seers of Rivain gather in Dairsmuid to meet in council, forge trade agreements, and publicly pledge loyalty to Rivain's queen. This is called the Allsmet, and it is a fully celebrated festival with lavish feasts, gift exchanges, ceremonial gatherings, and music.

There was a single Rivaini Circle of Magi, located in Dairsmuid, but it existed largely as a façade to appease the Chantry. Unfortunately, when the Chantry sent Seekers to inspect the Circle in 9:40, they discovered the mages breaking Chantry law. The mages were allowed to freely be with their families, and were training female mages as Seers. The Seekers they invoked the Right of Annulment; they murdered all the mages of the Circle, and destroyed their library of books and artifacts.

Lords of Fortune

The Lords of Fortune are a guild of treasure hunters and dungeoneers, based out of Rivain. They can be identified by the decorations they were all over their body; trinkets they’ve collected over their years of treasure hunting. Sometimes they are hired by others to help out on a job, while other times they seek their own adventure. Anyone of any race can become a Lord of Fortune.

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References

Codex entry: Seers and the Allsmet (Dragon Age: Inquisition)

Codex entry: The Annulment at Dairsmuid (Dragon age: Inquisition)

Dragon Age: The World of Thedas vol. 1

Dragon Age: The World of Thedas vol. 2

Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights

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[queers-gambit]

The Battle Above the God’s Eye

part one: Sands of Time

prompt: decades after the Stepstones, it's his turn to be rescued.

pairing: Daemon Targaryen x female!reader

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

word count: 6.3k+

note: i'm not the happiest with this piece, so i'll most definitely (probably) write an alternative when the time comes and the show does the Battle. y'all know me by now, you know i love me a good ol' reader-insert and i didn't want to wait years to publish some kind of sequel so here we are.

warnings: reader isn't explicitly a Targaryen but we had to make this work and i'm burnt the fuck out. so fuck it, dragon rider reader. cursing, books spoilers, violence, imagination required, maybe Red Priestess reader, mention of more Little Birds (let author live), toxic family (duh), heavily encouraged imagination, depictions of death, angst, some hurt and comfort i think ? missing warnings 'cause wonky brain goin' wonky.

"There's rumor, Mistress, of a dragon the color of night," the hooded figure informed. "It nests in the Ruins of Ancient Valyria, seen by farmers and countryfolk; they say his wings beat like thunder. It's a colossal shadow they fear to engage, but after hearing your ransom, they reported it."

You hummed as you took a sip of scalding tea, finding comfort in the heat, musing, "I've been to the Ruins myself on two seperate excursions, I promise you, friend, there is no dragon that nests there."

"It's come from the East, a new beast in the sky."

"I require proof if I am to pay the ransom."

The man with a hood over his head reached for his rucksack and rummaged, a moment later, placing two items on the polished mahogany table between you both. One was unmistakably a dragon's tooth, and when you examined it, there was still clotted blood on the root - assuring it was a fresh pull. The second was a large black scale that weighed at least a dagger's worth.

You smirked, "This is promising. Where in the Ruins has it been seen? Who procured these artifacts?"

You discussed specifics with the man for an hour, offering him a hefty finder's fee after getting the name of the village the man had gathered his own information from. It was a messy journey from there; leaving the home you had made in the decades since the Stepstones to head for what was probably another dead end in Ancient Valyria. You were something akin to a magistrate, the people saw you as a figurehead, a leader; their person of authority who they were all too happy to follow.

Your village flourished, growing in size, number, popularity, and strength by the passing day. The people seemed happy, wealth flowing from exports and trade, and apparently, a few cartographers have begun the process of updating a few maps to add your village's name to history.

Much had changed in your time away from your Rogue Dragon Prince, but you knew that was all coming to an end soon. Your Lord of Light had shown you much in your flames, one of which was a repeating image of you, mounted atop a dragon all your own, soaring over the Narrow Sea with distinct purpose. You weren't a Targaryen, but your religious devotion seemingly gave you the ability to walk amongst beasts and their flames.

Exploring Ancient Valyria took over a year on foot.

You had plenty of encounters with the Stone Men, but all met their merciful demise - those left after that steered clear of you and your Valyrian Steel sword. Around the ruins of the ancient volcano that hadn't erupted since The Doom, you found a graveyard of goat, sheep, and cattle bones. There were bigger skeletons of aquatic creatures, something you found incredibly fascinating - what fully grown dragon went deep diving?

Soon, you found scat. For those who don't spend time in the wilderness or who are simply unfamiliar with the term, "scat" refers to waste produced by wild animals. Yeah, you're reading correctly, after you found the plethora of skeletons, you found dragon shit.

So, you knew you were closer than before. But the fucker still alluded you to the point you felt insane circling the Ruins.

You located about three different potential caverns, investigating them all with caution, but finding them all empty. Feeling exhausted from the months of searching, you claimed one of the caves as your own; hunting for a meal after gathering adequate fire wood. You listened to the untamed wilds of Valyria as you ate whatever you roasted, trying to distinguish familiar sounds of an approaching dragon.

Or perhaps even a distant one!

You'd take any sign!

It'd been weeks since you found the dragon droppings, no other signs appearing. You would search new areas for days, then return to your cave for rest; feeling disconnected from reality the longer you lingered in the ruined empire. You wondering what your village was doing, you were curious if the young woman, Ferona, had a baby boy or girl, if they had erected the new buildings you left blueprints for in an effort to create opportunist housing and houses of worship - as your people had requested.

How did the krill and shrimp season fair? What weddings happened this past spring? How was the irrigation system holding up?

Weeks drug by slowly. Weeks turned to longer months. Two years, you spent in that Gods forsaken ruin of a city - but couldn't find it in you to abandon your search.

Your Lord of Light had yet to send word, yet set your heart ablaze every time you "decided" to go home. You stared into the flames every night, desperate for any indication you were on the right path, but nothing was seen - nothing was said - nothing was shown to you. Until one night, during a torrential downpour and thunderous storm, you were shivering, drenched to your core, fighting the wind to let you keep your flames alive.

And there, in the dying, flickering warmth, you saw it. With wide, unblinking eyes, you stared into the flames harder; unsure how long you remained in the tranquil state before a particularly strong gust of wind nearly pushed you face-first into the embers. You gasped, looking around as the smoke nearly choked you as it filled the cave; stumbling out into the rain as you coughed and patted your chest. Stumbling slightly from malnourishment and delirium, you leaned on the outer shell of your "home", panting with relief before there came a screech so fearsome, you were then cowering into the wall with fear.

You dropped to your knees, huddled into the rock formation; the ground trembling as something enormous touched down. You gasped when through the haze of sideways rain, two nostrils flared and heaved thick plumes of smoke; reddened from the ignited flames deep within an invisible chest. You flattened against the wall, four taloned paws striking the ground and causing it to crack, quake, and tremble. With the fleeting clouds, you used the moon's light to distinguish the beast that loomed closer to you; over you; and then, in your face.

A long, blackened snout nearly pressed into your chest; fabric of your tunic caught in the razor sharp teeth. You had faced death, you had faced beasts, you had faced hacking axes and swinging swords. You had faced the wrath of the Queen Alysanne's court, the rumors of the common folk, and judgment from both man and God. But nothing was like this moment: a wild dragon staring you down, sniffing your chest and stomach, debating if it should just open it's mouth and eat you whole yet or not.

Thankfully, it chose an alternative route.

You're not fully sure how it happened, but you dedicated two years to finding this terrible beasty, and yet, it only took about 6 weeks to bond with the (obviously) young thing. Time with your Dragon Prince proved most useful, creating a bond so secure, you were beginning to wonder if someone deep in your bloodline had mated with a Targaryen. It was natural, the way you both became accustomed to one another; living together on a carbon-dated land long doomed.

The lessons from Daemon came flying back to you. You practiced your High Valyrian, laughing when you obviously got a word or two wrong because the dragon would snort at you. In the light, she was still the color of the night, but her scales were dusted the same gold as her eyes. She was impressive, she was huge in size but nowhere near Vhagar. In fact, you'd wager she had outgrew Caraxes - the only dragon you had true experience with.

Speaking of Caraxes, you were on the shores of Old Valyria, debating how you were going to convince your new companion to join you back "home" in the village, when suddenly, your beast gave a defensive growl.

Looking to the skyline, you spotted the distant dragon and frowned. This dragon wasn't the color of flames like Caraxes was, no, instead, it was a murky blob in the sky with two wings. You offered calming words to your dragon in her native language, not sensing danger, but your beast was unhappy leaving you in the open. Her tail curled around you to corral you back into her body as the muddy brown dragon landed with a thunderous shake a respectable distance away.

Your name was begged by the rider descending from who you recognized as a wild dragon by the name of Sheepstealer.

"Nettles? That you, love?" You asked in skepticism, managing out of your dragon's grasp. "What're you doing here? You all right?"

"I needed to find you," she panted. "I-I need you help - it's all - it's all gone wrong! Please!"

"What's wrong? The fuck's happened?"

"Do you know nothing, Auntie!? Do you know nothing of the war!?"

Your eyes rolled, "Watch that tone with me, girl. The Dance of Dragons is of no concern of mine, it had barely started when I came here."

"Well - it's your concern now," she insisted. "You took me under your wing - you helped raise me in a village you built from the ground, despite not ever needing to - "

"Your mother was a dear friend of mine," you cut her off sharply. "She was kind to me when I came back to Essos, let me stay with her and your father. When I set out on my own, she was always a friendly face, and when my settlement was established..."

"She came to you for help after getting pregnant with me," Nettles nodded. "You've told me this before."

"Then you should know better by now that I owed your mother more than my life, so, raising you was the least I could've done. A life for a life."

"And as such, you let me go into the world with stories filling my head of a handsome Dragon Prince that saved you from the Crabfeeder!" You scoffed at her words, ready to argue, but she rushed, "He's in trouble, Auntie."

You paused, finding no lie in the girl's eye. Slowly, you asked, "Come again?"

"I found him, Mistress," she nodded. "After I got back to Westeros, I found your Prince Daemon - the ones from the stories! He's... He's brutish and harsh, they call him Rogue, but he was kind to me when I told him I knew you. When he heard your name, Lady, he just - he insisted on keeping me close. He protected me, even against his wife - Princess Rhaenyra."

Your head cocked, "Hmm... He usually did have a taste for younger flesh. I'm not surprised he took to you - "

"No, no, no, Mistress, not like that," she insisted desperately. "He was kind, educational - similar to a mentor."

"I see."

"He needs your help."

"Prince Daemon does not need rescuing, he is no damsel."

"He searches for Prince Aemond," she informed, making you lift your chin slightly. Though lost in the wild of Valyria the past two years, you were still well versed in the affairs of King's Landing; staying updated, curtesy of your Lord, the Lord of Light: R'hllor. In your village, you were known to pay for any accurate information - eventually hiring your own spies to relay trustworthy information from around surrounding cities and villages. Nettles was one of your Little Birds.

You sighed, "And? What of it - Aemond killed Lucerys, did he not? Since he married his niece, her children are now his step-children, right? Daemon is within his rights to want some form of vengeance - it's war, Nettie, it's never fair to anybody.

"He will not survive this, you don't understand! It's horrible, Mistress, please, he-he-he's deranged. Mad with grief, lost to his wife's useless fucking war. It'll be the death of him, Auntie, please!" She paused, seeing you just stare back at her; so she begged again, "Please!"

You nodded, "What do you want me to do, Nettie? Hmm?"

"You've told me those stories! I remember them well! You always said he came back for you, saved you from The Crabfeeder," she reminded, making you stiffen. "Does he not deserve the same? Or at least a chance? Rhaenyra will not help, she'll kill him herself I fear, but you can - you can help!"

You nodded, "I will consult the flames - "

"I am telling you - "

"I have heard you, girl!" You snapped, glaring at your Little Bird. "But there are greater forces at work than what you know, I cannot just so willfully trust the word of a child before flying off across the Narrow Sea. Allow me my time with my Lord, I will have an answer for you." Turning from her, you gathered whatever materials you could; setting it up in a small teepee before stepping back.

In High Valyrian, you gave your command. From over your shoulder, your beasty opened her mouth and shot a single flame at the structure.

On your knees, you muttered repeatedly; chanting, summoning your Lord of Light to come to you now in a great hour of need. And He did. Through the flames, you saw what R'hllor wanted to show you: the two Princes engaged in a brutally epic fight that would claim them both in the end...

Unless you left right that moment, as your Lord commanded.

"Make yourself safe, Nettles, go back home," you told her in a rush, catching the pouch of Gold Dragons she tossed you when you sprung into action - and for the first time, mounted your dragon. Like your minds were connected, the Great Shadow took to the sky - leaving Nettles and Sheepstealer behind, and you'd never see either again.

You remained high in the sky, being a blob to the naked eye should any dare to stare at the sun.

You only paused to let the Great Shadow dive into the Narrow Sea for a meal; surfacing with creatures in her jaws as you swam an exhausting broad stroke. Was it terrifying to swim in the open water? Absolutely, but your dragon seemingly kept any threats at bay. When she was satisfied with her meal, the Great Shadow scooped you onto her back and relaunched into the air again to continue your flight for Westeros. You both dried in the air.

The trip was draining.

It was grueling on you both.

Yet when you saw the distant shore, you couldn't help the spike of relief in your heart and veins.

Once in Westeros, you were forced to ground yourselves in the open area of the Stormlands because you needed to know where to go since Nettles hadn't been sure where to send you specifically. Using the usual thunderstorm as cover, you had to separate from the Great Shadow; leaving her in the dark as you ventured to the closest village.

With the pouch of Gold Dragons Nettles gave you, you paid for information that you needed. You were told all the nitty gritty details about the Dance of the Dragons that you've missed, understanding what (Nettles and) the Lord of Light had been trying to tell you for years: the Black Queen would be Prince Daemon's death.

The time had come for you to return his favor from the Stepstones. If this worked the way you wanted it to, you wouldn't be his first, second, nor third wife, but his fourth and final. You knew what you had to do.

"What do you know of their whereabouts?" You asked the innkeeper who wiped down the bar you leaned on.

"The Princes?" She asked, tisking right after. "The One Eyed Prince has been burning the Riverlands for almost two weeks now. The Rogue Prince was in Maidenpool but he's called his nephew to meet him at, uh, oh... Oh, bullocks, what's that haunted castle? The one that was torched?"

"Harrenhal?"

She snapped her fingers at you, "That's the one!"

"Fuckin' Hell," you muttered, wiping your eyes. "What's your thinking, love? 'Bout this war?"

She scoffed, rolling her eyes, "Stupidest thing I've endured so far. How silly, the House of the Dragon does not know who rules it, or so says our liege lord. So we must all pay their price in Fire and Blood."

You nodded slowly, "Who do you think holds the better claim t'the Throne?"

"Depends on your views," she muttered, "but in truth, it doesn't matter to me - so long as this all comes to an end. But between us?" She leaned in, glancing around before muttering, "The Bitch Queen would burn us all. Can't say if King Aegon would be much better, but at least we'd know what we were dealing with."

"And if he was another Maegor?"

"Can't be worse than the Black Queen. Hear they call her Maegor with Tits."

You smirked, chuckling lightly, "Thank you, ma'am, for your words." You offered her a few Gold Dragons, repeating, "Harrenhal?"

"Harrenhal," she nodded, accepting the payment. "I do not know if the One Eyed Prince will answer the Rogue Prince's challenge, but that is where he lures Prince Aemond - Harrenhal. Now, how's about a nice bowl of stew? You look drenched, love, and a bit skinny - you been eatin'?"

"Your kindness is refreshing in this shit-for-a-kingdom."

You winked at her and tapped the bar in parting before turning for the door, and into the rain you ventured once more. You didn't notice the cold, your Lord kept you warm and moving; finding the Great Shadow, mounting, and shooting off into the unknown sky again.

It wasn't easy directing a dragon without a saddle nor any stabilizing reins, yet your beast was something of a decently smooth fly. You minimally directed her as you went, but in truth, her instincts directed you both more than anything. When the storm broke, you were soon flying over charred scores of land; homes smoldering and burning, the wind spreading the embers and never letting the fire fully die out.

"The fuck..." You muttered, sitting up straight as you flew through the carnage. "Seven Hells, he burnt it all, didn't he?" You whispered, needing to hold onto the spinal ridges of your dragon to keep balanced. "Gods be good," you gaped at the damage beneath you.

The sun moved into position, getting ready to set when you heard the horrible screams of feuding dragons. You couldn't see Harrenhal yet, but you heard the fight, and then, as the sun began to set, there came flashes of bright firelight that lit the sky to a new level.

It was nearly the shade of daylight with the way the flames danced against the setting sun. You were desperate to get closer, and after directing the Great Shadow over a set of charred rolling hills, you finally had Harrenhal in sight. "Go! Go, please! That's them - we need t'get there!" You begged through a small sob of panic, and if possible, your dragon flew all the faster.

You were so close, yet felt so far.

The air trembled when the pair of dragons, Vhagar and Caraxes, collided in the sky once more. They grappled and snarled and shrieked and blew flames and gnashed their teeth and slashed their talons. You paid no mind to the pregnant woman standing on the shoreline of the lake they fought over, and instead, focused on your task; feeling as if you were moving on pure instinct and adrenaline.

The Great Shadow dove low to the lake's surface as Caraxes and Vhagar came barreling to the ground. It all happened too fast. As the two dragons fell, you saw one man - in black armor - leap from his crimson beast with his Valyrian sword winking in the dying light. Just as his arm extended to pierce Dark Sister into Aemond's blind eye, the dragons were tussling enough to turn over and forced Daemon off their hide.

You gasped as you reacted - no fucking thought to your actions.

As the Great Shadow glided over the surface of the Gods Eye lake, you were leaping off her back to launch into the air; tackling the Rogue Prince hard enough to disrupt his impact on the water's surface. You hit the water all the same, but instead of it being like hitting fresh pavement, it was a softer landing due to the Great Shadow's expert and quick maneuvering.

Two dragons hit the water, three human bodies; sending a wave of water higher than the towers of Harrenhal's fortress. It was a shock to land in something so wet and cold, but your adrenaline was stronger than any feeling of freezing water. Your arms kept an iron-clad lock around Daemon's unconscious waist, surfacing as the lake rippled and churned from impact; turning a seeping red from the open wounds on the dragon sinking into the depths.

Prince Aemond never surfaced, and years from now, he'd be found still chained to Vhagar's saddle with Dark Sister still stabbed through his skull. His Red Witch standing on shore couldn't save him, it appearing that your Lord preferred the Rogue Prince to the One Eyed.

Keeping Daemon afloat was difficult, but to your shock, you were being gently propelled forward to the shore by a fatally injured Caraxes. You encouraged him best you could, trying not to choke on the water splashing around your frantic forms. When you were able, you started heaving and dragging Daemon up the lake's embankment; the crimson dragon crawling out of the lake behind you, slowly, heading towards Harrenhal. You wanted to offer the loyal beast aid or comfort, but you were much too preoccupied with his master that was dead weight in the water's surf.

You trembled as you swiftly hoisted his dragon winged helmet off to leave bobbing in the surf; unhooked his armor, shucking it off him and compressing his chest rapidly - just like a fisherman taught you to do.

"C'mon," you grunted. "C'mon, Daemon, breathe - fucking breathe, damnit! Please, come back to me - don't do this. I just found you again, c'mon, my Prince, breathe. Breathe, Daemon, don't give up - not now, not on us! Don't give up on us, c'mon, my Prince, breathe, w-we finally have our time." Sobs wracked your form. "Breathe, Daemon, please! Please! I'm back - I finally found you, please, my love, breathe!"

You shoved harder into his breast bone with increased ferocity until water came suddenly spewing from his lungs. You heard the Great Shadow land in the near distance, turning Daemon on his side to help him breathe better; choking the water out. You spoke in relief, "There, there you go, c'mon, love, breathe! Thank fucking Gods, you're all right, you're okay, get it out - you're okay, just breathe, my love."

Daemon choked your name in pure disbelief, holding one of your wrists in a vice grip that only briefly concerned you. He panted and relaxed into the embankment, loosening his grip as he turned over to look up at you in shock and wonder. "How is this possible?" He wheezed.

"It's a bit of a long story," you teased softly, caressing his cheek. "Bit of a boring tale, 'M afraid."

"How? How is - how can this be?"

"You needed me," you explained, "thought I'd return the favor since you saved me all those years ago, huh? You got me out of the sea, I got you out of the lake - we're even, yeah?"

He still panted, only staring at you as if he couldn't believe himself. "You've not aged a day," he whispered.

You smiled, petting his cheekbone with your thumb daintly. "You need rest, reprieve, aid," you whispered.

"No, no," he gulped, "not when I just got you back. T-Tell me 's done. Tell me we're done being apart."

"You have a wife still, Daemon. She won't let you go, she wouldn't let us be together."

"Tell me what your flames say."

"Now you trust my flames?"

"When they bring you back to me, yes - oh, fuck yes, I'll believe whatever those fucking flames say. Please, love, for us - consult your flames, tell me what they've said."

You frowned, petting a soaking wet lock of hair from his forehead. Quietly, you whispered, "My Lord showed me what was to pass if I did not come for you... This war, this Dance of Dragons, would claim your life, Daemon. Your wife, your niece... She'll be the end of you, my Prince. You will not survive if you go back to her. Neither of you will survive this... My Lord has shown me that Rhaenyra will meet her end in flames, but following her will cost you your life in water," you glanced at the lake. "Not a death befitting of a Targaryen Prince."

"And now?"

"Now, she will fight her own battles for the first time," you whispered, "and I will return home, and you will make a choice."

He smirked, "We've gone lifetimes apart, like you said before."

"We have."

"I would not go another day," he coughed, wincing in pain. "I do not think I can fight anymore anyways, love. Please... Please."

Daemon never begged. You swallowed harshly, asking him, "No? No more fighting?"

"No," he agreed. "'M so tired, my sweet. I-I can't do this forever," he half-slurred, making you perk up slightly in attention. "Retirement sounds all too appealing now. Rumor will spread that neither Aemond or I lived, it'll be the perfect escape."

You nodded in agreement, flinching when a new voice screeched, "YOU BITCH!"

The pregnant woman you saw on shore stormed towards you, making you chuckle dryly as you had already foreseen this Alys Rivers - pregnant concubine of the One Eyed Prince Aemond and fellow Follower of R'hllor. Alys was unique in the sense that her training was decent enough to ensnare Aemond (it seemed), but not so decent that the Lord yet favored her.

She wasn't more than ten feet from you when the Great Shadow opened her mouth and showered the Red Witch in holy flames; an end she surely did not see coming - not that R'hllor would've showed her. This all caught Daemon's attention, who flinched slightly when he had to turn and look; not expecting the flames nor the beast.

Then his eyes drifted over the land, breathing hitching, and he sat up with a painful groan. "Daemon," you worried, but instead of trying to get him down, you helped him up.

You knew what he saw.

When at Caraxes' side, you helped Daemon lower to his knees at his dragon's head. He whimpered and moaned, belly slashed open, wing torn apart; bleeding out into the cold soil he rested on. The Great Shadow moaned gently in sympathy, lowering herself around you three to let you grieve in peaceful, protective privacy and ease Caraxes to his next life.

The moon was fully in the sky when the crimson bloodwyrm took his final breath with the ebony giant's flames to warm you all. You weren't sure what could be done, but Daemon was pressing a tender kiss to his dragon's head before turning to face you - a lost, confused, vulnerable look coating his features. "Come on, love," you eased gently, helping him to his feet; knowing a few ribs were shattered and probably his clavicle, too.

"Where will we go now?"

"Well, I have somewhere safe for us t'live," you grunted in assurance, wobbling a little under his weight. "But we need rest for tonight. Any ideas?"

"I doubt anyone will venture to Harrenhal this night, should be safe..."

You agreed, and together, you and Daemon settled in the empty castle with the Great Shadow resting on the outskirts of the Keep. She was too big for the interior of the courtyard, so, she was left outside with Caraxes' corpse as you and Daemon settled in the room he had commandeered.

"How is this possible? How can you be here?" He asked, holding your hips as you worked between his spread legs. Daemon had minimal supplies at the ready; hopping up on a work bench to let you care for his injuries and wounds. He watched your every move with a softening look. "I thought I wouldn't ever see you again, that I'd be cursed to only remember you in my dreams. Rhaenyra said I say your name a lot at night, when I sleep."

"I'm really here, Daemon, ease yourself," you offered an assuring grin, tending to the head wounds he obtained from the fight.

"How?"

"Nettles."

"What?"

"Nettles," you repeated with a smirk. "She's one of my Little Birds, Daemon. It was not entirely coincidence she found you..."

"So she said," he frowned. "But how - "

"She told me you needed me," you smiled softly. "And when I consulted the flames, I was shown what could be. I made a decision, I just wanted you safe, no matter what that meant."

"I just want you. Fuck," he seethed, squeezing your hips, "'s been fucking decades since I've even touched you."

"You're delirious," you teased. "Sleep deprived, maybe concussed."

"Perhaps all at once, but I finally have all I've dreamt of. Please," he whispered, "do not deny us longer. I've endured lifetimes - "

"Daemon, being here and now, you know I can't walk away. But we've time t'talk it all out, I need you to let me help your wounds - so sit still."

He nodded, "One thing I do not understand, though - the dragon? How did you...?"

"Spent two years in Valyria, looking for her."

"Why were you there?"

"Searching for a dragon, of course," you smirked. "She's impressive, isn't she? And from her size, I wager she can easily support us both back across the Narrow Sea."

He grit his teeth when you cleaned his open cuts and wounds, wrapping whatever clean cloth you had around the larger wounds; easing him out of his tunic to have better access to the blackened ribs he sported. "Would you tell me?" Daemon whispered some time later.

"Of what?"

"Your life since the Stepstones?"

"Oh," you chuckled, "sweet love, you know it was dreadfully boring without you."

"Doesn't seem it, you being in Valyria two years? That's not heard of, what was it like? How'd you survive? Why go looking for a dragon?"

This lead to you both laying in bed, hands held together, resting, but not sleeping. You just spoke quietly, fingertips tracing idly over each other's faces; sharing in each others lives that the other missed, reminiscing together in fond memories.

When morning broke, you had to move swiftly. Caraxes was left where he laid and after a final parting to the loyal beast and commandeering his saddle, together, you and Daemon mounted the Great Shadow. She wasn't a fan of the restraints, but once you and Daemon were mounted, she did not fuss as it was evident you humans had an easier time with the leather contraption.

"I must confess," Daemon whispered in your ear, using you as an anchor and leaning into your back, "I fear I might feel something akin to guilt for fleeing home."

"That's natural," you assured, "you're leaving family behind, 's never easy."

"There was no winning this war," he admitted, sighing. "I lead so many to their death... Destroyed my family - "

"From what I have heard, this is not your doing," you argued sharply. "That night, when Aemond attacked Lucerys, what were you to do? Leave that kind of atrocity without consequence? No, that is not in the Targaryen's nature. You did not start this war, Daemon."

"But I knew..."

"You knew what?"

"I knew Jace, Luke, and Joffrey were Harwin Strong's, not Laenor Velaryon's. We thought if we married her sons to my daughters, nobody would care much else about lineage - but we were wrong."

"It's okay to be wrong," you promised, leaning your head back to let your forehead rest against his temple. "It's okay to make mistakes or have regret. Tell me, do you wish to return to your wife? I will take you now, no quest - "

"No. No, I do not wish to leave you. This is... This is Rhaenyra's war, I've done my part. I'm free and finally with whom I belong."

"Now it's time to heal," you told him.

"Time to rest," he agreed, squeezing your waist and placing a few kisses to your neck. "This is where I should've been all this time... After the Stepstones, I should've stayed with you, none of this would've come to pass. I regret leaving you everyday - "

"I told you, for us to get here, to this point, now, we had to separate. But look where we are," you smiled back at him, the Great Shadow soaring higher in the sky to keep Westeros at a distance, "we will not be apart again. 'S you and me, love... Until our end, which we will greet together."

Daemon's lips found yours at long last, whispering, "Together," against them before sweeping his tongue against yours.

The port was lovely this time of day, sun high in the sky to give light to the fishermen and vendors hard at work. Sailors made port, calms were being shucked, different Aristocats trying to barter and trade on their journeys abroad. You smiled at the people you passed, grateful to be home after a prolonged absence; arm looped tight with Daemon's as you both strolled the pier.

"It's hard to imagine you've done all this in a lifetime or less," he mused, a hand folded over yours, dressed in the best clothes you could find. "It's s marvel, my sweet," his compliment was sincere.

"Thank you," you whispered, hugging his arm as your skirts swished around your ankles, just tickling your bare feet. "This season's expected to be bountiful," you told him, pointing to the various teams bringing crustaceans, fish, and other sea life in different crates and traps. "I expect there won't be much of an off-season."

He glanced around, "And you don't collect taxes?"

"Why would I?" You scoffed. "We're more dynamic than that. Everyone works for their place, if you wanted to think of it that way. They are not expected to contribute, but the village seems happier that way. Being close knit, helping one another, sharing wealth. No one person has complained, so, I figure it's working so far. Even if it didn't work, I still wouldn't charge them taxes - it'd be like charging them to live. Always seemed silly t'me."

"Morning, Mistress!"

"Morning, Don," you beamed, leading Daemon towards the dock. "How are you, kind sir? Looks as if you've been working all day already."

"Aye, up before the sun," he nodded, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. "Wanted t'thank yah, actually."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, yeah, with that dragon? We're hauling in more ships," he chuckled, and just overhead, the Great Shadow glided over them all to head out to sea to fetch another round of ships. "Gets us out there quick, brings us back when done, 's like a wee bit of an assembly line, ain't it?"

You chuckled, "Sounds like it, friend. Uh, Don, have I introduced you to my husband?"

"Husband?" Don grinned, cocking his head, "No, Mistress, I wasn't aware you even had a suitor. Mariam don't tell me much gossip these days," he snickered, referring to his wife. "It's nice t'meet you," he told Daemon, "name's Don, just Don - no, it ain't short for nothin'."

Daemon smirked some, shaking the man's fishy hand boldly, "A pleasure, Don, Just Don."

"Oh, this one's got a bit uh humor, don't he?" Don laughed lightly. "What's your name, lad?"

"Daemon?" A voice answered for you all, and just above you, a little further on the pier, stood an aged Laenor Velaryon.

"Excuse us, Don," you spoke swiftly, confusion marring your features. He understood or sensed the slight tension, backing off to let you approach the "dead" knight.

"Oh, my - Y/N," Laenor breathed, another aged man at his side with what you assume to be his children. No question could be asked yet as your old friend launched himself into your arms, laughing merrily, giving you a tight squeeze with his still-toned arms. "Oh, the Gods are good for this!" He laughed, rocking you slightly, "Oh, how the Seven bless us."

"You're so dramatic," you laughed back, patting him happily until he pulled back. "But I must confess, I am so fucking confused - what is this? How are you here? I thought you died, Laenor, that's what ever spy reported."

"They should've," he nodded, glancing at Daemon, "but perhaps, the explanation will be better received after some wine?" He caressed your cheek in affection before looking at your husband, nodding, "It's good to see you again, my Prince. Or is it King Consort?"

"Neither, just Daemon," he corrected, your heart soaring a little at the idea that he would abandon his title so easily. Yet you knew, there was nothing to go back to for him.

"Well, how about I introduce my family?"

"Family?" You grinned, seeing him present the others.

"My husband," he gestured, giving his name. "And our kids," he introduced the other three.

"How?" You asked simply.

"We found a Red Priest who was willing to officiate the ceremony," Laenor explained, "and the kids were sired by different mothers, too."

"Whores," the husband smiled.

"Huh," you nodded in impression. "Well, perhaps wine is best to hear that tale, as well?"

"Perhaps," Laenor grinned. "Uh, but first, we should find accommodations - "

"Oh, come off it, you're staying with us," you waved. "Your belongings?"

"This is it," he half-shrugged, you eyeing the few rucksacks around their feet, neck, shoulders... "We heard of the prosperity here, thought it was worth the move."

"How right you are," Daemon answered. "Come, old friend." He picked up a few sacks for the kids and you looped your arm with Laenor's to lead the way. How good it was to have your friend back, your husband at your side, and a functioning, happy village with your placement amongst them most important... Everything you could've wished for, it seemed, came true.

And in your womb, a Dragon Seed was planted; soon to make its announcement known. Truly, a happier ending than you thought deserved - but R'hollr worked mysteriously, blessing those deemed worthy to spread his flames.

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

note: i'm not the happiest with this piece, so i'll most definitely (probably) write an alternative when the time comes and the show does the Battle. y'all know me by now, you know i love me a good ol' reader-insert and i didn't want to wait years to publish some kind of sequel so here we are.

[littlefireball]

ꜱʜ|ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴍɪɴᴇ (ᴍ)

ᴍᴀꜰɪᴀ ʙᴏꜱꜱ ꜱᴇᴏɴɢʜᴡᴀ x ᴅʀᴀɢᴏɴ ʜʏʙʀɪᴅ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ʟᴏɴɢ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ|ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴᴇᴅ ᴏꜰ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ᴍᴀʀᴋᴇᴛ|ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ|ᴍᴏᴍᴍʏ ꜱᴇᴏɴɢʜᴡᴀ|ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ|ᴠᴀɴɪʟʟᴀ ꜱᴇx|ᴜɴᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ꜱᴇx|ᴘʀᴀɪꜱᴇ ᴋɪɴᴋ|ᴄᴏᴄᴋ ᴡᴀʀᴍɪɴɢ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.5ᴋ

"Mr. Park, this is a list of hybrid breeds available on the market." Seonghwa took the file handed to him by his subordinate without any expression on his face and flipped through the pages without reading the descriptions. Seeing a hint of dissatisfaction on Mr. Park's face, his subordinate began to panic, fidgeting like an ant on a hot pan.

"That's it?" Mr. Park's face was filled with displeasure, his eyes bursting with repressed anger. However, he controlled his emotions and didn't unleash his frustration on his subordinate.

"Yes… Yes, these are the only hybrids available in the market." his subordinate stammered nervously, unable to speak clearly, and beads of sweat began to form on his forehead.

"Can't you understand my orders?" Mr. Park coldly stared at his subordinate who was constantly apologizing. Although his face showed no signs of emotion, his gaze was so sharp that it felt like he could tear the person in front of him apart.

"I wanted the strongest and most ferocious hybrids, not these little kittens and bears!" He threw away the documents in his hand, scattering the papers all over the floor like a chaotic white carpet.

The subordinate quickly picked up the scattered documents from the floor, apologizing without looking up, and then hurriedly left the room. "Tsk… a bunch of useless people." Seonghwa drank the red wine placed on the table, the icy sensation not dampening the anger in his heart at all.

It had been months, and he still hadn't found the hybrid he desired ─ a dragon. It was just a rumor, no one had ever seen a real dragon because they were extinct. Yet, there were always rumors about hybrid breeds that claimed to have seen dragons in the past. Although he didn't know if they were true or not, Seonghwa firmly believed in their existence.

His obsession with dragons was well known within the Mafia world, and everyone just thought he was a fool lost in a fantasy world. His room was filled with dragon decorations, even his clothes, his villa… you could imagine that there were traces of dragons everywhere. Perhaps his sincerity towards dragons had touched the heavens because one day, he finally met the dragon he had dreamed of ─ you.

"Wanna join us, Seonghwa?" Hongjoong, one of the strongest mafia leaders and also Seonghwa's best friend, invited him to a black market auction once again.

"Again? I've already gone ten times this month, and none of them had what I wanted."

"C'mon Hwa! Maybe this time you'll find the dragon you want!"

"You say the same thing every time."

"But this time I have an extraordinary intuition, trust me."

"Fine." Seonghwa couldn't resist Hongjoong's request and once again drove to the remote black market auction.

A mysterious and solemn atmosphere pervaded the surroundings of the auction. Tall ancient stone columns stood in the hall, and large black curtains hung from the dark red ceiling, casting a dim light and creating a mysterious ambiance.

The auctioneer, a mysterious middle-aged man, dressed in a luxurious black feather coat, had sharp eyes and a cold smile. He waved a mysterious black auction baton in his hand, occasionally tapping the table to guide the auction.

In the showcase area, treasures were displayed in glass cabinets, shimmering under the dim lights. Rare treasures, magical artifacts and various forbidden items attracted the attention of the spectators. However, Seonghwa had no interest in these treasures; instead, they wore down his patience. He sat with his legs crossed, pursing his lips in dissatisfaction, and whispered, "Is this your extraordinary intuition, Kim Hongjoong?"

"Well, just wait a little longer! It's not here yet!" Ha! If Seonghwa really got angry, he would definitely suffer. With that in mind, Hongjoong felt just as anxious as Seonghwa's subordinate. The auction continued, and Seonghwa's patience was already wearing thin; he straightened his clothes, ready to leave.

"Hey, Seonghwa! Where are you going? It's not over."

"I'm leavi─"

"And now!! This is our final item up for auction! Or should I say, a living creature! Here we are!! A dragon hybrid!" The host dramatically unveiled the red cloth covering the cage, revealing you huddled in the corner, trapped in the cage. Your pitiful appearance broke hearts but gave rise to a terrifying desire for conquest.

Upon hearing the word "dragon," Seonghwa's face suddenly lit up with joy and surprise, as if he were ready to jump up in ecstasy.

"The starting price is ten million─"

"One hundred million!!"

He walked directly towards the stage, crossing over the other spectators, and shouted out a staggering number before the host could even finish his sentence. The host was ecstatic, pounding the table frantically. "Sold!"

He knelt in front of the cage, his eyes shimmering, his face showing a smile that was about to burst into laughter. Your expression, on the other hand, was one of fear as you tightly wrapped your tail around yourself, trying to stay away from the man in front of you. Your eyes conveyed sadness and terror, devoid of any dragon's majestic presence.

"It's okay, my little dragon. Everything is alright! I will shower you with my love." He smiled indulgently, his eyes warm but filled with endless lust.

His words were not empty promises but real commitments.

You found yourself in a grand estate, far removed from the typical confines of a cage. There were no bars, no metallic scent in the air. As you looked around in awe, you were led to a luxurious bath by a group of women who washed away the dust from your body, replacing it with the sweet fragrance of flowers.

"Ah, you've arrived, my dear." The man greeted you as you entered the room, seated elegantly at his desk with crossed legs. He was the most striking man you had ever laid eyes on.

"Are you the one who purchased me?" you inquired timidly.

"Yes," he confirmed.

"Master, how may I be of service?" You recalled the teachings of the black market lord - as a slave, your purpose was to please your master. There was no room for defiance, only unwavering loyalty.

"No, that is not what I want," he replied.

"I beg your pardon, master." You immediately knelt, unsure of your transgression but willing to accept fault as per the 'rule'.

"No, a dragon should not cower like this." Seonghwa approached you slowly, noticing your trembling form. He must have been ready to strike you.

"I apologize…" you began, bracing for impact. However, instead of a blow, he gently patted your head and knelt down in front of you. His gaze held a mix of tenderness, concern, and a hint of frustration. How could a dragon hybrid, known for its courage, exhibit such timidity?

What had the black market done to you?

"Shhh, there is no need for apologies. You have done nothing wrong,"

"But…" You tried to speak, only to have his finger gently silence you, his touch grazing your cheek. Blushing, you realized how close you were, enveloped in his breath and the intoxicating scent of flowers that surrounded him. You tentatively brushed his palm, savoring the unfamiliar sensation of his soft touch.

"Hm, so cute," he remarked, offering you a rare compliment.

"No one has ever said that to me."

"How could they not? You are beautiful, my dear." Leaning in, his finger traced your lower lip. "I will shower you with my love. That is my promise." He pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, testing the waters, showing his desire but not imposing it.

Your cheeks flushed deeper, eyes wide with a mix of excitement and apprehension, yet you made no move to resist. The overwhelming rush of emotions left you feeling as if you were floating on air.

"Tell me if you want more."

"Yes, my master."

"Don't call me master, call me hwa." He said before left your chin and kissed your red lips. Your lips touched gently, soft and warm, and endless sweetness flowed between your lips. You wrapped around his neck as he slid his hands under your thighs, picked you up, and placed you at the bed.

"You're burning up, Y/N. Do you have a fever?" He placed his hand on your forehead, feeling the heat radiating from your body. A look of concern crossed his face as he realized how high your temperature was. Suddenly, you grabbed his collar and kissed him, surprising both of you with your boldness.

"Mmm…I feel so hot, your scent is intoxicating…I can't control myself…"

"Are you…going into heat?" It dawned on him then, the reminder from the auction host about your upcoming rut. He knew he should have prepared for it, ensuring you had everything you needed. Seonghwa wanted to help you, to take care of you. He just didn't anticipate how sensitive you would be, how a simple kiss could trigger your heat.

"It's okay, love. I'll take care of you." He drew you close, your bodies pressing together as he kissed you passionately. Closing his eyes, he savored the softness of your lips against his, feeling a rush of warmth flood through him. You responded eagerly, parting your lips to deepen the kiss. Your breaths mingled, creating a sweet and heady sensation. His hands tenderly caressed your hair, your cheeks, before settling on your waist.

"Have you done this before?"

"Yah…"You nodded. "They had put me in the cold water tub for a few days to cool me down…" "No, no. I am not saying this." His brow furrowed once more, a surge of anger bubbling up inside him. He was well aware of the inhumane methods employed by the black market, yet the idea of you suffering was something he simply could not bear.

"Did I say something to upset you?" You trembled, haunted by memories of your former master who would unleash his fury on you in fits of rage. Seonghwa, however, seemed different, kind-hearted and gentle.

"No, it's just… have you had sex before?" "No," you replied softly, trailing off. "This is a nice way to relax without having to soak in a bath." He paused, meeting your innocent gaze. It was clear that he was the one struggling, not you. His desire stirred within him, causing him to grow hot and breathless. Your gentle touch drove him to the brink of madness.

"Are you sure you want this? You can say no if you're not comfortable." Your eyes widened in surprise, never expecting him to give you the option to refuse.

"Does it feel good…?"

"Yes, it does," he assured you. Leaning in, he kissed your lips once more, his expression filled with tenderness.

"Please. I want this." You wrapped around his shoulder and pulled him closer.

"As you wish, my dear." Pressing his body against yours, he felt the rhythm of your breaths syncing. His arousal nestled between your thighs, creating a delicious friction against your lower core. The sensation was so pleasurable that you instinctively parted your legs, granting him greater access. He couldn't believe his eyes as he removed your silk pajamas, revealing a chest marred by scars and bruises that tugged at his heartstrings.

Bowing his head, he tenderly traced his tongue over your scars, as if seeking to heal them. His kisses trailed down to your nipple, where he suckled and licked, eliciting soft moans from you as you wrapped your arms around his head, swept away by the wave of new sensations.

Both of your clothes were thrown to somewhere, lying naked and making out on the bed. He sat up straight and aimed at your entrance. "Tell me if it hurts, hm?" As he entered you, a rush of excitement caused your juices to flow, creating a sensation of intense pleasure. "So wet for me," he whispered into your ear, his movements slow and deliberate, allowing you to adjust to his presence inside you.

You arched your back, closing your eyes and forming a soft 'O' with your mouth as the unfamiliar yet satisfying feeling of being penetrated washed over you. Your shy moans were met with his encouragement to be louder, igniting a fire within you.

Wrapping your legs around his waist, you urged him to go deeper, the wetness and tightness of your core driving him wild with desire. His groans mixed with your moans, creating a symphony of pleasure that filled the room.

"I can't hold back, you feel too good," he confessed, increasing the pace of his thrusts, each one sending waves of pleasure through your body. His words of admiration fueled your passion, making you feel desired and perfect in his eyes.

With a swift movement, he repositioned you on your side, promising comfort as he entered you once more. The new angle intensified the sensations, leaving you dizzy with pleasure as he continued to move with a fervor that matched your own.

"Ah~hwa~"As the sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, you boldly called out his name, each thrust bringing you closer to the edge of ecstasy. In that moment, everything felt perfect, as if you were made for each other in this dance of passion and desire.

"Say my name again or I fuck you harder." He looked at your bouncing chest and met your innocent yet lust gaze, his cock twitched as all of the heat rushed to the tip. Sperm flowed out a bit and mixed with your juices. This feeling was incredible.

"Hwa, please." "Shit!" He flipped you over and thrust from behind. You arched your back and threw your head, moaning from the endless pleasure.

"Such a good girl."

"Th…thank you…hwa…"

"Oh? You like praise, huh? You are sucking me in, did so well, babe."

His chest pressed against your back, intertwined with your fingers, kissing your nape and leaving so many bite marks. You turned your head and kissed him. His movement grew more intense, the speed reaching an indescribable level but not painful at all. Your groaning and moaning became choppy as if something grabbed your throat and made you breathless.

"Knot…" You murmured. You knew it was impossible for a human to knot but your most intimate space was already wide opened. You needed him to cum, cum in that space to calm you down from the rut. "Please…hwa…cum inside me." "Of course, my darling." He flipped you over and placed you both legs on his shoulder, gripping your kneel and pushed as deep as possible…

-----

You nested in his arm while your back was pressing against his chest. He left a trail of kisses on your face and neck, giving you the best after care. His cock was still inside you then his sperm would not flow out.

"Does it hurt?" You shook your head and he pecked at your head.

"You won't be in the cage again, I promise." Your tears welled up in your eyes and you turned your head.

"Thank you, hwa." He smirked and caressed your cheek.

"Don't cry, everything is alright." He gave you a deep kiss before pulling out and flipping you over.

"You are mine, only my little dragon." He leaned down and fucked you again.

[kitofawriter]

………*sigh* Quest for Camelot shadowpeach AU where Macaque is blind after the FFM fires and ends up living in a deadly forest. Then at some point Wukong runs into a demon that strips him of his power and takes the others hostage so he has to wander through a deadly forest without magic to find a super powerful artifact (that the demon is also searching for) to save the day. So now the two monkeys meet up and Macaque looks completely different after the fire with fur scorched black and he can’t see Wukong to recognize him (it’s been so long they no longer remember each others voice). The two monkeys begrudgingly travel together and slowly start to actually like each other. Cue finding out the demon is following them and Macaque saving (the currently not immortal) Wukongs life, but getting hurt in the process. A lovely “looking through your eyes” moment (the whole point of this AU). They find the artifact and say goodbye but Macaque overhears the demon plotting to catch Wukong and realizes three things, 1. He never actually asked the monkeys name, 2. That monkey, was in fact the king he’d followed for years before he was injured protecting FFM, and 3. Wukong is still mortal with an evil demon chasing him down. So Macaque leaves the forest for the first time in forever and goes to warn Wukong. Big final battle, demon is defeated, love saves the day.

Anyway it can either take place during the journey in which case Tang Sanzang plays the role of the captured mother figure. Or it can take place during the LMK timeline and MK and Mei take on the role of the annoying two headed dragon only way less annoying because I hate that thing with a burning passion. Or my personal favorite, a mix of both so Wukong meets MK on the road and it’s super cool because now he has a mentee.

This AU would also work WONDERS for spicynoodles BTW, honestly it would probably fit better but the shadowpeach one came to mind first so that’s the one I wrote about this time.

[kitausu]

Fantasy Novels/Series I Think Are CRIMINALLY Underhyped

Just as the title says, this is simply a list of fantasy novels and series that I think deserve all the hype and yet I basically never see people talking them up. These are not in any kind of order because they're all amazing. If you read any of these please hmu because I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Since the city of Bezim was shaken half into the sea by a magical earthquake, the Inquisitors have policed alchemy with brutal efficiency. Nothing too powerful, too complicated, too much like real magic is allowed–and the careful science that’s left is kept too expensive for any but the rich and indolent to tinker with. Siyon Velo, a glorified errand boy scraping together lesson money from a little inter-planar fetch and carry, doesn’t qualify. But when Siyon accidentally commits a public act of impossible magic, he’s catapulted into the limelight. Except the limelight is a bad place to be when the planes themselves start lurching out of alignment, threatening to send the rest of the city into the sea. Now Siyon, a dockside brat who clawed his way up and proved himself on rooftops with saber in hand, might be Bezim’s only hope. Because if they don’t fix the cascading failures of magic in their plane, the Powers and their armies in the other three will do it for them.

A god will return When the earth and sky converge Under the black sun In the holy city of Tova, the winter solstice is usually a time for celebration and renewal, but this year it coincides with a solar eclipse, a rare celestial event proscribed by the Sun Priest as an unbalancing of the world. Meanwhile, a ship launches from a distant city bound for Tova and set to arrive on the solstice. The captain of the ship, Xiala, is a disgraced Teek whose song can calm the waters around her as easily as it can warp a man’s mind. Her ship carries one passenger. Described as harmless, the passenger, Serapio, is a young man, blind, scarred, and cloaked in destiny. As Xiala well knows, when a man is described as harmless, he usually ends up being a villain.

The Omehi people have been fighting an unwinnable fight for almost two hundred years. Their society has been built around war and only war. The lucky ones are born gifted. One in every two thousand women has the power to call down dragons. One in every hundred men is able to magically transform himself into a bigger, stronger, faster killing machine. Everyone else is fodder, destined to fight and die in the endless war. Young, gift-less Tau knows all this, but he has a plan of escape. He's going to get himself injured, get out early, and settle down to marriage, children, and land. Only, he doesn't get the chance. Those closest to him are brutally murdered, and his grief swiftly turns to anger. Fixated on revenge, Tau dedicates himself to an unthinkable path. He'll become the greatest swordsman to ever live, a man willing to die a hundred thousand times for the chance to kill the three who betrayed him.

Twenty-seven years ago, a Duke with a grudge led a ruthless coup against the empire of Semilla, killing thousands. He failed. The Duke was executed, a terrifyingly powerful sorcerer was imprisoned, and an unwilling princess disappeared.  The empire moved on.  Now, when Quill, an apprentice scribe, arrives in the capital city, he believes he's on a simple errand for another pompous noble: fetch ancient artifacts from the magical Imperial Archives. He's always found his apprenticeship to a lawman to be dull work. But these aren't just any artifacts — these are the instruments of revolution, the banners under which the Duke lead his coup.  Just as the artifacts are unearthed, the city is shaken by a brutal murder that seems to have been caused by a weapon not seen since the days of rebellion. With Quill being the main witness to the murder, and no one in power believing his story, he must join the Archivists — a young mage, a seasoned archivist, and a disillusioned detective — to solve the truth of the attack. And what they uncover will be the key to saving the empire – or destroying it again. 

[five-and-dimes]

Mountain Sound

Hob and Dream are a rare werewolf/vampire couple. Some people take offense to that. Luckily, some people are idiots.

AO3

~~~~~~~~~~~

Hob would be more embarrassed by his capture if he wasn’t so used to his own clumsiness. 

There’s also the worry-induced rage taking up most of his emotional space, so there’s not a lot of room for embarrassment. 

“If you let me go, I might consider showing some mercy,” he growled lowly.

What had started as a peaceful evening with his husband had turned into a coordinated attack against the both of them. Dream had been relaxed for once in his life, his pale, bony body draped over Hob’s lap, one hand idly playing with the thick hair on Hob’s arms, occasionally reaching up to the bit of hair peeking over the neckline of Hob’s shirt. In return Hob rubbed one of his thumbs in soothing circles against the sharp jut of Dream’s hip, smiling when Dream lovingly pressed his own fingers against Hob’s softer, more abundant body.

They had been so blissfully content that neither of them were prepared when the door to their small home had been shattered. They lived deep, deep in the forest, occasionally traveling to the closest town, which was close enough for a vampire and werewolf to get to comfortably, mostly for Hob to socialize and keep up with news of the surrounding kingdoms, but distant and inconvenient for any humans to get to them in return. As such, they had, apparently, made the mistake of letting their guard down.

Because as they both leapt up, what they were faced with was not human hunters, but rather a pack of werewolves. Using the element of surprise fully to their advantage, Hob barely had a chance to react before he was grabbed and dragged outside by three pairs of clawed, furry hands. 

If that had been all, they probably would have been okay. But Hob and Dream were not exactly known for their good luck. Dream had immediately followed outside, snarling, and as soon as he was past the threshold of their home, the vampires had pounced. 

It didn’t make sense, the two groups seemingly working together. Hob and Dream had been infamous for their coupling, whispers and rumors among humans and supernatural alike about the werewolf and the vampire who ran away together. It was why they kept to themselves, traveling far from their homelands and settling in this remote mountain forest. 

Hob had opened his mouth to scream- in shock, in fear, in pure burning rage- but before he could make a sound, he was dragged in front of a young woman, a long trench coat and belt filled with an assortment of artifacts and supernatural protections. She crushed something in her hand, and suddenly Hob’s eyes grew heavy and his body slumped.

The last thing he saw before succumbing to unconsciousness was Dream collapsing from a similar spell.

Which brought him to this moment. Standing in the center of a large cage in the middle of a vast cavern, surrounded by close to a dozen werewolves. 

“I don’t think you’re in a position to be making threats,” the leader smirked. They are tall, imposing, standing with obvious authority. Short, curly blonde hair frames a sharp face that betrays nothing but absolute control. Hob would think nothing of them, assume they were just a random werewolf who saw a target and went for it, if it weren’t for their apparel. The leather outfit is dark and iridescent like an oil slick, and strapped across their back, dried and hardened and the same colors as their armor, was a single black wing. Even as isolated as they were, it was impossible not to hear the tales of the werewolf who ripped the very wings off a mighty dragon, turning one into their armor and the other into a shield, worn as a blatant symbol of power. 

Everyone knew the tale of Lucifer.

“Those bars are pure silver,” they continued, “courtesy of our hired associate here,” They gestured to the woman who had knocked Hob out, who he now recognized as human.

Hob blinked at the words, glancing at the cage around him slowly. 

(A little ways away, Johanna Constanine watches with equal curiosity.)

He kept his face carefully blank as he asked, “What do you want, Lucifer? You don’t seem the type to work with vampires.”

“I do find it distasteful,” they drawled, “but it is a necessary means if the end is to rid the world of something far more grotesque.”

“What are you talking about?” Hob furrowed his brow.

“They’re talking about you and that bloodsucker!” another woman snarled, stepping up from behind Lucifer. 

Lucifer raised a hand. “Stand down, Mazikeen. Perhaps he can be reasoned with.”

(Johanna looks between the restless pack of werewolves and the man in the cage, frowning in confusion.)

The rage had taken a back seat to Hob’s pure confusion. “I repeat- what the Hell are you talking about?”

“Everyone knows about you and that corpse you keep in your bed,” Lucifer sneered. “How you abandoned your pack in order to lay with your natural enemy. Disgusting and unnatural,” They stepped forward, looking down their nose and circling Hob’s cage like the predator they are. “It is tempting to kill you just to rid the world of your deviancy. Even now you reek of vampire, your own scent just a whisper.” They curled their lips in blatant disgust. “But,” they smoothed their expression deliberately, “I’ve decided to give you the chance to see the error of your ways.”

Hob followed them with his gaze, lips pursed together when they stopped in front of him.

“Join us,” they declared. “Be part of a pack once more, run beneath the moon with your true family.” 

Lucifer is clearly trying to look welcoming and generous. But there is no hiding the hunger in their eyes, the way their claws extend as they spread their arms in invitation, snow white fur growing on their hands and the sides of their face.

Hob stays silent, clenching his jaw.

At his silence, Lucifer’s face drops into a scowl. “Your so-called lover is being offered a similar deal,” they spit out. “Do you truly believe he will not betray you? Sell you out like the soulless husk he is? How often does he drain you in the night?” They screech, stepping closer in their rage and disgust. “He is an abomination. An empty shell that should have been sent to Hell ages ago. You are a fool, a disgrace to all werewolves for letting him taint you!”

By the end they are yelling, snarling, their face sharpening and limbs lengthening as their rage and revulsion pulsed through them.

There is a beat of silence. And then, Hob simply can’t keep his jaw clenched any longer.

And he bursts out laughing.

~~~~

Meanwhile….

~~~~

Dream awoke in a dark, frigid room. Deep gray stones surrounded him, a few wall torches flickering throughout the room. There is one large window behind him, covered by a thick black sheet, preventing even the slightest outside light from entering. Despite its barrenness, Dream knows this is not just any room. He is clearly in a castle dungeon.

His suspicion is confirmed when he looks up and sees the group of vampires surrounding him. Most are in dark, flowing robes, but there is a man in the back, striking for his pure white suit amongst the shadows, arms crossed and leaning against the wall looking amused, but not trying to call attention to himself. The vampire in front, however, is clearly trying to make an impression. He is dressed in his finest, tailored suit, ruffled silk shirt, and a red velvet single-shoulder cape to ensure that no one mistakes him for anything other than the leader. He grips an ornate cane in his hand, and he looks down at Dream with contempt.

It’s the cane that lets him know he has been taken by Roderick Burgess and his coven.

“I see the spell has worn off,” he drawls. “So good to finally meet you.”

Dream goes to stand but stops suddenly when he realizes he is naked. He crouches, and his head whips up to glare at the head vampire.

“Ah, yes,” he waves a hand dismissively, “afraid we had to burn your clothing. They reeked of that monstrosity.” He sneers. “I can still smell it on you now. To lay with a dog so long it buries your own scent.” He shook his head as his lips curled. “Disgusting.”

Narrowing his eyes, Dream’s muscles coiled as he prepared to leap, but he freezes when Burgess laughs coldly.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” He flicks his cane to gesture to the circle around Dream. He sees he is in the center of a ring of flowers, long green stems with orbs of tiny lavender-colored flowers at the end, a few roots and bulbs ripped up among them. Beyond the first circle is a mote dug into the floor, the water flowing sluggishly and unnaturally.

Dream tilted his head in confusion.

“Garlic flowers,” Burgess grins maliciously, “and a moat of holy water. My familiar isn’t completely useless,” he mutters, glancing at a figure behind him, his hood down so he can’t hide the way he ducks his head in shame. The man in white snorted with cruel laughter.

Everyone knew of Roderick’s youngest son, whom he refused to turn into a vampire until he could “prove himself”. 

Not many people pitied vampires. Most people pitied Alex Burgess.

Dream is not most people.

“You’re not going anywhere unless we allow it,” Burgess continues.

In front of him, Dream remains silent, crouched and waiting with a blank face.

“What’s the matter? Wolf got your tongue?” Burgess sneers. “To lay with a beast, a mere animal. I should turn you to dust just to teach everyone else a lesson,” he hisses.

He steps forward. “But I know you could be great. There is power in you, I can feel it! You belong with your own kind, to be a part of a coven as is intended. No vampire should sink as low as you have,” he looks down his nose, pure judgment in his eyes, “but perhaps you can be saved. By us.” He spreads his arms out wide as he grinned maliciously. “Here, in the darkness.”

Dream is silent still, and it does not take long to break Roderick’s patience.

He lowered his arms, scowling. “You have nothing to say? No gratitude for my offer?” He stalked forward, getting as close to the circle as he dared and slamming his cane against the ground, “Speak to me!”

The man in white steps forward lazily, eyes roaming over Dream, “Maybe he can’t. Maybe all he can do is howl now,” he taunted.

“You are a disgrace! A waste of our gift of life after death!” Burgess ignored the other vampire, raging at the silent figure. “Do you think he will do the same for you? Do you think that stupid animal won’t betray you for his own kind? Just to roll in the dirt with the other dogs? You are a fool, and I should leave you here with the window open so you burn with the sunrise!”

His words echo in the chamber, his face twisted in righteous fury, panting and with hands shaking so hard at his side that his cane rattles against the stone floor.

And then Dream smiles.

~~~~

Lucifer looks torn between confusion and indignity as Hob laughs himself hoarse in front of them. Hob wipes nonexistent tears from his face, mostly doing the motion to piss Lucifer off even more.

Johanna takes a step back.

“Oh, dear,” Hob says cheerfully, “I’ve heard this speech before, but never received it myself. How charming. To know that even the great Lucifer, morningstar, dragon slayer, is prone to the dangers of gossip.”

He steps forward casually, closer to the walls of the cage.

And then Hob wraps both hands around the silver bars, and nothing happens.

~~~~

Still smiling, still looking straight into Burgess’ eyes, Dream reaches out and takes a flower into the palm of his hand.

~~~

Johanna bolts out the door as the cave suddenly fills with terrified and confused growls, the pack behind Lucifer retreating as far as they can away from Hob. Even Mazikeen takes a step back. Lucifer is not so much still as they are frozen in place by shock.

“You see, the thing about rumors is…” Hob leans forward, pressing his face against the bars as if sharing a secret. And when a smile stretches across his face, Lucifer sees his teeth lengthen.

Not all his teeth, though. 

Just two.

“…sometimes the details get mixed up.”

~~~~

The cloaked vampires gasp in shock, and the man in white looks far less cocky as Dream crushed the flower in his hand.

His clawed hand.

Burgess stares in wide eyed horror as Dream stands slowly, pitch black fur sprouts along his spine, his forearms, his legs. His face turns sharp and angular, bones cracking and reshaping even as he steps forward to walk through the moat.

~~~~

Before any of the pack could break through their shock, Hob pulled at the bars in his hands, easily ripping them off and tossing them to the side as he stepped through the gap.

Then he lunges.

~~~~

Dream steps out of the more in his full werewolf form. Long and still bony, his muscles strong but slim and compact, his messy fur the deepest black. He is not a wolf of brute strength, as they are known for. Dream is made for speed.

So Burgess doesn’t have time to react before Dream is sinking his teeth in his neck.

~~~~

Hob has never understood why no one else, vampire or werewolf, seems to see the poetry in their being able to hurt one another. Humans need tricks and magic to do anything to them, but vampires and werewolves only need their own teeth. 

Dream has never hurt Hob, and Hob has never hurt Dream. It’s trust, and respect, and love.

They’ve both been far more hurt by their own kind.

~~~~

It is no trouble for Dream to bite through the bone of Burgess’ neck. It only takes one more bite to have his head rolling on the floor. 

Dream kicks it into the mote of holy water, and it sizzles behind him as he turns his attention to the rest of the coven.

~~~~

It is only Mazikeen’s devotion that saves Lucifer.

She tackles Hob mid-lunge, throwing him off course but not knocking him down. They both scramble, Mazikeen half transformed and Hob holding her at arms length to keep her gnashing teeth away. He cannot get his own teeth into her without risking her getting a hold on him as well, and the rest of the pack won’t be just standing in shock for long.

It is a quick maneuver to get behind her, one hand twisting her arm behind her back while the other clutches a fistful of the fur at the back of her neck. Then he shoved her forward to press her face against the bars of the silver cage they had made for him.

Mazikeen does not howl, she screams as Hob holds her against the silver, one side of her face burning and smoking.

Hob hears movement behind him and releases Mazikeen as he leaps out of the way, narrowly avoiding an attack from Lucifer. The rest of the coven seems hesitant to join the fray so close to the mass of silver.

Lucifer is strong- they earned their titles fairly, and Hob thinks on a different day the outcome may not have been so favorable. But the fact is, all these werewolves came here prepared to kill another werewolf. They are not prepared for a vampire. And them being caught off guard gives Hob the same upper hand it gave them earlier.

When Hob pins Lucifer to the floor by their neck, face inches away from the floor of the silver cage, Hob snarls. Whatever amusement he may have had at the beginning has been lost to the rage of an old wound reopened.

“You’re all the same,” he hissed, letting venom drip down his fangs to drip threateningly onto Lucifer’s armor. “You’re all the same, and you don’t even realize it. Always spewing the same prejudice and hatred based on absolutely nothing. Your pack is exactly the same as my old coven.”

Here he leans down, tightening his grip as he lowers his voice. “I want you to remember that. Remember that you acted just like a vampire. Remember that no matter how highly you think of yourself, you are just like them.”

He stands then, rising smoothly to his feet as Lucifer coughs to get their breath back. Turning, he moves to leave. He has no interest in a slaughter right now. He just wants to find Dream.

The rest of the pack give him space, staring in awe and horror, too taken aback to do anything more than watch him walk away.

“One day…”

Lucifer’s voice makes him pause. He looks over his shoulder to see they have moved Mazikeen to lay her head in their lap, hand carefully cupping the unburned side of her face.

“One day,” they promise coldly, “we will destroy you.”

Hob just smirked and nodded.

“Until that day, Lightbringer.”

And with that, he disappeared from the cave, sprinting through the forest to find his lover.

~~~~

The coven panics at the sight of their dead leader, the one who turned them. And now they find themselves locked in a room with a werewolf, with weapons nearby that will hurt them but not Dream.

The man in white curses, but pulls himself together to sprint for the window. He tears the sheet down, revealing a still dark night sky, and then punches through the glass.

Dream is right behind him, faster than most werewolves but still slower than a vampire, but catching up as the glass is broken. The man in white sneers, frustrated, and immediately bursts into a swarm of bats.

Most werewolves fear a vampire’s swarm. Too many teeth to keep track of.

But Dream is not most werewolves, and as the swarm begins to pour out of the window, he leaps into the mass of screeching wings and brings his jaws down around whatever he can reach.

There are only two bats in his mouth, but all of them are screaming, pain making the swarm clumsier as they fly out into the night, uncoordinated and staggering.

(When the vampire known only as The Corinthian reforms himself later, it will be without his eyes. He will cry tears of blood and the closest town will wake to the sounds of him screaming in the dead of a night he can no longer see.)

The rest of the coven, when Dream comes for them, follow their comrade’s lead and scatter into bats, keeping high and flying desperately through the open window. Dream snarls, whipping his head around to the only figure remaining.

“P-please,” Alex Burgess stutters, “I didn’t want to help him. I would have let you out if I could!”

Dream stalked forward. “Coward,” he backed Alex into a corner, “What would you have done to me, if you were promised the power your father held?”

“I-… you don’t understand,” he swallowed.

“Perhaps,” Dream rumbled, “but if I cannot understand why you would do the things you have. I will take comfort in it. I will take comfort in not being like you.”

He turned to leave, and Alex crumpled to the ground, knowing intrinsically that he had not been worth the trouble of being turned by his father and now he wasn’t worth being turned by this werewolf. He wasn’t even worth the trouble to kill.

Alex will have nightmares of this night for the rest of his life. Dream doesn’t care.

He gallops through the forest to find Hob.

~~~~

Hob and Dream were both already alone when they met.

When Hob let himself be turned, all he thought about was Eleanor. Of being able to live forever by her side, the mark of her teeth forever on his neck because she chose him, fell in love with him as much as he with her, enough to give him immortality. 

He didn’t consider her family- her coven- and their disapproval.

Perhaps it would have been easier if they had disapproved of his relationship with Eleanor, if it had been born of protectiveness of some kind. But no. They just didn’t like Hob.

Didn’t like his thick, hair covered body that did not fit in their antique porcelain aesthetic. Didn’t like how easily he laughed, how casually he dressed, how much he enjoyed his undead life, how his only complaint was missing the sunshine.

To be fair, Hob didn’t like them much either. He hated their dank, cold castle and their insistence on constant formality. He dreamed of building a cabin near a lake, where he and Eleanor could be free to live as they wanted, without constantly having to keep their posture perfect.

Then Eleanor died, killed by hunters on one of her nightly trips into the town to search for orphans. 

(“I wouldn’t turn them until they were an adult,” she promised Hob, her eyes wide and pleading for him to understand, “I won’t turn them at all if they don’t want to be! But… but a child of our own, to raise…” She took Hob’s hand and leaned her forehead against his, her words infinitely quiet with no chance of being overheard, “Not a coven. A family.”)

Without her, there was no reason for him to stay.

Hob learned very quickly that Eleanor’s family was not unique in their views. Every vampire he came across curled their lips at his rugged appearance, his extroverted nature, everything about his personality and looks seemed to offend them personally.

“Whoever turned you was cruel to do so while you look like this,” one vampire had told him, oblivious to their own cruelty. “You could shave the hair at least. It won’t grow back.”

Narrowing his eyes, Hob had excused himself quickly from the interaction. They were just strangers who met on the road, he had no obligation to stay and be talked down to and insulted like that.

Eleanor had liked the way he looked.

Hob liked the way he looked.

(In the privacy of his own mind, he was grateful for his lack of reflection.)

Then he ran into Dream. Literally.

Neither were paying attention, just sprinting through the woods trying to outrun their own demons, they didn't notice each other’s presence until they were crashing together, tumbling across the forest floor and felling several trees in the process.

When they untangled and got their bearings, they both spent a long moment simply staring. 

Hob thought he’d run into another vampire at first, because the stranger looked like every vampire’s ideal he’d had pressed on him for centuries now. Slim and as pale as snow, pitch black hair artfully wild, wearing black head to toe, including a long black coat that he held wrapped around himself. His clothes were a little beat up and worn, but it didn’t make him look any less poised and elegant, and his eyes were a stunning icy blue as they stared back at Hob. He was gorgeous, and if this was what a vampire was supposed to look like, Hob understood he had no hope of ever measuring up. 

Then he inhaled.

And he realized that the stranger was not a vampire.

Dream had been wandering for a long time before he met Hob. He’d been alone even longer.

Even coming from a large, familial pack, Dream had always been isolated. He was the runt and they all knew it. Even his youngest sister, still a pup, was growing stronger than Dream ever had. Not brawny and strong like a werewolf was supposed to be, he was skinny, frail, weak, as much of his family liked to remind him. He wasn’t loud or rowdy, had no desire to wrestle and play fight with his siblings. He preferred to extend his claws and carve pictures and stories into the dirt of stones. Sometimes his older sister would indulge him and sit while he told her elaborate tales to go with his engravings. But inevitably she would be pulled away. 

It was one night, when the pack was cuddled together in their den and Desire kicked him out of the pile again (literally, kicking at his ribs and back until he retreated from his family’s warmth) claiming as always that Dream was too bony and cold to sleep beside, that he decided to leave.

He spent much of the night just watching them. He curled up against the wall and took in the sight of his pack piled together, safe and warm and not missing him at all. It did not matter that Dream was cold. It did not matter that he was lonely, and hurt, and unloved. None of it mattered.

So it certainly wouldn’t matter if he left.

He ran as far and as fast and as long as he could. From night, through the morning and the high peak of the sun, only collapsing in a heap of sweat soaked fur once the sun had fallen once more. 

At first, he traveled often in his full werewolf form, both for speed and as a precaution as he moved along the edges of the territories of different packs. Each time, a wolf would come to meet him, to ensure he was just passing by, and each time he was met with disdain.

“Are you sure you’re not a wererat?” a bulking werewolf had laughed at him, “You look like you belong down in the sewers.”

Dream began taking longer paths to avoid other werewolves. He began to only shift at night, and then only when he was forced to on the full moon. It did not matter that it slowed his travel. It did not matter that he felt vulnerable, and exposed, and that some nights his heart ached to curl up as a wolf and tuck his nose beneath his tail and pretend he was warm. It didn’t matter that he felt equally hideous in his human form.

None of it mattered.

So he was running on two legs when he collided with Hob.

They were staring at each other, and the man in front of him must have been the most gorgeous werewolf he’d ever seen. Even unshifted he was covered in a glorious pelt of body hair that Dream wanted desperately to run his fingers through. He was broad, heavyset, clearly strong but with a layer of padding that made him look soft and welcoming, especially coupled with wide brown eyes. He was everything a werewolf was supposed to be and everything that Dream would never, ever be.

Then he inhaled.

And he realized that the stranger was not a werewolf.

“Uh, hi,” Hob spoke first, his voice breathless with something like wonder. “Um, shit, sorry for bowling you over like that, here,” he scrambled to his feet and held a hand out, “I’m Hob.”

At first, all Dream could do was move his gaze from his hand to his face and back again. Then, hesitantly, he reached out and allowed the stranger to help him to his feet.

(Dream had always been shunned for the coldness of his body. But holding this undead hand now, there was none of the jarring heat, none of the pulling away and complaining about his temperature.) 

(Hob did not mind, because Hob was cold too.)

(They both kept their hands together for a little longer than needed.)

“I. Am Dream.” 

“Dream,” Hob smiled, “It’s nice to meet you.”

There was a moment when they finally dropped their hands that they each remembered that werewolves and vampires were meant to be enemies.

Both of them looked at each other, and quietly acknowledged to themselves that they had been hurt far worse by their own kind than the other’s.

They ended up talking through the night. Carefully casual at first, before slowly opening up their wounds to each other, to see the ways they matched. When sunrise approached and Hob needed to find shelter, Dream shyly invited him back to the cave he had been staying in.

“Where are you going?” Hob asked softly, facing Dream where they were laying next to each other on a pile of deer pelts.

“Away,” Dream whispered, on his back and staring at the ceiling with a painfully blank gaze. “Far away. Away from everyone and everything. Where no one will have to look at me again.”

Hob swallowed thickly. It’s been less than one day, and his heart shatters in fear of losing this man. The first person who understands him. Who sees him. Hob thinks he is seeing his reflection for the first time in centuries.

So he summoned his courage and placed his hand over Dream’s, “Maybe I’ll come with you.” Dream turned to look at him, wary and disbelieving, and Hob smiled. “I like looking at you.”

In the morning, they picked a direction and started running. And they did it again the next day, and the next. Dream was skittish, and Hob was loud. Dream narrowed his eyes in suspicion whenever Hob showed him an ounce of kindness, and Hob laughed and waved away any of Dream’s attempts to show him kindness in return. Neither of them knew what they were doing.

“Who would want an eternity of this?” 

Dream said it softly, mostly to himself, but Hob couldn’t not hear it. Couldn’t not hear the weight of the exhaustion in his voice. They were sitting side by side in front of the fire Dream had built, the cave sheltering them from the worst of the heavy rainfall. The weather might have saved them, though. No matter how heated their individual run-ins with others of their kind might have been before, it was nothing compared to being seen together. Something about it seemed to make werewolves and vampires alike fly into some sort of confused, offended rage. 

But they always got away, and today the cover of rain washed away their tracks and scents, and in the morning they would take the harder mountain trail to avoid any more incidents. They sat in front of the fire, and as they always did after a chase, Dream sat in silence, lost in his own head, while Hob desperately distracted himself by rambling stories from his life, before, during, and after Eleanor.

This was the first time Dream had ever interrupted him. 

And Hob… didn’t have an answer. He supposed he could say ‘me’ but they both knew that wasn’t what Dream was looking for right now. It isn’t what Dream is looking for every day that he wakes up and starts running. Werewolves can live for close to a millennia, and Dream was barely older than Hob. He was so young. He has so much time.

They both do.

So Hob did the same thing he did on the day they met. He reached out, and he took Dream’s hand.

“You could find out?”

Dream turned to look at him, not with suspicion, or distrust, but a disbelief that came from awe. And Hob thought maybe this was enough. Even if they never stopped running, at least they’d run together.

The seasons passed. Once a month Dream disappeared in the night, as close to begging as he could get for Hob not to look for him, promising he’d be back in the morning. Hob hated it, hated thinking of him out there all alone, with a howl that sounded like crying. But when he came back, worn down and shaky, he allowed Hob to hold him. After some time, he allowed him to kiss him, too.

“I want to see,” Hob whispered against his mouth. They had found a place. A clearing at the base of a mountain, far from cities and towns, no known vampires or werewolf territories, and Hob and Dream have been chopping wood all day.

They are going to build a home together.

Everything they’ve shared, all the past wounds pulled apart for the other to see, but here Dream hesitated. “I do not… look like other werewolves,” he whispered.

“Neither of us look how we’re ‘supposed to’,” Hob reminded him, “And we don’t care, remember?”

But Dream shook his head, glancing up at Hob through his eyelashes that did nothing to conceal his fear. “I am ugly,” he admitted, ashamed.

Hob kissed him and kissed him and kissed him, pulling him into his arms, “I don’t care. It’s you, and I love you. I want to love all of you.”

They waited until the next sundown, leaving their shelter and standing before each other. Hob held Dream’s hands as long as he could, until Dream pulled away, taking a few steps back as he allowed himself to shift. Hob watched his lover transform under the night sky, limbs contorting and elongating, black fur covering him, long in some places and shorter in others, wild like a hyena, eyes with a white shine to them, clawed fingers digging into the ground as he crouched down onto all fours.

When Dream raised his head, he still looked scared, his tail curling under his legs as he braced himself for whatever Hob’s reaction could possibly be. So Hob approached slowly, and hoped his face shone with at least half the love he felt right now. Kneeling in front of him, Hob raised both hands carefully and cupped Dream’s muzzle in his palms, letting his fingers run through the soft fur at the sides of his face.

“My Dream,” he breathed out, leaning forward to kiss between his eyes, “You’re beautiful.”

Dream’s lips curled, not quite a snarl. A disagreement.

“You are,” Hob insisted, kissing all over his face now, reaching down to take those long claws into his hands and press kisses to the sharp, furred knuckles, “You’re stunning. You’re perfect,” Hob rested their foreheads together, “I love every part of you.”

He pushed Dream gently onto his back on the grass and his form shifted under Hob’s hands. His more human face showed blatant terror, disbelief, defiance, his form constantly shifting between different ratios of wolf and man, as though he would eventually find the form that Hob did not love. Hob kissed every shuddering stretch of skin, every cracking bone, pet over him steadily even when his skin went from smooth to furred and back again. He took Dream in hand and kissed his neck and rut against him desperately and finally, finally, Dream settled. A bit wolf, a bit human, but all Dream, and he reached for Hob just as desperately, both of them pressing together as though they could become one. They were both wanted, and loved, and it was more than enough.

And it is more than enough now, years and years later, when the rumors have spread and the home they built has been attacked, and Hob and Dream burst through the forest and crash into each other's arms with as much force as they day they met, rolling through the dirt and holding each other close as they tumble. 

“Dream, Dream, are you alright, are you hurt?”

He is still in his full wolf form, so he shakes his head where it is pressed against Hob’s shoulder. He lifts his eyes just enough to send a look that Hob understands effortlessly, “I’m fine, I’m fine, Love,” he reassures, feeling himself melt into the ground in relief that they are both safe and together again. 

Eventually, Hob stands, and he offers Dream a hand. Dream takes it, and rises unsteadily to his feet, leaning against Hob for balance. His voice is gravelly as he speaks without shifting, “No… clothes…”

Hob feels a flare of fury, but tucks it away for later. Instead, he shrugs out of his outer shirt, which is just long enough on Dream for him to feel at least a little less vulnerable. He feels even better when, as soon as he is in his human form, Hob sweeps him into a bridal carry, grinning and kissing him one last time before speeding back to their home, making it back just before sunrise. It is bittersweet to see the place they built with the door kicked down and the living room in disarray from the scuffle, but it’s still their home. At least for tonight.

“Perhaps it’s time we moved deeper into the mountains. Maybe settle at a higher elevation,” Hob suggests that night, when they are barricaded in their room, Dream wrapped in a robe and buried beneath their blankets as Hob holds him close.

Dream frowned, pulling back just enough to look up at him, “But you like being close to the town.”

Hob shrugged, winding his arms over Dream’s shoulders. “Maybe, but I like you much more,” he grinned when Dream blushed, “And it’s not like it’d be too much trouble for me to travel down every now and then. I’ll just take longer visits farther apart. I’ll go on days when you need some solitude.”

Dream blinked at him slowly, and Hob found it so sweet and so heartbreaking how, even after all these years, Dream still had to hold back tears when Hob was kind to him.

“You truly are perfect,” he whispered, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Hob’s, “and I love you so.”

“I think you’re the perfect one,” Hob smiled, “and I love you too.”

Tomorrow they will begin their move, and build a new home more prepared for the people who won’t accept them. And they’ll do it together.

And that’s more than enough.

[radiance1]

Remember that post where Danny was a dragon and Vlad was a pheonix?

Yea, they're thought here too.

And Danny is obvi an eastern dragon.

Also kinda inspired by the Kwami from mlb.

Danny became the prince of the Far Frozen, after having been adopted by Frostbite a few centuries earlier. Danny is immortal here, and lived past his family so he just spends most of his time in the Far Frozen now.

Vlad meanwhile just stuck to his own lair, a great zone of fire filled with his signature black flames. Occasionally he goes out to the human world to check in on Vladco, he unfortunately had to leave his business up to an heir since it would draw a great amount of suspicion if he were to still be the head after, say, a hundred or so years.

Did he have a child with someone? Hah! No, he just took an orphan off the street, cleaned them up a lil, and turned them into an heir worthy of Vladco.

Vlad and Danny aren't exactly friends, nor enemies either. The most accurate term would be that they're Frenemies. After a few hundred years they've just resorted to that.

Vlad is an enemy of Prince Aragon, surprisingly he didn't actually do anything significant to earn his ire, Prince Aragon just hates him because he's a phoenix.

Danny is also enemies with him, since he was one of Danny's enemies before when he was a teen and the guy's attitude didn't at all help in making Danny not be his enemy really.

So you can say they bonded over their shared hatred for that one guy a little bit.

Cute forward a couple years into the future and Danny and Vlad have gotten trapped inside some magical artifacts.

Why?

Because some wizard wanted their power for his own gain and such made a plan to pit them against each other, make them tire themselves out and injure the other, and then turn them into artifacts.

Danny got transformed into a necklace and Vlad got transformed into a ring.

In hindsight, they should've seen this coming.

Like the Kwami's from mlb they can come out of their respective items in a chibi form. Tiny eastern dragon and tiny phoenix that gave the wizard who turned them into what they are now hell.

They were sassy, straight out insulted him and laughed to each other about it straight to his face, and when the situation allowed it. Hindered him instead of helping him.

It got so bad that the wizard who turned them into jewelry decided to just give them off instead of holding onto them.

They've been given away, sold, auctioned off. A lot of things, though after being handed off from the wizard they were mostly silent. Over the years they were unfortunately split up, going to different owners.

Fast forward to another couple more years and Danny found himself dug up from a casket belonging to a long dead wizard and then just dumped into the custody of one Timothy Drake.

Meanwhile, Vlad found himself bought Lex Luthor, then he went: "Wait a minute, something about you is familiar.." then found out he was the descendant of that one orphan kid he took off the streets.

Danny appeared to Tim because he was lonely, and basically became his best friend. Though he was confused about his apparent obsession with this Batman character.

Vlad also appeared to Lex Luthor, though he did haggle him quite a bit for his business and what did you mean that kid's descendants ran his business into the ground? He taught that kid everything he knew and his descendants had the gall to run his business into bankruptcy just because he wasn't around?

If he got his claws on them he swore he would-

Anywho, who the hell is Superman and why do you hate him?

[anneapocalypse]

On Lucanis

I've seen a lot of speculation about Lucanis and how he's implied to be dead in "The Wake," and is now apparently alive and well in Veilguard, whether he faked his death to escape the Crows, etc. I think that's a very plausible theory, and might well be correct, but I also have another theory.

Maybe Lucanis is in fact dead.

Maybe that's not Lucanis Dellamorte, but a spirit inhabiting his body.

In Tevinter Nights we're treated to the fascinating story of a bookish guard named Audric who finds that he is actually a spirit inhabiting Audric's body, who had taken on Audric's identity so thoroughly he ceased to remember his origins.

And in "The Wake" there's this interesting line:

The windows and mirrors were all temporarily covered with heavy black velveteen to prevent any wandering souls from getting lost on their way.

Wandering souls, huh. At a wake.

We've had some sort of spirit or possessed companion in every Dragon Age game thus far. In Origins, we have the Spirit of Faith who saved Wynne's life and resides with her, though we never meet that spirit personally. In Awakening, we have Justice, who finds himself trapped in the waking world in Kristoff's body. Justice later joins with Anders and the two of them appear in Dragon Age 2 together, with Justice making occasional appearances. And in Inquisition, we have Cole, a Spirit of Compassion who has crossed the Veil for a suffering mage child he could not save, and so took on his identity (but did not possess him).

Spirits tend to be more drawn to mages, but not exclusively, especially when the host is no longer living. Kristoff and Audric were not mages.

Furthermore, when last we saw Lucanis alive, he was busy putting an end to the horrific machinations of Forfex in "The Wigmaker Job." In the process, he destroys the elven artifact Forfex was using to keep spirits at bay, leading to a number of possessions including Forfex himself, who is ultimately defeated by Lucanis. Following the incident, Lucanis himself is nicknamed The Demon.

In the Veilguard trailer, Lucanis is referred to not as The Crow, but as The Magekiller. It does seem to suggest he has cut ties with the Crows and continued on the path "The Wigmaker Job" set him upon. But what if it's more than that? What if it's no longer Lucanis--or alternatively, not Lucanis alone? If he did die, perhaps a spirit has claimed his body, or perhaps he has even been brought back to life temporarily as Wynne was. If he did not die, perhaps he gained a passenger. Perhaps they are now of one mind in fighting abuses of magic and of spirits, and have seen the Veilguard as aligned with their goals.

I just can't help thinking we might get a surprise spirit companion in Veilguard, and that companion could be Lucanis. :)

[heykayhayes]

Updated NPC portraits of the leaders of the guild I built for the long-form DND campaign I just started this past month! I'm doing a very homebrewy take on the Tyranny of Dragons arc- starting with Hoarde of the Dragon Queen. I created a guild with seven factions based off of different birds/ adventuring skills, called the "Flocked Feathers." Each of my players is from a different guild faction. They'll be coming together under order of the Guildmaster for the special mission of collecting five Tiamat masks.

Murder of Crows - black ops mercenaries Study of Owls - protectors of arcane knowledge, artifacts Pod of Pelicans - sea-faring adventurers Flamboyance of Flamingos - guardians of high society, popular cities Kettle of Hawks - desert-dwelling heroes protecting trade routes Clutch of Hens - defenders of homesteads, farms, villages Swoop of Sparrows - preservers of nature, the natural world

Pyrus is going to be NPC/PCing as the party's Questmaster! He was "proboted" to this position by the Guildmaster. After Pyrus was caught leeching guild resources to support his personal quest for revenge against Tiamat cultists (thus working against the collective interest of the Flock), Guildmaster Viotto threatened to remove Pyrus from the Flock entirely. The trade to remain a member of the Flock was that Pyrus must accept a leadership position pursuing exactly what he wants- capturing Tiamat cultists- but as the leader of a team of worthy, young recruits. That's the "probation" part of the "probotion..." Pyrus is much more comfortable on solo missions and is not looking forward to being responsible for what happens to anyone else. Pyrus is in for a ride with this team, I can't wait to play him again, especially against all the amazing characters my friends have made!

What's really cool about a two-part campaign that spans so much time is everyone's character gets to begin at the sort of least-evolved version of themself, allowing a lot of room for growth over the course of the adventure. It's gonna be amazing!

[spacebarbarianweird]

If I Had A Voice, I Would Scream

The Cloak of Dragomir is finally found, and Astarion can walk in the sunlight. But magic comes with a terrible price.

Based on Mute!Tav Headcanon

Tags: f!Tav, disability, post-game, established relationships, nurturing Astarion

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Astarion basks in the sunlight, arms wide open. It feels like cat fur – delightfully tickly and warm.

The world unfolds in vibrant colors – the blue sky, green valleys, and distant mountains. Daylight reveals a beauty he's long forgotten, absolutely breathtaking.

Astarion's black cloak dances in the wind, showing only his palms and a half of his face.

The Cloak of Dragomir. The artifact that allows vampires to stroll in the sunlight, cross running waters, and invade homes without an invite. Astarion doesn't even have to wrap himself entirely. He pulls up the hood and lets the cloak cascade over most of his body.

Walking in the sunlight becomes a reality. Such a thin, delicate fabric opens him to a world of possibilities.

He still can't see himself in the mirror, but even the tadpole couldn't fix it, so Astarion doesn't hold a grudge.

But-

Astarion glances back at the small campsite. Tav is nowhere to be seen; she sleeps in their tent. The protective spells guarding the Dragomir Cloak have taken a toll on her strength. Astarion wishes she could join him in the sunlight. After enduring years confined to darkness and liminal spaces, Tav deserves to bask in the day's warmth alongside him.

She can't.

A piercing screech rends the air, drawing Astarion's gaze skyward. There, high above, a red dragon soars, its massive form appearing no larger than a bird from this distance.

Astarion and Tav had been hunting for the cloak since they departed from Baldur's Gate. Initially, it was just a flicker of hope, a phantom possibility. There may have been something out there to aid Astarion to walk in the sun. A ring, a spell, a blessing, or maybe even a cure – the possibilities were as vast and unpredictable as the wonders of Faerun.

They found the vampire cloak in the Underdark, protected by a dozen spells and traps. However, the items came with a condition – one had to provide something of equal value to obtain it. A fair exchange, a valuable possession for a valuable possession.

Astarion tried to dissuade Tav. The ghostly guardian's demands needed clarification. What exactly did he want in return? Tav's life, perhaps half of it? A potential imprisonment or transformation into a monstrous being? It could be something intangible, like memories, skills, or sanity…

There is nothing worse than making pacts with supernatural entities, whether hags, devils, or vampires. Trust a Baldurian magistrate.

"We can't just walk away!" Tav pleaded.

He objected and attempted to reason with her, searching for alternative solutions. Yet, deep down, they both knew there was none. Tav gestured towards the radiant day outside, the lure of stepping into the sunlight undeniable.

Astarion reluctantly agreed, but he was supposed to make the sacrifice, not her. However, before Astarion could intervene, Tav reached for the cloak. A valuable lifesaving thing in exchange for something equally vital.

Astarion shouted at her. How could she be so reckless? Why did she never ever listen to him? When his tirade ended, he steeled himself for her response.

Tav remained silent. He would never hear a single word from her.

The price was her ability to talk.

… The dragon disappears in the skies, and Astarion returns to the camp.

Tav can't speak to the people they meet. She can't talk to the quest givers. She can't simply say what she wants and needs and even writing skills are little help since most people in Faerun are illiterate.

Astarion wanted to summon the guardian back and return this cursed thing, but it wouldn't improve anything.

The price was paid.

And as with any curse created by a vampire, it was irreversible.

Astarion sometimes wants to burn this cloak, to rip it apart. He wishes they never learned about its existence.

Sure, it could be worse. Blindness or deafness would be much worse than being just mute. A thousand paladins and clerics give an oath of silence. But they have a choice to break it.

Astarion looks inside the tent. Tav is still asleep, curled in her side of the bedroll. Despite the warm temperature, she is wrapped in blankets. Looking at her, he feels warmth in the undead heart as if a small sun pulsates within his ribcage.

He needs to find a solution. To teach Tav to speak Thieves Cant? It's basically sign language, profane and rude, but very practical. Or lip-reading? If Tav "pronounces" everything clearly, he can recognize the words.

There are also telepathy spells…

He hears a sniff.

It happens so unexpectedly that Astarion first can't realize what he has just heard.

Tav tries to cover her head with the blanket, pretending she is still asleep. And not crying uncontrollably.

"Tav, my sweet, I know you are awake," he enters the tent and removes the cloak, kneeling beside his love.

Another sniff. Louder and more desperate.

Astarion hesitates. It's usually Tav consoling him after nightmares and yet another breakdown. It's her hugging him when it's just too much to bear.

And Astarion has never seen her crying like that. He strokes the blanket, hoping she feels his touch through the thick fabric. "I am here."

He almost adds, "Speak to me," but bites his tongue.

As Tav ceases to conceal her silent tears, trembling and shuddering, Astarion grapples with the profound weight of the silence that envelops them.

He has never realized how talkative and loud she used to be.

As Astarion pulls the blanket away, he unveils Tav curled up in a fetal position, her eyes swollen and face red. The upper part of the blanket is damp, soaked in tears.

Astarion feels a desperate urge to run away, and escape the overwhelming responsibility of being a caregiver. He fears that his presence will only exacerbate her pain, that he'll inflict more harm than healing.

No. He can't do this to her. She needs him.

He sighs, wrapping his hands gently around her waist, guiding her to sit on his lap. Cradling her, Astarion kisses her cheek.

"I miss it," he begins, carefully choosing words. "I miss your voice. You used to talk to me, asking if you could touch or kiss me. I miss the way you spoke about my own self-worth. Your laughter."

Tav presses her face against his chest. He kisses her forehead.

"Once, I asked you what in nine hells you'd found in me. Of course, I knew the answer – who else would be so handsome and smart like me? But what I couldn't understand was what attracted you in the first place, considering I had tried to slice your throat. Remember what you told me? You said you had fallen in love with my voice. You said you just wanted to hear me speaking to you".

"The thing is… it was the same for me. There, on that cursed Nauthiloid, I'd heard you before I saw you. I would never admit it, but I liked how you sounded. Not this drunk voice of my victims, not an order from the master. Just you being so stubborn about survival."

Tav silently cries, and Astarion sees her lips moving. He tries to concentrate on them, figuring out what she is saying, but she trembles, and he can't work anything out.

"I wish we never found this thing. If I knew what it would cost, I would accept fate as a creature of the night. I was selfish. I wanted more than I had, but what I had was enough. Freedom and you, it was enough. I didn't need the sun to feel happy. But now… We have to work it out."

Tav nods and finally pulls away from his shirt, looking into Astarion's eyes. He smiles at her, and she, with hesitation, smiles back.

He keeps talking. He talks like a lovestruck drunkard in a tavern who needs the strongest wine to confess their feelings.

About the night he realized he was in love with her.

About tensed days when he tried to cast this feeling away. How he was afraid to hear the rejection. And how he felt when Tav admitted she felt something, too.

Her protecting him from the Drow bitch. Agreeing on helping with the scars. Saving him from the gravest mistake he could make.

A night in the cemetery when he forgot about any decency, if he even had one, pinning Tav down to the ground. How they returned to the inn, all covered in soil as if they were gravedigging.

Tav is his first. She is his first sentient being to feed on. Her blood is addictive, divine – no one tastes like her. He's had thousands of opportunities to understand this.

She is the first person who he made love to. He had no idea what it was supposed to feel like until that night in the graveyard.

Tav sits up and wraps her hands around his neck.

"I will never leave you, you hear me, Tav?" Astarion affirms, and she nods in acknowledgment. "But we need a way to communicate," he says, gently pulling her away. She clings to him like a kitten, reluctant to be separated.

"Okay then," Astarion decides, reaching for the cloak. With Tav cradled in his arms, he steps into the sunlight, carrying her in a bridal embrace. Together, they ascend to the cliff he stood before, where he lingers, allowing her to share in the picturesque view.

The dragon is nowhere to be seen, but Tav finally stops crying, looking at the distant mountains.

Astarion puts her on the ground, and they sit in front of each other.

"I want to be able to lip-reading you. It's easy. I did it before; I must adjust to your pretty mouth."

Tav silently giggles and then leans back with a smile. Now, she looks like her real self – funny, strong, brave. Asatrion melts by simply looking at her.

"I need you to talk to me."

Tav spreads her legs a bit and bites her lower lip. Her head tilts a bit, demonstrating the right side of the neck.

"My pretty darling, if this mouth of yours doesn't do what I asked, I will find another use for it."

She smiles, and her lips form a sentence.

YOU. ARE. A. FREAK. AND. I. LOVE. YOU.

"Well, if you don't stop teasing me, I will make both your lips and tongue work."

I. DON’T. MIND.

He chuckles, studying her face.

"I am surprised you were single when I met you. Lucky me."

NO. ONE. IS. LIKE. YOU.

"Keep going."

DON’T. BE. UPSET. WE. ALL. LOSE. SOMETHING. IT’S. A. PART. OF. LIFE. IT. WIIL. BE. EASIER. FOR. US. WITH. THE. CLOAK.

"Yes. It will. Are you upset?"

I. AM.

"I will teach you Thieves Cant. It's easy. I suggest telepathy spells, but I don't know how to learn them.

NO. I. DON'T. WANT. TO. GET. IN. YOUR. HEAD. YOU. NEED. YOUR. AUTONOMY. I. AM. NOT. BREECHING. IT" "

She keeps talking. Telling different nice things. The more she talks, the more she is her old self. Kind. Funny. Smart. Horny. And by the sunset, he forgets he doesn't hear her voice because they finally properly speak.

When the sun sets, he removes the cloak, letting the moonlight wash his hair and skin.

I.AM. TIRED, Tav pouts. CARRY. ME. BACK.

Astarion obliges and receives a kiss when she is in his hands again.

As the night falls, it gets much colder, and Tav is shivering when they return to the tent. She quickly sneaks under the blanket and makes an inviting gesture.

Astarion lays beside Tav and nuzzles her collarbone. She kisses him goodbye and falls asleep.

He doesn't need to meditate yet, so he lets himself drown in Tav's warmth and steady heartbeat. Astarion presses her tightly and lets his own tears flow.

"I wish it never happened," he whispers in the dark.

--

Tag list

@tragedybunny @caitlincat-95 @tallymonster @astarionsbeloved @lumienyx @fayeriess @aoirohi @elora-the-slutty-songstress @veillsar @astarion-imagine-archive @micropoe10 @starlight-ipomoea @herstxrgirl

[lafaiette]

Also, can we talk about magic? i suppose they wanted to make the game more luring to new players, but magic used to be rare, closed under the lock and feared. Mages were feared and cosidered dangerous. Tevinter was an execption, not a general rule. How come people forgot only ten years ealier there was a regular war between mages and chantry, the very reason Inquisition was formed? Why is there magic, anciet elven magic behin every corner? It feels like reboot.

"It feels like reboot"

Because it is a reboot 💀 Or at least, it's the first step towards one.

Explaining how magic is seen in Thedas, all the different opinions and fears and hopes people have about it, would have been impossible in a single game clearly aimed at luring new players in. They put all the major pieces of explanation in the codex (one part of it is filled and complete since from the start of the game, because it's basically a catalogue detailing everything about Thedas), and let you play as a mage to your heart's content, with no strings, no responsibilities attached.

They tried to preserve some logic in Minrathous - there's mention of how Tevinter's families try to breed the perfect mages to rise in power and influence, so that's good. But you also see a "Noble" mingling with a "Civilian" among the fishermen, and telling her she shouldn't waste time and money on making things better for the poor people. What the hell is she doing there, then? Why isn't she in Minrathous proper, drinking wine and looking down on the poor districts?

Just around every corner, a few feet away from the closest tavern, Venatori are constantly putting up blood magic barriers. The same in the Necropolis, with the Venatori making camp just one door behind the main hub where the Mourn Watch is stationed. Everyone performs rituals, the Circles are barely mentioned, a Forbidden One is hiding behind a door in the Necropolis' main hall and no one ever noticed it before, not even Emmrich.

Statues of Fen'Harel and the Evanuris, elven relics and elven contraptions are hidden everywhere - everywhere. To show how vast and influential the elven empire was? That was probably the devs' intent. Does it always make sense? No. Is it for gameplay purposes, to fill the map with puzzles and stuff to find like in the 2000s? Obviously.

In Inquisition, there was an entire area of the Hinterlands ravaged by the Templars and rebel mages. The refugees were scared of walking the roads to find food because there was wild magic flying around. Rabid templars crazy on lyrium roamed the woods, and the Chantry was powerless.

Elven ruins were scattered around with sense, with a purpose, barely visible among the vegetation, forgotten and avoided, or almost forced to fuse with Chantry's buildings (just look at the Emerald Graves). There was a logic behind the NPCs' and props' locations in the world.

Here, there is simply no logic or consequence to anything ever. The Black Divine is never addressed, as far as I remember. Dalish clans have lost any distinction - the only elven faction you meet is that of the Veil Jumpers, which is a weird cocktail of elves who all know how bad the Evanuris are and random humans and Qunari. Yes, there are humans being allowed to guard ancient elven artifacts in a Dragon Age game. No, they are not called shem. Yes, they all get along swimmingly.

The Crows are not slavers and dangerous figures anymore - they're actually the heroes of Treviso! They treat their fledgling Crows with care and respect, no torture involved. Where did you hear such a preposterous idea? Zevran? Who's Zevran?

Taash says the Qun isn't a prison. How is that possible? They sent assassins after Bull when he defected. They hunt Vashoth and Tal-Vashoth if they dare leave, and if a sten loses his sword, he cannot return home, because his brethren would kill him, as "to a Qunari warrior, the sword is the soul."

So yeah, this was definitely supposed to be a reboot for Dragon Age, just like Andromeda was supposed to be one for Mass Effect. That's why everything falls flat.

[dalishious]

weeke's colonizer writing is straight up ruining dragon age as an entire franchise for me :/ i play video games to escape this shit irl. like why are you forcing a black coded character to be fine with selling artifacts of an indigenous coded culture??? taash is not your mouthpiece.

For real though. I don't get people who say Weekes is so much better a lead than Gaider. They have pretty much all the same problems. The only difference is Weekes is somewhat better skill-wise imo, just based on The Masked Empire's text vs the books by Gaider for example.

[indie-ttrpg-of-the-week]

Ryuutama

A treat for the Dragon likers in our audience, wait til Warrenguard for some more though

Genre: Exploration! Touchstones: Ghibli Films, Trail of Oregon (not ACTUALLY but its a good comparison point)

What is this game?: Ryuutama is a game about travelling... somewhere! you're not big damn heroes though, just merchants and artisans

How's the gameplay?: Ryuutama uses a system where skill checks will most of the time use two dice and two skills, so for example chopping down a tree might be [Str + Dex], then you add those two numbers together + Your mod in each respective skill to get your final number! at times you might also need to use different dice sizes, for example a d8 and a d4, and sometimes you'll only roll one die, those are very difficult checks. Character creation is a breeze! Choose a class (from options like Minstrel, Noble, Farmer, or Merchant), a Style (from Magic/Attack/Technical), Stats, your preferred weapon, a personal item, and minor details, thats it! The interesting part of Ryuutama is of course, the GM, you see the GM is playing a character throughout the campaign as well as narrating everything, this character is the Ryuujin, a powerful dragon that can assume a less threatening form in order to approach the party, as well as a humanoid form with horns, dragons have an Artifact (A major gameplay modification) and a list of Benedictions (Powerful effects that change the rules for one session) and Reveils (Powerful abilities that immediately have some sort of effect)

What's the setting (If any) like?: The setting is created by the GMs and Players working together, though high fantasy is expected!

What's the tone?: Ryuutama is a laid back, chill game... well mostly, a Crimson dragon GM or Black Dragon GM can change the game's tone widely, changing it to either a combat focused game (not recommended, the combat's p light) or a dark intrigue game

Session length: 1-3 hours! Ryuutama's built for shorter sessions

Number of Players: 3-5 players, including the GM

Malleability: Pretty low, there's no real setting but you wanna keep it in High Fantasy ville for the most part

Resources: Ryuutama is actually a pretty big game, so theres some resources if you're willing to look, character sheets, mood playlists, supplements, all available and translated

Ryuutama is a chill, pleasant walk through a world of magic and monsters, you'll need to fight sometimes, but the challenges in the world mostly come from yourselves and the world around you, its a cute game!