#Dragons are horse shaped a lot of the time

[the-art-cave]

I mapped out the basic flow of a horse's head shape, and then applied it to a random set of popular dragon designs in media and it matches up pretty much the same, just with the proportions changed.

Sorry if I sound like a nerd but I think about this every now and then and it annoys me that no one else sees it 😭

I have a theory that the majority of popular dragon designs nowadays are based off of the general shape and flow of an ungulate. Or more specifically, a horse.

[nexus-nebulae]

thinking about when i had such intense phantom limbs as a kid i told my math teacher about it

[dykepuffs]

How Do I Make My Fictional Gypsies Not Racist?

(Or, "You can't, sorry, but…")

You want to include some Gypsies in your fantasy setting. Or, you need someone for your main characters to meet, who is an outsider in the eyes of the locals, but who already lives here. Or you need a culture in conflict with your settled people, or who have just arrived out of nowhere. Or, you just like the idea of campfires in the forest and voices raised in song. And you’re about to step straight into a muckpile of cliches and, accidentally, write something racist.

(In this, I am mostly using Gypsy as an endonym of Romany people, who are a subset of the Romani people, alongside Roma, Sinti, Gitano, Romanisael, Kale, etc, but also in the theory of "Gypsying" as proposed by Lex and Percy H, where Romani people are treated with a particular mix of orientalism, criminalisation, racialisation, and othering, that creates "The Gypsy" out of both nomadic peoples as a whole and people with Romani heritage and racialised physical features, languages, and cultural markers)

Enough of my friends play TTRPGs or write fantasy stories that this question comes up a lot - They mention Dungeons and Dragons’ Curse Of Strahd, World Of Darkness’s Gypsies, World Of Darkness’s Ravnos, World of Darkness’s Silent Striders… And they roll their eyes and say “These are all terrible! But how can I do it, you know, without it being racist?”

And their eyes are big and sad and ever so hopeful that I will tell them the secret of how to take the Roma of the real world and place them in a fictional one, whilst both appealing to gorjer stereotypes of Gypsies and not adding to the weight of stereotyping that already crushes us. So, disappointingly, there is no secret.

Gypsies, like every other real-world culture, exist as we do today because of interactions with cultures and geography around us: The living waggon, probably the archetypal thing which gorjer writers want to include in their portrayals of nomads, is a relatively modern invention - Most likely French, and adopted from French Showmen by Romanies, who brought it to Britain. So already, that’s a tradition that only spans a small amount of the time that Gypsies have existed, and only a small number of the full breadth of Romani ways of living. But the reasons that the waggon is what it is are based on the real world - The wheels are tall and iron-rimmed, because although you expect to travel on cobbled, tarmac, or packed-earth roads and for comparatively short distances, it wasn’t rare to have to ford a river in Britain in the late nineteenth century, on country roads. They were drawn by a single horse, and the shape of that horse was determined by a mixture of local breeds - Welsh cobs, fell ponies, various draft breeds - as well as by the aesthetic tastes of the breeders. The stove inside is on the left, so that as you move down a British road, the chimney sticks up into the part where there will be the least overhanging branches, to reduce the chance of hitting it.

So taking a fictional setting that looks like (for example) thirteenth century China (with dragons), and placing a nineteenth century Romanichal family in it will inevitably result in some racist assumptions being made, as the answer to “Why does this culture do this?” becomes “They just do it because I want them to” rather than having a consistent internal logic.

Some stereotypes will always follow nomads - They appear in different forms in different cultures, but they always arise from the settled people's same fears: That the nomads don't share their values, and are fundamentally strangers. Common ones are that we have a secret language to fool outsiders with, that we steal children and disguise them as our own, that our sexual morals are shocking (This one has flipped in the last half century - From the Gypsy Lore Society's talk of the lascivious Romni seductress who will lie with a strange man for a night after a 'gypsy wedding', to today's frenzied talk of 'grabbing' and sexually-conservative early marriages to ensure virginity), that we are supernatural in some way, and that we are more like animals than humans. These are tropes where if you want to address them, you will have to address them as libels - there is no way to casually write a baby-stealing, magical succubus nomad without it backfiring onto real life Roma. (The kind of person who has the skills to write these tropes well, is not the kind of person who is reading this guide.)

It’s too easy to say a list of prescriptive “Do nots”, which might stop you from making the most common pitfalls, but which can end up with your nomads being slightly flat as you dance around the topics that you’re trying to avoid, rather than being a rich culture that feels real in your world.

So, here are some questions to ask, to create your nomadic people, so that they will have a distinctive culture of their own that may (or may not) look anything like real-world Romani people: These aren't the only questions, but they're good starting points to think about before you make anything concrete, and they will hopefully inspire you to ask MORE questions.

First - Why are they nomadic? Nobody moves just to feel the wind in their hair and see a new horizon every morning, no matter what the inspirational poster says. Are they transhumant herders who pay a small rent to graze their flock on the local lord’s land? Are they following migratory herds across common land, being moved on by the cycle of the seasons and the movement of their animals? Are they seasonal workers who follow man-made cycles of labour: Harvests, fairs, religious festivals? Are they refugees fleeing a recent conflict, who will pass through this area and never return? Are they on a regular pilgrimage? Do they travel within the same area predictably, or is their movement governed by something that is hard to predict? How do they see their own movements - Do they think of themselves as being pushed along by some external force, or as choosing to travel? Will they work for and with outsiders, either as employees or as partners, or do they aim to be fully self-sufficient? What other jobs do they do - Their whole society won’t all be involved in one industry, what do their children, elderly, disabled people do with their time, and is it “work”?

If they are totally isolationist - How do they produce the things which need a complex supply chain or large facilities to make? How do they view artefacts from outsiders which come into their possession - Things which have been made with technology that they can’t produce for themselves? (This doesn’t need to be anything about quality of goods, only about complexity - A violin can be made by one artisan working with hand tools, wood, gut and shellac, but an accordion needs presses to make reeds, metal lathes to make screws, complex organic chemistry to make celluloid lacquer, vulcanised rubber, and a thousand other components)

How do they feel about outsiders? How do they buy and sell to outsiders? If it’s seen as taboo, do they do it anyway? Do they speak the same language as the nearby settled people (With what kind of fluency, or bilingualism, or dialect)? Do they intermarry, and how is that viewed when it happens? What stories does this culture tell about why they are a separate people to the nearby settled people? Are those stories true? Do they have a notional “homeland” and do they intend to go there? If so, is it a real place?

What gorjers think of as classic "Gipsy music" is a product of our real-world situation. Guitar from Spain, accordions from the Soviet Union (Which needed modern machining and factories to produce and make accessible to people who weren't rich- and which were in turn encouraged by Soviet authorities preferring the standardised and modern accordion to the folk traditions of the indigenous peoples within the bloc), brass from Western classical traditions, via Balkan folk music, influences from klezmer and jazz and bhangra and polka and our own music traditions (And we influence them too). What are your people's musical influences? Do they make their own instruments or buy them from settled people? How many musical traditions do they have, and what are they all for (Weddings, funerals, storytelling, campfire songs, entertainment...)? Do they have professional musicians, and if so, how do those musicians earn money? Are instrument makers professionals, or do they use improvised and easy-to-make instruments like willow whistles, spoons, washtubs, etc? (Of course the answer can be "A bit of both")

If you're thinking about jobs - How do they work? Are they employed by settled people (How do they feel about them?) Are they self employed but providing services/goods to the settled people? Are they mostly avoidant of settled people other than to buy things that they can't produce themselves? Are they totally isolationist? Is their work mostly subsistence, or do they create a surplus to sell to outsiders? How do they interact with other workers nearby? Who works, and how- Are there 'family businesses', apprentices, children with part time work? Is it considered 'a job' or just part of their way of life? How do they educate their children, and is that considered 'work'? How old are children when they are considered adult, and what markers confer adulthood? What is considered a rite of passage?

When they travel, how do they do it? Do they share ownership of beasts of burden, or each individually have "their horse"? Do families stick together or try to spread out? How does a child begin to live apart from their family, or start their own family? Are their dwellings something that they take with them, or do they find places to stay or build temporary shelter with disposable material? Who shares a dwelling and why? What do they do for privacy, and what do they think privacy is for?

If you're thinking about food - Do they hunt? Herd? Forage? Buy or trade from settled people? Do they travel between places where they've sown crops or managed wildstock in previous years, so that when they arrive there is food already seeded in the landscape? How do they feel about buying food from settled people, and is that common? If it's frowned upon - How much do people do it anyway? How do they preserve food for winter? How much food do they carry with them, compared to how much they plan to buy or forage at their destinations? How is food shared- Communal stores, personal ownership?

Why are they a "separate people" to the settled people? What is their creation myth? Why do they believe that they are nomadic and the other people are settled, and is it correct? Do they look different? Are there legal restrictions on them settling? Are there legal restrictions on them intermixing? Are there cultural reasons why they are a separate people? Where did those reasons come from? How long have they been travelling? How long do they think they've been travelling? Where did they come from? Do they travel mostly within one area and return to the same sites predictably, or are they going to move on again soon and never come back?

And then within that - What about the members of their society who are "unusual" in some way: How does their society treat disabled people? (are they considered disabled, do they have that distinction and how is it applied?) How does their society treat LGBT+ people? What happens to someone who doesn't get married and has no children? What happens to someone who 'leaves'? What happens to young widows and widowers? What happens if someone just 'can't fit in'? What happens to someone who is adopted or married in? What happens to people who are mixed race, and in a fantasy setting to people who are mixed species? What is taboo to them and what will they find shocking if they leave? What is society's attitude to 'difference' of various kinds?

Basically, if you build your nomads from the ground-up, rather than starting from the idea of "I want Gypsies/Buryats/Berbers/Minceiri but with the numbers filed off and not offensive" you can end up with a rich, unique nomadic culture who make sense in your world and don't end up making a rod for the back of real-world cultures.

[swordgrace]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐑 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒.

༆ jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader.

SYNOPSIS: as lady-in-waiting to rhaenyra targaryen, you find that her eldest son, jacaerys, is the only true friend and comfort you have amidst a brewing war that threatens to tear the realm apart.

note: jacaerys is nineteen, reader is eighteen.

༆ 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄.

༆ 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄.

{ FORMAT: one shot — requested.

{ WORD COUNT: 11.5K (this is a long one, not sorry!)

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), friends to lovers, inexperience from both reader & jace, loss of virginity (mutual), first time sexual experiences, sexual tension, p in v sex (unprotected), missionary position, lots of kissing and sweeter antics, slight risk of getting caught, oral sex (fem!receiving), handjob, fingering, hair pulling kink, brief overstimulation, tiddy sucking, this whole thing is soft & sweet smut, nothing disgusting here, jacaerys is the epitome of a perfect lover :))

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: I am lowkey transitioning into becoming a Jace girl, I absolutely love him and I’m really enjoying where his character is going! This was a request from an anon user who wanted something freeform! I hope you all enjoy it, thanks so much for all of the recent love & support for my work! It makes me so happy! ❤️

𝐒𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐏𝐄𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐊𝐒, harkened in from the gentle roll of the tides. Saltwater and dampened rock filled your nostrils, aided by the fluttering breeze as it danced across the obsidian cliffs of Dragonstone.

The castle stood the testament of time, a monolith to the rule of the Targaryens. It loomed overhead, less frightening in the lighter hours, blanketed by glittering rays of sunlight. A cloudless day — good for sailing, you thought, as vessels ushered in goods to the shoddy harbor below.

Beneath the vibrancy of a cloudless sky, you could see the shadow of a dragon soaring overhead — the Princess Rhaenys, from the horned shape above. You cupped your hand around your eyes, squinting to see, constantly mesmerized by such creatures.

In your fantastical dreams, you flew upon the back of a dragon, letting the wind scrape across your visage, feeling the weight of something so powerful beneath you. Of course, you were neither Targaryen nor Velaryon — possessing a dragon wouldn’t be in the cards for you, and perhaps that was a good thing.

As much as you enjoyed the beauty of Dragonstone, you much preferred the outdoors. The weather was splendid, and you took small victories wherever possible. With war on the horizon between your Queen Rhaenyra and her usurper brother, any chance at happiness was worth chasing after and holding onto, while you could.

House Celtigar had bent the knee to Rhaenyra, and your father sat at her council. You were made to be a lady-in-waiting, much your initial disdain. The station you held would’ve been considered a great honor to most young women, but you were inclined to be out in the ocean or on the back of a horse.

Now, you found enjoyment in it, wherever you could.

Oceanic air filled your lungs in a singular inhale, tinged with a saltwater sting. You stood near one of the many stone terraces lining the lengthy walkway to the castle’s entrance, accompanied by Joffrey. The boy had become your greatest joy amidst the brewing chaos, and you were rather grateful for it.

“Would you like to see the ocean, little Prince?” You held the boy’s hand, stooping down to wrap your arms beneath him, standing him up along the cobbled bannister. Joffrey’s laughter could brighten a whole room, and it did — it certainly lifted your spirits.

“When will I be able to ride a dragon?” He questioned, pointing towards the shape of Meleys in the sky. Joffrey was rather inquisitive — a sharp mind, one that would become a great leader someday.

You were unsure of how to answer such a question. Tyraxes was young and still small, just like Joffrey. “Whenever you grow up,” You hummed, a smile playing at either corner of your mouth. “You must be as tall as your brother, first.”

Joffrey toyed with the wooden dragon clutched between his hands, gaze falling toward the ground. “Luke wasn’t much taller.” He mumbled, and it nearly crushed your heart completely to hear the confusion and despair in a child’s voice.

Youth knew more than most, and in the mind of a child, something heinous could appear innocent, or something tragic was beyond their comprehension. Joffrey knew that Luke was gone — he wasn’t coming back. Silence drifted between the both of you, and you found it difficult to change the subject from Lucerys to something lighthearted.

“I miss him.” Joffrey’s sweet voice rang out like the pealing of bells, crystal-clear and downtrodden. You turned him around within your grasp, keeping your hands slotted underneath his arms to ground him. His eyes swam with unshed tears, prompting you to bring him into your embrace.

“It’s alright, my Prince. He’s still here,” You whispered, hugging the boy as tightly as you could. It was enough to rip at your heartstrings, tear you asunder as melancholy began to eat you alive. The fate of Lucerys was a tragic one — unfair and unwarranted, and now, a catalyst for destruction between kin. “We will remember him.”

From afar, Jacaerys observed you and his brother, standing along the ramparts with a palm atop the pommel of his shortsword. The emotional turmoil he continued to feel in regards to Lucerys happened to swell the moment he saw Joffrey clinging onto you — and he knew.

Wisps of a tempered breeze stirred his curled tresses, drifting across his regalia as it caught against his cloak. After the death of his brother, he had come out to the ramparts nearly every night, to sob and to curse the world, to pray to any God that would listen — return Lucerys, bring him home. He had lost count, and in turn, lost a bit of faith.

Remaining optimistic in the face of unavoidable danger was a difficult thing — fear had gripped him once, but no longer. He knew that the only time a man could be brave was in situations like these, where terror stared him in the face and dared him to submit.

Many still referred to him as a mere boy, with little experience and no real understanding of the world and its cruelty. Jacaerys had shed the raiment of boyhood the night he flew blindly into the darkness in the name of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen.

With the man born, he knew that whatever would come next, he was prepared to face such challenges head-on. Brazenness was not in his nature, but he had learned to adopt stoicism when it mattered most. It was easy to shed the facade around his family, and around you.

His friendship with you was a calm within the storm, a lull in the tempestuous hurricane you were all trapped within. You now had as much stake in this game as he did — your father served on Rhaenyra’s council with Celtigar bannerman pledging to fight in the war to come, and you served as his mother’s lady-in-waiting.

Your blossoming bond was a great comfort, and the tender way in which you cared for Joffrey was a wonderful thing. You had a soft heart — a good heart, and that was something rare to come by. The two of you were both of a similar feather, and the admiration he held for you only seemed to grow stronger each day.

The word friendship often tormented him, on days where you wore beautiful gowns and stood beside his mother, or whenever you smiled. It tormented him when you held Joffrey within your arms and protected him just as fiercely as Rhaenyra would.

Honor demanded that he simply remain just that — a friend, but Jacaerys found himself smitten with you in a way that transcended propriety. To cross that line, especially with you, invited the disdain of his mother and the ire of your father, amongst other things.

Betrothal would be upon him soon enough, likely with a young maiden from the Vale or the Reach to secure an alliance, but it left a sour taste within his mouth. He had little desire to be with anyone else when you were right there.

Jacaerys steeled himself, abandoning his whimsical line of thinking in regards to you. It was a fool’s errand, and he couldn’t afford to be a fool. He stepped closer, the crunch of stone resonating underneath his boots as he approached you and Joffrey.

“My Lady,” Jacaerys’s tone was amiable, like the comforting lick of a warm hearth. His gaze flickered toward Joffrey, bemused with his brother’s antics as you balanced him along the bannister. “What are you doing up there?” He asked, playful in the presence of his little brother.

“Flying,” Joffrey’s head lifted from your shoulder, eyes sparkling with mischief. You happened to carry him in such a way that he called it flying — and he was asking you to do it again. “Flying!”

With a giggle, you picked the boy up, swinging him up enough to let him get some air. His melancholy turned to jovial laughter as you soared him over to Jacaerys, who was more than happy to pick him up. Joffrey clung to Jace, hugging his brother with all of his strength.

“You are getting too big to fly,” Jace mused, holding Joffrey in one arm as he motioned for you to accompany him. His tousled curls and amicable smile sent your heart fluttering as it had many times before. It wasn’t subtle, your liking of Jacaerys, but you understood the nature of your affections. “Big enough for Tyraxes, soon.”

Jacaerys was perfect, with all of the hallmarks of what a true King should be. He was gentle and eloquent, honed with a blade, learned — and above all, he was kind. The rage that plagued him now was justified, and it pained you to see him become coiled with anger, but you understood why.

As Joffrey regaled the two of you with tales of childlike wonder, soaring his toy dragon around Jace’s head, Jacaerys seemed inclined to converse with you regardless. “I always know where to look, whenever I need to see you.” He mused, walking alongside you as you made your way up the ramparts.

“Is that so?” You chuckled, head canting to one side. “What did you need to see me for, your Grace?” It was a force of habit — he was the heir to the Iron Throne, after all. Jacaerys regarded you with a brief laugh, knowing that formalities were often abandoned whenever the two of you were together.

“Do I need a reason?” Jacaerys mused, voice light and inviting. The crash of the tide upon the beach provided a rather serene ambience, accompanied by the calling of gulls as they circled the bay.

You shook your head, skirts gathered in one hand as you narrowly avoided an upturned plate of stone. “Of course not,” You hesitated, gaze sparkling as your nose wrinkled in mild amusement. “Jacaerys.” You ensured to exaggerate his name, allowing for your conversation to become personal.

At the end of the ramparts, a flock of crimson-clad handmaidens awaited your return. It was likely that they were waiting for you to hand Joffrey over, much to your dismay. The black-headed boy looked to you as you neared the end of your walk.

“I don’t want to go,” He protested, reaching for you as you stepped forward, taking a hold of his hand. “When can we fly again?” Joffrey asked, lower lip jutting out in a rather innocuous pout. He leaned forward, partially out of Jace’s grasp to give you a hug.

“Tomorrow, my Prince. I will let you fly as much as you’d like.” You assured him, reciprocating his hug with one of your own, with all of the warmth one could muster. It was motherly in-nature, and you watched as Jacaerys planted him onto solid ground.

Joffrey took the outstretched hand of a handmaiden, glancing back at you and Jacaerys before they disappeared behind the castle’s massive gates. It always hurt you to leave him, but you knew that tomorrow would come swiftly. A begrudging sigh escaped you before you looked at Jacaerys, countenance somber.

Jace knew what you were about to say — something about Lucerys. The gaping wound left within his heart was barely healed, still oozing with pain, but he was making every effort to mend it. You helped — your resolute reassurance and shoulder to lean on, but sometimes, it wasn’t enough.

Instead, you reached for Jace’s forearm, giving it a brief squeeze of comfort. Whatever sentiments he held, you seemed to echo it, leaving it all unspoken. You and Jacaerys had already spoken about it all at-length — sometimes, he had little desire to tear himself open again.

His head hung low, heap of dark curls billowing in the wind. Jacaerys’s jaw tightened for a brief moment, and he imagined plunging his sword into Aemond Targaryen’s other eye — and then it passed, just as quickly as it had appeared.

A forlorn silence settled between the both of you, one that was born out of mutual understanding and empathy. Jace went quiet often, and you were content to sit in it for as long as he pleased. Instead, you stepped toward the bannister, palms planting themselves atop the stone as you gazed out toward the land surrounding Dragonstone.

“You are good with him,” Jacaerys broke the silence, deliberately stepping towards you as he stood by your side. Joffrey and his half-brothers, Aegon and Viserys, were all he had left. He would die for them if he had to. “He talks about you often.”

An exuberant smile crept onto your features, one of a sweet fondness in regards to Joffrey. “He is a sweet boy — very sharp-witted, though. I would imagine he will grow to be very wise.” You replied, idly tracing your fingers around some of the rocks socketed into the bannister.

“I remember the day he was born,” Jacaerys recalled, remembering the day that his mother, pale skin glistening with sweat, had wobbled into the drawing room, a newborn Joffrey in her arms. “It was a beautiful day, and Ser Harwin was there, and Ser Laenor …” He trailed off, recalling the way that Lucerys had begged to hold his younger brother.

The topic of both Laenor and Harwin were bitter ones — both men playing the role of father. Jacaerys loved them both, as any son would. Another gust of saltwater mist brushed along the ramparts, dusting your cheeks with wisps of moist air.

Wordlessly, you reached for Jace’s arm, looping yours around him as you let him lean against you for support. As much as Jacaerys insisted that he would recover and move on, you ensured him that grieving took time — it came in many shapes and forms.

Jace’s smile was wistful and threadbare, made sorrowful by memories of Lucerys. He didn’t want to sully the moment with his melancholy, holding his head high as he glanced toward you. You were not looking, but it allowed him a moment of appreciation and admiration.

Your beauty was unparalleled, your features delicate and smile like the warmth of a summer sunshine. The way in which you carried yourself was of a kindly disposition, made to be nurturing and helpful instead of imposing. Admittedly, you took his breath away — the feeling was a constant one.

Sunlight sparkled across your countenance, gaze soothing and full of empathy. The way in which you grasped his arm, kept yourself tucked away within his side, it invoked feelings of protectiveness — and newfound affection.

A dragon’s shrill cry reverberated throughout the skies, prompting Jacaerys to immediately look ahead. It was the familiar shriek of Vermax, his bonded dragon, who had grown exponentially. He was larger than Moondancer, with olive-colored scales and orange fins, eyes the color of a burnished gold.

“Māzigon, Vermax!” Jacaerys called, gaining the attention of his dragon as it began to approach, causing your heart to gallop within your chest. He looked at you with a hint of amusement, head canting to one side. “Would you like to see him?” Jace inquired, moving along the wall.

As majestic as dragons were, the wonder within your eyes had quickly shifted to wariness as it landed along the ramparts, rocks scraping underneath its talons. Vermax was much larger when in close proximity than he was flying overhead. “He is wonderful, Jace. Though, it is best if I keep my distance. He might not like me.”

Jacaerys laughed, amber-brown eyes sparkling with mirth. “Might not like you?” He mused, knowing that such a thought was outlandish. If he liked you, then Vermax most certainly would. A dragon could always pick apart friend from foe, and you were as far from an enemy as one could be.

“Yes, what — Jacaerys, that is a perfectly reasonable thing to say,” You countered, flustered by Jace’s reaction to your skepticism. His smile was cheery and heartfelt as he stared at you, and then offered his hand. “I do not think that this is a good idea.” A soft utterance emerged from under your breath.

“Trust me.” His tone softened exponentially, shifting from playful to gentle, reassuring. You hesitated before taking a hold of his hand, and Jacaerys nearly brushed his thumb across your knuckles out of sheer instinct. Whatever thoughts he had, he pushed them to the far recesses of his mind.

You trusted Jacaerys more than most, prompting you to nod as he ushered you closer to Vermax. His grasp was tender, as to not frighten you, which only made your heart flutter with affection. The dragon bristled and made a series of noises, some more serpentine than others.

Vermax lowered his head, pushing closer towards his rider as the dragon bowed to Jacaerys. You were close enough to feel the waves of heat wafting from his breath, close enough to outstretch your arm and feel his scales beneath your palm.

The scent of brimstone and dragonscale lingered upon Vermax, like a crackling fire and smoke. You watched with bated breath as Jace’s palm moved to Vermax’s snout, digits tracing along the olive-hued scales, and down toward his jaw. “Sagon iēdrosa,” Jace murmured, stepping closer to his dragon. “Sȳz.”

High Valyrian was an exquisite language, a beautiful symphony from an ancient era. Jacaerys had become proficient in such a tongue, and the way he spoke it had you mesmerized. With a gentle smile, he still held your hand, gesturing toward Vermax.

“What are you saying to him?” You inquired, losing some of your fear. It gradually waned the closer Jacaerys had inched you toward the dragon, who showed no ill will towards you at all. Instead, Vermax’s burnished hues glimmered with intrigue — you were a familiar scent, emblazoned upon Jace, but not a familiar face.

“I told him to be still for you,” Jacaerys replied, fingers flexing around your own as he carefully guided you toward Vermax’s neck, where the scales began to flare and thicken. Olive turned to emerald in some places, verdant shades clashing together. “Place your hand here.”

Your breath hitched within your throat as Jace became in close proximity to you, closer than he’d been before. His grasp was a tender one, placing your palm atop the dragon’s throat. Warmth crept along the length of your spine, filling your belly with an eruption of butterflies.

You made the mistake of glancing at Jacaerys for the briefest moment, able to spot the rosy flush of color within his visage and the gleam within his stare. As soon as you’d made contact, he happened to glance away, making a soft noise as it stirred within his throat.

Vermax chortled, the dragon’s attention fixated upon you as you brushed your fingers across his scales. Jace had dropped your hand, realizing the sliver of space between you both as he stepped aside, content to observe you with his dragon.

It was your enchanting laughter that lifted his spirits, the gentle way in which you stroked across Vermax’s neck and shoulder. “He is beautiful,” You hummed, countenance bright with a joyous radiance as you looked at Jacaerys once more. The gap between you had grown, much to your dismay. “How do you say that in High Valyrian?”

Jace hesitated, lips parting just slightly. His heart nearly skipped a beat when you smiled at him, expectant and awaiting his answer. He became so easily distracted in your presence, and it was somewhat vexing to behold. “Gevie,” He replied, briefly clearing his throat. “Gevie means beautiful, in High Valyrian.”

With a soft hum, you looked to Vermax, your grin toothy and amused. “Gevie, Vermax.” You spoke clearly, but the dragon did not seem to understand what you said — it wasn’t a command. Instead, he let out a series of reptilian noises, nostrils flaring with snort, almost like that of a horse.

Vermax’s lack of reaction made you frown, but Jacaerys appeared amused by it, at least. “Gevie isn’t a command,” He mused, head canting to one side. “Your High Valyrian needs improvement.” His tone was jocular, teasing — it made your heart stir within your chest.

“Fortunately, I have the perfect teacher standing before me.” You countered with a giggle, noticing the way in which a shade of pink settled into his features. Jacaerys was beautiful and handsome, but his flustered behavior only made him more perfect to you.

The dragon shook its head, seeking the embrace of his rider before he began to take flight. A massive gust of wind from the flap of his wings nearly knocked you down, causing you to crouch and grip the stone of the ramparts.

Jacaerys smiled, watching as Vermax ascended, taking to the skies above Dragonstone once more. You watched with a semblance of awe, slowly rising to your feet as the dragon became a mere specter amidst the cloudless sky. He did not stray too far, circling around with the likes of Moondancer and Syrax.

“Someday, I will take you flying with me,” Jace suggested, nose wrinkling slightly at your bewildered expression. “I would keep you safe.” He reassured you before words could emerge from your mouth, his chuckle amicable as he led you back toward the gates of Dragonstone.

“I trust you, but flying?” To see the world from such great heights sounded wonderful, but you feared the fall — and you feared the unknown of it all even more. “That might take more convincing than this did.” You mused, walking alongside him as the gates became closer.

A huff escaped him, hand dropping from the pommel of his shortsword to his side, a symbol of letting his guard down. A comfortable silence settled between the both of you, occasionally accompanied by a brief bout of laughter or tender smiles.

As the gates loomed over the both of you, Jacaerys hesitated, deliberating on what to say next. There were so many things he wanted to say to you — where did he begin? The nerves of first affection grabbed hold of him, but he remained resistant, wanting nothing more than to tell you how much you meant to him.

“Perhaps an exchange is in-order,” Jacaerys began, shifting his weight from one foot to the next. “You come flying with me, and I will teach you High Valyrian.” He mused, smothering his grin at your expression. You were clearly wary and unimpressed.

“Danger for something that I could learn in the comfort of a book? I think not, your Grace.” With a grin of your own, Jace happened to snicker, his visage invoking an unspoken challenge, albeit playful. “If I am ever feeling bold and spontaneous, I will inform you as soon as possible.”

Jacaerys hummed, head ducking for just a moment before he met your gaze again, doting and overflowing with a subtle warmth. “Thank you for this,” He began, tone heartfelt and genuine. “I would not know what to do if it weren’t for your company and comfort. I’ve found it difficult to remain jovial as of late, but it’s rather effortless in your presence.”

His genial compliments made your stomach turn with excitement, and you could soar away. Jacaerys would be an excellent ruler, should he take the Iron Throne — such grace, compassion, and gallantry were true hallmarks of what would make a good King. You felt the familiar, smitten flush dance along your skin.

“Of course, Jace — you never have to ask for it,” Your fingers twisted into the silk of your gown, an outlet for your growing nerves. “You’ve no idea how much your company means to me. We will get through this together, that much I know.” With a brief nod, you felt his stare grow in intensity.

Before he could bear his heart to you on a whim, the gates opened, revealing several Targaryen bannermen and Kingsguard. It was sudden and somewhat jarring, placing the two of you back within reality — in a realm on the brink of war.

“I should return to your mother, I fear I’ve neglected my duties enough today,” You murmured, offering Jace a kindly smile before dropping to curtsy. He seemed starstruck, as if caught within the depths of his own thoughts. “Good afternoon, your Grace.”

Formalities reappeared again, much to his disdain. He loved it when you called him Jace or Jacaerys, or your Grace whenever you teased him. To hear it used in the context of nobility made him feel distant, but he understood. You possessed a strong sense of propriety.

“My Lady.” Jace replied, watching as you took your leave to rejoin the other handmaidens and guardsmen. Jacaerys cursed himself for not making the most of the moment, but he knew that he could make his own opportunity, forge it if it never came about.

He intended to do just that.

𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐀𝐓 𝐃𝐔𝐒𝐊 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋, with braziers dancing across the obsidian interior. Stars sparkled above a clear night sky, dragons dancing above. It was almost like something from a fairytale or a painting, mesmerizing to behold as you gazed up at the scaling ceiling of your bedchambers.

Your quarters were small and homely, befitting of your status as lady-in-waiting. Rhaenyra had ensured that your lodgings and that of your father were enough — more than suitable, really. The feathered mattress you slept upon was made for royalty, you thought.

The constant flicker of candlelight provided a source of warmth as you rolled over within your bed, blankets hauled up beneath your chin. It was too early to fall asleep, too late to do anything of substance.

A knock at your door gave you pause, brows furrowing together as you retrieved your robe, lacing it around the sheer gossamer of your nightgown. Bare feet traveled across the cold stone, until you reached the metal hoop slotted atop mahogany.

With a pull, you opened the door, surprised to find Jacaerys, who had abandoned his traditional Targaryen regalia, hands occupied with a stack of various tomes and scrolls. His mop of dark curls framed his face, and even he seemed just as bewildered as you were.

“Jacaerys,” His nightly visits were rather uncommon — in fact, this was only the second time he’d come, the first following Lucerys’s passing. You swallowed the growing lump within your throat, stepping aside to allow him inside of your chambers. “Is everything alright?”

Jace placed the stack of books atop the table that sat amongst small lounge chairs, ensuring to clear his throat before he spoke. “Of course,” He replied, gesturing toward your newfound reading material. “I’ve brought you scripts to learn High Valyrian.”

You blinked, touched by such a thoughtful gesture. You smoothed your palms across your robe, stepping forward to inspect the books, many of which appeared ancient and weathered. “You didn’t have to,” You replied, head canting to one side. “Many of these seem important. Are you sure that no one will miss these?”

A brief chuckle escaped him before he shook his head. “The Maesters might, but they’ve read them a hundred times over, I’m certain of it. You will find more use.” He replied, retreating toward the threshold of your chambers. Jacaerys wanted to keep his visit brief — visiting a young woman’s quarters in the dead of night was not exactly an intelligent move.

“You’re leaving so soon?” Your inquiry held a twinge of disappointment, hoping that he would stay and converse with you, at the very least. “Jacaerys, I assure you that no one will admonish you if you stay for a few minutes longer.” The softness of your voice enticed him, and he very nearly confessed then and there.

The weight of growing sentiments felt as if they would swallow him whole if he did not speak them into fruition. With the threat of a looming war and the potential for oblivion, Jacaerys was unsure of what gave him pause. The fear of rejection, perhaps? That wasn’t it.

It took a moment for you to adjust, and when you did, you noted his own attire — a billowy tunic and dark trousers that happened to make him appear softer in the candlelight. The sharp black and crimson of his house’s colors made him intimidating and poised, but no longer.

You saw Jacaerys himself, doe-eyed and magnificent.

“I fear what will happen if I stay,” Jacaerys confessed, squaring himself with the door. If he continued to linger in your chambers without restraint or without additional eyes, he knew what would happen — he did not want to sully your honor. “I won’t.”

“Jacaerys,” You whispered, brows furrowing together to form a look of confusion and startlement. Out of concern, you stepped closer, abandoning the scripts of High Valyrian now scattered across your table. “What’s wrong? I don’t understand.”

The inner war he waged within seemed to reflect upon his countenance, as Jacaerys exhaled — it was laced with stress, a heaviness that you struggled to understand. He seemed flustered, not wanting to meet your amiable gaze. “It is best if I leave it alone.” He replied, taking a hold of your hands. “I would not tarnish your honor.”

That is what he meant.

Something boiled over inside of you, the butterflies and blossoming affection turning into a tidal wave that threatened to swallow you whole. As Jace held your hands, he seemed desperate to convey such a message — whatever he wanted, he could not have.

A brief exhale escaped you before you steeled yourself, thumbs brushing across his knuckles, over the veins of his hands. “You wouldn’t tarnish it,” You whispered, stomach churning with molten heat. “I know that you wouldn’t, Jace. I trust you the most.”

Jacaerys felt the stirring within his chest, the first inkling of arousal settling into his very bones. It was somewhat foreign — a new feeling, but exciting and exhilarating. “I would never hurt you,” He insisted, and you believed him wholeheartedly. “What I feel for you, I do not wish to feel this way with anyone else.”

If you could’ve collapsed then and there, you would’ve — you thought it would happen, with the way your knees rattled together beneath your nightgown. The beating of your heart accelerated into a violent crescendo, and then you felt the rush — the love you had for him, desire, admiration, neediness.

A tenuous silence drifted between you both, the tension thick enough to be sliced with a blade. Jacaerys had inched closer without thinking, able to peer down into your eyes, swirling with affection and bewilderment. “If I told you I felt the same?” Your voice barely rose above a whisper.

Deliberately, Jacaerys released one of your hands, allowing his palm to fully envelop your face, the pad of his thumb caressing your cheekbone. “I would never difile your virtue, or take it for granted. You must tell me if this is something you want.” He insisted, jaw tightening as he anxiously awaited your answer.

You knew that he wouldn’t — Jacaerys Velaryon was the most honorable man you knew, one that would never lay a finger upon you unless you consented. You couldn’t imagine a return to friendship if you happened to reject him — you didn’t want to reject him, either.

“I do,” A shudder ran down your spine, bringing a wave of thrill and anticipation with it. “I want this — and I want you, Jacaerys, if you’ll have me.” Part of you became nervous, knowing that you had never bedded a man before, but you pushed the thought aside.

“A hundred times over.” Jace uttered, dipping down to press his lips against yours. The kiss was incredibly sweet and delicate, something brief to test the waters as the two of you began to explore uncharted territory. Your hands reached for his chest, flat atop his sternum.

Allowing the kiss to linger, you tilted your head just slightly, enough to permit a sensual progression. He kissed you so sweetly, treated you as if you were precious, something to be worshiped. When he inevitably pulled away, you felt a twinge of nervousness.

“I’ve never done anything like this before,” Your confession was a strenuous one, and you hoped that he wouldn’t be disappointed by your lack of experience. Most men already had a plethora by the time betrothals and first love emerged. “Is that alright?”

“Of course,” Jacaerys reassured you with a gentle squeeze, brows furrowing together with insistence. He hesitated, somewhat sheepish to admit the very same, but he knew you wouldn’t admonish him for it. “I haven’t either, if that’s alright.” He mused, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile.

A sweet bout of laughter escaped you before you nodded several times over, unable to keep from withholding your happiness. “I suppose that this will be quite the learning experience.” You felt his thumb stroke along your jaw, his lips molding themselves to yours in another kiss.

Passion and tension began to mount, a continuous climb of affection, prepared to turn into something fiery. Jacaerys worried that he would disappoint you, or perhaps feel clumsy and awkward, but those were mere insecurities — he knew that you wouldn’t hold it against him.

One of his hands dropped, finding the pliant curve of your hip as he sank his digits into you, able to haul you closer, until there was no space left between the two of you. Kissing felt effortless with Jace, despite your inexperience — he was gentle and deliberate, ensuring that he took his time with you above all else.

Your fingers wandered from his chest to his broad shoulders, finding the curls of hair at the nape of his neck. Jacaerys exhaled, a shiver rolling down his spine as you began to gently tug at his tresses. He canted his head slightly, enough to deepen the kiss and hold you close.

It was Jace who slowly broke the kiss, but just enough to speak, warm breath fanning across your face. “May I take you to bed?” He murmured, tracing across the silky plane of your jaw. His excitement began to grow, heart hammering within his chest.

In such close quarters to one another, you noticed the faint dusting of freckles along the bridge of his nose, spreading just underneath his eyes. You pressed a kiss against the corner of his mouth. “You may.” Eagerness replaced any nervousness you were experiencing, then and there.

Jacaerys found your hand, twining his digits with your own as the two of you inched toward your bed. It was plush, lined with furs and enough blankets to warm the Seven Kingdoms. He stood at the precipice of a cliff, preparing to dive headfirst — and it felt incredible.

He watched with bated breath, rapturous and enamored as your digits settled along the many ties of your outer robes. You began the sluggish process of untethering each one until the garment loosened, enough for you to shrug it aside and drape it over the chest at the foot of your bed.

Even with the veil of sheer, silky fabric, Jacaerys quietly admired your physique, shapely and beautiful in every way imaginable. “You are perfect,” Jace uttered, hands coming to settle around your hips, searching for any sign of hesitation on your end. “Beautiful.” He exhaled, feeling you coax him in for another kiss.

Through the slip of silk and gossamer, Jacaerys deftly felt his way along your body, taking his time savoring you. Every curve and dip, every little detail he committed to memory, lost within a sea of you. Your kiss became passionate, and he was more than happy to reciprocate, the intensity burning between you both.

Jace felt your fingers tease the hem of his tunic, enough to elicit a subtle gasp from him. The sensation of your flesh against his caused goosebumps to spread from where your digits brushed against his waist. He released you for a moment, long enough for him to assist you in removing his nightshirt.

A pang of admiration struck at your stomach, breath hitching within your throat. He was pretty — well-muscled for a young man, with sunkissed skin, smatterings of freckles along his shoulders. Jacaerys felt your lips press against the hollow of his throat, warmth fanning out from the simple contact.

“I want to take care of you, if you’ll let me.” Jace murmured, insistent on pleasuring you above all else. He knew very little of what ensued between a woman and a man within the confines of their bedchambers outside of the simple act itself, but it was easy to imagine.

Your lips parted, heat sinking into your bones as you reached for his curled tresses, digits slipping through his soft, dark locks. “Yes”, Your voice was barely above a whisper as you coaxed him in for another kiss, one charged with arousal and desire. “I want you, Jace.”

The heady, wanton way in which you spoke his name caused him to shiver, bare chest pressed snugly against your own. Even the veil of silken fabric could not hide your supple frame from him, the peaks of your breasts soft and pliant.

His kiss was so gentle — it was charged with lust despite its tame nature, not that you minded. You felt his hands fall to your hips, melding into your curves before he began to gather the fabric within his hands. Jacaerys looked to you before continuing, and you gave him a nod to signal your approval.

Silky gossamer slowly crawled up the length of your legs as Jace gathered your gown, sliding it upward. You couldn’t fight against the onslaught of molten heat that churned violently within your stomach, shamelessly pooling between your legs.

Jacaerys hesitated, likely thinking of what to do next. He had been educated on what consummation was, the act of making an heir — but there was more to it, more of you to explore. Curiosity consumed him as he placed his palm atop the bare skin of your thigh, using the other to ease you down onto your bed.

He sat beside you, leg to leg as he continued to push your nightgown up toward your hips, skirts gathering around the middle of your thighs. “May I?” Jace’s voice seemed to grow husky with arousal, desire burning its way through his veins.

Instead, you gingerly took a hold of his hand, guiding it underneath your gown as you parted your legs enough to allow him unhindered access. He caressed you wherever he could, shuddering when you held the trail of your nightgown in one hand to push it up around your hips.

You nearly squeaked when his palm brushed along your inner thigh, lips parting with a sharp exhale. Jace moved closer, as close as he could as his mouth graced your neck, digits inching toward the slick heat between your legs. When he found it, you let out a simpering whine, reaching for his forearm.

A hushed moan escaped you as two digits trailed across your cunt, exploratory and feather-light. Your hips canted forward into the sensation, desiring more — and Jace obliged, pushing both fingers inward until they slipped past your folds.

“Jace,” You whispered, eyes fluttering shut as he continued to pepper strings of sweet kisses along your neck, gown sagging enough to let him kiss your shoulder. “Do not stop, please.” That breathy plea exuded some power over him, and he was enthralled, prepared to do whatever you asked of him.

“Is that alright?” Jacaerys asked, digits becoming a touch more vigorous as he stroked at your slit, surprised at how wet you were. If it were a common thing, he would know what to expect in the future. His thumb grazed your clit, and you gasped.

With a soft hum of approval, you nodded, shifting your legs apart just a little more. “Y—Yes,” Absentmindedly, your fingers slipped from the taut muscle of his forearm to his hand, the one wedged underneath your gown. “I — Like this.” You instructed him to touch you how you had touched yourself.

Jacaerys watched through a half-lidded stare, beyond entranced with you. You were beautiful — so painfully ethereal that it made him want to kneel before you, a goddess made to be worshiped. You adjusted his fingers, ensuring that his thumb pressed against your clit with continuous pressure.

Despite his nonexistent experience, he was doing wonders for you — he was attentive and willing to learn your body as you saw fit. He was so handsome, lips curling into an affectionate smile before he kissed your jaw, digits continuing from where they’d left off.

Your palm fell across his thigh, nails beginning to dig themselves into the muscle there as he touched your clit, digits tracing around the rest of your cunt. The candlelight highlighted his features in such perfect detail, the illumination slight.

Reverence seeped into each action, every stroke of his fingers evoking a string of whimpers from you. He was passionate and careful, willing to learn your body better than you. He continued to caress your clit, the sensation sending jolts of electricity throughout your body.

His name became your prayer, devolving into desperate moans and whispered pleas as you rocked your hips into the sensation of his hand. “Jacaerys,” You sighed with passion, feeling the stirring within your stomach. Arousal consumed every part of you, just as it did him. “Jace.”

The dark-haired Prince let out a soft groan into the hollow of your throat, wanting you more than anything, and the hand you had perched atop his thigh did little to ease the fever. He kissed your neck again, scarlet-faced and beyond eager, whispering sweet nothings in High Valyrian against your skin.

Excitement and the heat of the moment seemed to get to you, as you used one hand to sloppily unlace the leather ties of his trousers. You wanted to touch him too, let him feel exactly how you felt — how he made you feel.

Jace shivered, not objecting, but he wanted to focus on you above all else. “What about you?” He asked, feeling his cock twitch with want. The ache he had for you was almost painful, threatening to tear him apart if he couldn’t find relief.

“Together,” You suggested, turning enough to crawl into his lap, much to his delight. Jacaerys held you steady, lips clamoring together in a messy flurry of tongue and adoration. It was the anticipation of youth — the desire and sentiments overrode everything else, made duty disappear. “You are perfect.”

His brief smile made all of your worry dissipate, fading into mere background noise. Your hands returned to the leather ties of his breeches once more, sluggishly loosening them. Jace steeled himself, a fire burning within his belly as you reached down.

A low, satisfied groan tore past his lips when your hand gently wrapped around his cock, searching his visage for any sign of discomfort. There was none — only desire, lust festering within his gaze. He resumed touching you, digits circling your clit once more.

Within your delicate grasp, his length hardened, your palm finding a careful rhythm. Your hips twitched, rolling into the sensation of his hand. It was heavenly — the way in which he handled you was gallant and gentle. Arousal continued to gather between your thighs, a new and sticky feeling.

Intermingled gasps and groans filled the air, the both of you clinging to one another. Jacaerys leaned forward, mouth seeking yours, the kiss hot and gentle. Between your careful, uncertain strokes along his length and his digits teasing your cunt, the both of you were lost within the throes of passion.

He slipped his other hand underneath your nightgown, with enough leverage to remove it, if he so desired. Jacaerys broke the kiss long enough to ask, chest heaving with heavier breaths. “May I?” He whispered, voice husky and hoarse with lust.

You nodded, maneuvering your arms over your head as your nightgown slipped to the floor, leaving you bare before Jacaerys. The saltwater breeze which fluttered through your quarters left you shivering, both from the brief chill and anticipation.

The awestruck way in which he stared at you left you hot, body feverish beneath his tempered gaze. He kissed your collarbone, eyes warm and affectionate. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” He stated, nearly breathless. His heart was yours — every fiber of his being devoted itself to you.

Smitten beneath his sweetly-spoken compliments, you trailed your fingers throughout his soft curls. The other slyly descended to reach for his cock again, but Jacaerys seemed to place your hand aside. You seemed confused, head canting to one side. “Do you not like it?”

His bemused chuckle filled your chambers, amiable and as warm as a cozy hearth. “Of course I like it,” Jacaerys murmured, kissing along your jaw and neck, holding you as close as he could. “I’d like to focus on you. There’s something that I wanted to try, if you’ll allow it.”

Surprised, you seemed open to whatever he wanted to try. “Anything you want, you will have. It’s yours.” You expected him to put you on your knees or turn you on your stomach. Instead, he coaxed you down onto your back, getting you to lay down as he crawled between your parted legs.

His mouth pressed a string of affectionate kisses along your shoulder and collarbone, beginning to dip lower toward the perky swell of your breasts. You squirmed slightly, uncertain of where this would lead to. You trusted Jace to follow his own instinct.

Your back arched when his mouth graced your breast, pressing kisses all around the pliant flesh. A moan escaped you, signaling your pleasure as he wrapped his lips around one of your nipples, gingerly suckling on the pebbled bud.

“Jace,” You squeaked, one hand flying to his mountain of dark curls, pushing your fingers through. He touched you in a way that evoked a sense of yearning, as if you were the only woman in the realm. His hand kneaded into your chest, a shiver coursing through him whenever you moaned his name. “Please.”

Heat simmered through him, a wave of desire that only seemed to grow in intensity, demanding to be extinguished. Your flesh tasted saccharine upon his tongue, but there was something else he wanted to taste. As he kissed your chest, he released his lips from your breast, continuing his descent.

He kissed you everywhere, reverence seeping into each brush of his mouth as he traversed your body. Jacaerys pressed his lips against your stomach, and then to your hips, palms sliding against your thighs.

A sharp exhale escaped you as he peppered a string of kisses along the inside of your thigh, showering you in little pecks of affection before he flattened himself entirely. You swallowed the lump within your throat; the sight of Jace’s face wedged in between your legs made you shiver, arousal following suit.

Everything was gentle, even the way in which his veined hands gripped the pliant flesh of your thighs to let them rest against his shoulders. He hesitated, allowing you a moment to adjust and steel yourself before he dipped forward, tongue raking hot embers across your cunt.

The singular, experimental stroke of his tongue caused you to shiver, hands curling into fists. If you could melt away into your furs, you would’ve, feeling his mouth press kisses against your core. “Jace,” You whined, attempting to hold still and cease your squirming. “Don’t stop.”

It was all the encouragement he truly needed, digits soothingly caressing along your thighs as he began to lap at your cunt, adopting a pace that was a little less sluggish. He nearly groaned when he felt your hand grasp at his curled tresses, sinking in toward the base of his skull.

In the nighttime gloom of Dragonstone, you found warmth and comfort in one another — affections intensified, and whatever bond you had before was now redefined entirely. Jacaerys loved you, he had never been more sure of himself until now, dutifully bringing about your pleasure.

A myriad of soft whimpers and whines escaped you, hand gingerly tugging on Jace’s hair as he buried his mouth in the apex of your thighs. His tongue vigorously lapped and traced over your core, savoring your taste, committing it to memory. Bathed in moonlight, Jace appeared more ethereal than ever, the muscles flexing within his back.

With slow, eager laps of his tongue, Jacaerys made sure to savor you, letting it flick across your clit. The short, dizzying gasp that tore past your mouth spurred him on, as he pressed another string of kisses against your slit. The continued sensation of your digits carding through his curls made him sigh with elation.

He brought you closer, heart leaping into his throat when you began to writhe beneath him, hips tilting forward into each stroke of his mouth. “You’re perfect,” Jacaerys whispered, ensuring that you could hear it. Soft utterances of High Valyrian were etched into the flesh of your thigh. “Perfect.”

Blossoming beneath his sweet compliments, your fingers curled against his scalp, unable to lay still as Jace resumed his previous ministrations. The warmth of his tongue left you with a blistering want, stomach churning with a wave of arousal.

As he lapped at your clit again, you whimpered, moaning his name as if to keep his attention there. Jacaerys’s tender expression also bore a great deal of concentration, dark eyes flickering toward you. “There?” He uttered, hoping that you would guide him to where he needed to be.

Your head bobbed up and down against the furs, flesh beginning to glisten with the first inklings of perspiration. Everything felt feverishly hot, as if you would be turned to ash where you sat. Jacaerys was attentive and loving, following your breathy plea as he pursed his lips around the pearl of your cunt.

Jace shivered at the sounds you made, enticed by each whimper and moan, every twitch of your body. He suckled on the sensitive bundle of nerves, alternating between that and greedy, vigorous laps of his tongue. He let himself be lost within bliss, arousal mounting from pleasuring you.

You reached for his hand, fingers interlocking atop the swell of your hip as he continued to lap at your aching core. He squeezed your hand as a sign of reassurance, buried deep within your sweet cunt, something that he wanted to have again and again.

He was at your mercy, the heir to the Iron Throne, the Prince of Dragonstone — and you hadn’t the slightest clue. Jace’s brow creased in concentration as he focused on what spots made you squirm the most, continuing to dutifully lap at your clit until your knees trembled.

“Jace,” A needy moan left you, reverberating within the obsidian confines of your chambers. Arousal rushed through you, molten heat oozing from between your thighs, a nectar as sweet as honey. “I—I think I’m close.” You groaned, unsure if it was just the throes of ecstasy or reality.

Nevertheless, you were on the verge of reaching your peak, and you didn’t want him to stop. Instead, you urged his head forward, fingers laced within his dark curls, right at the nape of his neck. Jacaerys groaned in delight, thoroughly enjoying the way you continued to coax him inward — he happily devoured every drop.

With another barrage of his tongue assaulting your cunt, you whimpered, turning malleable within Jace’s hands. He knew that you were on the verge, and so he pursed his lips around your clit once more, and that was more than enough.

His name emerged from your lips like a reverent prayer, the only name that you knew in that moment. Your release was hot, like a rush of fire that didn’t simmer immediately. The residual sensation lingered, and Jace helped you through it.

Your thighs twitched, absentmindedly attempting to clench together, but Jace held you apart, soothing you with kisses along your thighs. The blissful, contented expression that soon followed was a beautiful one — Jace was shocked to know that he could do that to you, bring you to ruin.

His gallant smile gave you pause as you studied the rosy flush within his features, the glistening sheen of your arousal upon his lips. Jacaerys seemed entirely unphased, basking in your aftermath all the same, his curls tousled and disheveled.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Your tone was sheepish, realizing how much you’d tugged at his hair. If it were you, a tender-headed maiden, you would’ve been batting his hand away. Jace’s bemused chuckle caused you to duck your head.

Jace disarmed you with a charming, doting smile and a simple look of those earthen-brown eyes of his, and shook his head. “You could never hurt me,” He replied, his attempt at gentle flirtation. “I worry more for you.” His confession was soft-spoken.

The act of consummation was not intended to be a comfortable one — for a woman, at least. Jacaerys knew to broach this with care, to make sure that you were well enough before all else. He inched forward from between your thighs, resting his head atop your stomach.

He allowed you a moment of composure, feeling your digits trace the lines of his countenance, stroke at his tresses. Jace pressed a string of kisses all around your body, wherever his lips could reach. The moment was incredibly tender, lingering with the tension of a blossoming ardor.

Through the comfortable haze of silence, you cleared your throat, staring down at Jacaerys with what only could be described at a look of complete and utter adoration. He was so kind, so noble and gentle, yet with the fervor of the dragon’s blood, a desire to do good. You felt so fortunate, even moreso when he smiled at you, pressing a kiss to your hip.

“I want you, Jacaerys,” You whispered, watching as Jace began to sit up, letting your legs trap him on either side. “More than I’ve ever wanted anyone else.” It was the hitch within his throat that made you shiver, heart hammering beneath your breast as you began to confess your feelings — it was inevitable.

Jace reveled at the sight of you, naked and glimmering within the moonlit dusk, candlelight bathing your physique in shades of flickering orange. His descent was slow as he covered you with his body, lips parting to allow a shaky exhale before he kissed your brow. “You have my heart,” He uttered, forehead resting against yours. “Everything I am, is yours.”

Your palms moved to cup either side of his face, thumbs caressing along his cheekbones before you smiled, kissing the corner of his mouth. “I am yours.” You assured, your commitment resolute before the Gods — before Jacaerys Velaryon.

It was a poignant moment, one that seemed intermingled with the seriousness of your words, yet still tinged with the youthful excitement of a first love. He kissed you, slow and amorous, full of an unrestrained affection that no longer seemed weighed-down by unspoken sentiments.

“Are you certain that this is what you want?” Jace asked, his voice a soft caress through your haze of kisses. He would not fault you if you wanted to stop now — and he would if you wished it of him. As much as he desired you, he valued your virtue above his own.

“Yes,” You replied, your palms gliding from his soft visage to the taut muscle of his shoulders, lacing your fingers around the back of his neck. “Are you certain, too? I worry that you might regret lying with me.”

Jacaerys shook his head, brows furrowing together to reflect a semblance of disbelief. He reached down to caress your cheek, making sure that you understood every word. “Nothing in the world would ever make me regret this,” He murmured. “I’ve never been more certain about anything before.”

A brief stirring of adoration fluttered within your chest, and you knew that you wanted no one else ever again. You pulled yourself off of the mattress enough to kiss him, sinking into the sweet bliss of the moment as he reciprocated. His mouth moved in-tandem with yours, eyes beginning to flutter shut.

His hands planted themselves into the feathered pillow on either side of your head, but it didn’t last long. Jacaerys leaned back, maneuvering out of the leather of his trousers, flush against you once they were removed. You were so soft, like an ocean of silk beneath him.

He felt one of your legs hitch around his hips, bodies together beneath the furs. The chill of your chambers dissipated, replaced by the warmth of your skin. You kept your hands poised against his shoulders, dancing across the smattering of freckles there as you continued to kiss him, as if each one would be your last.

The hardened swell of his cock pressed against your lower stomach, and you could feel his breath grow heavier between kisses. He was perfect — flawless, so handsome that it made you ache with want.

Jace kissed you again and again, feeling the soft peaks of your breasts brush against his chest. He adjusted his weight, shifted his hips as he pressed the head of his length against your slick cunt. He was somewhat nervous — perhaps not as much as you, but anxious enough. He made sure to be careful, feeling your legs nudge themselves apart.

A look of mutual preparedness passed between you both, between your doe-eyed gaze of anticipation and Jace’s mounting look of want, there was little room left for uncertainty. He sat up enough to position himself against your aching core, his cock splitting past your folds before it prodded at your entrance.

You steeled yourself, and Jace made sure to be slow, afraid of hurting you enough to cause true discomfort. As he tilted forward, his length filled you, sheathing himself inside of you, inch by inch. Admittedly, it wasn’t a good feeling — not initially, anyway.

A sharp exhale escaped you as he bottomed out, staying still atop you as he allowed you time to grow accustomed to him. Waves of complete and utter bliss rolled through him, his own pleasure nearly overwhelming. You were tight, maidenhead intact for the next few moments until he began to move.

“Are you alright?” Jace whispered around the shell of your ear, pressing against you once more as he reassuringly kissed along the side of your face. He felt despicable for causing you any amount of pain, but you seemed to dismiss his concern.

“I am,” You placated him with a smile, coaxing him in for a kiss. It was best if you didn’t think about it — and with time, it would feel better. Everything was awkward and clumsy, the follies of youth, but as Jace began to move, a fire began to burn within your belly. “Jace.” You sighed, keeping your leg around his hips.

A soft groan resonated beside your ear as Jace adopted a sluggish rhythm, not wanting to intensify things so quickly. Your eyes fluttered shut, body content to bend to his thrusts, grow accustomed to the act itself. He reciprocated your kiss, black curls falling in front of his temples.

Bliss soon replaced discomfort, the more you allowed yourself to adjust. You shifted your legs further apart, one hand falling toward his bicep, the other remaining tangled at the nape of his neck. The sounds of your lovemaking soon filled your chambers, with your foreheads pressed together.

Your name fell from his tongue in a needy groan, and it made you shiver, body reacting with a barrage of gooseflesh along your spine. Perspiration grew upon his brow as he maintained his pace, digits curling into the furs on either side of you.

The sound of your pleasured moans made him feel better, a sign that you were no longer riddled with soreness and irritation. Jace pressed a trail of hot, messy kisses along your face, reaching to the sweet spot beneath your jaw. He kept himself anchored there, feeling your hand squeeze at his bicep.

“Jace!” You squeaked, flushed at the growing lewdness of the noises — the squelching, the passionate groans and heavy breathing. He was perfect, cock filling you in a way that left you completely satisfied. Jace felt your hand fall away from his bicep, reaching for his own, interlocked hands falling back against the cushions.

He shuddered, reveling in the way your cunt tightened around him, the sensation of your hand within his hair, hands joined at your side. Jace’s pace began to quicken, but only somewhat, enough to really feel the myriad of pleasure take hold.

You yearned for him in every way imaginable; your body ached with each movement, every thrust as he leisurely moved in and out of you. His cock pulsated with a dull throbbing, enough to fill his belly with a raging fire. He kissed you again, lips traversing wherever they saw fit, peppering every inch of your sweet skin.

Time seemed to move agonizingly slow in your presence — Jacaerys wouldn’t want it any other way. If he could capture this moment, he would’ve. Every moment was graced by a warm intimacy that sank into his very bones, his adoration for you furthered with each roll of his hips, sheathing himself inside of you.

His soft lips graced your collarbone, continuing to make love to you in the only way he knew how. It was passionate and gentle, in a way reserved for the deepest of lovers. Jace grunted when your hips involuntarily rolled upward to grind against him, lips parting as he squeezed your hand.

At last, he lifted his head, your eyes locking together. Your countenance was exceptionally beautiful, especially when painted with the shade of desire, and it had him aching with want. His jaw tensed when you brushed dark curls away from his eyes, palm lingering long enough to pull him down for a kiss.

His cock continued to hit your cunt with a tame fervor, filling you completely, testing your limits as he neared his peak. Jacaerys knew that there would be more moments like these in the future — his energy was waning, and perhaps, the unfamiliarity of it all contributed to this.

Your name spilled from his tongue, throat echoing with a soft groan as his pace became slightly erratic. It was difficult to control himself amidst chasing after his release, but he maintained what little composure he had, gritting his teeth together as he thrust into you again.

Pleasure contorted into ecstasy, becoming an unstoppable wave that was quick to take hold of him. Concentration intermingled with bliss were etched into his features, face pressing against yours, nearly breathless as you kissed him again.

With a groan, Jacaerys rocked forward again, spilling himself inside of you. In hindsight, it was both brazen and feckless, done in the heat of the moment, but he cared little of it for the time being. His cock throbbed, thrusting into you again a time or two before he stilled completely.

Heavy pants resonated between you both as you caught your breath, flush against one another in the aftermath. You pressed a kiss against Jace’s cheek, trailing your fingers throughout his hair. He was quick to kiss you, gathering his composure before he pulled himself out of you.

A rush of sticky warmth slathered the inside of your thighs, leaving behind a feeling of slight discomfort. Jace gathered a cloth for you to clean yourself with, returning to lay beside you as he rucked the furs up around your bodies. The air was colder at nightfall, injected with a saltwater mist.

“I apologize if I hurt you,” Jacaerys uttered, dark brows furrowing together as you wriggled closer, resting your head atop his bare chest. Your arm draped over him, allowing yourself to be close, a feeling that he wanted more than anything else. “It was not my intention.” He kissed the top of your head.

“You didn’t,” You replied, tracing soft patterns against his skin, angling your head up enough to kiss him. Jace cupped your jaw, leaning in to deepen the tender entanglement, lost within the bliss of your lips. “You would never hurt me.”

Jacaerys was fiercely protective over you, that much was true — even from himself. He kept an arm wrapped around you, cradling you at his side as he gazed into your eyes. He could see you, then — his beloved wife, the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Perhaps it was too early to tell, but he knew.

As the both of you settled in together, your maidenhead now lost, you couldn’t help but smile. Jacaerys had made your first experience more than anyone ever could — you hoped that it would stay that way forever. “Does your offer of teaching High Valyrian still stand?” You mused.

A huff of amusement left Jacaerys as he turned his head enough to look at you, a smile playing at either corner of his mouth. “I thought you wanted those dusty old books.” Admittedly, his offering of those damned texts is what started this in the first place — he had to be grateful.

“I knew that you would be kind enough to bring them to me,” You confessed, nose wrinkling in amusement. “An excuse to see you.” The look on Jace’s face was one of theatrical shock, and you erupted into a fit of laughter when he squeezed your hip.

“You might grow tired of me, if I am to teach you High Valyrian.” Jacaerys mused, his smile one of complete and utter warmth. Anyone would know that his love for you was obvious — there wasn’t any subtlety about it.

You shook your head, comfortably sinking against him, your upper body lounging atop him. “I could never grow tired of you, Jacaerys Velaryon.” You exhaled, exhaustion beginning to grip you. It was bound to happen eventually, given the abnormally late hour.

Jace was thankful that you weren’t looking — his face was dusted with a rather obvious layer of pink, and yet, the feeling was beyond satisfying. The two of you allowed the silence to sink through, accompanied by the sound of the encroaching tide as it broke upon the jagged rock and cliff sides surrounding Dragonstone.

“Will you stay?” You asked, hoping that he would be agreeable to it. It was a risky proposition, but Jace knew that he couldn’t leave you after this — he didn’t want to, either. No one would come clamoring about within his chambers at first light.

“Of course,” He murmured, lips twitching into a sweet smile. “Though, I should go at the first light of dawn.” Jace’s tone was one of clear disappointment, but it was best to keep suspicions low. You knew that he had duties that transcended you — he was the Prince of Dragonstone, the heir — and you were not betrothed.

A sense of understanding settled onto your features, but you still wanted him by your side — you wished that you could wake up next to him. “I hope that dawn never comes, then.” You whispered, taking his hand within yours as you pressed a kiss against his palm, knowing that there would be many more dawns to come with him at your side.

copyright @ swordgrace; please do not translate, steal, or copy my works and post them onto other platforms or claim as your own.

[silkentine]

All I could think while drawing Nami was, “Wouldn’t you like to know, weatherboy?” And, of course, with Robin I was thinking, “save a horse… 🥵”

Design Notes and other opining below the cut:

For Nami, I wanted to go for a mix of cocky Jersey mafia newbie and surfer boy. I like to think that some of the horrendous outfit choices that Sanji makes (especially in the movies) were actually picked out by Nami. She’s the shopper!!! But yeah, the vibrant swim trunks and graphic tees just scream Nami. I also wanted to put him in a wetsuit/rash guard because I think that’s a sexy look so sue me if you hate it. You cannot argue with me that Nami doesn’t wear swimsuits as clothes.

He’s toned but not as muscular as Robin or Luffy (for example) because he isn’t a front-line fighter, I want him to maintain the same kind of role that Nami has in the animanga. He’s the best navigator in the world!! I couldn’t decide if I wanted to change the violent tendencies that Nami has, but ultimately I think he’d still give the more deserving members of the crew a healthy wallop (although I might portray it more cartoonishly). Boy Piece!Nami still grew up under Arlong’s authority so he spent a lot of his childhood walking on eggshells to protect his village and his brother, Nojiko, so I think he never really got to learn “you’re not supposed to hit people just because they frustrate you” lesson. I gave him a shark-tooth necklace because surely Arlong had a few loose teeth to spare once Luffy took her down. Victory spoils LOL

If he can get the girls to stop wrestling and sit down quietly for a while, he likes to host card games (with betting, of course) or watch the clouds while sipping whatever fruity cocktail Sanji whips up. I believe that Canon!Nami is a total lesbian, and I can’t possibly envision a Nami who doesn’t like women so Boy Piece!Nami is bi. I am, of course, a Namivivi truther and Vivi is also a man in this AU. I don’t hate Sanami within this dynamic though… lots to think about.

Okay!!! All-shipper mindset aside, let’s talk Robin. I gave him long hair because 1) it’s hot and 2) I think it makes him look like Dragon. Yeahhh, I subscribe to the Luffy and Robin are half-siblings theory because I think it’s funny and makes some sense. Crocodile is 100% Luffy’s Mom in this AU and I think Robin knows it LOL

For his outfits, I wanted to lean a bit more Indiana Jones where I could; he’s still primarily cowboy inspired though. For the main look, I went with the Skypeia color palette hehe, I think Robin looks good in yellow. I did some flower-petal shaped color blocking on his chaps because I think it’s cute and subtle. I really love that the powers of the Hana-Hana-no-mi are like… unexpected for a “flower flower” fruit and I think Robin would be more aware that juxtaposition as a guy. You might also be wondering about the gloves and I initially just had it for his cowboy look but I decided to put them on all the outfits up until the events of Enies Lobby. Canon!Robin has a really difficult childhood and I think it’s exacerbated by the fact that she’s a girl on her own. If Robin was a boy, he’d probably have an easier time living on his own but would be a lot less emotionally open. All of these elements combine to make him want that physical barrier between his real hands and the world. Once he can trust that the Strawhats will always be there for him, he’s more willing to be more physically open.

I also think it’d be cute if he was much more of a coffee drinker :3c I see Canon!Robin as a connoisseur who likes a well-brewed espresso but Boy Piece!Robin needs a cup of joe (no matter its quality) every chance he can get. So I drew him with his special #1 ARCHAEOLOGIST mug.

It would make me so happy if you left your thoughts in the tags or replies!! Even if you hate everything about them, I just really like engagement hahaha. I’m thinking girl Usopp is next despite the poll results because she’s on my mind rn (don’t hold me to this, LOL I’m fickle). I’m making these for fun so I just wanna make designs in the order that interests me the most. Check out the tag “girl piece” on my blog to see all the genderbends I have so far. And happy pride!!!

[gillyeowalters]

I love the small things about Warframe's design so much. Like, the Duviri architecture.

[Spoilers!]

The houses obviously are just wall parts of the Zariman, arranged to look like settlements/towns. The same goes for many of the harvestable plants, that also mimic Zariman design elements (especially noticeable with the cactus-like Ueymag, that has an unnaturally symmetrical shape, mimicking the often repeated tuning fork-shape).

Duviri has multiple bioms, plains, snowy mountains, a desert, but they are all way too small to exist naturally.

All this paints the picture of a world created by the mind of a child, who might have never seen anything else but the inside of a spaceship. They might have never seen other architecture, so all houses have to look like they were ripped straight out of the Zariman's structure. They know that mountains and deserts exist, but they do not understand their scale, so they become just one more small piece of Duviri. Just like cartographs back in history they fill the unknown of their world with set pieces and the skeletal structures found all over Duviri lend themselves for a comparison to this "Here there be dragons" mindset.

Children build and recreate what they know all the time to learn and better understand it, but also to express their wishes and creativity. This gives the idea of a child, confined in space, wishing to get to be somewhere else, visiting the places they have heard of.

We get to see quite a few rather large settlements in Duviri, but the amount of houses and people does not seem to match. In general, only very few people seem to be roaming the streets. This is not an adult doing extensive worldbuilding, this is a child with a lot of building blocks but very few dolls building a world on which they can project their emotions and memories onto.

Most of Duviris normal inhabitants are just decorations, not existing to be characters, but because a town "needs to have people in it". They are not defined by who they are, but by what they do- and what they do is react to the player, sit around, talk and cower in fear when enemies approach.

The simple shapes of the buildings are very close to the concept of real life building blocks. Paedagogic toys often are simple, to allow for easy handling and more creative freedom.

The theme of death is also omnipresent. Every animal resembles a carcass build from metal plating and even the Dax enemies are skeleton-like, the Gladius' helmets lower part even resembling a rabbit skull. We obviously know how the story of the Zariman ended and the skulls and bones might be just an indicator of potential danger, but what if the skeletal design of Duviri's inhabitants are not supposed to indicate not (just) death, but an infinished state? They are walking skeletons, yet missing a skin, their shape, just like the fractured bodies of the townspeople, not fully formed out in the child's head. Since the townspeople are humanoid though, they look more finished, while all the child might have ever seen of sheep, cats, dogs, horses and owls could have very well been just pictures in a school book, maybe next to a diagram of their underlying anatomy (after all, one of the few things we get to experience of the daily life on the Zariman, is school).

There is also an enemy called the Dax Herald. A Herald was a specialist in ceremonies, making sure that they were held correctly (besides also having diplomativ tasks). Their head resembles a security camera, adding a layer of oppressive social norms normal humans certainly suffered under in the orokin empire

[headfullof-ideas]

All right, I finished it much sooner than I expected, but I finished that drawing, and decided to post it as a separate post instead of yet another reblog to the original post, because I didn’t feel like it. So here I introduce and give a general description of the teenage cast of characters that originate from Berk, even if some of them no longer reside there. This may get a little long-ish

From left to right, we have Camicazi, Dogsbreath, Astrid, and Wartihog, the Berk residing teenagers. These kids are determined to find and bring their former peers back to Berk to face trial for what they’ve done, or something along those lines, they’re not sure what the ‘punishment’ beyond exile is for dragon riding. (Neither is anyone else) And the riders have already been exiled. But they keep messing with Berk, and the surrounding islands and tribes, bringing chaos and destruction practically everywhere they go, so they need to capture them to make them stop! They haven’t exactly told Chief Stoick yet though, he seems a bit indifferent or unsure how to handle the situation at hand.

Camicazi is a self-proclaimed thief, but her sticky finger tendencies aren’t as great as she boasts them to be. They really only come into some effect when she meets someone who doesn’t know her, which is unfortunately not a single person on Berk, who know to protect their belongings around her by now. She’s crazy, and wild, unruly with a thirst for injury and pain on others that can be slightly concerning at times. She’s a lot of bark, and not a lot of bite, except for when she does bite. She tends to be over dramatic about the wrong thing, and lies to save her own skin whenever she appears to be in the slightest amount of trouble. Camicazi can’t stand losing in anyway shape or form, and hates when someone is better at something then she is, even if she’s never done that thing once in her life.

Dogsbreath is Spitelout’s eldest son, Snotlouts older brother. With Stoicks wife, Valka, getting scooped up by a dragon before they ever had a child, and Stoick refusing to remarry, the title of Heir went to the next in line, his eldest nephew. Dogsbreath is the pinnacle of Vikingness to most of the other adults on Berk; big, beefy, a good fighter, ready to fight their enemies and the dragons with endless energy. Unfortunately, Dogsbreath isn’t the greatest with leadership. He’s arrogant, boarheaded, and the biggest bully to any of the kids who are even slightly not Vikingly in his eyes, which has most of the other teenagers standing on tiptoes around him so as not to get dragged in an alley and beaten. Dogsbreaths head is filled with reassurances that he will be Chief someday, throwing that weight around to anyone who tries to discipline him, with Stoick rapidly growing frustrated with Dogsbreath lack of care for the finer details of being Chief. Dogsbreath is only in it for the glory and fame, and none of the responsibility.

Astrid does not go with the riders in this story. With Hiccup non-existent, that relationship never comes to be, and neither does that eye-opening flight on a Night Fury’s back. Astrid is not fond of Ant, Hiccups stand-in, in this story, and is actually quite infuriated and annoyed by him. She’s not close to any of the other kids either, determined to be the best their is, and knock Dogsbreath off his high horse a little bit, especially since he keeps insisiting that they’re meant to be, as Heir to Berk, and Berks toughest Viking maiden. She hates him, but not as much as the traitorous riders, who she is determined to capture herself, bringing down their dragons as well. Astrid has the tiniest flicker of doubts here and there though, and eventually becomes the rider to a Deadly Nadder she names Stormfly, becoming a part of Berks first troupe of Dragon Riders. Don’t worry Astrid fans, Astrid gets there and gets Stormfly and becomes a dragon rider…eventually.

Wartihog is the village flirt and playboy, or as much of a playboy as a sixteen year old with no game can be, anyways. He’s a smooth-talking, yet easily distracted guy, who thinks he’s the coolest guy on Berk. Well, second to Dogsbreath anyways, who’d bash him if he thought Wartihog thought he was better. Wartihog assumes that all the ladies love him, and thinks he’s going to be some hotshot bachelor in the future, with rippling muscles and scars from all the dragons he’s brought down, further gaining the ladies affections. He’s incredibly vain, and loves looking at his own reflection, and refuses a helmet entirely so it doesn’t crush his ‘killer’ hair. Wartihog has a tendency of occasionally going after girls who are a few years younger than him, either because too many girls rejected him, their sister rejected him, or they have some defining trait he thinks is exotic, like hair or eye color. He’s a bit of a creep in that regards, but is pretty easily distracted by either food or another girl, or a girls pissed off parent.

Next up are the infamous exiled dragon riders. On the right are some pretty familiar characters, Snotlout, the twins, and Fishlegs, but on the left is Ant No-Name, and an OC named Kari. After Ant was exiled, Berk didn’t immediately send him away, too preoccupied scrambling to assemble the ships needed to go after the nest now that they knew how to. Which meant Ant was able to show the other, eager, teenagers the basics of dragon riding (hold on for dear life and don’t let go) before they went off to deal with the nest themselves. Ever since then, they’ve been in exile, trying to avoid the numerous enemies they’ve found themselves with.

Ant is called No-Name, because no one knows who his family is. No one’s even really sure how he got to the Archipelago to begin with, just how he got to Berk. His skin tone indicates his family is from far beyond the Archipelagos waters, and being the only person with dark skin in a predominantly white region of the world has caused some self-esteem issues to develop for Ant, which aren’t helped by most everyone else’s reactions to him either. He was the apprentice to Berks resident blacksmith, Gobber the Belch, for practically all twelve years of his life, until he bonded with a Night Fury he accidentally shot and tracked down in the woods, affectionately named Toothless. (Toothless is still named Toothless. I firmly believe that Ant imma name this bear Barry and this alligator Snappy Nekton would come to the same conclusion that Hiccup did when it comes to naming the dragon) Ant never wanted to be a dragon killer, firmly happy with being in the smithy and out of the spotlight, but inevitably was dragged into the spotlight when Toothless was revealed to the rest of the tribe, and he was exiled. Ant is a bit OOC at the beginning, because he’s lived a very different life. He’s quiet, a bit shy, extremely anxious, and sometimes goes mute when faced with something he’s afraid to mess up, or someone with a very thin trigger. His bangs aren’t up yet either, because he hasn’t had ‘character development’ yet (Toothless licked his face and his hair got stuck, lol(kidding)). He gets there though, with some friends and building of self-confidence.

Kari Hasselson (Harper typically, but that’s not a very Vikingy last name) is the second youngest of the initiates, about a year older than Ant himself. She’s got a bit of a temper, especially with Wartihog, and doesn’t have many friends either. Her relationship with her family isn’t…great, but she and Ant get to know each other better during Dragon Training, and she’s one of the first kids to reach out to learn about riding dragons. For all that she’s a spicy angry kitten as a child, Kari mellows out as she gets older, and I’m saying this now, she’s meant to eventually get with Ant. A LONG eventually. It takes years of friendship before they even get there, like, late RTTE age. They’re thirteen and twelve right now, no romantic shippy feels or anything like that happens right now, they’re two chaotic kids trying to become friends at the start of the story, when these drawings take place. They bond over being the youngest initiates through Gobbers crazy teaching methods, and then trying not to be mildly babied by the older riders when they’re in exile, planning tweenage revenge on the others as they go. Nothing happens at first. Kari is also not meant to be JUST Ant romantic interest, when I first made her, it was literally because I thought that boy needed some friends that weren’t fish, so I made him some. Kari just ended up also later filling the romantic role later as well, after I’d made sure she was a developed, rounded character with her own interests and life outside of being the love interest. She’s like an angry kitten.

As for the other, more familiar characters, each of the other riders had their own reasons for leaving. Fishlegs was stuck in the middle of a huge family, where he was swept under the rug, and didn’t want to kill dragons. The twins had an absent father, with a slightly overbearing mother, and an urge to go out and see the world, also leaping at the chance for chaos without an adult telling them no. Snotlout was sick of all his attempts at getting his dad’s attention being ignored in favor of his older brother, wanting to prove that he could do something Dogsbreath could never do. They’re a few years older than Ant and Kari, and with no Berk to fall back to, the kids are all scrambling to survive the Arhipelagos harsh weather and harsher inhabitants.

This is the drawing in its entirety. I’m thinking of maybe drawing the others characters, or at least the ones that are wildly different from their film counterparts. Maybe the Nektons and assorted characters from The Deep, to show what they’re like in this universe. I probably will

[l3viat8an]

I have nsfw analytical thoughts about levi dyck so yeah, for those who wish to read/listed, Nsfw twin dick analysis following:

Due to some research on my own part i have some things to say about possible Levi dick theory: firstly, if he has more than one dick, there is absolutely no way to quietly or secretly have sex unless his room is sound proofed and we know it isn't t because everyone can hear him yell all the time. I say this because the two dicks in question, no matter the size or shape (tested this theory on multiple things including tentacles) it creates a gap that allows a significant amount of air to be shoved in an out of MC. Im afab so i have only tested the i tended entry for this >_>

That being said, said gap not only is going to allow for "air noises" it also means any cum or eggs or what ever else scenario is happening, is going to be thrusted out n several directions upon entry thrust.

The other thing i noticed, if it is tentacle like, it requires a lot more lube for some reason? Dunno y or where tf its going but it gets used up quicker.

The next bit i know from having kids: even if ur like me and like having ur cervix hit with the dyck, having it opened HURTS LIKE A BITCH. A nurse checked regularly to see how open it was and her shoving fingers n it hurt, none the less if you're re putting some penile protrusions in there to lay eggs. Thats gunna hurt so bad. Even when numbed. I took all the meds they would give me and it still hurt. This from someone with a high pain tolerance.

(Do with this what you heathens reading this will, to each their own.)

On the egg thing; while oviposition is cool, this also implies that Levi is trans. Even if he's also adding sperm to inseminate, that would mean he's hermaphroditic and you the reader are just a holding cell. So yeah, egg levi says trans rights no matter what 👍

The only species on earth where the male is the female position baby wise are sea horses and sea dragons, neither of which lay eggs. The female lays them and the male carries them in a pouch to give birth later.

For mc to then birth what ever kind of egg levi has to give, that egg is going to need to be soft shelled to get past the super tight cervix and through the curved birth canal. The egg could harden after the fact like a snake, but that might pose some higher risk to MC as that kind of egg usually has some glue like substance its laid with and if that hardens inside a human MC they might have medical issues to follow; and should those eggs not be of the soft shell variety, MC needs a cesarean [c-section] to remove them so they don't shatter upon contraction or push.

This all assuming they're a size that is smaller than a human baby that can be pushed out to begin with. As with egg laying creatures they are born the size that can fit in the egg and just grown normally unlike human babies that r born and then continue to develop before growing. Its a minor difference but kinda important.

I won’t lie- I’ve used a tentacle toy before the lube is so true helpshdj but never two- like wow- I bow to you anon 🙇🏼‍♀️

‘n the whole ’cervix fucking’ is fun to read but like irl not really my thing, and I don’t even want to imagine the pain of having it opened 😭 fanfics are amazing!!!but I could never jshsjsj

Honestly I love the idea of Levi being hermaphroditic- (so many ideas)

Also this is all gonna be super helpful for more ‘realistic’-ish writing!!! Omfg- thank you!!

[godiscommitingtaxfraud]

Art post after god-knows-how-long

This time is the full TH17 cast + Yuuma because she belongs to the rest of these beasts

Eika Ebisu

Leaned more on the Jellyfish motif, making her skin slightly transparent enough to show her bones, she’s grumpy because this is the 34th pile of rocks she’s had to fix due to the MCs topping them over.

Urumi Ushizaki

So I leaned a LOT on the demon cow motif, so much I actually forgot she’s kind of half-half spider too… gonna have to fix in a future lol, there’s a lot on here that I feared doing back in the day, and I’m finally satisfied to have done it.

Kutaka Niwatari

Again, heavy on the beast theme, also her boots don’t have claws, their hers, there’s a lot going on there that I may explain in a future HC post, anyways, also gave her those weird ear things that Mystia has because I started giving that to bird characters lol.

Yachie Kicchou

Added more dragon things, not really it’s just weird shaped ears, also tiny otter earring because having the matriarch have little family jewelry just sounds fun.

Saki Kurokoma

Horse girl, so, those spiky things on her boots are something that cowboys wear too (were I live at least) and seemed like fun decor, but there’s always something off about her pose and her wings when I draw her, it’s like a curse… also Wolf ring lol.

Yuuma Toutetsu

Gremlin, that’s all I added, lies, I added the little Eagle skull pin because why the hell not amirite?

Mayumi Joutouguu

There’s something fun bout how I have not learn how to draw her armor right in like 3 years I’ve drawn her, I dunno, also her “face” is actually a mask that she can take off whenever, is just so other human spirits get less threatened by her presence, and her hair became a helmet ig.

Keiki Haniyasushin

Made her look specifically “artificial” when I think of her being sculpted by utter isolation I can’t help but think that said isolation began and was not there from the start, I dunno, I also think she should be more unhinged in how the fandom portrays her but now that’s just my opinion, let Keiki be unhinged.

Apex predator: Idola Diabola

Fun fact: I actually made an “aura” portrait of each character but Keiki’s the only one that changes substantially.

Also based on her position on Gensokyo’s human-free animal realm and one of her last spells, she’s alpha and omega, savior of the human spirits but by-god she’s not gonna act like that with the beasts, turned her dragon aura to resemble one of those bear skins hunter are portrayed as, to parallel on how she “hunts” the beast spirit that had enslaved the humans in the A.R.

Anyways that’s all this time, posted this on Reddit as a goodbye to that site too, Not going back there again probably. (Also check out Dai Karasu’s videos on YT, there’s where I could find the backgrounds)

[tetradynasty]

This little bit right here is one of my favorites in all of UU, and it makes me sad because everyone else just seems to gloss over it.

Sure, forced child support feng is pretty funny, but everyone ignores the whole, “Baby Shen swore to kill himself if Feng didn’t save his sister too.”

Shen is such a great character because he is, in professional terms, kinda fucked up. And it’s an excellent continuation from the last loop where we see, no, Feng didn’t cause him to be fucked up. He definitely did some damage, but there was something wrong (affectionate) with the boy from the start.

Cause just imagine how it plays out.

Feng is trundling along, getting in fights and winning handily, just doing asshole things, when he comes across a tiny boy named Shen who just got his ass beat in a martial arts tournament. Something clicks. This is the kid Fuuko told him about. If he teaches this kid, then he can fight Fuuko again. He can finally live his dream.

So he marches right up to the kid, says “You’re coming with me.”, throws him over his shoulder, and fucking takes off. This kid is yelling, screaming at Feng to put him down, Feng ignores the kid since he’s an asshole, and they eventually arrive at Feng’s house.

Feng drops the kid, and he immediately tries to attack Feng. Feng just brushes it off with a laugh and slaps him down, cause he’s an asshole. Rejoice, he tells the kid, because I am going to train you to become the strongest in the world.

The kid tells him to shove it up his ass. He’s going back to his sister.

Feng’s kinda dumbfounded. He didn’t even conceive of the idea that kidnapping this random kid and trying to train him wouldn’t work out well.

The kid says, fuck you, fuck your training, and fuck the horse you rode in on, my sister needs me.

So of course, Feng gets angry at this point.

He’s looming over the kid, a pure wall of muscle and bad intentions. He says, you are not leaving. You will shut up, do as I say, and you will enjoy it.

The kid attacks him again, and Feng’s a little impressed. Still a terrible idea, of course. Feng puts him down with a single punch. Cause he’s an asshole.

Why, the kid asks. Why me?

I made a promise. Feng replies, seeing no reason to lie. I swore to a woman named Fuuko Izumo that I would raise you. In return, she will fulfil my greatest wish.

The kid’s on the ground, leaking blood. He’s covered in bruises and cuts, he’s wheezing, and in no shape to do anything.

Okay, he says. I’ll let you raise me. But here’s my condition. You have to raise my sister too.

Feng doesn’t bother to laugh. No, he replies. Because he’s an asshole, and why would he want to raise a second brat on top of this one?

The kid looks Feng in the eyes, and he’s startled by what he sees. He sees eyes a lot like his own. The eyes of the dragon.

“If you don’t raise my sister, then I’ll kill myself.”

Feng blinks.

I’ll do it when you’re not looking. Or in the middle of the night. I’ll throw myself off a cliff. You think this woman of yours is gonna be happy if she comes back to find my dead body?, the kid taunts him.

Feng’s taken aback and it shows on his face.

You’re bluffing, he tells the boy.

You wanna find out? the boy shoots back.

Feng is an asshole. He can beat this kid black and blue. Keep an eye on him at all times. Scare the kid into staying alive.

Or he can go get the sister.

And in the end, begrudgingly and complaining the whole time, he makes the right decision. And in the back of his mind he wonders, is this what Fuuko meant?

Is this what it means to care for others, with an unwavering heart?

[ace-and-sleepdeprived]

haha.. guess who’s spent too much time scrolling through the monster falls tag since spooky month’s coming up and now has brainrot for a twisters monster au, couldn’t be me-

here’s what kind of monsters i’d think the cast would be, but yall can leave suggestions too if you want ofc

kate’s a leoninetaur - a centaur with the lower half of a lion instead of a horse, along with lion ears and a lion nose. she just gives me lioness vibes with her whole arc of isolating herself n’ such, and also because i wanted to give her paws, teehee.

tyler’s a minotaur hybrid - basically he doesn’t have a wholeass bull head but he has horns, bull ears, hooved feet, and a tail along with fur on his back, chest, legs and arms. as for the type of bull he’s based off of- i liked the shape of an ankole’s horns [obviously his aren’t as ridiculously big] and their coat pattern, so i chose them for the inspiration.

javi i struggled with a lot, but ultimately i think he'd be a phoenix hybrid - representative of him essentially being severely changed or reborn after the deaths of the tornado tamers, and him being metaphorically being reborn after leaving storm par. he's got wings, finger talons, pyrokinesis, and the ability to completely burn himself and regenerate anew. i also thought it'd be funny since he canonically loves hot cheetos.

boone is a werefox! more specifically, a black fox. while he looks mostly human when not shifted he does have fox ears, a bushy tail, and fur on his arms, chest, back and legs. foxes are known as playful tricksters, which i think perfectly fits boone. i also imagine that he's able to make fox noises so i can just picture him screeching at tyler and ty just being like "WHAT DO YOU WANT"

lily is a gorgon! i thought it'd be silly to imagine her long braids as a bunch of snakes [whomst she loves very much]. obviously because of the whole 'turning-people-to-stone-by-just looking-at-them,' lily usually has to wear sunglasses or a blindfold to ensure not having any accidental stone turnings and the only person lily can look at without any kind of coverings is dani. i imagine her snakes to be rainbow boas [bc they're shiny and they remind me of her].

speaking of dani, she's a gargoyle! she's got wings, horns and claws, and of course grey skin that turns to complete stone when she's exposed to too much sunlight. she's the polar opposite of the broody gothic stereotype placed on gargoyles for obvious reasons, and she's the one who's currently teaching javi how to properly fly since he never really learned.

the last wrangler on the list, dexter would likely be a dragon hybrid. think about it, dex is widely recognized as a sort of dad figure to the wranglers, and dragons like to hoard treasure, so it'd make since for a dragon dexter to consider the wranglers his hoard. although he's pretty laid back by dragon standards, don't think for a second that he wouldn't get protective if someone tried to threaten any of the wranglers. he does have a full dragon form, although he doesn't use it very often and prefers to simply stay in a mostly human form with wings, a tail, claws and horns.

cathy is a leoninetaur as well, although her animal half is actually that of a liger's -a lion and a tiger hybrid. kate only ended up being a full blooded leoninetaur due to her dad being a full blooded lion variant. nevertheless, she's a protective mama cat and nobody dares to fuck with her.

finally, i [unfortunately] have to talk about scott, and i definitely think he's a naga. snakes are known to be deceptive and manipulative, which definitely fits him. it's also funny trying to imagine him squashing himself awkwardly into a car with a bigass tail. as for what kind of snake he'd be, an asp viper fits him. [they look mean. scott is mean, so it fits.]

[bokettochild]

what are your favourite headcanons for all the boys? (also hi mama lava we havent spoken in a while oopsie hah,,hope ur doing well <3)

I'm doing quite well, m'dear! Mnetally at least LOL

The body hates fall and the changes in the air, but the rain makes me happy and the leaves are going CRONCH so I can still smile! Also, it is now cider and cocoa wheather! (I really need to finish that darn Ravio scarf now LOL)

Okay! Headcannons!

Time: He has no clue what's happening ever. Time is hard for me to relate to or even work with, so I don't tend to mess around as much with headcannons for him, but I love the idea that he is masquerading as an adult all the time and genuinely is confused by almost everything. As someone who was left in charge of see stinkers with no clue on how to handle them, it makes him relatable and easier to write that way :)

Warriors: His dark form is a dragon. Even prior to TotK I liked the idea that certain people could/would become dragons, and considering there are some who ship him and his Zelda and they come before Flora, that would mean it runs in the family LOL. It also really suits him for REASONS and I like playing with it

Sky: His eyes flash silver when he's angry, and lightning will crash even on a sunny day when you piss him off. He killed a god, let this man be an unhinged BAMF eldrich hero!

Hyrule: Navi is his mother. I like the idea of him growing up hearing stories of the Hero of Time. i like the idea of him setting out on his adventure not just because Impa asked him too, but because that pig sounds a lot like the sucker who killed his big brother and their family doesn't go down unavenged! He totally had a few words for Ganon in that last fight, and even if it was the last thing the king of evil thought, he knew he was killed on behalf of a hero, not just by one.

Twilight: He's a white girl. It's really a personal gag for me, but he likes horses and stupid romance stories and ridiculously sweet drinks and he can't hold his whiskey for the life of him. Okay, like, he can, but why would he drink whiskey when he can have something strawberry flavoured? He just... he's a big rancher and scary wolf, but he will willingly wear pink and be a barbie is what I'm saying. And yes he'd enjoy it! (although he'd prefer pants please, he's still a man Barbie, okay? Not a Ken, a man Barbie)

(I have others for Twi, but this one makes me happy to ridiculous levels and gives the seratonin <3)

Wind: He's Warriors' grandfather. I know it;s less about him and more about Warriors, but the idea of him shaping and guiding the next hero, preserving that hero's childhood and protecting it as long as he can, makes me happy. there were totally calls to adventure long before Cia, but Wind said "heck no, he's underage, ain't happening" and either stopped that shit or dealt with it himself. He made sure to teach Warriors everything he wishes he'd known, or heard the others say they wished they'd known when starting: starting a fire, wayfaring, tracking, hunting, fishing, map making, how to make gear and supplies last, where to find valuable things, all that sort of stuff. he didn't know what sort of trouble the hero after him would face, so he made sure to provide help and leave supplies in every way he could think of (some of which, incidentally, lasted all the way to wild's time to help him).

Wild: He's Other. He's not quite right and he's more than just slightly screwed up, but not in the pretty, Fae like way it's often pictured. Wild is Other like a twisted and mangled tree that scrapes across your window in the night, keeping you awake but keeping the monsters cowering under your bed in fear. He's other like a too wide smile, like a sigh of relief when he feels Death's touch lingering on Legend. He's Not Quite Right in a way you have to know him to see, but you can't ever stop seeing after. (It's okay. Flora is too and she feels safer being with someone who's the same)

Legend: Personal hc I never get to share! Legend is the personification of Balance! He straddles light and dark both as a rabbit and in his fifth adventure. He's kind of died twice (OoS manga & a personal theory about Koholint) yet he's still alive. He kills in order to preserve life and lives in order to kill that which threatens it. He represents the balance in Hyrule and preserves it, hence why he tends to fill any needed role (watching the backs of the heroes throughout LU, taking the lead in Sunset, acting as a middleground/middle sibling in Sunrise) in order to prevent things tipping out of balance. legend is the middle ground between extremes, and a walking contradiction.

Four: I will do the colours as well, but I adore them being remembered, even though Four thinks he won't be. he comments in the comic that he's glad to at least have done well enough that no one needs to worry about his enemies, hence why they don't talk about him anymore, but I like the idea that Malon taught Time to read by reading him parts or stories about Four, but he got to impatient to wait to find out the ending, so he forced himself to figure it out as fast as possible to get there even if she wans't there to tell him. I like Legend hearing stories of him and growing up admiring him, of spending his first few adventures trying to be like him because that's what heroes who win are like. I love Four being remembered and adored. He deserves it! (And if he maybe got sealed away long enough to come back and meet some future heroes, well, I love that too!)

Red: Is actually the most dangerous of the colours when he's mad. He will wreck your shit, he will burn you alive. Do not try him.

Blue: He's fond of patterns and artwork, and knitting helps keep him calm. He's the crafter of the colors, and the only one if you disregard smithing. Also, he's the mom friend.

Green: He likes drawing. I don't know why, he just does. Also, outdoorsy boy. He hates shoes, hates floors, and will sit in the grass drawing trees and chatting with minish for hours if nothing stops him.

Vio: Loves cats. Despite Four as a whole having a fear of cats, and the other colors also sharing that fear, Vio's sense of self preservation sort of flew out the window with the trust the others had in him when he joined Shadow. Vio can look at any animal that should reasonably be able to kill them and actually will try and determine if he can just... touch it. he doesn't want to even be friends, he just wants to see if, since a dragon will let him, will this giant wildcat also? He adores Wolfie more than even Red. The others think there is something wrong with him that he likes terrifying creatures so much.

[kumeko]

A/N: For the @zodiac-carnival-zine! I love the banter and easy friendship between these three (with Hatori barely keeping these two from falling into chaos).

…

…

…

…

Hatori was a busy man. He had to be as the Sohma family doctor. His clan was a large, sprawling one, and he had more patients than he had hair. Between his constantly complaining elders and his rambunctious younger kin, he had his hands full.

All of that wasn’t including his twelve special patients. They weren’t special in the sense that they had a lot of health problems, needing specialized care and constant attention. No, they were special in the sense that eleven of them were cursed to transform into the twelve zodiac animals. Special in the sense that the twelfth patient was a single, sadistic god. If it weren’t for the fact that he was the twelfth zodiac animal, Hatori wouldn’t have believed a word about the family curse.

Oddly enough, that wasn’t the strangest part of his family—no, that was reserved for the fact that they all lived in a circus. He had never been able to make heads nor tails of that fact, only that it was. At least it was a permanently based one, instead of a travelling circus; he couldn’t imagine the effort it would take to transport the entire clan from city to city.

The only benefit to it was that it wasn’t unusual to see a tiger or a horse here, so it wasn’t too hard hiding a transformation. Not that his own transformation was anything special—the dragon he turned into was more of a sea horse than a beast to be feared. For a while he had considered studying veterinary medicine, just in case, but now he was grateful that he didn’t. Who knew how busy his days would have been then?

Actually, he knew the answer to that: the same as now, too busy. Which is why he didn’t have the time to stand in front of a full-length mirror, his arms erect at his side as he made a giant ‘T’ shape. Grumpily, he stared at his reflection. “I shouldn’t be here.”

“Why not?” Standing next to him, Ayame gasped and clutched his chest. His measuring tape hung loosely between his fingers as he swayed back and forth. “You don’t like my costumes?”

Hatori bit his cheek. In all honesty, the black pants were a little too loose for his tastes. The only saving grace was the soft blue shirt, the tamest thing he’d seen come out of Ayame’s wardrobe. It missed all the bells, frills, and whistles that usually made up Ayame’s fashion sense. Still, there was no point in bringing that up. “No, that wasn’t—”

“This magnificent cape is more than just a cape, Tori,” Ayame argued passionately, plucking a regal blue cape off a nearby chair and draping it across Hatori’s back. “Look at how elegant the fur trim is, how passionate the blue, how eye-catching the apparel is—this is truly the outfit of a hero!”

He felt a headache forming. “Again, that wasn’t what I said.”

Shigure poked his head out of one of the many costume-filled racks. The red tent was utterly filled with them, making the small place feel even smaller and cozier. Wearing a pirate hat and an eye patch, he raised a brow. “What’s not to like? It’s a world of dreams.”

“Gure!” Ayame turned back to Shigure. Hatori could almost see the hearts in his eyes. “I knew you’d understand.”

“Of course I would, Aya,” Shigure replied, traipsing over. Now that he was fully out of the rack, Hatori could make out the space suit he was wearing, and not for the first time he wondered just what Shigure was up to. Clasping Ayame’s hands, Shigure crooned, “Your dreams are mine.”

“I only see you in them every night,” Ayame murmured back, a grateful smile crossing his face. The lighting from Ayame’s workstation only made them look all the more dramatic.

Exactly three seconds after (and it was always three seconds, Hatori wasn’t sure just when those two had figured that three seconds of staring was the exact right amount, but they had), Shigure and Ayame turned to him with identical grins, giving him a thumbs up. “See?” they parroted at the same time.

“See what?” Hatori replied dryly, resisting the urge to sigh. He’d been through this who knew how many times, yet they always managed to tire him out. “Anyways, that’s not it. Your costumes are very well made, Ayame.”

“Tori!” Letting go of Shigure, Ayame leaped forward and hugged Hatori tightly. “I knew you’d like them.”

“Then what’s wrong?” Shigure asked, already turning back to the racks. Hatori knew with a hundred percent certainty that the man was bored; he was only here to try on different costumes. As long as he wasn’t stirring up trouble elsewhere, Hatori would just have to live with it.

“It’s just…” Hatori brushed his hair back, running his fingers through his locks. “I’m the only doctor, I don’t have time to be a performer too.”

“Why can’t you be both?” Ayame asked, pulling back slightly and cocking his head.

“Please don’t ask that seriously.” Hatori sighed again. “I don’t have enough time. I don’t understand why Akito ordered us to perform together again.”

“Akito just likes pushing you,” Shigure replied, rifling through the racks. He pulled out several hangers as he talked. Hatori wasn’t sure if he was imagining the slight jealousy in Shigure’s voice.

“I really don’t need to be pushed,” Hatori grumbled, patting Ayame on the back before gently extracting himself. “Even just taking care of our group is more than enough on my plate.”

Not listening, Shigure murmured, “Or maybe he’s feeling insecure after all…”

“Insecure?” Hatori wasn’t sure if he was supposed to hear that last part, or if he even wanted to. He had his suspicions that Tohru, their new part-timer, hadn’t actually just stumbled into the job like Shigure had claimed. That perhaps his childhood friend was up to something devious.

The only question was if he had enough energy to deal with it all. The answer was a resounding no and he sighed. “Please don’t drag others into your schemes.”

“Schemes? Me?” Shigure plopped a princess crown on his forehead and tried on a pair of angel wings. He gave the most innocent look possible. “Never. Besides, you spend wayyyy too much time in your tent. You need a break.”

“And what greater break is there, than performing with us?” Ayame had stars in his eyes as he posed dramatically. “The bright lights shining down on us, the audience clapping, a flurry of petals—it’ll be just like the good old days.”

Shigure crossed his arms and nodded sagely. “Women swooning, girls wanting my number again—I can’t wait.”

Hatori wasn’t sure how much of that was a joke, and how much of it was serious. It was probably both, considering Shigure. “This doesn’t sound like much of a break.”

He hadn’t really expected a response. Which was good, because as usual he didn’t get one. The pair had a feedback loop between them, pumping each other higher. Or rather, Shigure was pumping Ayame higher because he refused to put the breaks on the whole thing.

“Perfect casting, the three of us as the three musketeers.” Shigure raked a hand through his dark hair, pushing his bangs back as he gave a rakish grin. “Utterly flawless.”

“And romantic!” Ayame added, raising an imaginary sword. His measuring tape and other costume making tools were long forgotten and Hatori had no doubt this measuring session would take far longer than it ought to. His silver hair flowed around him as he twirled. “The brotherhood, the betrayal, the friendship—romance at its finest.”

“Romantic, huh?” Hatori paused at that. Tohru flashed across his mind. Perhaps there was some value to this after all.

After the snow melts, spring comes.

He smiled automatically. Maybe he could pay her back for earlier with a front row ticket. She seemed like she’d enjoy a good love story.

“Ohhh?” While he’d been distracted, Ayame had gotten close once more, leaving only the faintest gap between them as he looked into Hatori’s eyes. He smirked slyly. “What’s that, Tori? Are you thinking about someone? Is it…a man’s romance?”

Hatori did not want to know what that meant. Frowning, he stepped back. “Not at all.”

“Are you sure?” Shigure was suddenly at his other side, wearing a Cheshire grin, “You weren’t thinking about anyone?”

“Yes.” Giving him a deadpan look, he flicked Shigure on the forehead. It was important to stop nonsensical thoughts from latching to his brain for too long—Hatori didn’t need to handle yet another one of his schemes. “Now, let’s get this over with. I still have patients to see.”

“Booooo,” Shigure pouted, rubbing his forehead. “That hurt.”

“Stop crying.” Rolling his eyes, Hatori stepped back in front of the mirror and spread his arms. “Ayame?”

“Of course!” Ayame skipped past Shigure, humming softly as he started to measure once more. “I’m glad you’re taking a break. You need it.”

Ayame’s tone was utterly soft, utterly kind, and Hatori relaxed. “This still sounds more like work than a break,” he replied, but the bite was out of his voice. He couldn’t help it—it was impossible to stay mad at his friends for long. However misguided their actions were, it was out of caring that they prodded him like they did.

And he was a lucky man to have so many people care for him.

Though, if they really cared, they’d learn how to rein in their behaviours more. Half of his problems would disappear.

“But, you’re right.” Hatori smiled back, shifting slightly as Ayame adjusted the cape on his shoulders. In the mirror, it looked rather roguish. “It’ll be fun to work with you two again.”

“Fun?” Shigure asked, smirking.

“Fun,” Hatori repeated. For all the headaches, the time he spent with them had always been enjoyable.

“Lots of fun,” Ayame agreed, wrapping an arm around Hatori’s shoulder as he examined their reflection in the mirror. Seemingly content with what he saw, he let go and went to grab the matching hat form where it’d been thrown haphazardly on a chair. “That reminds me, Yuki, yes that Yuki, has asked me to make his costume.”

“Yuki did?” Hatori almost couldn’t believe it.

“Yes, isn’t it amazing! Our brotherly love has pushed through, connecting once more!” Ayame clutched the hat tightly and dabbed his eyes with the brim. “He came to me, tears in his eyes, and asked me to make it for him and his princess, Tohru.”

Shigure snickered as he chimed in, “And Kyo’s playing the horse.”

Hatori was about 90% certain that Shigure had a hand in that.

“He will be the most noble steed ever seen.” Ayame pumped his fist. Hatori could almost see waves crashing behind him. “For he is carrying my darling Yuki into battle. I have already started Yuki’s thirteen-layer suit, and the fifteen ruffles on Tohru’s dress. No one will have ever seen a greater—”

Hatori rubbed his forehead. Maybe after this vacation, he could get another one to relax from the first one.

[macklemorrigan]

initial veilguard thoughts under cut

biiiiiig momma SPOILERS

it's complicated!!!!

the thing is, i enjoyed myself playing it, ya know? i had fun discovering the world of northern thedas. seeing tevinter, rivain, antiva. i enjoyed getting to experience a different side of thedas than we have the last three games.

ill need another playthrough to fully get it, i feel like i need to make different choices to see just how much choice matters in this game. i feel like i got the "good" ending with relative ease.

this game felt like it was holding my hand through it, trying to warn me that i'm about to have to make a choice. a choice? in a dragon age game? well will there be consequences?? will you tell me explicitly what those consequences will be so i don't accidentally make the wrong choice in this role playing game where i'm roleplaying a character? like i get it... but running in blind and discovering the outcomes is half the fun.

i like rook. voiced protags always have a sort of "them"-ness that has to underlie everything regardless of dialogue choices. i think rook suffers that more than other protags in the series, but like i said, i like them, so that was fine for me.

hated the varric twist. hated it. hated it down. varric was mostly nothing the whole game anyway. unless i missed something major, he only had like a couple cut scenes. he felt ornery anyway, so idon't feel like the twist is justified by some big role he played in rook's story. very clearly they were relying on the players already existing love for the character. which works on me a little!!!!!!!! in the moment!!!!!!! but ill cry to almost anything with a moving musical motif transfixed behind it. might have been an interesting twist if he turned out to be a spirit that watched varric and took his shape or something. i don't know, man... just - anything - other than the "and he was dead the whole time" dead horse.

combat in a dragon age game fun confirmed????? that being said, it got boring after a while and as usual some fights overstay their welcome. also a two companion party???? when so much approval is dependent on bringing them with you, and with party composition being as important as it is in higher level difficulties, that was a bummer. i enjoyed the difficulty of combat but i felt like i couldn't keep it high or else i would lose out on content with companions.

speaking of companions, i liked them for the most part! unfortunately a lot of them felt 1 note as did a lot of their content. i didn't feel like i learned very much about them outside of what the moral of their story was supposed to be.

character quests... i liked hardings, i liked davrins, i liked emmerichs and that's it. i wanted to like bellara's, i felt like there was so much potential. how is a storyline about a forgotten one boring???

i saved minrathous so lucanis was hardened. ill have to do another playthrough, but i feel like i missed out on a lot of lucanis' character because of that, which i don't like. i don't mind if it affects the characters relationship to me (ability limitations, character approval penalty, cuts off romance option), but i got no bonding scenes with him, no interactions with spite. i had to drag his speeding ass along every adventure just to keep his approval up, and even then, at the end of the game i still feel like i barely knew the guy. i never got the chance!

i have more thoughts but this actually got more negative than i wanted so im gonna stop. like i said, i had fun. i hope if anything it breathes new life into the fandom and franchise. i will enjoy making rook and co content soooo much i know it im just waiting for my tablet to charge so i can share her with you. okay thanks if you read this far bye

[bylerbigbang]

My Heart, in Paint, on a Piece of Paper

Fic by @freetobeeyouandme | Art by @ninaninndraws

Rated Teen | 55k words

Making a friend on his first day of Kindergarten may be the most significant thing Mike has ever done, but that's okay because Will is the coolest, smartest and most talented person Mike will ever know. Even better, Will gifts Mike all the best pieces of his art. Except suddenly they’re growing up and apart, and then there is no more Will and no more drawings. When they finally reunite, all Will has left to offer him is a painting that wasn't even his idea, and as the world ends and the final fight for Hawkins begins, Mike has to figure out how to salvage the most important relationship of his life – because that may very well be key to saving his hometown and the people he loves.

-

Or, 5 times Will gifts Mike his art and the 1 time he pretends it was someone else's idea.

Warnings: Canon typical horror, body horror, period typical homophobia

Read on Ao3 | View Art

Read an excerpt below:

“Can I show you something?”

Mike could only nod, his mouth suddenly dry as Will reached down and pulled the thick, rolled up paper he’d been carrying around from his bag. Mike had seen it before, had tried to imagine what it was – from the shape of it a painting, thick canvas covered in acrylics, although for whom and why he couldn’t guess. Will must have packed it before they left, or grabbed it as they went out, and it was amazing that he’d held onto it despite the shootout and everything.

Whoever it was for must be important – and Mike realized maybe he’d been too quick to judge Will on a lot of things. Just because he sat beside him, more calm and self assured despite the situation, didn’t mean Will hadn’t matured. Hell, maybe it meant Will was more grown up than him. After all, Will wasn’t the one complaining about childish, stupid shit, and Will had his fair share of things to complain about.

Anticipation was a sick twist in his gut as he took the painting from Will and, since Will had already unwrapped it, unrolled it in his lap.

Over the years Will had gifted Mike mountains of art: pictures of them and their friends, fanart of books and movies they both liked, and just random stuff Will thought, correctly, Mike would find cool.

As they had begun playing D&D that art had become increasingly about their characters, scenes from their adventures and concept art that slowly morphed from completely made up characters to them as their characters. Throughout the years these drawings improved in skill, proportions evening out, clothes and weapons and faces becoming more detailed and more realistic. Mike had always loved Will’s art, had admired it in all of its stages, and yet the painting still took his breath away. And then, as he took in the details, Will’s love and care, so obvious in every stroke of the brush, in every dot of paint, settled around his raw and aching heart like a calming balm:

On the canvas were the four of them, fighting a three headed dragon, a red menace among all the green of the field and forest that they stood in. In the rear, Lucas, always the ranger, was charging in on a white horse. Dustin, their dwarf, was ready with his trusty axe, and Will, again returning as their wizard, was casting a spell. And in the midst, Mike himself stood, sword and shield raised high, looking braver than he had ever felt in real life.

He hoped some of his immediate and deep love for this piece shone through in his voice when he said: “This is amazing. Did you paint this?”

As always, Will looked bashful. “Yeah. Yeah, I mean- I mean, El asked me to.”

And Mike's world ground to a halt, but Will forged on.

[wuxiaphoenix]

Worldbuilding: I Pity the Muse

“A plot problem! Send in the demon tigers!”

I know, sounds hokey. But this is exactly how a fair amount of my sorting-out-historical-details in Colors of Another Sky has gone. Yes, it’s set in a specific historical time period, the story starts in 1618, and the world is heavily based on real-life places, people, and events of that time. It’s also a fantasy alternate history in which demon tigers exist. That has knock-on effects.

One of those effects is going to be fortification height.

...Yeah, I should back up and explain this one.

In RL history, fortifications were built with other humans in mind, not tigers. Most of the time tigers don’t find it worth their effort to eat us. We’re too much bone and smarts for not enough meat and fat. We are in no way, shape, or form as tasty as a deer, wild boar, or very young and stupid elephant.

...Or a plow ox. Or a horse. Like other large cats, tigers have been known to attack humans to get at their animals. But still, they usually don’t bother.

Demon tigers, however, are specifically after humans as prey. There are never a lot of tigers-turned-demon, thankfully, but there don’t have to be. Records from even modern times make it clear ordinary man-eaters can terrorize incredibly broad areas. Compared to regular tigers, the risk and hazard levels of demon tigers are way higher. Like the difference between fire risk in a rainforest versus California fire season. A prudent homeowner mitigates the risks with firebreaks, sprinklers and hoses, and places the fire has to work to jump. A prudent fortress-builder would go even farther. Because if you have to use a fortress, you can’t run away. You either keep the demon tiger out-

(Oh boy, good luck.)

-Or you make sure you have ways to detect and kill it if it gets inside. Preferably both.

Which means, among other things, that fortress walls are going to be higher. Anything built past about 1270 AD is potentially going to be built differently.

Yes, this includes Namhansanseong. (A work in progress!) More important to the characters’ past, though, it also includes just about everywhere Hideyoshi’s invasion would have hit. And historically, one of the problems the Joseon Dynasty had putting up a fight against Japanese arquebus troops was that their walls weren’t high enough.

Would this have drastically changed the course of the invasion in this AU?

...Actually, probably not. Joseon had many other problems. Including too high a proportion of their population who weren’t allowed to pick up a weapon (nobi) or weren’t legally obligated to fight (yangban). And also, in this AU, dragon.

Still. It’s a difference. Meaning if I get battle dates a bit wrong (I hope not) or want to say that guy X lived when history says he died - I have a little leeway to do that.

So if you’re trying to model your story after something in real life, but you need the outcome to be slightly different....

This is your world. What are your demon tigers?