#I just got lucky dragon house hunting had them too

[nyaskitten]

Hmm in My head I think the Overlord isn't the only of his kind, that there were others, and he just got lucky.

I'm gonna yap like A LOT . Be forewarned.

They were a species of parasitic spirits conjured by powerful sorcerers and brought by the Oni Warlords to corrupt Ninjago, and after Mystake killled the other two Warlords, she kinda had to help FSM hunt down and exterminate the parasites.

Unfortunately for them, one of these parasites found his way into the body of a dying Patriarch, the Patriarch of the Central Flatlands (which would one day become Ninjago City, and this specific area is quite literally the area within which Borg Tower was made, hence why the Overlord always returns to that area, it's where he's most powerful) and merged with the untouched power that lay in his weakening body.

This resulted in the birth of the Patriarch of the Eternal Shadow, who would soon be known as the Overlord. FSM felt the departure of the Patriarch of the Central Flatlands, but just as well he felt a great corruption had entered his soul, and with Mystake, he sought to find what happened.

When they arrived, they found this new Patriarch wearing the corpse of the previous Patriarch, and FSM was enraged at the sight. He instantly went for the kill, much to the dismay of Mystake.

Though FSM managed to obliterate the body, he only weakened the spirit, and worse yet, now the Patriarch of Eternal Shadow had tasted the FSM's power, he bore some of it within him, and it just made him stronger, hungrier... it made him sentient...

The spirit's energy seeped into the ground, slowly draining the surrounding life and the very power upon which Ninjago was founded upon, and using it to strengthen himself. This would have HORRIFIC consequences (the creation the Balance, a power which ties the spirit eternally to Ninjago,) Soon was born the Overlord, and he tore the world open as he rose.

Terror and panic spread across the people of Ninjago. The FSM quickly returned to the sight of his prior conflict to find things had gotten way worse. Suddenly the parasite-spirit had grown, he had grown larger than the Patriarch he once embodied, he was something New.

The something New was way too powerful for the FSM, he created a species of beasts meant specifically to hunt elemental powers (grundles,) an untouchable fortress, an army of indestructable stone warriors, and a corrupted serpent whose sole mission was to devour everything in her sight.

The FSM was at a loss, and could only retreat, he had no way to stop anything the Overlord was throwing at him. He and Mystake had no idea what to even DO about this, that is until they started to look through the information compiled of the realms, and saw a stand-out realm. They were in awe, it was said to be a realm which housed a kingdom run by dragon energy, a realm of extreme advancements and unique design, Imperium.

With no other option, FSM went to Imperium alone (as Mystake, a full-blooded oni, would no doubt rile the dragons up more than he, a half-blood.) He went to the Empress of Imperium at the time and sought her aid in creating for him a suit of great power, one which relied on dragon and elemental energy.

It was kind of awkward though, because he swore he recognized at least one or two dragons there from the war, and now he was getting them to power a weapon of war? Whoopsies. (Ofc while he was there, he found a way to implement vehicles from Imperium into his Golden Weapon which is my explanation for the random-ass Golden Weapon vehicles.)

Anyways while the Empress' top scientists were very busy at work with this mech, the FSM took the time to study fighting techniques from the dragons, and developed from them the Art of the Golden Dragon.

After a few days of trial and error, the FSM's new battle armor, the Golden Mech, charged with both his own power and the combined energies of several other dragons, was finally ready to help him take on the Overlord.

When he returned, he was bombarded with a horrific sight, his once gorgeous realm was now in ruin, darkness growing all around, where he stood was one of the few lands of sanctuary left within his world. He had to act fast. He called out to the Overlord, who near-immediately arrived through the shadows, his legions in tow.

The FSM quickly summoned the Golden Weapons and used them for one last boost on his mech, and prepared for battle. What the Overlord WASN'T ready for was the FSM grabbing him by the snout, slicing off one of his wings, dropping him to the floor, stomping on his snout, and charging up his blade in order to decapitate him.

To combat this, the Overlord quickly summoned shadows to restrain the Golden Mech, then he was able to get up and blast the FSM back so hard he probably would've felt that for a week. Or three. FSM was lucky enough to land on his mech feet and continue to clash with the Overlord. Soon, he realized the battle was getting a Bit too futile, and he came to a realization.

Too much of the land had fallen to the Overlord, he couldn't expel him from this world, but he could seal him from the land... with that, the FSM charged his blade one final time, this time with all of the energy and strength of his mech and himself. He leaped upwards and he drove his blade straight into the ground.

The resulting shockwave was so powerful, it tore the island in two and knocked the Helmet of Shadows (or the Overlord's Crown of Horns,) clean off, and into the hands of the FSM. The Overlord's spirit was torn away from his body, and his spirit was stuck on the half of the island slowly drifting away, while his army was left on the FSM's side.

In order to do a clean-up, the FSM had to seal the Overlord's destroyed physical vessel in a realm beyond and between realms, a sort of pocket-realm akin to the Grasslands or Nether-Space (which only the Golden Weapons could open.)

Then he constructed an indestructable tomb and used the Helmet of Shadows to force the Stone Warriors down there. Some were stuck submerged in the sea or FAR in the wilderness where no one would find them (well except for Misako several thousands of years later but she's an outlier and should not be counted.

Eventually, FSM did have to trek back to the Dark Island in order to seal the Golden Mech within the Temple of Light, and then submerge the island as much as possible to ensure the Overlord would not return.

Then he had one last task to perform, removing the darkness from Ninjago. It was... difficult. At one point he considered just eating the Dark Matter and their crystalline remnants, but very quickly decided against that. Eventually, he and Mystake were able to get enough gold from the Golden Peaks to erase the Dark Matter from the land forever... he also had to reseal the grounds that the Overlord tore apart which was. A pain in the ass.

Ehhh one problem after ALL of that though... the Overlord's serpent was nowhere to be found, and his element-hunting dinosaurs were still running loose somewhere in the vast lands of Ninjago... but I'm sure it'll be fine... what's the worst thing that a snake with corruptive powers could even DO psht I'm sure it's Fine. FSM will be FINE nothing bad'll happen

[siriannatan]

Real Beast of Gobland - ScfWhip

This took embarrassingly long between me coming up with the idea and now…

fWhip was totally good being a goblin. It was both a perfect excuse and a way to get a lot of gold. The cave was plenty spacious. And he didn't have to worry about being hunted. Not that anyone would have any reason to do something like that. fWhip was a perfectly normal goblin after all. 

Unless it was spring of course. Spring was a terrible time. His only problem was of course just the pollen. Horrible surface pollen that got everywhere everywhere. Even inside the deep caves. Pollen was the only reason he locked himself up in his house with strict orders to keep everyone away. He simply didn't wish to be seen in this state.

Of course, he didn't take Scott existing into account. If the guy wanted something he'd get it. And apparently, he really wanted to see fWhip. And managed to get past all the goblin security. And was knocking on fWhip's door.

"fWhip?" the definitely not handsome demon-king of Chromia called out as he knocked on the door. "I know you're there~" he carried on as fWhip fought the urge to rip his front door out its hinges. And the urge to drag Scott to his nes... bed. And to rip everything he has on to better see all the shiny crystals he always had sticking out.

Fighting his urges was rather hard. But he could not give in. If he did Scott would find his biggest secret. And likely used it against him. fWhip could not have it happen. The demon was his biggest competition in being the biggest 'magpie' - as Jimmy called them - around. fWhip could not lose to some Demon in the size of his riches pile.

"fWhipppp~," Scott almost whined as he banged on the door once more. fWhip had to bite his lips to not growl. Goblins were not known to growl. Hiss and bite, yes. Growl like some dragon? No.

But fWhip was not a normal Goblin... Or maybe. Actually. Not a goblin at all. But a dragon who kind of adopted a group of goblin settlers as his borderline worshippers and was hiding amongst them to avoid annoyances. And maybe springtime was dragon mating time. Making it a very bad time for fWhip to see literally anyone at the time. Especially individuals as shiny as Scott.

It was silent outside for some time. fWhip hoped it meant Scott left and was about to relax back into his silent suffering when suddenly there was Scott's face in his bedroom window. Looking at him with a far too happy smirk. And with crystals sticking out around his golden eye. fWhip's instincts were burning. 

With a growl that had the demon's eyes going wide fWhip practically ripped the window open. Possibly breaking the lock. He'd fix it later. And dragged Scott inside and into his nest. No time for semantics as he clawed at Scott's coat. 

"Whoa, slow down. Not like I appreciate," Scott chuckled, restraining the 'goblin'. All he got was a growl and a snap of far too sharp for a goblin teeth. And maybe some sparks as suddenly fWhip have vary not gobliny wings with dark red scales and emerald green membrane. He barely saw it for a second before he was pushed down into the goblin king's plush bed. 

For the next few hours, Scott had very little time or desire to question anything about fWhip. And even when fWhip calmed down he didn't feel like questioning anything. Especially with a very happy, apparently, dragon lying out on top of him. Tail happily swished as blue eyes stared at Scott's shiny spikies. "You're lucky it was me that got here first, you'd kill anyone else with that," Scott huffed, faking annoyance.

"Anyone else would stay away," fWhip rolled his eyes. A somewhat involuntary purr sneaked in as his spring instincts flared up again. "I'd suggest you run away if you're too tired for another. While I'm willing to let you go," he graciously offered.

Scott of course did not run away. Why would he turn down fWhip's generous offer of hours upon hours of fun?

[yamatossideboob]

One Piece 1096 Spoilers!

... Things I liked this week!

GOOD cover page, love seeing Zoro in goofy predicaments again

This entire GV situation is horrific to a degree that feels asinine to describe... but calling the people being hunted "rabbits" genuinely makes my stomach turn

Who are the "children"... are they other Holy Knights, or CDs we'll meet in the future?

Oh hi Kong! you will never be able to wash the blood from your hands!

I love that Garp didn't give a shit until he heard Roger was going to be there. That's so yaoi!

I *entirely* forgot that this is where Kaido got his fruit.

oh Ginny, such a fateful endeavour...

I fucking love Kuma and Ivankov so much more with this flashback...

I'm probably off the mark but that flag of Rocks'... does he have the Mero Mero no Mi?? This feels stupid but that skull *looks* like its flaming... it could be the Yami Yami but then that'd surely be more obvious... idk!

THE

ROCKS

FUCKING

PIRATES

ARE IN THE HOUSE!!!!!!

god I got shivers when I beheld this page... the utter hype on display!

so aside from the usual suspects we can see Captain John and Shiki, as well as Gloriosa!! I had no idea she was in this crew but waow!! Bad bitchery all round!!

and two other shadowy figures who get closeup panels... who could they be...?

"Today's the final fight, I assume"... "That's the idea!!" ngl those "Rocks wasn't the villain" speculations are gaining ground...

Like it was be beautifully bleak if, when this concentrated effort to destroy the Celestial Dragons in one fell swoop failed and Rocks was defeated, THIS was what made Big Mom and Kaido into the monsters they'd become. I can't help but wonder how this influenced Whitebeard afterwards too...

as my OP Bestie said, Roger looks so much Shanks minus moustache and captain's hat that it's a little discombobulating lmao

the skull dude and baddie behind Figarland look really cool... we likely won't see them again but I like these little incidental character designs.

BOGART! the years have been kind to him I must say

jfc, Ivankov was THIS close to being a big blue dragon... lucky for him I guess. the fruit he did eventually get is way more his style hehe

how the hell did they escape if fucking SATURN and possibly other Gorosei were there?? not to mention the 3 way wam bam going on down below?? I don't know that we'll ever see all of what happened here (the important stuff anyway) but MAN I hope we do somehow

hell, Gloriosa is still alive last I heard, she can spill the beans! or Stussy! or Shiki even if he's in canon limbo!

man the sky above God Valley is gonna look like Swiss cheese with all of the haki splitting going on below

KUMA HAS BECOME CATHOLIC

This boy saved 500 people with a power he only just obtained... I need to see who's responsible for giving him the name 'Tyrant' bc i am going to redden his arse for besmirching my boy Kuma's name!!!!!!

so, is this church dedicated to the worship of Nika? we've not really seen religion outside of Skypeia... how intriguing...

I think it's safe to say Ginny will eventually be the mother of Bonney hehe... she and kid Kuma are really cute together... I guess next chapter, we see how she dies :'''D yippee....

goddddddddd what a tantalising chapter... as many new questions as answers... and more next week!! I'm going to be devastated and I can't wait!!

Until next week friends! 💪❌

[matzsmith]

I'm pretty sure they had this thing to judge me on about, saying I spat on the controls but it was obviously not scripted, I just had a piece of tardis inside my mouth, what did they expect? Me swallowing it? They kept saying I was disrespectful. But I agree with you on letting an actor show what they got to offer before getting too critical. I had social media before and a bit during my run on Who, had to delete it all 'cause of harsh comments and I continued working and living my life without a care in the world, so yeah didn't let them affect me. Yeah, people come to me and say I was their favorite doctor and I also happened to be the one they first saw. That makes sense! I think it's the childish, goofy side of the Doctor that kids really connect with. He's not afraid to be a bit silly, and I think that makes him more relatable, especially to younger audiences. They see someone who's not just a hero, but someone who isn't perfect and can laugh at themselves, maybe even make a fool of themselves at times. I'm lucky it's worked out! Now I've really done it! I've unleashed your stubborn side on a red velvet cake hunt? I almost feel sorry for the poor bakeries in your path. Exactly, I just think we respect each other too much to do that, besides I haven't even seen much of my run on the show to say Eleven is my favourite. An eight-page essay? I mean, I'd expect nothing less. Yeah, no detail is too small when it comes to that scene. Regeneration moments always hit hard. It's a mix of many sentiments altogether. She's still quite young, pretty sure with how the industry works these days in terms on breaks between seasons, she'll be of age when the show wraps. Ohh, definitely, she should count herself lucky! I'm also suffering 'cause we are still not getting any scripts and that's killing me. You're right about that, we don't want shitty scripts so we gotta give them all the time they need to perfect those and then give us some time to give our best on screen. Was Alex Russo your first role ever or you did something before? You were quite young even then, doesn't surprise me the fact that it's so special to you. I would say either Doctor Who or The Crown, of course House of The Dragon comes really close! Can't pick a favourite, ugh. I'm so glad that you got that adult role you feel really proud of. I see you've got more things in the pipeline, I'm pumped to see it. I reckon it comes naturally with a very few people, so I'd say yes, do feel special.

I guess that makes sense, but it still feels pretty unfair to judge someone for taking a huge job opportunity, before you've even seen them perform. People can be harsh critics, hopefully that never broke your stride. Do you find people often attach themselves to the Doctor they tuned in to initially watch? I think for Gracie, because it's on Disney plus now, she could just keep watching so she wasn't entirely focus on one until you popped up on screen. She's a sweetheart and I think your resistance against normality spoke to her. You don't seem to mind making yourself out to be a fool and that's one of the best things in the world. Your comedic genius isn't appreciated enough. Well then, looks like I'm going to have to go on the hunt for the best red velvet cake I can find to show my appreciation for you, doesn't it? No ordinary cake will do. Fear now, I'm a stubborn woman, I will succeed in my mission. Yeah, it would kind of make whoever did say it sound like a dick, wouldn't it? You're all far too humble for that. Don't worry, I might give you an eight page essay just on how her eyes misted over as your regeneration glow appears on the screen. No detail is too small, right? No, it's not bad. Getting someone feel an emotion so strong that they cry way means you moved them. That's always special. You did your job right and that's something you should be proud of. I'll tell her you die in the first five minutes to avoid any arguments. She's only eleven, she still needs time before she can process that show. As wonderfully captivating as the scripts can be, she's not ready. You might have a point though. She'll be grateful when she can eventually binge watch it unlike us poor folks that have to wait a life time between seasons. It's all worth it though, great performances take time. It's always fun to play the foolish characters meant for kids, Alex Russo is still one of my favourite roles I've ever played. But like you, I love getting something I can sink my teeth into. Do you have a favourite project you've ever been part of? Ah, thank you. Only Murders In The Building really was a shining light for me. I know how incredibly blessed I was to land the role of Mabel, so yeah, she definitely makes up for the shitty roles I've been part of. That's always the way though, right? Actors have to pay their dues. Do you flatter everyone this much, or am I just special? You know how to make a girl blush.

[vulpiximisa]

Horie Shun & Ishikawa Kaito

[nocapesdahling]

Oh my gosh! 🥰 For drabble requests, would you be interested in doing ❛ you were fighting to survive. i was fighting to win. ❜ for Cloud? ❤️ I shrieked a little when I saw him there

A/N: Thank you so much for requesting for Cloud! I was super excited to write for him, and hope you enjoy!

Wolves

Cloud Strife x F! Reader

Summary: You're a fighter in Don Corneo's Colosseum, and one day come across someone unexpected.

Warnings/Tags: Childhood friends; Reader is not having the easiest time in Midgar; Featuring a headcanon of Nibelheim having their own language, Nibel, and the use of Swedish as Nibel.

Prompt: "You were fighting to survive. I was fighting to win."

You idly shifted your scythe from hand to hand as you listened to the roar of the Colosseum’s crowd. Scotch and Kotch must have started their usual spiel. Another day, another fight. One that you’d hopefully win so you would be able to buy some more food on the way home.

When you’d left Nibelheim, this hadn’t been the plan. You’d just wanted to get out of there and make something of yourself, something more than what you could do in your small reactor town. Midgar seemed like the best option at the time, but you hadn’t given too much thought to what you’d do once you got there.

Among other jobs, you’d worked as a waitress, a courier, and a dancer at the Honeybee Inn before seeing the flyer for Don Corneo’s Colosseum. “Fighters Wanted,” it proclaimed, “Participate in the fight of your life!”

Andrea took care of you and the rest of the dancers, but it wasn’t what you wanted out of life. If you were going to be in Wall Market, then you wanted to use some of the skills you’d learned from Zangan and from hunting Nibel Wolves. You had never taken down a dragon, but you were proud to say that you wielded your family’s scythe well enough to keep them fed through the harsh Nibel winters.

Decision made, you became a fighter in Don Corneo’s Colosseum with the nights of the Corneo Cup becoming your favorites. There was something exhilarating about them. It wasn’t an easy life and it wasn’t quite what you’d imagined when leaving Nibelheim, but it was yours and you were proud of how you’d performed in the tournaments as well as the money you’d made for yourself. You were surviving and in a place like Wall Market, how could you ask for more than that?

The preliminaries tonight had been easy, a little too easy. You hadn’t even worked up a sweat yet, even after beating who you liked to call “The Three B’s” in the first round. Beck, Burke, and Butch were not the sharpest, but you’d never liked how they made a living so it’d been a pleasure to beat them. Meanwhile, the Beastmaster had gone out a couple of matches ago to face some newcomers whose names you hadn’t been able to catch, and he’d lost for the first time since you’d known him.

It couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy. The way he treated his beasts had always made you feel sick.

You stretched your neck, shifting from side to side, and downed a potion as you heard Scotch and Kotch introduce the “lucky young couple, who were taking the arena by storm.” You again missed what their names were, but it didn’t matter; you’d have to beat them either way if you wanted a chance to at least face the Hell House.

Then, it was time for your introduction.  “Their opponent - huntress of Nibelheim, the wielder of an ancient scythe that’s stained red with the blood of her enemies! Coming to us from the Honeybee Inn, but don’t let that fool you folks. She’s undefeated! The one, the only - Wolf Slayer!”

You shook your head behind the door. Scotch and Kotch had been trying different names for you since you first started fighting in the Colosseum, and it seemed like this one might finally stick despite any protests you might have made to the contrary. The doors opened and smoke filled the air as you strode into the arena, scythe over your shoulder. You looked up, making eye contact with Andi, shooting him a small smile, and receiving a curve of his lips in return before baring your teeth at the rest of the crowd knowing that it would make them cheer. That done, you looked at your opponents and had to stop yourself from freezing.

Cloud. Cloud was here. Your Cloud. What was he doing here?

You glanced at his supposed girlfriend, trying not to be jealous. You’d already had to deal with Cloud’s crush on Tifa in Nibelheim when all you’d wanted was for him to notice you, so it was hard not to glare at someone who had his attention.

Cloud’s blue eyes met yours and they were much brighter than you remembered. SOLDIER eyes. So he had made it. It was nice to know that he’d fulfilled his dream.

The crowd grew quiet and a little restless as you two stood there staring at each other, which led to Scotch interjecting. “So are you going to fight or what?”

Cloud spoke, “We’ll fight. Just give us a second. Pretty please.” His tone was deadpan and sarcastic, and so him. You’d missed him so much.

You knew that no one would wait for long, so you readied your scythe causing Cloud to pull his sword from his back and his companion to grasp her staff.

“Do you know her, Cloud?” The woman was looking at you, her green eyes intent.

You waited to see what he’d say, curious in spite of yourself.

“Yeah, I know her.” He looked at you for a moment, gaze intent on your face as though memorizing any changes in your features. When he spoke again, it was directed at you. “Wolf Slayer, huh?”

“I didn’t get to pick it. Now, as much as I’ve missed you, are we going to fight or not? Everyone’s waiting.”

“Like I give a shit.”

You couldn’t help the laugh you let out at that, which caused Cloud to give you one of his infinitesimal smiles. Without thinking of your Colosseum image of the “stoic huntress”, you smiled back at him.

The crowd started to boo and Scotch and Kotch seemed like they’d had enough. “It looks like we have a little love triangle going on here, folks. Cloud and our Wolf Slayer seem to be acquainted.” The crowd let out an “Ooh” at that. “This is going to be an interesting one.”

With that, you got into a fighting stance with your scythe in one hand and your other clasped into a fist. You already knew that you wouldn’t be undefeated after this. Cloud was a SOLDIER and his partner looked to be some kind of healer, so all you could do was give it your all, put on a show, and hope that you could talk to Cloud afterwards.

You drank a potion and sat on the blue bench in the waiting room to relax after the match. Cloud and Aerith had won, but you liked to think that you hadn’t made it easy on them. You didn’t want to consider what Don Corneo’s reaction would be, but that was a problem for later. Maybe, Andrea would take you in again at least for a while. As you began to close your eyes in thought, the door swung open and you made eye contact with Cloud. Without thinking, you threw yourself forwards and wrapped your arms around his neck, avoiding the pauldron. It was an awkward hug, but then again it always was with Cloud. He breathed out and slowly wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer. You felt safer in the shelter of Cloud’s muscular arms than you had in a long time.

“What are you doing here, älskling?”

You savored his voice in your ear. Hearing Nibel spoken again after so long brought a smile to your face. You pulled away from him, grasped his hand, and took a moment to gather yourself before speaking.

“When I left, it was hard. Midgar is the furthest thing from Nibelheim. I didn’t know what to do or how to make money, so I tried different things. Some worked and some didn’t, and after a while I ended up in Wall Market. Fighting in the tournaments seemed as good a way to make a living as any.” You swallowed and almost didn’t speak your next sentence out loud. Wall Market had taught you what happened to people that admitted weaknesses, but this was Cloud. “I don’t really know what I’m going to do now.”

He looked at you for a moment. “Hmm, so today you were fighting to survive. I was fighting to win.”

You wouldn’t have put it quite like that, but it was rather accurate so you nodded.

He caressed his gloved thumb over your hand and seemed to contemplate the image of your hand in his before speaking. “Come with us, älskling.”

“Come with you?”

“Yes, come with us. Let’s be a vargflock again.”

You thought about your small one-roomed apartment and your life here in Wall Market in comparison to what your life could be like with Cloud anywhere else, and it wasn’t a difficult decision.

“Okay, I’ll come with you. Let’s go.”

He nodded and smiled at you in that way of his, before his Cup partner spoke.

“Hi! I didn’t want to interrupt, but I’m Aerith. And just to clarify, Cloud is not my boyfriend.” She waved at you and you waved back. “Now, can we go save Tifa?”

“Tifa? Tifa’s here? In Wall Market?” Your voice was frantic as you turned to Cloud.

“Yeah, Tifa’s here. We’re going to save her from Corneo.”

“Well then, what are we waiting for?”

Cloud squeezed your hand and you started towards the door. Together. A rescue mission sounded like a great way to end the day.

Likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. Thanks for reading!

According to the Internet: älskling = darling; vargflock = wolf pack

A/N: This ended up being a bit longer than I planned, but I really love Cloud and will probably end up writing more for him in the future. If you'd like to check out some of my other fics, then please visit My Masterlist

[shipmistress9]

FTLOAP: Chapter 50: Just One Chance, Just One Breath

For The Love Of A Princess Masterpost

Alpha-reader: @athingofvikings​

Taglist: @drchee5e @hey-its-laura-again @thepixiedustfactory​ (If you want me to add you to this list, just let me know. ^^)

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If you want to leave a tip you can buy me a coffee. I love coffee 😊

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AN:

! 3 YEARS! !

Today (April 3rd), it's been three years since I posted the prologue to this story. Meeting this anniversary served as a great deadline for me to finally finish editing this chapter.

Also, I can't believe it's really been that long! I never planned for this story to grow so big or to only write so little for it. But I'm going to power through, I still love this story very much.

I want to apologise it again took so long. January and February were bad for me, mentally, and I barely had enough energy to get through the day, let alone do just about anything in addition. Even the 'short' one-shots I posted in this time took me weeks to write instead of the usual one or two days. And I can't predict how long the next update might take, life is just chaos these days.

Now to this chapter. Finally, things are happening! I'm very excited about this chapter and the following event, and about your reactions, too.

This chapter's title comes from the song Far Away by Nickleback. It's one of my favourite songs all around, and the sentiment of this one quote felt very appropriate for this chapter.

. o O o .

There was a constant drizzle coming from the grey sky above them. It made Hiccup wish he was already wearing his warm travelling coat instead of the colourful attire that marked him as Eret’s squire so he could pull it tighter around himself. He couldn’t concentrate. Right at this moment, the King was giving his opening speech for the Dragon Hunt, with them all being packed and ready to get going any minute now. He should listen, should pay attention, if not for any important information then at least out of respect.

But no matter how hard he tried, he didn’t hear a single word; his heart was beating in his throat and drowned out every other sound. His eyes kept shifting away from the King too, constantly moving a bit to the left to where Astrid stood a step behind her father and beneath a hastily built canopy. As if she was too delicate to be subjected to the weather. She wore her mask of a pleasant smile, her eyes gliding around slowly, resting nowhere.

Gods, he hadn’t even left yet, but he missed her already! They hadn’t really talked since their saying goodbye in Eret’s suite two days ago. Yesterday had been busy with the journey to Oramond—which Astrid had been made to spend in a carriage—and she’d taken all her meals with Eret, Dagur, and their fathers. Frigga, they’d barely even seen each other, and he’d missed her so much. Could he really leave and endure several days without her? It felt so wrong.

But once again not being able to interact with her in over a day had reminded him of just how much he needed her in his life. It reminded him of why he had to follow through with their plan. They only had this one chance to ensure their future by following the path the Gods had wanted him to take, by doing what came naturally to him. He could do this! He had to…

Eventually, the King ended his speech with a reminder of the glory and the new life that was waiting for the winner—as if he needed that reminder. Then he, Eret, Dagur, and their small group of guards rode through the crowd to set out as the first participants. They all turned their heads as they rode past the King and the group around him. Silent nods were exchanged and to satisfy those watching, Eret even blew a kiss in Astrid’s direction. Her smile grew a little warmer, making Hiccup’s heart beat in his throat. Then her gaze glided on, over the rest of their group, and eventually, their eyes met. It lasted for less than one second before she looked away again, but to him, the emotions and the meaning in that brief exchange were tangible. Real, full of love and reassurance. The promise that they would soon be together again. It was a moment he would cherish, something to hold on to.

Then he took a last deep breath and turned away, toward the road ahead of them.

It felt like ripping out his heart.

. o O o .

Hiccup wasn’t sure whether to call it a lucky streak or just good preparation, but as everything worked out as planned, he was willing to go with either.

Both Eret and Dagur had been given a group of three guards from their fathers and a couple of pack horses. They rode hard—trying to bring as much distance between themselves and the other participants that would follow—and by noon, they reached their first stop.

It was a village of medium size. The people here obviously expected visitors, the hunt was no secret, after all, and it didn’t take long until the high lords and their entourage had gained rooms to stay in during the following days.

Hiccup spent an hour visibly busy with getting them settled in. He unpacked his and Eret’s things, arranged for them to get their food delivered to their rooms, and made sure that Cassie, Crusher, Squish, and the other horses were taken care of. But once he was sure that nobody paid him much attention anymore, he focussed on his main course again.

Back in the room he was supposed to share with Eret, he quickly changed his clothes; out of the flashy attire of a squire and into nondescript but practical travelling clothes made of wool and leather.

With his hand lingering on Astrid's key around his neck, he gave himself a moment to think of her. Now that there were actually dozens of miles between them, he felt their separation even more acutely. It felt as if something was tugging at him from the inside, urging him to get back to her, to hold her, to never let go. And a major part of him wanted nothing more than to give in to that urge, too. No matter how confident he was about this whole plan, Astrid had been right as well. Being apart from her was just wrong.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed these thoughts and feelings aside. He couldn’t afford to be distracted now. Now, he had to concentrate on his plan; being with her had to wait until he was back. Until he’d killed a dragon and returned to become a count. Until he had the land and title necessary to ask for her hand. Until he was truly worthy of her. Oh, he couldn’t wait.

Feeling a little lighter, he reached for the bundles he hadn’t unpacked earlier. They contained all he needed for the Hunt, some weapons, a few emergency rations of food, and more practical equipment he needed for a couple of days in the wilderness. And, most importantly, the bola shooter.

He threw the bags over his shoulder, then reached for the last thing he needed, the cloak Astrid’s servants had provided him with. In itself, it was an ordinary cloak, black with a blue border. What made it special however was the badge and sigil that came with it, marking the wearer as an official royal courier. It would allow him to change horses whenever he needed and ensured that he got a bed and a meal as long as he travelled along the road. He even had a letter to top off his disguise, complete with a wax seal of House Jag’r. He just hoped that he wouldn’t need this and that Eret wouldn’t get into trouble for providing him with this false message.

He didn’t pause to say his farewell to his cousin. Too easily someone could overhear them, could stop him, or could pin his leaving without permission on Eret. He and Dagur already had done enough for him; he didn’t want to risk any further trouble.

Instead, he sneaked into the stables and readied the two pack horses Eret and Dagur had brought, then left without anyone paying him any attention.

Being on the road then was a relief. It meant another part of their plan had worked perfectly. Hiccup rode for another two hours before he changed the tired horses at the next way station. A part of him wished he could take a break as well, to eat and to warm up at a hearth. He’d missed out on the meal he’d ordered for Eret in that inn and the drizzling rain was wearing on his strength. But taking a break wasn’t possible, not if he wanted to stay ahead of everyone else and out of reach of whoever might or might not be following him. So instead, he just switched to the well-rested horses a helpful stablehand provided him with and, chewing on some dried meat from his travelling rations, continued on his way up north.

He again got remounts in the evening, then rode on until long past nightfall before he stopped at an inn for the night. But despite being tired to the bones, from the second day spent in the saddle and the cool drizzle having crept through all his clothes, sleep didn’t come easily to him. His mind couldn’t find rest and for a long while, he just kept shifting from one side to the other. His thoughts kept circling around the task that lay ahead of him, around the dull sense of someone possibly following him, and around Astrid.

Gods, he missed her so much. What wouldn’t he give to hold her in his arms now, to listen to her soft breathing and breathe in her mayweed scent? Trembling, he curled into a tight ball, his hand pressed to his chest, and took a few deep and calming breaths. She was always with him; he reminded himself. Within him, their bond was tangible, pulsing like a second heart. It was warm and reassuring and real. Nothing would ever come between them, not even distance…

And soon, he would be with her for real again, too. Just a few days…

. o O o .

On the second day of the Hunt, Hiccup’s lucky streak still seemed to go on. Or that was what he tried to tell himself, at least. He was still tired, even after some hours of rest, but after a quick but tasty and filling breakfast, he was back on the road in no time. And while the rain had kept on during the night, it had stopped by now. The sky was still cloudy and the air cool, but thanks to the trees and hills around them, the wind didn’t affect him too much.

Not once did he encounter other participants of the Hunt, not by chance and not someone who might be searching for him either. Apparently, he was safe from any followers, and all Astrid’s worries had been for nothing.

Around noon, he reached another village. Although, it wasn’t even that, really, mostly a way station and a few additional buildings around it. But it was nonetheless an important place as it was the last station of his journey before he would have to leave the road and head into the swamplands.

“Now, things are getting serious,” he murmured to himself, then chuckled. Talking to himself had been a habit he’d picked up during his years of travelling on his own, to not feel quite as lonely. Almost a year had passed since then, but apparently, old habits died hard.

Pressing his legs against the horse’s sides, he rode toward what had to be the stables. “Hello?” he called, looking around for someone to take over his tired horses.

There was a grunt followed by heavy footsteps, then a burly man in a brown leather vest and with a bald head came into sight. “Oi, stranger.” He looked Hiccup over, his eyes pausing on the badge on Hiccup's cloak. “A messenger, eh? We don't see many of you around here. I’m Owen. You need horses, boy?”

Hiccup nodded, but then directly shook his head. “I do. But before I ride on... Do you have a tavern around here? Somewhere where I can get something to eat?”

“No tavern,” Owen said, but nodded toward a building on the other side of the road. “But you can get food in the main building over there. There’s not much to choose from, but my wife makes a fine stew. Just perfect for this weather.” He threw a glance past Hiccup and up into the grey sky and grimaced. “I’ll have your fresh horses ready when you need them.”

With a grateful smile, Hiccup took his bags from the horses’ backs and wandered over toward the other building. He couldn’t agree more, a good stew was just what he needed, warm and filling. When he stepped inside, he was greeted by a wave of wonderful warmth, the scent of hearty food, and a middle-aged woman of a comfortably rounded shape coming over from another room.

“Oh, a visitor!” she exclaimed, looking him over with curiosity. “But look at you. Come in, come in. You look exhausted, boy. What do you need? A room to rest?”

With a tired sigh, Hiccup shook his head. He had no time to take a rest, no matter how appealing that thought was. “Just something warm to eat, if you would be so kind. I need to be back on the road as soon as possible.”

She frowned in motherly disapproval, but nodded when he inconspicuously turned so she could see his messenger badge. “I see.”

She ushered him in and before he’d even sat down, she placed a steaming bowl of stew in front of him.

“Must be a mighty important message you’re delivering when you can’t even take a minor break.”

Hiccup smiled into his spoon. Even tired as he was, the food and the comfort of the hearth fire was enough to refuel at least some of his energy. And the woman had been kinder than she had to be, so giving her some gossip in exchange seemed only fair.

“I guess it is,” he replied between two mouthfuls. “A wedding invitation, if I’m informed correctly. From House Jag’r. I’m supposed to deliver it and return with an answer right away.” That was the story they’d decided on, giving him a good reason to head back in a couple of days as well. Even as he didn’t look forward to the question that would inevitably follow.

The woman’s eyes grew and she leaned a little closer. “A wedding invitation, you say? So the rumours are true then. The princess is going to marry our young Lord Eret?”

Hiccup dug his head and had to bite his lip to keep himself from scowling. Of course, these rumours would have spread by now. And the fondness in her voice didn’t surprise him, either; House Jag’r was well-liked among its subjects. It wasn’t this woman’s fault, that the idea of Astrid and Eret marrying didn’t fill him with the same joy as her.

“Maybe,” he suggested casually. “Or it’s about Lady Esther’s wedding.”

“Lady Esther is going to marry too?” the woman exclaimed, and she clapped her hands in delight. “Oh, what wonderful news. Are you sure it’s true?”

Smiling a little more genuine now, Hiccup gave something between a shrug and a nod. “That’s what I overheard, at least.”

She seemed excited, but before she could say more, another woman called her over from the room next door and she left him to eat in peace. Clearly in a good mood now, she probably couldn’t wait to spread the gossip.

Content to have made at least one person’s life brighter today, Hiccup finished his stew, left a coin as thanks for his meal, and then headed back to the way station outside. Grimacing at the gust of wind tearing at his cloak, he waited for an older boy—surely Owens son, judging by his looks—to bring him his horses. He remembered the woman’s offer of a room to rest, and dreamily imagined taking her up on it, to get some sleep until the weather—hopefully—turned more agreeable soon. But he didn’t have time for that. He had to stick to their plan, couldn’t make an exception just because the weather wasn’t playing along.

As he rode on, his thoughts kept circling around the task that lay ahead of him, and slowly, he became nervous. Over the past few days, he’d repeatedly assured Astrid and the others that he knew what he had to do, that he had the knowledge and training necessary to hunt and kill a dragon.

But the truth was… It was years since he’d been out to learn how to hunt dragons, another life. He’d only been a youth, accompanying the experienced hunters to learn just like his father had instructed and everyone had expected of him. But back then, he hadn’t been interested in the best techniques to track and find wild dragons. Instead, he’d only been excited about seeing and studying them, leading him to pay little attention to what the more experienced men had tried to teach him. Now, he could only hope that enough information had stuck with him nonetheless.

. o O o .

When Hiccup reached the swamps, what awaited him was just what he’d expected. A vast plain where grass-covered hummocks seamlessly merged into muddy lakes as far as the eye could see, with lonely trees or small corpses strewn in-between. Sadly, the weather still hadn’t changed, the air cold and close to freezing. So far, the forest had kept him mostly safe from the biting wind, but out here, he wouldn’t have that protection anymore. Even his travelling cloak could only do so much in shielding him.

Hiccup grimaced but tried to focus on any advantages the wind could give him. It would carry scents and sounds over far distances, but maybe it would also confuse his prey, making it hard for the beasts to locate him. If he managed to track one down in the first place…

With a tired grunt, he dismounted and took the horses’ reins to lead them behind him as he made his way deeper into the swamps. He needed them to carry his equipment, but carrying him over the muddy ground would needlessly tire them out. So he went on foot, regularly leaving the animals fixed to a branch or rock when he found one to search the area for any signs that a dragon might be close by.

But there were none.

When dusk came, Hiccup was starting to feel anxious. For hours, he’d been wandering through these swamplands now, but not once had he spotted even the hint of wings larger than those of a hawk on the horizon, let alone found any traces of a dragon being nearby. And he was exhausted . The wetness from the ground had soaked into his trousers, his boots, and up his cloak, making it even heavier. Dragging him down. The sky had cleared, but without the sun that only meant the temperature was dropping even lower, further wearing out his remaining strength. And in addition, the three days of travelling hadn’t done his leg any good to begin with. By now, every step was painful, his back hurting, and his limps felt like jelly. He stumbled and fell more often the farther he wandered through the swamps, and soon, his hands were muddy and cold. Numb.

And still, there were no signs of any dragons. Which meant that he was wasting his time here anyway.

With a tired sigh, Hiccup sank down onto a damp rock and buried his face in his hands. Gods, he was so exhausted. He didn’t want to waste any time by just sitting here, couldn’t really afford to do so. But he couldn’t go on like this, either. He needed to rest , something to eat and some hours of sleep. Which probably was the more sensible thing to do, anyway. Yes, he would break off for today and get some rest. And tomorrow, he would travel farther north along one of the marked paths. Maybe he would have more luck there.

“It’s the only sensible thing to do,” he muttered to himself, reluctantly resigning to this plan. “But first, I need to find a dry place to make camp. And preferably something warm to eat…” The clear sky promised a freezing night, warmth would be essential.

Gathering his remaining strength, Hiccup fought himself back up on his feet and kept going. He wandered further through the swamps, but now, he wasn’t looking for hints or trails of any dragons anymore. Instead, he was looking for prey to hunt. A deer would be nice, enough meat to keep him full through the coming days. But just a rabbit would do, too. He still had some dried rations in his pack, but he would only touch those if he had no other choice.

This time, his search didn’t take long. It was less than half an hour, the sun gone and the night illuminated by stars only, until he spotted movement in the high grass ahead of him. The rustling of the blades of grass was distinctly different from that of the wind, and it seemed as if his tiny lucky streak was still going; from the size of it, it had to be a deer and not a rabbit.

He stopped, grimacing as he found nothing to tie the horses to, but it couldn’t be helped. He wouldn't be gone for long anyway. As quietly as he could, he took one bag off the nearer horse to reach the bow and quiver strapped beneath. Then, with one arrow loosely nocked, he sneaked up the hummock behind which the deer had disappeared.

Slowly, without making the slightest noise, Hiccup made his way to the top and looked for the deer. He’d heard the rustling of grass from the dip on the other side just a moment ago, the animal had to be here somewhere. He looked around, squinting to see in the near-complete darkness of the night—but when he spotted the beast, he barely believed his eyes.

From one moment to the next, Hiccup froze in fear, eyes wide and unable to move. The animal that stood with its head bent down to drink from a shallow lake just a few feet away from him was not a deer.

It was a dragon. And not just any dragon, no. Hiccup had never seen one of these before, but he’d heard stories and had seen drawings in old books. Deep black and almost invisible in the night, Hiccup could only make out its sleek body and powerful wings by the starlight reflecting on its shiny scales. A long tail with spiky tail fins, some odd earlike protrusion on its head, it was—

A Night Fury!

The ultimate prize!

Hiccup’s heart began to race uncontrolled. This was why he was here! For whatever reason the Gods had led his way here, this was it. It had to be! The legendary beast from the old stories, so tightly linked to his name. This couldn’t be a coincidence. Now, all he had to do was incapacitate the monster with the bola shooter, and—

And the bola shooter was still at the bottom of one of his bags, back with the horses.

At the last moment, he remembered to suppress his groan; alerting the dragon to his presence could have fatal consequences. But that was the problem. There was no way he could go back and return with the shooter without the beast hearing him. It was a miracle that he’d managed to sneak up on this stealthy dragon, to begin with.

His mind was working at a rapid speed. Only seconds had passed since he spotted the dragon, but it was unlikely that he would get much more time. Any moment now, it would notice him, hear or scent him. He had to do something now.

His eyes dropped to the bow and nocked arrow in his hands. A horribly insufficiant weapon to fight against a dragon, but it was all he had.

Feverishly, he tried to remember his lessons.

A downed dragon is a dead dragon.

The wings! If he incapacitated the beast’s wings and it wasn’t able to fly, couldn’t flee and could only attack him from the ground—then he might have a chance. He carried a hunting knife strapped to his belt; not much but, it could work. It had to!

Hiccup forced himself to calm down his breathing and lifted the bow. Archery wasn’t his greatest skill, but the shot should be easy enough. He just had to tear a big-enough hole into one of the leathery wings, that was all. Manageable from this short distance. Right?

Adrenalin made his hands shake as he pulled and aimed. But he only had this one chance. So he took a deep breath and held it, forcing himself to calm down. For Astrid! he thought, and released the arrow.

And for a brief moment, Hiccup thought he’d made it.

The dragon screamed—in pain or surprise, Hiccup couldn’t tell—and whirled around. Hastily, Hiccup dropped the bow and pulled his knife instead, and in rapid speed, instructions he’d thought long forgotten popped up in his mind. He had to keep moving, had to circle the beast, somehow corner it and if possible make it use up his shots. Now that it wasn’t able to fly, he had to attack its other wing, its legs, weaken it, and—

The Night Fury roared in his direction, its large black wings stretched wide. And to Hiccup’s dismay, they were unharmed. He’d missed. Cold dread filled his stomach, but he had no time to think about his failure. For the beast had spotted him. For an endless heartbeat, its cold eyes all but pierced him. Then it jumped into the air, wings covering the entire sky, and screamed. Purple light gleamed in its throat, growing brighter and brighter and—

Hiccup reacted without thinking. At the last moment, he threw himself to the side and out of the way of the dragon’s fiery breath, and the blast of purple light missed him by inches. However, instead of landing in the grass as he’d anticipated, the world was suddenly spinning around Hiccup, leaving him without orientation. Up became down, the ground turned into thin air, and as Hiccup tumbled down the hillside, he could hear the beast screech angrily.

The landing was hard, jarring. Icy darkness closed around him, the momentary numbness only pierced by a sudden sharp pain in his left leg. He screamed as something cut deep into his flesh and doubled over to reach for his leg, but jerked back a moment later, spluttering and gasping.

For an endless heartbeat, there was only chaos; the pain and cold made Hiccup blind to what happened around him. There was another scream from the dragon, whinnying from the horses, and a noise that sounded like a sudden gust of wind—and then, only silence.

With a low groan, Hiccup tried to sit up. It took him a few tries; the ground was muddy and slippery. He’d landed in a shallow pool, and the water was icy. It stung like countless needles and made his fingers go numb. His clothes, already uncomfortably damp before, now clung to his skin. They dragged him down, and crawling up the embankment was more difficult than it should be.

Between the pain and the freezing water, Hiccup had forgotten everything else around him. But once he was back on—relatively—dry land, he remembered that he wasn’t alone. Where was the dragon? Was it watching him, waiting in some shadow and ready to attack again? He looked around frantically, eyes darting here and there, with fear blocking his throat and making it hard to breathe. He was defenceless, wouldn’t be able to dodge another attack in his current state.

But no attack came. The surrounding shadows were empty, the dim starlight enough to see at least that much.

Slumping in on himself, Hiccup let out an exhausted sigh. The threat seemed to be over, for the moment at least. And if the dragon was still around… well, then there was little he could do to defend himself anyway. A quick search showed him that he must have lost his knife during his fall, and as poor of a choice of weapon it had been, without it, he felt even worse.

Accepting that he wasn’t in immediate danger, he took a minute to catch his breath, then shifted to inspect his leg. The sharp pain made him grimace. Adrenalin and the cold water had numbed the pain after the initial burst, but now it became nearly unbearable—and horribly familiar.

Hissing in pain, he peeled back the torn fabric and tried to inspect the wound as best he could without light. His fingers were shaking and he had to grit his teeth, but after a minute of prodding and probing, he had a relatively good idea of the state his leg was in. The wound was a clean and straight cut, matching the edges of the fabric. It wasn’t so deep that it was directly threatening, but he would need to treat it and pray that the wound didn’t get infected.

“Oh, wonderful, ” he cursed under his breath, as it dawned on him what must have cut him. “Just perfect! I manage to dodge the dragon’s attack, only to fall into my own weapon. Typical! I’m… I’m such an idiot!”

With a hopeless groan, he let his head fall against the knee of his good leg, feeling a horrible sense of déjà vu.

The night and the cold wind. The failed fight against a dragon. His injured leg.

It was all happening again.

But no! No, he wouldn’t mess everything up, not again. There was still time, he could still find and kill a dragon. He hadn’t failed, not until he gave up.

Gritting his teeth, Hiccup fought himself up to wobbly stand on his good leg. This new injury had hit his already weaker leg, which was good. Maybe his sort-of-lucky streak wasn’t over just yet, despite the mess he was in. He just had to focus on the positive things...

But the wound needed tending, and he was in dire need of some dryer clothes, too. Looking around, Hiccup found that his weird luck really hadn’t run out yet. Only a few steps away, he spotted a long branch. Crooked and not as strong as he would have preferred, it was still sufficient enough as an improvised crutch. It didn’t make walking easy, but at least it became a little more bearable.

Slowly, he made his way around the hummock to where he’d left the horses. In one of the saddlebags, he had clean cloth for bandages and a small flask of willow bark tincture. It probably wasn’t enough for a wound as big as this one, but it would have to be enough for now. However, even with his crude crutch, the way was difficult, especially on this uneven ground. Hiccup hobbled more than he was walking, putting as little weight on the injured leg as was possible. Time seemed to stretch endlessly as he went on and on, forcing himself to endure the pain.

Just a little longer...

Just until he’d reached the horses, then he could rest…

The way around the hummock seemed to take longer than was logically possible, but Hiccup passed that off as fatigue and the slight daze he was in with the pain and after the shock of the dragon attack. He felt like the beast had still to be around somewhere, and it took him way too long to realise his mistake.

The horses were gone.

He’d possibly rounded the hummock for the second time when he spotted a leather bag lying on the ground a small distance away from him. Hobbling closer, he recognised it as his own and after throwing a glance around was sure that this was the place he’d left the horses before he’d approached the Night Fury. Except that the horses were nowhere to be seen.

“ Of course, they aren’t here anymore!” he groaned, slumping down to the ground next to the lonely bag. “The dragon probably scared them and they ran away. And I run around like an idiot, looking for...” He trailed off, laughing at himself and shaking his head. “I’m such an idiot…”

Hiccup leaned against a rock and gave himself a few moments to regain his strength. He needed a rest… Just a moment to breathe, to gather his thoughts.

First, he had to find the horses. Maybe there was another silver lining waiting for him and they’d only run a little further away from the fight. Maybe, he could recapture them easily.

With more effort than he liked, he climbed back on top of the hummock, looking around, searching. By now, the moon had come out, a full moon, bathing the landscape around him in cool silvery light. But no matter how hard he looked, he couldn’t spot the horses anywhere. Instead, he spotted a patch of burned grass nearby, right next to where he’d left the lonely bag. He let out another groan. If the dragon’s attack had hit this close to the horses, it was no wonder they’d fallen into a panic and run. They were probably still running at this very moment, and were irrecoverably lost to him by now. Walking around looking for them wasn’t just nearly impossible in his current state, it was entirely useless, too.

“Shit…”

The curse came as merely a weak groan. Without these horses, it would be difficult to get fresh ones at a way station. And without horses in general, it would be tricky to make it back to Eret in time for the Dragon Hunt. If he was lucky, the messenger’s badge and a good story of how he’d lost the horses would be enough but—

Then the full range of this development hit him. The horses hadn’t just been meant to carry him back.

“SHIT!”

This time, he yelled. With the horses gone, he had no equipment anymore either. No bandages or medication for his leg. No dried food for emergencies. No oiled blankets against the weather. In those bags had been everything, clothes, equipment—his weapons!

Burying his face in his hands and pulling at his hair, he let out an inarticulate scream. Astrid had been right, after all. He should have listened to her. This whole idea had been madness right from the beginning. He never should have left her side. No matter how bad the odds, holding her hand when they tried to convince Daniel to support them… that would have been leagues better than dying out here, alone. Never to see her again…

“No…” He looked up, a small flicker of determination blooming in his chest amidst the ocean of despair inside him. “No, I won’t give up! I… I promised that everything would be all right…”

Behind his mind’s eye, an image of Astrid appeared. He’d barely ever seen her truly angry, but he could imagine so well how she would look, with her fists in her sides, leaning forward a little and giving him a well-deserved scolding. He could almost hear her, telling him that she’d told him so, that he was an idiot for going through with this stupid plan, and that he should have listened to her. Oh, what would he give to hear her voice for real now… Even if she were to yell at him, he wouldn’t mind.

With a weak smile on his lips, he raised his hand to press it to his chest. There it was, the pulsing of their bond, warm and reassuring. Urging him on. He wasn’t defeated, not yet.

Looking around the top of the hummock, he spotted his bow where he’d dropped it before. That was something, at least. Taking it, he made his way back to the one bag of equipment he had left. Every movement hurt, but that didn’t really matter. All that mattered was that he wouldn’t let himself drown in self-pity now. He had to do the best of his situation, no matter how bad it may seem.

Just like with the injury being on his already weakened leg, he found that he was lucky in that of all the bags he’d originally brought with him, this one was the one he still had now. It contained little that was of use to him right now. A woollen blanket and a spare tunic occupied most of the space within—both things he would appreciate once he’d found a dry place to rest—but so much more importantly was what he’d stored at the very bottom of this bag. Hidden beneath the layers of cloth should anyone have taken a look, he’d stored part of his weapons. A few additional arrows for the bow, a spare dagger…

And the bola shooter.

Apparently, the Gods were still on his side. He still had a chance. The thought was reassuring, enough to keep the rising hopelessness at bay. He hadn’t lost, yet.

Studiously, he pushed all other problems aside and only focused on the next step. First, it was the spare shirt he needed. Putting it on beneath his other dripping clothes would be pointless, but at least it was clean. Using the dagger from the bag, since he’d lost the other one somewhere in that muddy puddle, Hiccup cut the shirt apart and used the cloth to put an improvised bandage around his leg. Not perfect, but it was better than nothing. At least it helped staunch the bleeding for the moment.

“All right,” he muttered to himself as he lifted the by now damp bag off the ground and onto his back. “On to looking for a place to rest. Maybe I’m even lucky and I find something to eat after all.”

. o O o .

Eventually, Hiccup’s lucky streak ran out. It had to happen sooner or later, but he still cursed that it had to happen now.

What he needed more than anything else was a fire to warm his body and to dry his clothes, a place that wasn’t too damp and wood and flint and stuff to light it. Food or treatment for his leg would be a welcome bonus, but those could wait until tomorrow. First, he had to make it until then. And that proved to be more difficult than he’d anticipated.

After last night’s rain, finding dry wood or a dry spot to rest was all but impossible. With the injury on his leg, he only made slow progress, the pain getting worse with every step. More than once, he cursed having lost the horses, not just because of his lost equipment but because them carrying him now would have been an invaluable help. But it was more than just that. The exhaustion of the long days of travel eventually caught up with him, and the blood-loss combined with his wet clothes draining his strength did the rest to leave his mind clouded and fuzzy.

Two times, he noticed the movement ahead of him too late, a rabbit disappearing before he even had the chance to ready his bow. But even as his stomach grumbled, he found it more and more difficult to care.

His crutch hadn’t lasted long, had broken and left a long gash on his forearm in the process. Since then, he kept stumbling and falling, jarring his wound even further. And every time he fell, it became harder to get up again. He was beyond exhaustion by now. The cold wind was tearing at his clothes and slowly draining him of any energy that was left, cutting into his hands and face, and oftentimes made it hard to keep his eyes open at all. Every step was agony, his arms and legs were growing weaker with every minute, and fighting himself back up on his feet seemed more and more futile.

What even was the point? What was he trying to achieve by stumbling through this hostile landscape? Killing a dragon? Earning himself the right to be at Astrid’s side? Regaining his honour, proving to himself that he was not a failure? How was he supposed to do any of that here?

Maybe it was impossible, especially the last point.

Maybe, he was nothing but a failure, after all…

The next time his tired feet got caught and he landed face-first in the dirt, he couldn’t find the strength to stand up anymore. Maybe he should just stay here, sleep for a few hours. His skin was so numb that he wasn’t even feeling the cold anymore. And he was so tired...

Somewhere in the depth of his mind, he knew that these were not good signs. It meant hypothermia, meant that he most likely wouldn’t wake up again if he fell asleep, if he didn’t get up right now. But he was just too exhausted to move, every part of him. His body, his arms and legs, his head, and most of all his mind. Everything was so heavy and slow, so exhausting. Maybe, he should just stay here. Maybe he should give up…

It was then, in that moment of resignation, when he sensed it. A whiff of mayweed reached his nose, seemingly out of nowhere, and with it came the memories. An impression of golden hair. Eyes as endless as the sky. The ghostly touch of fingers, so soft yet also strong. And a voice sweeter than the sweetest music.

You promised . You promised that you ’ d come back to me. Please, Hiccup. I… I can ’ t imagine a world without you in it.

Groaning, Hiccup rolled onto his back.

“I… promised…”

Moving was difficult. His arms and legs were so numb he barely felt them anymore. But he had to get up. He’d promised Astrid that he’d come back to her, and it was a promise he was going to keep, no matter what. Grimacing and with a shaking hand, he reached for his left leg and pressed his thumb into the wound.

“F-fuck!”

Hiccup screamed. The pain was intense, burning hot along his nerves and bringing tears to his eyes. But it also ripped away the haze around his thoughts and brought him the clarity he needed.

He couldn’t stay here, couldn’t give up and die. He had to go on, to live. For her. Sitting up, he found himself halfway up a low hummock, the ground here slightly dryer. Tentative hope bloomed in his chest, but this wasn’t good enough. Maybe if he found another hummock with some trees, some ripped-off branches and something to shield him from the wind and further rain…

Clinging to that hope, he crawled toward the hummock’s top. By now, the moonlight was flooding the land around him, so maybe the raised position would help him find what he was looking for; any form of shelter against the weather would do.

What he saw, however, made him doubt his sanity again. There, less than half a mile away, was the glow and smoke of a fire.

Hiccup stared in wonder and disbelief. With his eyes clinging to the flickering light, he even thought that he could feel the fire’s warmth on his skin, smelled the scent of food.

He made an unconscious step toward the promising campfire but then paused again. If he truly went there… what would await him? If he was lucky— very lucky一then it was just a group of travellers, hopefully friendly enough to share what they had with a stranger in the night. But he wasn’t fooling himself. Who would wilfully travel through the swamps, and this far off the paths no less? No, far more likely was that somehow other participants of the Dragon Hunt had found their way here as well. And if that was the case…

Biting his lip, Hiccup pondered his options. Going to this camp might very well end in him getting killed on the spot. No matter whether those were the same people who’d killed Snotlout’s squire or whether they were regular participants and trying to win County Ravenledge; if they saw him as a rival then they wouldn’t hesitate to get rid of him. After all, out here, nobody would ever find out what really happened. But if he didn’t go to this camp…

Hiccup’s shoulders slumped in resignation. If he didn’t go to that camp, then he was as good as dead. There was no point in deluding himself; without the warmth of a fire, shelter and care for his wound, and maybe even some food, he wouldn’t survive the night.

“I promised,” he murmured into the breeze, his decision made. “I promised I’d come back to you. And I will, Astrid. Nothing will come between us. Not even death.”

So he made his way toward the campfire in the distance. He was still just as tired and cold and in pain as before, but the hope that maybe he would survive the night after all gave him the strength he needed. The hope that he might see Astrid again.

However, when he reached the edge of the light, he paused, confused. As far as he could tell, the camp was empty. There was the fire, burning brightly, a shelter made of oilcloth, and to the side stood two horses tied to a tree. There was even something roasting over the fire, two rabbits if he wasn’t mistaken. But whoever had hunted them or had built this camp, they were nowhere to be seen.

Maybe it was a trap. But at that moment, Hiccup didn’t care anymore. All he cared about was the heat of the fire beckoning him over, the scent of meat that made his stomach churn.

Slowly, he came closer, eyeing the shadows for any hidden movement even as he had no idea how he was supposed to react to an attack. Stumble against them and hope they would hit their head on a rock when they fell? Yeah, that would totally work...

With a heavy sigh, he slumped down by the fire. Warmth soaked into the skin of his face and hands, and with his weight off his leg, it already felt so much better than just moments before. He eyed the roasted rabbits but left them untouched. He was no thief, after all, still hoped the people here might help him. Instead, he just curled into a ball and sat as close to the fire as was possible without burning himself, and stared into the dancing flames.

Time passed—minutes or hours, he didn’t know anymore—until the sound of footsteps made his head whirl around. With wide eyes, he gazed at the figure emerging from the shadows, his heart pounding. He recognised them immediately, their armour, and knew exactly who was standing in front of him.

At that moment, he knew that he was dead.

. o O o .

AN: Soooooo... I'm incredibly curious about the reactions to this chapter! Finally, we met a dragon, if only briefly. But Hiccup is in a bad shape, not good for hunting down a dragon. And who was it he met there at the end? So many questions...

I'm already working on the next update, but as always, no promises for when it might be done...

Next Chapter

* - . - * - . o O o . - * - . - *

If you want to leave a tip you can buy me a coffee. I love coffee 😊

(Ko-Fi)

[nobodysuspectsthebutterfly]

Hello! If you don't mind me asking, are you planning on watching House of the Dragon? I'm personally unsure about it. I was cautiously optimistic about it since D&D are not involved, but the recent casting news have been ugh disappointing imo. What do you think?

Hey anon! Sorry to say I kind of mind you asking because my inbox is still closed (to everyone except my secret Santas, which is why the ask page is accessible at all), but then I realized it’s possible if you’re on the mobile app only, you haven’t seen said note in my askbox, or my FAQ, or anything of the sort. And with older metas of mine being reblogged recently, it’s possible you may be confused. (I hope you’re on mobile only and not just ignoring my requests.) So I wanted to inform you of that... but also, y’know, I kind of wanted to make a post about the HotD cast anyway? And this ask is as good a prompt as any... so, you’re lucky, but please don’t push your luck. ;)

So, straight up: I currently have no plans to watch House of the Dragon. HBO is not getting any of my goddamn money, I don’t trust like that. And hunting down illegal livestreaming sites is a pain in the ass and I regret ever doing it for GoT, as well as regretting getting drunk every weekend enough to dampen my senses to ever tolerate that show. Yeah it’s different showrunners and writers, I know. It’s still (mostly) the same executives at HBO and even if the pervert producer is gone (or is he?), you know they still just want to sell sex and violence and dragons to an audience that thinks fantasy is for geeks.

Also, considering that Fire & Blood’s story of Dance of the Dragons has very little actual narrative or dialogue, and the historical record is deliberately untrustworthy, that gives them pretty much full rein to do whatever they like with the story and characterization and words without even being slightly obliged to GRRM at all. Furthermore, since the story is wholly political with virtually none of the magical side of ASOIAF (excepting dragons), and honestly does not have much in the way of themes or depth that main ASOIAF or even D&E has, I think it will be very hard for an adaptation to show even those brief sparks of quality that used to make me wistful GoT couldn’t be that good all the time and eventually just made me frustrated and depressed. Note I do like the history and characters of the Dance despite myself, despite its many many many textual issues, but I don’t need to see an adaptation, I have a very visual imagination. I don’t watch a lot of television to begin with, I don’t see why I should start again with this.

However, I’m not going to avoid spoilers or discussion, and I’ll probably follow the show the tumblr way, through gifsets and video clips and people bitching on their blogs etc. If, somehow, by some miracle of good screenwriting and acting, the show manages to transcend its source material, I’m sure I will be informed. And then, if and only if then, I may try watching. (Without, of course, giving HBO any of my goddamn money.) We shall see.

(Though I certainly don’t know why anyone in Targ standom would ever watch a Dance adaptation considering almost every Targaryen and everyone else in the story is terrible except Helaena and the kids, and considering how the story ends, unless y’all are gluttons for punishment? (I do not comprehend hatewatching, sorry.) It’ll probably be fun at first to see the adventures of those “precious silver douchebags” (to borrow a friend’s tag), but eventually rocks fall, everyone dies, including the girlboss you know you’ll hope the story will be changed enough that she succeeds. Just letting you know now, she won’t.)

That said. I’ve been following the casting news and I think the hate/fear/wild screaming is entirely overblown. Yeah, I know, but wait, just listen. On Friday I officially welcomed @naomimakesart to the “favorite character is now played by an actor who looks nothing like most fanart and is mostly known for wildly different roles” club. I still remember that day in September 2009 when my brother texted me “yarp”... and that right there is the thing. Yeah. Rory McCann looks very little like most pre-GoT Sandor fanart... but many fans grew to love him anyway. (There are some who never did, of course. And yeah the character went off the rails by the end, but truly, who didn’t. Having seen his audition, having spoken to him and heard him wistfully talk about book scenes he loved, I’m convinced if Rory had only been given Sandor’s actual scenes and such, he would’ve killed it. Sigh. Deep, deep sigh.)

And Rory isn’t the only one. Neither of the actors for Jaime and Cersei were considered “beautiful” enough at first. I recall very clearly people bitching about Nikolaj Coster-Waldau (about his nose particularly?) because they had wanted Tarzan-era Travis Fimmel to be Jaime. (Seeing people bitch because current-Fimmel isn’t playing Daemon made me laugh out loud for both BEYONCE?! meme -type “why would you ever cast him omg he doesn’t fit my headcanon Daemon at all”, and amazing amounts of fandom flashbacks.) Lena Headey was “too square-jawed”, “too mean-looking” (since at the beginning you should never be able to guess she’s evil), “too dark-complected”, “too mannish”, not at all attractive enough. (Tricia Helfer was the most common “but I wanted” for Cersei, btw.) And of course “they don’t remotely look like twins, ugh!” Note, there’s receipts for all of this, none of it is made up. (Unfortunately.) Those two actors are just the ones whose casting wank I recall most clearly, particularly because oh how the turn tables.

Also. You know, there’s a post with Matt Smith and Mark Simonetti’s TWOIAF Daemon going around with shrieks of horror... and I’m finding it maddening in a “am I crazy? am I  the crazy one???” way, because Matt looks like the painting. Their features are not that dissimilar.

Same deepset eyes. Same cheekbones of doom. Same thin lips. Same protruding chin. Same high forehead. Same invsible eyebrows ffs. Matt has a squarer jaw, and a longer more rectangular face, and a wider nose, but considering that Daemon’s features are not described in the text, and this is the only official ASOIAF artwork that shows Daemon’s face straight on, I can for sure see why he was probably shortlisted to begin with. And that’s not even getting into to his role in The Crown, which I’ve heard is very well played with politics and palace intrigue... and if you doubt Smith can play seductive/roguish and/or evil (depending on how you LARP as a Westeros historian), or look good with long hair... well. I do not want to watch the movie, but this trailer is disturbingly enlightening.

And as for Rhaenyra... y’all know this show is starting at the beginning of the story, right? When she’s a teenager? Not a voluptuous MILF? Yeah, Emma D’Arcy doesn’t look like a Magali Villeneueve painting (though who does, good lord), but you know who she does look remarkably like? Harry Lloyd.

Same jawline. Same nose. Same thin lips. Same sharp cheekbones. Notably, same kind of sharp cheekbones and deep-set eyes as Matt Smith. HBO evidently has a concept of a “Targaryen look” that’s a little bit quirkier than supermodel-Greek statue-gods on earth, yeah, fine. But it’s consistent, and they look like family, and that-- that is good casting.

And yeah, in a few months to a year or so, you’ll see them in costume and wigs and makeup, you’ll see them in motion and speaking lines, and go Oh. That’s different. Never mind. And while people will make fanart of the show depictions of the characters and those will probalby get popular, they’ll also keep doing fanart of their pre-show headcanons, and those too will be popular. (God knows when I draw or visualize book!Sandor, Rory does not come to mind, lol.) Either way, there’s no reason to panic. We’ll live.

(Though will we live well? Got to wait on the writing and showrunning for that, alas.)

[kaleidoscopek9]

ALRIGHT-

SO

I've had this list of headcannons just sitting in my notes app of my phone and I wanna put it somewhere so 👀

(These are heavily inspired by what I could gather from the skele boys in @bonelyheartsclub! I just threw in a few of my own.)

-----------*

Sans

- Does a LOT of stargazing and has quite a few space-themed knicknacks and clothes in his room. He's got a telescope too!

- Dad jokes. Any time is prime dad joke time. He's never let an opportunity slip past him.

- He's an absolute prank master. You're considered lucky if you happen to avoid the ones he's planted around the house like bombs waiting to go off.

- He's cryptic as fuck. Always giving half-true answers to every question. Occasionally he may slip up and give you a brutally honest response, but that's only with the people he trusts most, and he finds being open to be very difficult.

- He's constantly referencing memes and vine quotes from days of yore. He practically has a database of every meme ever in his head, and he doesnt let it go to waste.

- Cuddling with him is basically a one way ticket to nap-town, and you constantly find yourself waking up to him smooshed against you on the couch after dozing off. For being a skeleton, he is a surprisingly comfortable snuggler.

-----------*

Papyrus

-So much baking and cooking. It's his favorite past time, and the kitchen never smells the same when he's done making whatever he's making in there (it's 12 times out of 10 pasta) And while his cooking may be sub-par, you never say no when he asks you to try his latest dish.

- He's always up to go shopping with you. It never matters where. Malls are his favorite, especially the big grand ones with fountains and huge windows. He makes it a point to bring spare cash because you KNOW he's going to ride the mini marry-go-round even if he can barely fit in the seats.

- You two love to binge watch cooking channels. Always discussing which foods would be the most fun to make, writing down recipies, and having a hell of a time trying to pause the show at the right points to get all the information down.

- Papyrus is notorious for game nights. He's always pulling out boards and cards that you've never heard of before and never starts a game until he's absolutely certain you know the rules. Winning of course, is always his prime goal when it comes to games, but if he senses you're on a particularly rough losing streak, he MAY slip up. Occasionally. Just enough so you can win a game or two. Or five.

-----------*

Blue

- Hyper as all hell. You give him a reasonable dose of sugar or caffeine and he could power an entire city for a few hours without breaking a sweat.

- If he had been in high school, Blue would have been a theater kid. He's always humming a tune from a Broadway show or Disney movie, and he's got a pretty good collection of songs on his brother's Spotify playlist.

- This guy will blast Steven Universe music at full volume he has no shame.

- If you are ever driving somewhere with him, an aux cord is a MUST. Singing in the car is a very frequent thing with you two, and you'll only get out after the song is over.

- He likes cryptids! Mothman is his favorite and he firmly believes he exists somewhere.

- He's your workout buddy. If he manages to drag you to the gym with him, that is.

- Blue hates seeing you down in the dumps, and is always trying to cheer you up with his quirky puns and jokes to get you smiling again.

- He'd be the best motivational poster ever. Whenever he picks up that you're going through a rough spot and falling behind on self-care, he knows just what to say to put the spark back in you again.

-----------*

Stretch

- Radiates goblin energy.

- A goddamn meme lord.

- He's made two or three widely known viral videos and nobody knows it was him.

- You need someone to go to an anime convention with? Stretch is your guy. He's god awful at planning stuff out, but he'll make sure you both have a good time, no matter what happens.

- He's really big into nerd culture, and he DMs for a dungeons and dragons game every week.

- He'll occasionally smoke, but he doesnt have lungs, so he does it more for shits and giggles than anything else.

- As lazy as he seems, he is very reliable. If he knows it's something important to you, he'll get it done. Chores though, he's a lot more iffy with.

- He really likes bees.

-----------*

Red

- Talks big talk, but he's actually a huge softie.

- He's basically a big pillow with sharp teeth that can curse.

- A nervous wreck.

- His brother shops at Hot Topic. He shops at Spencer's. Very convenient.

- He's a pretty big flirt and throws out little compliments and things to butter you up from time to time.

- If you take Red into a Dave and Busters he will win the most expensive prize at the booth in about 2 hours. (He knows how to cheat at every single game)

- He's a competitive gamer, and has a pretty impressive following on Twitch.

- He can go from loud and brash to quiet and insecure in a matter of moments, depending on the situation.

- He loves to bake, although it's something he will never be caught dead doing.

- Comfort is not his strong suit, but he will defend you without a second thought.

- He can be a little clingy and will text you now and again to ask what you're up to, just to ease his mind.

-----------*

Boss

- Professionalism is his game.

- The walking embodiment of Hot Topic.

- He loves to listen to rock and screamo music. He's also got a thing for Disney villain songs.

- You need some punk biker or vampiric goth fashion advice? Boss got ya.

- Skellator Man.

- Out of all the skeletons, Boss has the biggest ego.

- He hates admitting he's wrong. He would rather DIE than admit he's fucked up something.

- "I am not nice-"

- He could kill a man with his high heels.

- If it's got spikes he'll probably wear it.

- Tsundere. Tsundere. Tsundere. Tsundere. Tsu

- Did I mention he's a cold blooded tsundere.

-----------*

Nox

- Small angery man.

- He listens to a lot of classic and instrumental music. He finds it very sophisticated.

- Wakes up obscenely early in the morning. Always followed by a cup of the most bitter coffee on the planet.

- Comes up with the best insults. He could roast someone so hard that they'd dissolve into a pile of soot. He could glare at you and you'd cease to exist. He's that good.

- WILL step on you without remorse.

- Threatens to kill someone on a daily basis.

- Very rarely has spare time for himself. He's always keeping busy doing something.

- Loves dark, dry humor. A child falling off a swing will have him laughing for a good five minutes.

- Has a stone cold poker face.

- He might have a softer side to him. You may never know because of the walls he's built up around him.

-----------*

Rus

- He absolutely adores animals. He volunteers at the local animal shelter and plans on adopting every single dog there.

- Rus has a massive sweet tooth. Donuts are his favorite, and you can easily bribe him with anything sugar coated.

- A road trip master. You put him in a camper and he knows exactly where he's going and what he's doing.

- "Going off grid, fuck yeah- I pull out my credit cards and shred 'em."

- Hiking, camping and geocaching are some of his favorite things to do. He loves to explore the wilderness and it's like he has a built-in compass for finding his way.

- His ideal date is going to a Wal-Mart and causing absolute chaos by riding bikes around and tossing all of the inflatable balls from their displays.

- Cryptidcore energy.

- Rus loves watching Buzzfeed Unsolved and ghost huntings. He's a big fan of Supernatural and Stranger Things, too.

- Stutters and slurs his words a lot. He's got some speech impediments from the gold canines in his mouth.

- A bit lacking when it comes to social skills, but he can be extremely caring and sweet.

-----------*

Ash

- Very soft-spoken and awkward. He doesn't get much social interaction and is still figuring some things out.

- He's very self-aware of the wound in his head. Whenever he has to leave the house he wears some sort of hat to cover it up.

- Practically lives in his garden. He understands plants more than he does human beings, and he spends time daily tending to whatever he's growing.

- Him and his brother are both vegetarians, and the smell or sight of meat makes them both feel sick to themselves.

- Has trouble sleeping due to his reoccurring nightmares. He will often sit in his garden late at night to help calm himself.

- Radiates soft energy. He would absolutely give the best hugs out of all the skeletons.

- Very touch-starved. Physical affection is something he rarely recieves, and he probably lingers with touches a lot longer than he should.

- Unintentionally makes God-teir jokes without realizing it.

----------*

Poplar

- Very well-educated in a lot of things. He really likes stocking up on useless factoids and making up his own just to mess with people.

- He answers Jeopardy questions with concerning accuracy.

- He enjoys going out to eat, and he's always up to try fancy foods.

- He likes photography and reading. He is well into the Harry Potter series.

- Poplar is prepared for anything at any time. A lot of stuff doesnt phase him at all, and it's difficult to catch him off-guard.

- He's willing to try anything new, once.

- Always willing to help out with schoolwork if he thinks you're seriously struggling with it.

- He's always carrying around small planners and notebooks to write in so he can keep track of things.

[avasghost]

When We Drown Update #1

wip intro here.

DISCLAIMER: this is my original work. please do not plagiarize in any way.

hello!! i’m back with the first when we drown update!

so. i’m around 8000 words into the draft. i started writing on february 15, and its currently march 20, so its already been over a month which is ... wild. time flies when ur having fun kids.

its flowed a lot smoother than crane anatomy so far. i’m really enjoying the process, since i’m not trying that hard to make it good?? i didn’t know i was capable of “not trying to make it good” but maybe i am 👀

the writing style is very different from crane anatomy. CA is very flowery, but the prose in WWD is a lot plainer. i really like both prose styles, which is why it’s nice to be able to alternate between them when i feel like writing in one and not the other.

i used to get these random line ideas when i was only writing crane anatomy, but they didn’t fit the prose of that book. i’ve realized that those lines fit perfectly into the style of this book so yay my children found a home <3

excerpts under the cut.

chapter 1: the lighthouse

the story opens on a lighthouse on new years eve, 1999. this was an image that popped in my head while i was brainstorming and i decided to jump in and start writing because i was Intrigued. it’s a snowy night, and a woman and her four-year-old son (elias) are on the run from other members of the cult she is part of. we see her finally picking up the courage to run away, because unfortunately in this cult leaving isn’t allowed and they want to kill her. this is why she’s so depressed all the time because :) cult trauma :) they escape from their pursuers by hiding in the lantern room of a lighthouse, and then the woman gives birth to a daughter, the protagonist. her brother, elias, is referred to as “you”, and even though she wasn’t born yet, april narrates this scene because she’s been told the story so many times that she thinks of it almost like a memory, sometimes she wonders if she actually does remember it slightly.

the first line:

The first time I met you was on the lighthouse. It was the midwinter of 1999, new years eve, five p.m., already dark. I wasn’t born yet.

i quite like this opening! every opening i’ve written for the last four books has been good so that’s good

anyway here’s some night ocean and moon imagery:

The black ocean dilated in a gauzy breeze far below, waves ruffling like crow’s feathers. The distant sloshing drowned out some of the noise of the men’s boots clattering on the stairs. A cloud slipped in front of the moon, puddling its glow.

then the woman and elias hide under some tarps in the lantern room and the men who are hunting them come and look for them and somehow don’t find them which is completely unrealistic but :) if they got found april would never be born so :) that wouldn’t work would it :)

and then the men leave and april is born in the lantern room which was the most aesthetic birth i could think of okay. i had to. also the new years fireworks start going off:

We slept in the lantern tower. The beam that guided sailors lanced over our heads, a pinprick you hardly noticed. The fireworks all burst at once – a blur of  orange, green and blue lights popcorning in the dark. I was tiny, too skinny, I shouldn’t have survived the night, but I did. Mother told me years later that I was the last baby of the 20th century, and that made me lucky.

the irony <3

chapter 2: lacuna

this is a chapter that takes place years later (and covers the first nine years of april’s life) and talks about her awful childhood. her older brother, elias, is her only friend other than two other girls (Elena and Magnolia). lets just say her life is terrible and i’m v happy i’m not her!

Mother always said I looked like her, and you looked like our father. I never thought so, even though I’d never seen pictures of him. Mother never showed us any. I couldn’t bring myself to associate you with him. From what I’d heard of father, you and him were opposites, different entities, born in different worlds and buried in different graveyards.

and their mother tells the story of april’s birth so often that april thinks of it as a memory, which is why she was able to narrate it:

She retold the story of my birth so frequently that every detail was visceral in my mind: the snow sparkling in juts of moonlight, a lonely rowboat almost invisible in the dark sea, the footsteps thudding along the passage, fireworks sparking in the sky and lighting the night on fire.

chapter 3: found and lost

in chapter three, ten-year-old april and fourteen-year-old elias play hide and seek and april fails to find elias. he is unfortunately never seen again.

the first line of the chapter:

There was a stretch of time when life was at its fullest, even if, for me, that meant half-empty. Ten years old, you were fourteen. Still friends, we didn’t share the usual sibling rivalry. It was midwinter, four days before my birthday. Ice glossed the branches of the spindly elm trees that studded our quiet street, scabbed the pavement so it was hard to walk.

yes i know this is set in BC and it doesn’t snow that much here but the aesthetic was too perfect so this is apparently an alternate BC where it snows a lot <3

another brief lighthouse description:

The lighthouse was a pinnacle that made an incision in the sky, clouds spiralled around it. Close enough to walk, too far to see in detail. Its lonely beam jittered over the water, even in broad daylight.

april counts and then goes to look for elias

Snow crinkled in my mittens, numbed my fingers so I could hardly move them. Rice-paper clouds obscured most of the sun, so the light that dribbled through was watery and lukewarm.

but she can’t find him

I searched every corner of the forest, every backyard of every stranger, I searched the lighthouse where I was born, I searched the rim of the ocean, which churned like a flame, licking the sand, eating it, spitting it out. The world snowglobed around me, disorientating every thought and movement. No birds, no beasts, no you. In that frozen world I was alone. The sky melted into a deep Aegean blue, and the stars winked like exit wounds, every tear an ocean, every finger an ice cap. Tears shuddered down my cheeks. They shattered on the icy pavement as I walked home, hoping you would hop out from behind a tree, a house. Maybe you were already home, maybe this was all a joke.

and time passes and they still can’t find him

Everyone said you must have drowned, even though they searched the ocean floor for days and never found your body. Maybe it had already drifted beyond our reach, they said. Maybe you were eaten by something, and your remains coated the mouth of some sea monster long assumed to be extinct.

at the end of chapter three, there’s a scene break that flashes forward to when april is fourteen, walking along the beach in a mist, and she sees elias’s ghost for the first time, and is momentarily convinced that he’s still alive, just like she thought.

It was almost unnoticeable, the way you popped up. A face in my peripheral, probably just a memory in the corner of my mind. But when I looked, you were there: a pearly mist with a face, eyes, a mouth. You breathed daylight, basked in fog like a natural habitat. I stared, unsure of what you were, where you were. Was this it? Had I been right all along? You were here, drifting in front of me, disembodied but still very much alive.

chapter 4: gooseberries

short flashback chapter! i wrote this entire chapter in about half an hour. its only 700 words, but i’m a very slow writer and that’s a lot of words for me to write in such a short time. also this chapter helped me realize that i want to write this book non-linearly! i love non-linear books and i think its a perfect form for this book!

the flashback goes to when april is still a baby (i know she shouldn’t be able to remember this but? she just does okay) and their mother takes her and elias to the woods and they hide in the roots of this tree while she goes and gets stuff for them to eat: gooseberries and pine needles (had to look up an article about edible wilderness food). april chokes on a gooseberry and elias helps her, which creates trust, and distrust of the mother because she didn’t try to help at all. thats it thats the chapter. not entirely happy with this, it needs a lot of work, but i think its still necessary to keep in the book for now.

She left, and like a mother bird, found food and brought back heaps of veiny gooseberries, her pockets stuffed with red pine needles, which she knew were edible from a wilderness survival course she took in high school. I had no teeth back then, the craggy flesh of my gums wasn’t enough to chew berries or pine needles, my throat too frail to swallow.

that’s all i have for this update! i know i said in the wip intro that there wouldn’t be updates very often, but i think the next WWD update will be soon because i’m really in flow atm!

- Ava

Taglist (please ask to be added or removed!) : @shaelinwrites​​ @august-iswriting​​ @wildswrites​ @nodeadnarrators​ @annlillyjose​ @shaonharryandpannisim​ @letsgetsquiggly​ @strangerays​ @mel-writes-with-her-dragons​  @chloeswords​ @teaandtypewriters​​

[boymeetsweevil]

the shape you make

Grouping: Reader x Johnny

Word Count: ~4.1k

Warnings/Themes: Halloweentown AU (again), body insecurity, slight allusions to speciesism, graphic smut, communication issues (as always), a very thirsty work friend

Summary: For both you and Johnny, there is something big holding you back from being intimate. At the yearly Harvest party, that something big becomes something known.

A/N: This fic is part of The Intimacy Anthology, and then Halloween came and ate it :) If you’re interested in the project and/or would like to see the works from the other talented artists, click the link!

“—I mean, we’re doing fine. I would say it’s perfect except for one thing.”

You frown down at the dragonling wriggling in your hands, partially in pity for him. Snickerdoodle is in for his first-ever check up and by the way he tries to burrow into the front pocket of your uniform, you can tell he’s uncomfortable. It’s likely that the coolant pills given to suppress fire during examinations are upsetting his stomach. You pat his rough belly. 

The rest of your frown is dedicated to a predicament you face with your boyfriend. 

You’ve been dating Johnny for three months. After being set up by two mutual friends who thought you’d be a good pair, you hit things off and decided to see where things would go. The issue was, while you’d had many a good conversation and even met his mother, you still hadn’t let Johnny get to know the real you. Which meant things between you felt too good to be true and you were preparing for an inevitable rebuff.

“What’s the problem again? He doesn’t want to go with you to the Harvest party?” 

Your coworker Nautilanita ruffles her wings anxiously as she hunts for the correct syringe for dragon skin and a few treats to distract Snickerdoodle. 

“No, we’re going to the Harvest party. The problem is that I want to go further with Johnny, but I don’t think I actually can.”

“Oh. That’s what I thought you said. But he’s literally perfect, so I figured I misheard you.” 

You roll your eyes. Despite being pair-bonded to another lovely griffin for almost 13 mating cycles, something about Johnny turns your friend into putty.

“I think that’s the problem. He’s hot, he’s sweet, he’s funny—”

“Ehh. I don’t think I’ve heard a great joke from him yet.”

“He’s funny in that cute, corny way.”

“Fair.” Nautilanita approaches Snickerdoodle with a dried newt and distracts him just long enough to give him the first of his vaccinations. “So, what, you don’t like perfect guys?”

“It’s not like that. It’s more like he treats me like I’m perfect.”

“Okay, did you just come here to brag?”

The flat look on Nautilanita’s face is enough to startle a laugh out of you. You’re glad for the tiny distraction and allow some nervous energy to leave you.

“You know what I mean. There’s things he doesn’t know about me that I’m pretty sure could ruin us. I’m not the perfect person he thinks I am.”

“What does not perfect mean?”

Nautilanita hands you a needle and switches places with you, scooping up Snickerdoodle. You take up a new syringe to draw some blood from between his wings for the examination. With quick work, you watch the gold liquid fill the barrel of the syringe.

“It sounds dumb when I say it out loud,” you whine while taking the blood away to the chemistry machine. Nautilanita smiles softly at you.

“That probably means it is dumb. And that you don’t have to worry about it.”

“You’ve seen Johnny, though.”

“Yes. Of course I have,” Nautilanita sighs dreamily. If it were anyone else, you might get jealous.

“He’s athletic and super buff. He’s normal. And I...”

“Yeah, I’m gonna stop you there. This is dumb. Do you think Johnny is a shallow guy?”

“Of course I don’t. I know he isn’t.”

“Then do you really think he’s gonna just drop you because you’re not 'normal’? I still don’t even get what that means.”

“No, but—”

The machine beeps and Nautilanita hands Snickerdoodle back to you to collect the sample.

“But what?”

“But I what if he doesn’t want me? What if he can’t be attracted to me?”

“Have you and Johnny kissed?”

��Uh, yeah.”

“More than once?”

“Yes.”

“And has he ever initiated a kiss?”

“Sure, lots of times.”

“Then I think he finds you attractive.”

You grimace to yourself. It sounded so easy put that way though you weren’t sure if Nautilanita even understood your worry. Maybe sitting down at that Leprechaun-run cafe after work with Nautilanita would help make your predicament clear, but at the moment you felt too exhausted. In an ideal world, it would be just as easy as Nautilanita said.

“What do you think?”

Mark holds up two button down shirts to his front for Johnny to compare. One is a saturated red and the other is a muted periwinkle blue.

“Blue one, easy.”

“Thanks. I’d ask Yeri, but she’s gonna be working almost up until the Harvest party. You’re lucky.”

“I don’t know who you’re calling lucky. I put sweat and tears into my outfits because I pick them all myself.”

“That’s bull. That one with the turtleneck and chains two weeks ago? There’s no way that was all you.”

“What? Yes it was”

Johnny tries not to eye the Harvest outfit he has laying on the chair at the other end of his room. The one that he’d recruited you into helping him with, over the duration of several days.

“Hmm. Not even when you’re shopping? Like when you’re in the fitting room and kind of flirting a little bit? Not even then?”

“Didn’t know you were such a hoe, Mark.”

"I have layers,” is all he says with flushing cheeks.

He’s glad Mark didn’t notice he avoided the question because the truth is that he’s never had such a moment with you. He’d like to, though. He’d like to be able to take you shopping with him, like normal couples do. Maybe you’d manage to sneak into the fitting rooms and give him a stack of things you’d want to see him in. Maybe half the time he’d come out shirtless just to see your reaction. Maybe at the end he’d pull you into the fitting room with him after one too many appreciative glances from you. But he can’t.

You’ve actually never seen him shirtless. Despite the fact that his thoughts sometimes go that direction when at the gym. Despite the fact that all his friends, Mark included, seem to think he’s already long since seen you bare and bared himself for you.

“You okay?” Mark asks when the minutes have ticked by and the conversation has screeched to a halt.

“Yeah, yeah. Just thinking.”

“What about?”

“What if, just as a scenario, we hadn’t done anything other than kiss.”

Mark’s eyes widen in the middle of folding his shirts and though he tries to hide the reaction, Johnny catches it.

“You mean you and—”

“Yeah.”

“So, just a peck or...”

“No! It’s definitely gotten, uh, intense. But I haven’t ever taken off my clothes in front of her or anything.”

Mark tilts his head, eyes narrowed above Johnny’s head. “Because you don’t want to?”

“That’s the thing. I do. But I’m pretty sure I’m not her usual...type.”

“Have you gone through a catalogue of her past relationships and found her type?”

“No, but—”

“Has she said she doesn’t like certain things about you?”

“...No.”

“Then why do you think that?”

“Well—”

The chimes of an alarm on his phone interrupt his explanation. Johnny turns off the alarm and gets up to the bathroom. He leaves the door open, not worried about privacy in the company of his best friend. Over the sound of running water and the aerosol of shaving cream leaving its canister he continues.

“I don’t want to make things awkward for her.”

“I mean, if you want her to look at you that way, that’s important. Even if she does have a type.”

“Right,” Johnny mumbles while running his razor under the tap. 

Mark comes to lean against the doorframe of the bathroom to hear better. Johnny’s lips purse at Mark’s reflection in the mirror. He feels torn.

“And if you’re wrong, then you can just move forward.”

“Right.” 

Right?

This year, the Harvest party is being hosted at the mayor’s house instead of at a corporate venue. There are probably hundreds of guests on the property all milling about and giving you a calming sense of anonymity. Johnny texted you earlier that evening telling you where you could find him when you finally left the vet clinic and made it to the party.

A few friends stop you to make small talk and instead of telling them you have to go meet Johnny, you let them delay you. A nymph from work brings you to the large kitchen to eat some rare berries she brought. Another friend from work ushers you onto the main floor to spin you a few times while a song that you like plays.

When the song changes, you exchange goodbyes and stumble off from them. Unfortunately, you bump into Nautilanita, who you had also technically been avoiding.

“Look who it is,” Nautilanita‘s talons curve dangerously around the stem of a wine glass.

“Oh, hey.”

“Guess who I ran into half an hour ago.”

“Who?”

“Guess.”

“Johnny?”

“Mhm. Your boyfriend,” Nautilanita snaps. “Why was he asking me where you were? I had to lie and say you got held back at work.”

“You weren’t required to do that,” you point out. Nautilanita narrows slitted eyes at you.

“I’m guessing you haven’t sat down and talked with him yet.”

“I haven’t. I do plan to, though. I’m just...”

“Nervous?”

You nod and suddenly Nautilanita is grabbing your arm and pulling you over to a darker corner of the house. There’s a group of people huddled loosely near the basement door, light smoke wafting up from where their heads are craned down.

“What are we doing?”

“Getting you some extra courage.”

“Nautilanita,” you hiss before darting your heard around your surroundings. “Did you forget we have weekly drug tests at work?”

“I’m not getting you drugs. I’m getting you some courage. It’s legal, I think.”

You stand off from the group, confused, as Nautilanita chats with the lady in the middle of the huddle. A witch, based off the purple ring she wears. The witch reaches into her bag when Nautilanita does actually ask for courage by name. Nautilanita returns with a small bag of bright yellow orbs that flash welcomingly in the low lighting.

“Open.”

You open your mouth obediently and chew the little rubbery yellow ball until it bursts into your mouth. It tastes a bit like dish soap but you swallow it.

“How long does this last?”

“10 minutes.”

“You mean I only have 10 minutes to find him and tell him everything?”

“Well, 9 minutes and 55 seconds now.”

You push past Nautilanita to circle back through the crowd and climb the staircase to where Johnny said he’d be on the second floor. He’s not in the billiard room at the end of the hall, but someone there points you toward one fo the guest rooms. When you find him he’s sitting in an arm chair in a corner guest room, scrolling on his phone when you enter abruptly.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” he puts his phone down and makes his way over to you. “Why are you out of breath?”

“I, uh, ran up the stairs.”

“You ran up the stairs to see little ol’ me?”

Johnny’s smile is bright and genuine and suddenly you feel a rush of something. It must be the courage. You throw yourself into his waiting arms and press your face to his chest. He should know, you think. He deserves to know.

You’re about to pull away and confess to him, but then he’s lifting your chin with a finger. His smiles bleeds into his eyes and softens into something you think you could swim in. He leans down and catches your mouth in a kiss.

Instead of worrying about the courage running out, you focus on the kiss. With your eyes closed you can properly lose yourself in the feeling of the hard muscle under his soft sweater. The sweater he chose after frantic consultation with you. 

Emboldened by the way you relax into him, Johnny pushes further into your space. His bangs tickle your face when he swivels his head and presses a fuller kiss to your lips. Warm hands creep a slow path up from the flare of your hips to the hem of your work shirt. His breath hitches a little in a puff against your cheek when you push up into him and kiss him harder. His hands come to anchor himself on your lower torso again. This time your movements have pulled your work shirt up to expose your stomach. 

The drag of the skin of his fingers on your lower back has you yanking yourself back with darting eyes and a shaky smile. It pains you to ruin the momentum of the moment, but you know that if you don’t explain yourself before your clothes are supposed to come off, you don’t know how things will end. You’re not expecting to look up and find Johnny’s eyes filled with something that looks akin to fear. 

“Shit—I’m sorry.” He rocks back on his heels and lets his gaze bounce around the corners of your face looking for a cue. “Should we talk about this?” 

You think about the 10 minutes you have, and how much of it could possibly be left.

“Y-yeah.”

You gravitate towards the guest bed and he follows with a flop.

“I hope you know I don’t want to pressure you into anything,” he offers.

“I know you weren’t. It was just getting kinda heavy there for a second.”

“And you don’t want that to happen.”

“I want to make sure you still want to.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because...I haven’t been totally honest with you.”

Johnny can feel the prick of sweat at his hairline and across his shoulders. He kind of wishes you would just tell him you know what he’s hiding so he can begin to adjust. He knows it’s not what Mark would suggest, but he doesn’t want to lose you.

“I know humans say they like magical folk, but being friends with the magicals and being with them is really different.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“And even if they really are fine with us, they probably still would prefer to be with other humans.”

He nods, and then replays your words in his head. You said ‘us’.

“Maybe you wondered why it’s taken us so long to be physical”

“I have, honestly. But that doesn’t mean you should rush to do that.”

“Well, it’s not because I really needed more time. It’s because I didn’t have the courage to before. I didn’t want you to see me like a monster from those old books.”

“Wait, are you saying you’re—”

Before he can finish his sentence, you reach for the buttons of your work shirt and undo them as quickly as you can with shaking fingers and courage long since run out. As the shirt loses its structure and falls away, he can see more of your skin than he ever has before.

Scattered in patches across your abdomen, breasts, and even your back are teal scales that reflect his shocked expression back at him in dozens of little frames with the clarity of a polished gem.

“I’m actually not human. I come from a long line of water sprites.”

The tears of shame in your eyes, another first sight for him, are the same iridescent teal and leave subtle crystalline streaks on their way down your cheeks.

He doesn’t mean to, but he can’t find actual words, and the laugh seems to jump from his throat. Low bubbling first it then grows as the seconds pass by. You look up from the bedspread because you can’t believe your ears. This isn’t at all how you imagined he’d react. He holds up a hand. He knows how bad the reaction is but he can’t help it.

When the laughter begins to subside a moment later, he attends to his own shirt. He hikes the material up over his head and reveals smooth skin. You’re not sure what’s going on at first, but then he removes the silver earrings he wears every day and fur begins to sprout from his torso, his forearms, around his face. His canines and nails lengthen before your eyes to sharp points. And suddenly you understand.

“I bought these from a witch who specializes in werewolf magic the day before our first date,” he reaches over and places the small silver hoops into the palm of your hand.

You look down at the jewelry and then back up at your boyfriend’s face. You’re surprised to see that he looks different, though not because of the sudden lycanthropic transformation. There’s a lightness in his eyes and length in his spine that makes you realize just how much his secret was weighing on him.

No words leave your mouth as you crawl into his space. A small smile graces his lips and he lays on his back to make room for you. You kiss him once more and you’re shocked at how different it feels to do so without a secret smothering everything. As you part his lips, Johnny lays his hands on your skin gently. When you don’t withdraw, he lets his hands wander. 

His palms skim over the cold patches of scales like he’s trying to warm them. He likes the juxtaposition of the warmth from your skin and the cool brilliance of your scales. He likes the way they pattern on you, lining your spine and sloping over your roundnesses. He kiss parts he can reach on your shoulder and when you stop to let him move more, his kisses follow the trail below your collarbone and between your breasts. When he tentatively swipes his tongue over them, you sigh and sink more fully into his lap.

You pull at the thick hair hear the nape of his neck and redirect him back to your mouth. It doesn’t escape you that your bare torsos are constantly brushing. Your nipples harden when he hugs you to him and shivers at the cool patches meeting his skin.

“Are we going to?”

“Do you want to,” his breath puffs against the side of your jaw.

“Please.”

The press of your rocking hips against his reminds him of just how much clothing there’s still left to remove and how much skin there still is to marvel at. After switching positions, he has you on your back and makes a start on removing your pants. He makes quick work of them by trailing a claw under the stubborn button. When the slacks are gone, he looks over the splashes of blue on the inside of your right thigh, spilling over the front of both your shins, wrapping around your left ankle.

He starts there, with a simple kiss to the sparkle on your ankle and then continues. Like skipping a stone through cerulean waters, he kisses over your shins and makes his leisurely way over the hill of your knee. His tongue makes an appearance at your right thigh, where you had been praying for it. He lingers there until he’s certain the area is no longer untouched. There’s an urge to mark up the other thigh as well so there’s some symmetry. He follows the urge with your hand fisting in the thick strands of his hair the whole time.

“Johnny,” you groan when he takes too long trying to mirror the pattern of your scales with small nips to your skin. “When I asked if we were going to have sex, I was asking about today.”

“Sure, I’ve got you.”

He pats your thigh in a placating gesture, and then slides your underwear off at an obnoxiously slow pace with a shit-eating grin. You try your hardest to level a glare at him, but you break eye contact to gasp when he slides a gentle finger between your folds with no prior mention. You briefly consider just letting him continue, but you’re chasing a very specific sensation.

You rake your nails up the part of his back that you can reach, parting some of the fur there. The shiver that wracks through his whole back has you biting your lip in an attempt to stifle laughter. But it also has him shifting so he can hover over you, his hips occupying the place his shoulders once did. While he balances his weight on his knees and one hand, he uses the other hand to get just free enough from his pants.

He replaces his hand when the button, zipper, and the waist of his pants and underwear bunch around his lower thighs. You reach down before he can do anything else and see what he’s working with. Johnny releases a shaky breath while you feel him up, trace the trail of hair that run from his stomach to his groin. Your other hand runs up his arm in an idle fashion. It’s unintentional but, still, the feeling of your nails running over his skin feels like a live current, even through the fur.

The concentration he exhibits is clear as his head lolls forward. You stop your exploration and nudge him into action with a squeeze of your thighs. He still leans down to plant a kiss on your lips before hooking one hand under your back and around a thigh and shifting so you’re seated in his lap once more. You lower yourself onto him fully and begin rocking. You had been ready to take him early on but you’re wet enough to surprise him. He fights the instinct to pitch up into the wet heat until he’s sure you won’t mind.

When you start to get a bit frustrated with the angle, you push him back and brace yourself on either side of his chest. He lets out a long moan as you ride him, fangs glinting when he throws his head back. His hands come to pull you down onto him more firmly. He doesn’t realize that the prick of his claws on the swatch of scales that adorn your hip spurs you on as well. Each downward snap of your hips he meets halfway until he can feel the tell-tale signs of his orgasm coming. He’s not expecting you to reach down and brush a fingertip against the tip of one of his fangs. Carefully so you don’t cut yourself while you continue to bounce against him, you brush your finger across his lips. He’s not sure why, but it sets him over the edge and he spills into you.

You watch the way his face contorts with the pleasure and ache to join him. Grabbing one of clawed hands, you bring it to the apex of your thighs and he quickly guesses your need. He does his best to rub at your clit while the edges of orgasm fade away from his peripheral vision. It’s just slick enough to get you there, and you finish soon after his fog lifts.

The first thing you do is collapse onto him as you recover. Johnny tries to take deep breaths that you can match and eventually the two of you are letting out twin exhales. When you’re able to, you lift yourself just enough to kiss him again. This time it’s one soft singularity.

He sighs against your lips, and when he pulls back there’s a bemused smile on his face.

“I can’t believe you thought I was human.”

“Yeah,” you close your eyes. “I don’t know how we managed to fool each other for so long.”

“I was actually shaving five times a day since the first date.”

The thought makes you smile when you think back on all the times he would go to the bathroom and come back with a pink face.

“Now I’m sure you can guess why I never washed dishes at your place.”

“Would you get more scales,” he asks while brushing his thumb over the apple of your cheek.

“Close. My fingers would turn blue and web.” You wiggle them for effect.

“You know what? I don’t even think either of us actually said we were human. I guess we just assumed.”

You nod and wonder how things would have been if you came out earlier. The idea of surprising a Johnny that thought you were human on the 2nd date with webbed fingers makes you break your composure. He must follow your train of thought because he begins laughing too, shaking the two of you with the force. When you quiet down again, there’s a heavy calm settled in your ribcage. You suppose this is what courage can bring. Johnny rubs your back as you start to nod off. The last thought you have is that you’ll have to remember thank Nautilanita.

[agreeablesenseofthemacabre]

Lifting the Sea

“Where’s Cas?” 

Dean does a full comedic rotation before spotting the Angel— his husband— whatever, scowling at his phone near a landmark. 

He shrugs, “Catching those little monster dudes probably. Apparently they’re all over the place here.”

Sam’s brow furls, he looks over at Eileen who shrugs. 

“What?”

“You know that fuckin’ app that everybody was obsessed with like... 5 years ago? Pocket something something”

Sam frowns for a split second then it hits him.

“Pokémon go?”

“Yeah that shit.” Dean shrugs again, his green eyes still fixed on the man in question. “I knew it was a mistake getting a smartphone” but he doesn’t sound nearly as bothered as he claims. He glares upward. “It’s fucking hot” 

Sam’s also dart up. “I mean. It’s the beach Dean.” He stares pointedly at his brother’s attire. “Would it kill you to buy some shorts maybe a tshirt?” 

Dean pulls a face, but doesn’t argue, Cas is waving happily- just now noticing how far they’ve walked away from him. He points excitedly to his phone and says something. 

“Can’t hear—” Dean sighs, “CAN’T HEAR YA CAS, you’re too far” he yells, smiling softly. “Asshole.” 

Dean points at the nearby shop, waving to get Sam’s attention, a couple kids are clustered around Cas chattering to him animatedly. 

“Sam. Can you keep an eye on him? I’ll be right back” 

~~~

When Dean walks back out into the sunshine Cas has finally decided to join them. He’s signing to Eileen and going intensely through the alphabet. Probably more about that damn Pokémon game. 

Sam whistles, “I’m blind” he laughs. “Your legs, they’re reflecting the sun”

Dean flips him off.

“No, but for real Dean, have your thighs ever been exposed to light? Are you sure it’s safe?”

“HA, HA, fuck you”

Cas turns at his voice, eyes glowing happily, and how in the hell did Dean Winchester get so lucky. 

“I caught a Charizard in the wild Dean, none of the other players were able to capture him” He informs proudly, phone still out, finger flipping with precision, “You have very nice legs” he adds. “The sunlight will cause you to have more freckles, plus the added health benefits of vitamin D”

Dean winks, “Any nude beaches out here? I could benefit from your vitamin d”

Sam retches, seizing the umbrella from Dean and heading toward the beach. “You two are disgusting” 

Dean waves cheerily before turning back to his boyfriend— husband. 

“So What’s a charred—“

“Charizard.” Cas corrects, “dragon fire type”

“Uh-huh” Dean reaches for Cas’ hand, it takes him a second to get used to flicking with his thumb, but he manages, Dean lets Cas lead. “Did you bully those kids out of their dragon? Dragons suck dude.”

“It is very rare to catch in the wild, Edwin told me, he is one of the top players in this region, he is 12, and though he is Team Valor, and I am team Instinct, I decided to trust him.”

“Whatever you say babe.”

“I think you might enjoy this game Dean, it combines hunting and tracking with less bloodshed and all of the monsters seem kind.” Cas squints suddenly, yanking them out of the flow of traffic and down onto the beach. “I see combees.”

~~

“Handsome and artistic, you’ve gotta be a serial killer right?”

Dean raises his head, shielding his eyes in the sun. She’s tall, and curvy with sparkling eyes and a near perfect smile. 

“I don’t know about artistic, but I never murder and tell”

She throws out a hand. 

“I’m Clarice” 

“Dean.”

She notices the lift of his expression and rolls her eyes good naturally, “Yeah like Silence of the Lambs”

“Put the lotion in the basket” he intones with a mock accent. 

“Yeah that never gets old” 

He laughs and she smiles and takes a seat on the beach chair beside him.

“What brings you out here into the sunshine?” 

“Celebratin’.” His eyes turn back to his sketchbook, thumb smudging a carefully drawn mop of black hair.

“Oh, that’s fun, how old are you?” She doesn’t seem bothered by his in attention, sips her drink and watches him sketch. 

“Ah um” He shifts and does the mental math. “Forty-three I think...”

“Looking good” she says appreciatively. He’s too focused on the lines, eyes occasionally darting to the ocean, quite obviously only half listening. She’s not put off yet- no ring on his finger, only a necklace with two silver circles and that could mean anything.

“So uh, a couple of my friends are headed down into the—“

“DEAN!” 

His attention is immediately diverted, a man waist-deep in the frigid surf is pointing excitedly at something, he’s still wearing his snorkel mask. He pulls something free of the water- revealing a long, lean wriggling shape.  

“Is that a fucking shark?” Dean mutters in disbelief, then much louder “CAS is that a fucking shark?”

A giant man with longer hair stops splashing the woman with him, turns and starts cackling. The shark handler pulls his mask off, beaming. “Jack would love this!”

Clarice shades her eyes and takes a good look at the man with the shark and then at the drawing Dean’s been working on. 

“Who’s that?” She asks, his distraction giving her a better chance seeing what’s in his sketchbook. 

A lovingly rendered drawing of what looks like the man with the shark. But in the sketch it’s in a much different position, hair ruffled in detail over his brow. Blankets pooled around his barely covered hipbones. His eyes burn with inner heat despite the fact that they’re merely pencil on paper. His subject had clearly been in love with whomever he’d been looking at. 

“That is my boyfriend, he’s gonna get his nipple bit off if he’s not careful.” Dean’s smiling cause Sam is trying to talk Cas into releasing the shark and is clearly failing. “Oh hell, I guess husband now.”

She stands, “I am so sorry, I didn’t realize. I gotta—“

“Nice to meet you Clarice” he says, honestly surprised by her quick exit. “Yo STEVE IRWIN. put the shark down and come up here— time to reapply sunblock”

~~

“Who was that woman?” Cas asks, shaking like a dog and stirring a loud swearing session out of Dean as he shields his sketchbook from the saltwater.

“What woman?”

“The one speaking to you earlier? When I caught the shark?”

Dean looks completely vacant before remembering. “Oh shit, yeah! Clarice or something. Nice lady.”

Cas nods, waiting patiently while Dean starts applying sunscreen to his back. 

“Did she need something?”

Dean shrugs, “just being friendly I guess, lean close. I gotta get your nose”

Cas hums and obliges, he grins suddenly and rips open a Velcro pocket in his trunks revealing his prize to Dean. 

“Is that a goddamn crab Castiel?”

The angel nods happily. “We should find out if Claire can FaceTime. She would love to see.”

~~

Claire and Kaia lean close, Dean’s got the camera aimed so that it’s mostly sky and their foreheads. Cas is smushed against his cheek waving. 

“Jesus.” Claire hisses. “Hold the damn camera still. Dean— look, YOU’RE the square in the corner.”

Kaia hasn’t stopped giggling since they connected.

“How is Kansas?” Cas asks. “Are you well?”

Claire rolls her eyes. “You’ve been gone two days. It’s the same Cas— house burned down and a ghoul attack—“

The camera reels, two deep gruff voices start speaking rapidly. 

“She’s joking!” Kaia intervenes. “Castiel, Dean. She’s joking. We’re fine and safe, worst thing that happened is we ran out of coffee.”

He nods seriously— the left side of Dean’s face is unamused.

“Tell them not to put damn Walmart coffee in my coffee machine—“

Cas lifts a blurry item into view. “I caught a crab today,”

She freezes only for a moment, crabs had been her thing in 1st grade. Her dad had shared some of his favorite memories with Cas; she was realizing that he did it because he trusted the angel. The crab thing was a new one— he seems proud though, pleased that he remembered. 

“He also caught a fucking shark with his bare hands.” Dean adds, taking the phone back, view now up his nostrils. They’re both sunburned and nearly glowing with happiness. “Almost lost a nipple”

“I did not.” It’s Cas’ turn to roll his eyes. “I will send you photographs via messaging after the call.”

“When are you guys headed back?” Claire asks, cause she’s pleased about the pictures and doesn’t know how to admit it. 

Dean turns the camera again. This time slightly more centered. 

“Sam and Eileen are heading home tomorrow, but Cas says he has more surprises for me and “undomesticated equine could not drag the secrets from him’”

Dean and Claire snort simultaneously. 

“I was being funny.” Cas interjects, Dean laughs at something off camera and grabs his face, kissing Cas’ cheek. “I know the saying.”

“Gotta go.” Dean says, with a wink. “Gotta get our vitamin D for the day, right Sunshine?”

The camera tips; Cas is frowning in confusion and they can barely see the top of Dean’s now suggestively wagging eyebrows.

“Oh. Uh. Yes.” Cas looks guiltily at the phone and shakes his head at Dean. “Vitamins.”

Kaia starts wheezing with laughter. It dawns on Claire moments later.

“That’s fucking gross.”

Cas shrugs apologetically, Dean’s laughter fills the background.

“We appear to be having connection issues.” Cas mutters, They watch Cas fumble with the phone as he frantically tries to hang up before Dean does anything scandalous.

“See you in a week!” Dean shouts. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Bye...” the screen goes dark and Claire is left with her and Kaia’s amused reflections. “Dads.”

~~ 

If you liked this it’s connected to my ao3 vibesandwonders. Come say hey here and see the rest of the series

[queenxxxsupreme]

The Fears of a Father (pt 2)

A/N: You all can thank @thecomfortofoldstorries because I completely forgot to post this when I finished it like a month and a half ago. It’s just been sitting in my docs. I could’ve sworn I posted it but I guess I didn’t. I have the memory span of a fruit fly.

Warnings: none, just fluff

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary: Geralt is a great dad. That’s all you need to know. Here is part 1.

 “Y/N? Are you listening?” 

You turned your head to Yennefer. She stood in the doorway of the kitchen, holding a naked Lana by the hand. The mage has just finished chasing Lana around the house after the little girl decided she didn’t want to get in the bath. That’s when Yennefer found you sitting at the kitchen table looking out of the window to the dirt path leading to your house. 

“I’m sorry. I was-I was just thinking.” You shook your head. 

“The longer you sit there and stare out that window, the more you’ll feel miserable.” She reminded you before taking Lana back towards the bathing room.

You stood to your feet and rubbed your hands together, looking around for something to do. 

Something tugged at your skirt. You looked down to see Bram standing next to you, his hand holding the skirt of your dress. 

“Hi, love.” You smiled down at him, bringing you hand up to cup his face. 

“Are you sad, mommy?” He tucked his head into your stomach, his arms wrapping around you as best as they could. 

“Of course not, love. Why would you think that?” You brushed your fingers through his ash blonde hair. 

“‘Cause you’re always sitting here looking out that window. Are you waiting for daddy?”

You smiled a little. 

“I am.”

“I miss him.”

“I miss him too, love.” You leaned down to kiss the top of his head. “It’s getting late, Bram. Go on to bed. I’ll be in in a moment to tuck you in and tell you a story.”

You watched your oldest pad off to your room. He started sleeping in the room with you after the second night of Geralt’s absence. Bram insisted on keeping you safe, on protecting you just like Geralt did.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, suddenly feeling lonely. You knew you weren’t alone. You had both of your children and even Yennefer to keep you company. You just missed your husband dearly.

Outside, you heard your horse and Yennefer’s begin to snort and whinny, alarming you that someone was nearing the stables out back. 

Hopeful that it was your husband, you ventured out of the house and into the dark. The air was cold and bitter but you didn’t worry about it. 

With the help of the moonlight, you could see the door to the stable was open. A sigh of relief left your lips as you saw Roach leave one of the stalls and gallop out into the fence.

You hurried into the barn, your heart beating frantically. You ran straight into Jaskier. The bard grabbed your arms to steady you and laughed, pulling you in for a hug. 

“My gods, Y/N! It’s so good to see you.”

“Jaskier, you too.” You squeezed him tight and quickly looked him over for any injuries, running your hands hastily along his arms. 

“What-What are you doing?” Jaskier furrowed his brows together. 

“Were you hurt?” 

Before he had a chance to answer you, your hand pressed against his left clavicle, causing him to wince.  

“What happened?” You looked up to him. 

“Got into it with a barmaid.”

You turned to face your husband, who stood near the stall your horse was in. Geralt had just finished putting away Roach’s saddle. 

“She stabbed him with a fork.” 

The smile on your lips grew as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other. For whatever reason, you were waiting for his okay to approach him. 

He held your gaze, a soft smile crossing his lips. 

“Come here, dove.” He beckoned you over with his hand. 

You closed the space between you two as quickly as possible, throwing your arms around his broad shoulders. He winced under the pressure, his hands coming down to grasp your hips. You pulled away quickly, letting him go and looking up at him. Your brows drew together. 

“Are you hurt?”

“Just sore is all.”

“His first hunt in five years!” Jaskier moved to Geralt’s side and patted his shoulder. “It was a glorious one, wasn’t it?”

Geralt looked over to Jaskier, grunting. 

“Jaskier, Bram is in my room laying down. He should be waiting for me to read him a story. He’d love it if you surprised him.” You looked to the bard. 

“That’s my boy! Always eager for a story.” 

Geralt watched Jaskier leave while you studied the witcher’s face. Your hand came up to hold his jaw. Your thumb brushed over a scar on his cheek, one you’d never seen before. 

“I missed you, dove.” Geralt tried to pull you in for a kiss but you refused, wanting to ensure he was okay first. 

“As I’ve missed you. Are you okay?” Your hand gently clasped his chin, turning his head from one side to the other. There were no other new scars on him, no markings that proved he’d put his life on the line. 

“I’m fine. I’d just like to kiss my wife that I haven’t seen in three weeks.”

“You can kiss me in a moment.” 

When you were satisfied with his face and neck, your hands found the ties to his tunic. 

“Smile for me.”

“What?”

“Smile and show me your teeth. I want to make sure you’ve still got them.” As you untied his top, you looked up at him. He flashed you a rare white smile, tilting his head to the side just a little. 

“I missed how worried you get.”

You said nothing, continuing your examination of him. When his top was untied, you pushed the material aside, revealing his chest. You slipped your hand into his shirt, feeling over his cool skin for any wounds. You felt the cold metal of his medallion that rested beneath his shirt. 

“Dove, you’re not going to find anything. I wasn’t hurt.”

“There’s a new scar on your cheek.” You spoke quietly. Your hand brushed over his collarbone and then up the side of his neck so you could cradle his cheek. “You’ve no idea how fearful I was that you wouldn’t return to me.”

He took your hand, pulling it from his face and placing a kiss on your opened palm. 

“I’ll always come back to you.” His golden eyes stayed on yours. He could see the tension slowly melting away and the fear in your eyes dissipating. 

He leaned down to gently kiss your lips. You slipped your hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer to you. His hands gripped your waist before one of his arms slipped around your lower back and pulled you in to him. You were then pushed back against one of the stall doors. When you were close enough, his hand slipped down to your upper thigh. He pulled your leg up, hooking you around his hip. 

You pulled away, pressing your hands to his chest. 

“We can’t do this here, Geralt.”

“Sure we can.” His lips found your neck. 

“You’ve got a daughter and a son inside eagerly awaiting your return.”

He pulled his head away from you, looking down at you with liquid honey eyes. 

“How were they?”

“They were good. Bram formed a habit of sleeping with me and Lana.” You pulled the medallion from his shirt to study the pendant. You knew it like the back of your hand but you still admired it. “He wanted to keep his mother and little sister safe. He’d try to stay awake through the whole night. He said he wanted to be just like you.”

“He’s going to be better than me.” Geralt took your hands in his and brought them to his lips. 

“That’s what every parent wants, my love. You’re a great man and an even grander father. You’ve nothing to worry about.” You smiled gently at him. “Let’s go see our children.”

He slipped one bulky arm around you, holding you close as you two moved from the barn to your home. 

***

Jaskier was sitting on the edge of your bed, telling Bram a story of his first time accompanying Geralt on a hunt. It was a story you’d heard many times, one that Bram always loved to hear. 

“Dad!” Bram exclaimed, jumping from the bed and running to Geralt. He released you to hold his son, kneeling down to the six-year-old’s height. He cradled Bram’s head to his shoulder. “I missed you, daddy. Did you miss me?”

“Even more than you could ever imagine, my son.” Geralt’s eyes slipped shut and he inhaled softly.

You placed your hand upon his shoulder, gently squeezing him. You knew how dearly the witcher loved his son and how grounded the boy kept him. He was Geralt’s first born, a true testament that the Butcher of Blaviken was capable of more than just murder and brutality. 

“Daddy!” A high pitched squeal came from behind Geralt. He didn’t have time to stand and turn before Lana ran into him, hugging as much of him as she could. Her little arms just barely reached his sides. She nuzzled her face into his back and giggled when his hair tickled her face. “Hi, daddy.”

Geralt reached back to grab her, his arm wrapping around her little torso. He effortlessly pulled her around so she was next to Bram and Geralt could hug them both. 

“Hi, little dove.” He kissed the top of her head. 

“You’re lucky she had clothes on this time.” Yennefer sighed out. She stood just a few feet behind your husband in the hallway. You gave her a thankful smile to which she nodded her head. 

***

Geralt sat in the kitchen with a sleeping Lana in his arms. Jaskier and Bram sat in front of the fireplace. The bard was telling the boy a story of dragons, involving both Yennefer, Geralt, and Jaskier himself.

You had just finished cleaning the kitchen and were ready to get the children to bed. You agreed to let them stay up for a little longer while Geralt and Jaskier ate. Bram insisted on staying awake with his father while Lana just wanted to be held by Geralt. 

“I can take her and put her in bed if you’d like.” You offered, wiping your damp hands off on the skirt of your dress. 

Geralt softly shook his head, looking down at the ash blonde girl. 

“I’d like to hold her for just a while longer.”

You nodded your head and decided to pull a chair up next to him. You crossed your knees and leaned your head against his shoulder, brushing your fingers through Lana’s hair. 

“She missed you dearly.” You hummed. “We all did.”

“I’m sorry.” Geralt turned his head to press his lips against your shoulder. “It won’t happen again.”

“But it might.” You tilted your head up just a little so you could look him in the eyes. “You’re one of the last witchers left. The world will need you.”

“I know a handful of others in my guild that I will point the world in the direction of. As far as I’m concerned, I’m no longer a witcher.”

“That isn’t true.” You shook your head, turning so you could comb your fingers through his hair.. “You’ll always be a witcher.”

“But I’m a father first.” 

“And a damn good one.” You smiled at him.

Taglist: @riviawitch3r @notyouraveragemochii @dev1lbella @rosyghosty @merendis @lalalalemonade11 @wayward-dream @whatanicepanohthatsjustme @tshuuls @havenoffandoms @queen-sands @crazzyter @katiejmac @bucky-did-nothing-wrong @jennylovelyheart @whitewolfandthefox @itsallyouhavegotinsideyourhead @hm-fck @mactho @msgeorgiarae @tragicmisfits @randomzxx @alwayshave-faith @rahdaleigh @lizliz3107 @turtlefordestiel @d14n4ol @asix122747483 @minervalavender @agniavateira @hina-chans-stuff @dressed-up-heartbreak @persephonehemingway @bitterstar88 @scarlettwitcher @ayamenimthiriel @romancebibliophilia @jessevans @xoxoarts @jocelynscloset @soulslaststand @grumgoblin @thefishmongersdaughterwrites @silverkitten547 @rebel4fandom

[indigobackfire]

HPHM OC Profile ✧

Phoenix Nobleworth

" You're like a poisonous flower, Phoenix. Beautiful and inviting with all your colors and aromas and deadly force. "

Full Name: Phoenix Lazar Nobleworth Silverwood

Nicknames: Pheny. Birdy (by some of his Hufflepuff friends). Nobleworth. Silverwood (by Snape out of spite).

Gender: Male.

Birthday: 12th of May, 1973.

Born: Deva, Transylvania, Romania.

Mother: Biological: Antonia Lazar, full Veela. Adoptive: Clarin (née Tramer) Silverwood.

Father: Biological: Emilian Nobleworth, Scottish, Half-Veela, Gryffindor. Adoptive: Palmer Silverwood.

Siblings: Jacob Silverwood (b. 1968), Indigo Silverwood (b. 1973).

Ethnicity: Romanian, Scottish.

Species: Veela.

Sexuality: Heterosexual.

MBTI Type: IN(TorF)P-T (I can't decide, so he's both).

Blood Status: Half-blood (I think.)

Hogwarts House: Hufflepuff.

Appearance

Eyes: His eyes are a shade between green and blue with very light tones of lilac depending on the light. But due to his Veela powers he can change them into an shape or color he likes.

Hair: A light shade of golden blonde, wavy, usually grown below his chin. (At some point, he dyed a strand turquoise to impress his crush, I know, wild.)

Height: He's reasonably tall usually towering by little other boys, with long legs.

• He's got those handsome looks expected from a full Veela, structural face but round features give him a soft look. He's very strong despite his slim figure. His skin is pretty fair but he has a myriad of scars from past transformations.

• He's told he's a perfect mixture of his parents which gives him a friendly and suave look that easily turns authoritative and seductive when he uses his Veela powers of seduction.

Veela Form: Different from what's described in canon, I like to imagine Veelas having feathers that differ from people to people. Phoenix's feathers are fair golden with the inner side of his wing in shades of red, the feathers go up to the knees and elbows while hands and feet become bird-like with long black talons. His features and ears become sharper, and his teeth, fangs. His eyes turn silver-white when he turns by his will and bright yellow when forced to turn.

Transformation is hardly ever painless and he often hurts himself and takes longer to heal because of the Veela blood. Both spells and potions don't work as effectively, which is why he fights to control his temper, beyond the fact he can end up hurting somebody else.

Transformation occurs when he's either angry, instigated or when someone pulls out a string of his hair. Unless for the latter, he has partial control over his transformation/consciousness (nevertheless requiring practice and focus).

Magical Aspects

Wand: Pearwood with Veela hair core and an amber stone for stability, 14'' and flexibility. "Pearwood produces wands of splendid magical powers, which give of their best in the hands of the warm-hearted, the generous, and the wise, also among the most resilient." Veela's hair core is known to be temperamental — which is why Olivander had trouble making Phoenix's wand, having to insert molten amber to the torn wand for stability. The hair came from one shed by his mother which they used to keep stored for such use.

Patronus: Thunderbird. The Thunderbird is a large, magical avian beast native to North America. A close relative of the Phoenix. They can create storms as it flies and is highly sensitive to danger. They possess three pairs of powerful wings and have feathers that shimmer with cloud-like patterns.

Patronus memory: The day his wizard powers started presenting themselves — he stopped a sculpture from falling on his dad's head within a beat of his heart — and they had a real feast that night.

Veela Abilities: Beyond the popular ability to seduce - which really began when he turned 14 -, Veelas can also dwell and create fire from their hands in human form but requires training to control.

Boggart:

Penny (in specific because he hates to see her cry) holding his dead sister, hurt and bleeding, and hearing Penny say how could he have done that, because he's terribly afraid of losing his control and hurting Indigo.

Riddikulus: Penny tuns into Tonks and Indigo wakes up saying it was ketchup and makeup all along.

Amortentia: Regular burning candles, purple passionfruit, the smell of the house/apartment he lives in with his family, Peppermint tea, and the smell of fresh clay.

Once he gets over the fear of losing control somewhere around the end of his 4th year, his boggart in year 5 turns into Inferius versions of his parents after he learns about them in DADA, but even worse than described in the textbooks, with bugs crawling out of their mouths, a half-rotten dragon head on their lap and clothes stained with nearly black blood.

He has a hard time using Riddikulus on that one.

Miscellaneous

Pets: A Flama Squirrel (I made up from a real one), a magical squirrel that sets itself on fire when threatened, mostly predated by smaller breeds of dragons and Chimeras. The Flama's liver is commonly used in Erumpent potion with the intention of increasing its property but its lack doesn't spoil the potion, and their glands used to be common in perfumes for aphrodisiac fragrances until they started going extinct from excessive hunting.

Things he always carries with him: His wand, a chocolate bar, his favorite quill, a flask of water, and his class schedule cause he forgets them very often.

Lucky Amulets: A feather from his mom and another from his dad that he can wear on his hair and does on special occasions.

Best Friends

His sister, but as I did for her, I want to write their relationship in another post.

Aspen: Not only his cousin but also one of his best friends. Their personalities clash, her being outspoken and feral, and him being softer and more collected, yet they can't live without each other. He considers himself her protector, but from how savvy she is, it's her who ends up protecting him most times.

Boy!Rowan: His first Hufflepuff friend having met at the Hogwarts Express on their first ride. Rowan is his best friend and partner in crime. They usually spend time reading, walking open fields, and helping his sister with her plans of finding the cursed vault. Rowan supports him with tests and homework when his personal life gets overwhelming.

Chiara: They easily bond after he finds out her secret about being a werewolf, and they share support and help in times of instability. They like going out on picnics and to watch the creatures in the reserve. They actually enjoy dueling each other for fun, it's cute.

Penny: His first crush while still a boy in Hogwarts, he enjoys her company from her confidence and overall bright personality. Despite growing out of his affection for her, they're still good friends and enjoy each other's company. He offers a comforting shoulder when her relationship with her sister gets tricky.

Diego: He and Diego take a long time until they officially hit it off. Diego's personality being too grandiose and extroverted for Phoenix's taste. But as soon as he discovers that Aspen has a mad crush on him, goes out of his way to find out more about him, not trusting him to be a proper suitor for her. Despite his opinions, with time, their relationship evolves into a sincere friendship from Diego's good humor and adventurous heart.

Badeea: The one person he never thought he'd be friends with considering her intellectual (Ravenclaw-like) demeanor and collected attitude. But one day, when she gathers the courage to call him to pose for one of her paintings, he finds out she shared the exact same thoughts about him. Their friendship is quiet-like and profound, they share their thoughts about recent reads and go stargazing.

Orion: He first interacts with Orion when his sister joins the Gryffindor quidditch team and never he would've guessed how much Orion would mean to him. But with time he learns that Orion's presence is a suave and soothing one, and when he confronts Orion about how he can be that way, he decides to guide him into spiritual and mental balance. They meditate, chill and bond over shared experiences -- both being orphans, cool-headed, and deeply compassionate people.

Dormmates: It's him, Rowan, Diego, and two muggle-born boys, Lance and Edward, through which they learn a lot from the muggle world.

Academics

Favorite Classes:

History of Magic (when his friends are teaching)

Herbology

Ancient Runes*

Divination

Least Favorite:

Potions

Arithmancy

Favorite Professor: Minerva McGonagall. She's just so thoughtful and poise, the coolest animagus and the most powerful witch he knows.

Least Favorite: Snape for obvious reasons. He doesn't hate Snape but he also rather not be in his presence in potions class.

Quidditch: He cheers for Gryffindor when his sister is playing against the other houses, but his allegiance is to Hufflepuff. Imagine his excitement when Cedric Diggory joined the team and came down slaying with his abilities.

Yum,yum my Hufflepuffy boy, I love him. Can't wait to get into more detail about his past and romantic relationships.

[fierypen37]

The Oasis: Chapter 19

Chapter 19

 Woken the dragon. Vis had always said that growing up, whenever she annoyed him—which was often. Now, staring down the barrel of his silver revolver, Daenerys felt another dragon wake inside her. A wild thing of rage and betrayal, ready to burn all who stood in her way. For herself. For Jon.

Viserys’s features were a narrower, masculine echo of her own. The expression he wore was one she recognized, composed but triumphant. Daenerys didn’t dare break eye contact, but she felt Ramsay looming behind her. On the edges of her periphery, she saw the car lurch and one, two, three bodyguards emerge. Ramsay jabbed the back of her head with the gun.

“Kneel,” he said. Daenerys did so. The bumpy asphalt dug into her knees. Five armed men twice her size and all she had was a two-bit nail.    

“Why?” she said, the word trembling in the air. Viserys’ face creased into a moue of displeasure.  

“I didn’t want all this, Dany. But you refused to cooperate.”

“Cooperate? What in the seven hells are you talking about?”              

“I thought you understood. The goal was to get it back, get everything back, no matter the cost!” Daenerys’ lips felt numb. She licked them, striving for patience, for calm. The tone she found was an old one, from when he would rage and throw things, railing at the unfairness of the world. A soothing medley.  

“To get our home back. I know, Vis. There’s been government red tape around Dragonstone. You’ve been to the meetings. We’re working on it.”

Dragonstone was their home, that was the thing that unified the two of them—the last Targaryens against the world.

“But the Dragon is mine! My birthright! A throne not meant for a sniveling girl who couldn’t keep her legs closed.” Gods, he was beyond his usual self-absorbed bullshit. This was some god-level projection coupled with delusions of grandeur. Daenerys went cold. Just like Dad. Still, the fire in her belly pushed words out before she could stopper them.  

“Dragon is mine, Vis. I built it. With my sweat and blood, I built it from the ground up. Breaking Chains as well.”

“Everything that is yours is also mine. I made you,” he hissed and prodded her forehead with the barrel of the gun, “If only you’d cooperated. Daario would--”

“What does Daario have to do with--” she began. Viserys slapped her so hard her cheek tingled and her ear rang.

With sudden blinding clarity, she understood. Viserys had taken loans from Stormcrow and had—she clenched her eyes shut at the fresh wave of betrayal. Two hot tears eked out. Daario had taken her as payment. Why else would Daario look so confused when she broke it off? Why else would Viserys demand she return to him, no matter the circumstances?

“You sold me.” Vis was unmoved.

“It worked out fine for you, didn’t it? You were even going to marry him. It was Daario who gave me the idea. He kept whining about the increased expense of your security detail after the death threats from the Harpies. They’re nothing but Ghiscari scum, they had no real power to make good on those threats.” Viserys’s lilac eyes took on a glazed, feverish shine.

“But then—ah ha!—think of the news coverage. The philanthropist CEO, Daenerys Targaryen, dedicated to bettering the downtrodden, slain by very villains she fought. So tragic. So cinematic. Dragon’s stock would go through the roof! Televise the funeral, rake in donations, weep a little for the cameras, and then . . . Dragon is mine and only mine. As it should be.” The tinny taste of blood leaked from the opened cut in her lip.  

“You’re insane,” she whispered. Viserys’s eye twitched and he gestured. Ramsay hauled her up by her bound hands. Pain shrieked through her shoulders and she bit back a cry. Ramsay drew a long, wicked knife and set it at the base of her throat.

“Oh yes, sweetling. We’ll get to play,” he whispered in her ear. Viserys stalked closer, patting Daenerys’ cheek with deceptive gentleness.

“You made it very difficult for me. You and this Jon Snow. It was a stroke of luck Ramsay extracted the name out of that Lorathi woman before she died. Such a little slut, aren’t you? How long had you been fucking the masseuse? He trotted after his bitch like you were in heat. I staged it to echo Dad’s death. Dirty and pathetic in an alley. My origin story, right? After my sister, my only family, dies tragically, I take up the reins of the company. Then you thwarted me. I admit, the machine guns on Loom Street were a bit much, but I was just so angry. Selmy was a good man, I trusted him. I do regret that.”

“You shot him in the street like a godsdamned dog! He--” Ramsay grazed her throat suggestively with the knife and Daenerys swallowed her choler.

Viserys plunged on as if he hadn’t heard her. Perhaps he didn’t.

“And then poof--” he snapped his fingers, “you dropped off the face of the earth! It wasn’t until I found the footage. You and Snow were still together. You sunk your hooks in deep, you wicked girl. Still, it’s a big world, and Snow had connections to Stark wealth, nearly as prodigious and ancient as the Targaryen’s. Lucky for me, Ramsay is a northman too. Loathes the Starks.”

“Self-righteous cunts,” Ramsay agreed.

“He thought to look for something smaller, more remote. And there it is, plain as day on public record microfiche, a deed for a house billed to Eddard Stark—Jon Snow’s father.” Jon. Dead. Burned to ash. A fresh wave of grief buffeted her.          

“Viserys, please,” she croaked, “I’ll step down. I’ll cede Dragon to you, I swear it. Just don’t do this.” He had the gall to look sad about it. He bent and kissed her forehead.

“I’m sorry, sweet sister. It has to be this way.”

Daenerys glared him down. She tucked the nail between her fingers. There was only one chance to use it. She dragged in a deep breath, her heartbeat thudding loud in her ears. Wait. Wait for the right moment. Viserys snapped his fingers, gesturing for one of the burly guards. Too much of a coward to pull the trigger himself. The shadow of a snake.

“You are no dragon,” she said, mutinous.

Bam!

Bam bam!

Daenerys blinked dumbly as one of the bodyguards crumpled, bleeding from behind the ear. Viserys was cursing and shouting, ducking behind the remaining two, who shot blindly into the thick woods surrounding the tarmac. The noise and smoke filled her senses. Shots went wild, cutting holes in the sedan like cheese. Shattered glass tinkled on the ground. Ramsay cursed. He dropped his knife to draw his gun, yanking her tight against him.

“You wouldn’t know anything about this, would you?” he hissed in her ear. I wish. Even if there was a park ranger or police officer who happened by, they would have announced themselves. Her security team was hundreds of kilometers away. And Jon was—Daenerys bit her lip.

The gunfire ceased. Her ears rang from the noise. Daenerys craned her head to look for Viserys. She saw his expensive leather shoes beneath the shattered door of the car, cowering. Where were the guards?

“Got him, Boss!” a rough voice said. Him? Her mystery defender? Her knees gave out when the burly men emerged from the brush.

“Jon?”

 ~

 Fuck. He was a fucking idiot. The calvary was on its way, all he had to do was stall. He could have picked off another one of the thick-necked fuckers, scared that chickenshit Viserys into spooking. On the other hand, seeing a gun pointed at his heart-and-fucking-soul made him a little twitchy. Jon had pushed the Old Bear’s beat-up truck to its limits to reach the airstrip, praying his hunch would pay off. And now all it did was get him a front-row seat to watching Dany die.              

The hunting rifle jammed, but he’d broken one of the goon’s jaw for his trouble. The utility knife was rolled in his sock, not that it did him much good at the moment. Goons One and Two had his arms in a lock behind his back, dragging him down the shallow hill to the tarmac. Dany’s sobs tore already pulverized heart into tinier shreds.

“Jon, Jon, I thought you were dead!” she said, her voice thick with tears. Jon flicked his gaze over her from her braid to her ziptied wrists to her bare feet. A bit battered, but whole, still—thank the gods. He turned his baleful gaze on the source of their misery. Viserys—the skinny little fuck—sneered at Jon. What kind of sick fuck wanted to assassinate his own sister?

“The unkillable Jon Snow.” Starks are hard to kill, Dad always said.

“The chickenshit Viserys Targaryen,” Jon shot back. Viserys made a curt shooing gesture.

“Gods. Let’s get this over with before anything else goes wrong. It’s going to cost me a fortune to clean all this up.”

“Boss, can’t I just shave off a--” The bug-eyed fuck who held Dany brandished the knife, nicking the curve of her jaw. Dany gasped, and Jon saw red watching the blood seep from the cut.

“Come try and shave off a bit of me, you little shit!” Jon shouted, lunging. He made a show of thrashing around until Goon Two backhanded him hard. He tasted blood, his ear rang. Jon sagged in their grip, snagging the knife with his fingertips.

“Shut the fuck up!” Viserys bellowed, shocking them all into silence. He jabbed a finger at the bug-eyed fucker.

“Ramsay, we’ve been over this. If you’d pulled off the job like you were supposed to, my sweet sister would be yours to play with as long as you like. As it is, I need her dead. Now. We have a schedule to keep.”

“What about the boyfriend?” Goon One said. Viserys scowled.

“He’s a complication. If he’s here in one piece and armed, he’s called the authorities.” Jon allowed a grim smile. If they made it out of here, Viserys would spend the rest of his pathetic life staring at the walls of Iron Island Penitentiary.

“We better move fast,” Ramsay said gleefully. Viserys kicked aside the body of one of his guards, fishing a pistol from a pool of blood with a moue of distaste.

“Yes, exactly. Any last words, Daenerys?” he said. Daenerys looked at Jon and in her violet eyes, he saw everything he ever wanted. Home. Gods, she was so beautiful.

“I should have told you before. I love you,” she said.

And the world exploded.

 ~

 “I love you.”

Daenerys slammed the nail up and back with all of her strength. It stuck and Ramsay’s shriek rang in her ear.

“You fucking bitch!”

Daenerys ducked down, scrambling away from a staggering Ramsay. Gods. She’d been lucky. Through the sieve of his clutching fingers, she saw the head of the nail stuck in Ramsay’s left eye. Blood and snot poured down his cheeks from his blinded eyes. A flurry of movement. Jon, struggling with the remaining bodyguards. Viserys advanced on her.

“Gods, you’re such a troublesome little cunt! I’ll be glad to be rid of you!” Spittle clung to his lips, his face an inhuman rictus of rage. Daenerys crawled back on her hands and bare feet, feeling the hot bite of the shattered glass.

“Vis, please!” Daenerys screwed her eyes shut.

The loud rapport of the gun.

Bam! Bam! Two shots. A heavy weight landing hard on her. Daenerys snapped her eyes open.

Jon.

Jon: between her and Viserys.

Jon: sticking a knife in Viserys. A struggle. Jon was stronger, skilled. He wrenched the gun away from Viserys. Snaked an arm around his neck, squeezing. Vis fell facefirst. She heard a crunch.

“Dany,” Jon wheezed.

Jon: bleeding.

“Gods, Jon. Jon, you’re shot,” she whispered, pressing at the sticky red spot growing on his chest, awkward with her hands still bound. His breath was wet, rasping.

“Dany.”

Daenerys cast a wild glance around. It looked like a battlefield with destroyed car, dead bodyguards, Ramsay writhing and cursing, Viserys in an awkward heap. And Jon, her hero, her love, bleeding in her arms. Blood made his shirt sticky, another wound in his thigh. No, no, no. She had nothing, nothing but her empty hands to help him.

“It’s ok, Jon. You’re going to be ok. You’re going to be fine,” she said, frantic. She’d seen the world without him. A bleak, lonely stretch of empty road. She couldn’t go back to that. Panic kept inching up her throat, strangling her. Hot tears coursed down her cheeks.

Daenerys looped her arms around his shoulders and heaved him up to rest on her knees. Jon grunted in pain, though his breathing was better. His beautiful eyes were dark with pain.

“Dany. Dany . . .” His brows puckered in a familiar intent scowl. She bent and rained kisses on his face, wishing there was more to do to help.

“Shh, don’t talk. Just focus on—”

“Dany, I love you. I was a . . . a coward before. I love you. Marry me.” There was barely enough breath to push the words out. A weak sob escaped her. Faintly, she heard the peal of a siren.

“Hold on, Jon. Help is coming! I love you, Jon. I love you. Hold on!”

He closed his eyes and Dany clutched him close.  

[10moonymhrivertam]

Buffy/Witcher fic fragment

“Julian, duck!” The voice is a little shrill and definitely frantic. Jaskier’s still reeling from the portal, but something about the words has his hand shooting out to drag Geralt down with him. Something flies over their heads, and he looks up to see a headless body crumbling into dust. Which he hasn’t seen anything do in a very, very long time. He tenses at running footsteps, and he has a dagger in hand based sheerly on how frayed his nerves are. The girl standing over them is in jeans and a t-shirt, and he hasn’t seen the combination in decades.

“It is you! Everyone’s going to flip. It’s been years, I’m pretty sure they thought you were dead, especially since nobody really did magic yet when you went missing.” The girl has a hand out, and Jaskier stares at it, his brain buffering. Eventually, he realizes why. He’d gotten a spell to help him learn the most common language on the Continent when he’d arrived there, and now his brain is scrambling to parse English for the first time in twenty years.

“Who the hell are you?” He asks, the words wrapping strangely around his tongue. The girl frowns, her face scrunching into an expression that rings a bell deep in his memory. He’d had a friend that made a face like that...

“Right. The spell. You were gone.” Her hand still hangs in the air between them. “I’m Dawn Summers. I can take you to Giles, if you want.”

Jaskier eyes her for another moment before accepting the hand and then turning to help Geralt up. He doesn’t refuse the help, but there’s something tight in his face that says he doesn’t trust conversations he didn’t understand being had over his head.

“She knows someone that might know something,” he says to Geralt. Geralt grunts, his eyes darting from grave to grave. Jaskier suppresses a sigh and turns back to Dawn.

“Lead the way, Miss Summers.” Her face does something strange, but without a word, she turns on her heel and heads for the gate of the cemetery with unerring accuracy. Geralt’s stony silence felt significant, but every time Jaskier thought of something to say, all he could think was how Geralt was going to tear him apart for this pile of shit later when Jaskier wasn’t the only translator around. Another voice speaking English stopped his anxiety from ratcheting higher.

“Dawn, all I want to know is how I didn’t see you go.”

“I literally just waited until you stopped asking me questions while you were reading. But look, I survived!” Her voice is as bright as the sun. “Also, I found something!”

“You found something?” It wouldn’t have been easy to miss the skepticism in his voice even if Jaskier didn’t already know him. Dawn looks back, drawing Giles’s eye. Jaskier waves awkwardly, suddenly aware of just how much distance time has put between them.

“Julian?”

“Giles. It’s been...a while, for me.”

“It hardly looks like it.” Jaskier recognizes the look from seeing one like it on Geralt’s face more than he remembers it on Giles’s.

“I think that first portal did something to the way I age. Do you want to not-invite us back somewhere?” Which clears up a little bit of the look on Giles’s face, at least.

“I suppose there is an anniversary pizza party which can use a few more guests.”

“Oh, yeah!” Dawn grinned. “You haven’t met Tara yet! Oh, and, um - who are you? Sorry.” Jaskier looked back at Geralt - for a split second, he was waiting for Geralt to answer, then remembered.

“Geralt, this is Dawn and Giles. Giles, Dawn; Geralt. Language barrier.” Geralt had figured that much out already, so he didn’t feel the need to repeat himself.

“Sounded Polish.” Giles said a string of something which almost sounded like a greeting, but made Jaskier make a face. The easiest explanation was just that his accent was incomprehensible, but - then he remembered that they’d hopped from the thirteenth century to the twentieth.

“I’ll look into it,” Jaskier said in very firm English. Giles winced, and Jaskier felt bad for a moment. They quickly got on their way, and silence reigned. Jaskier hated the thick tension in the air, so with a mental fuck-it, he started speaking.

“Say something,” he pleaded with Geralt. “Anything. Three words or less?” The prompt usually worked when all else failed, but then - that had been before that awful dragon hunt half a year ago.

“Apologies are difficult.” The words came slowly, and Geralt looked pained. Jaskier didn’t bother hiding his surprise. Geralt eyed him for a moment before dropping his eyes to the sidewalk. “Harder now that I’m confused. And you’re the only one that knows what’s going on.”

Jaskier bit his lip, processing that. Geralt wanted to apologize, before they were portalled into Sunnydale. That was...a lot.

“This is...” Jaskier trailed off. “It’s where I’m from.” He looked away from Geralt. “A few years before we met, a portal took me from here and dropped me on the Continent. There was a mage that was so frustrated with my charades that she just slapped a translation spell on me. I’m just lucky the mechanics of it mean I can be a great bard. I can still tell the languages are separate, they still feel different, but I just - understand them.” He tapped his temple.

“This is where you’re from?” Geralt repeated. Jaskier looked over to see his eyes roaming from the sidewalk to the road to the power lines.

“It’s got monsters, too, but no witchers. Got something else, though. Oh, and it’s the twentieth century. Twenty-first, maybe, depending how long I was gone. It was the 90’s.”

“You know them?”

“The man. The girl said something about a spell, but...I don’t know what she means. Hold on. Miss Summers, what was that you said before about a spell?”

“Oh, yes, you were gone.” Hearing Giles say the same thing was a point in her favor. “It’s...rather complicated. There was memory alteration involved.”

“So I forgot you?” Jaskier couldn’t help but be a little upset by the idea.

“Wrong way around,” Dawn said, looking a bit uncomfortable. “We probably should wait until we get back, and then everyone else can tell you the way they remember things. It might be kind of neat to see how you tell things.”

“Alright, then.” Jaskier flashed them a disarming smile before turning his attention back to Geralt and shrugging. Geralt hummed and fell quiet again. Jaskier did the same despite himself, at least until the girl drifted back towards them.

[disappearance somewhere mid-s3; this is set in an ambiguous post-s5 everyone-is-happy-fuck-you]

“Is that a guitar?”

“A lute. Learning it was a little different. The tuning’s a bitch.” Giles shot him a look over his shoulder, and Jaskier rolled his eyes. “This is a special one. I got it from the king of the elves.”

Dawn’s eyebrows rose. “Okay, Bilbo.”

“Hey, no, they’re real on the Continent!” Jasker protested. He outlined what history he’d learned at Oxenfurt for her, and by the time he was coming to the end of his impromptu lecture, they were outside a house he recognized, just barely. Giles was first through the door, tossing out a greeting to get a chorus of voices in return. Dawn followed. Jaskier hesitated just one moment. His high school friends seemed to be in there. He hadn’t seen them in going on thirty years. Nonetheless, if he didn’t go, Giles wouldn’t trust him, and he didn’t have any chance of either settling in here or finding his way home. So he forged ahead, hanging onto Geralt’s sleeve. He crossed the threshold without a lick of trouble, and Geralt shadowed him silently.

“Who’s that?” That was Joyce’s voice, he thought.

“We found them in the cemetery!” Dawn said, far too cheerfully. “But we didn’t invite them in,” she added quickly. “You heard!”

“We heard.” That was another familiar one. A few moments later, one of his old friends was in the doorway. “...Julian?”

There was a chorus of ‘what’s, and suddenly it seemed like the entirety of whatever party they were having was in the doorway. Before he’d quite processed it all, Xander had drawn him into a hell of a hug.

“Lute!” He protested, squirming out of the hug. He took off his case and floundered for a place to set it. Geralt gently removed it from his hands and nodded back to the others. Jaskier flashed him a quick, warm smile, then turned his attention back to distributing hugs.

“It’s been a while,” he offered when they’d had their fill.

“How are you not dead?” Xander asked, earning an elbow in the side from Willow. He winced and pouted at her. 

“There was a portal. Which did do something strange to my aging, I’ll admit.”

“You barely look older than me,” Dawn observed, which didn’t help Jaskier as much as it ought to.

“Well, that’s flattering.”

“Why, how old are you?” Buffy asked.

“Coming up on forty-three.” Geralt tensed at the various ‘bullshit’s that rose up. Jaskier flashed him a smile to reassure him. “I’d offer to prove it, but all I have is Geralt’s word, and he never even argued with Yennefer about those crow’s feet jokes, so I don’t know if he noticed.”

“Oh, what are we all standing around the hall for?” Joyce tittered. “Come on, come sit. There’s pizza; soda; some wine.”

“Ooh, they’ve got wine, Geralt!” Geralt hummed. Still holding Jaskier’s lute with something like reverence, he followed Jaskier. At least until Jaskier stopped dead in the door, his eyes narrowing at the man with bleach-blond hair in the middle of what sounded like a pop culture argument with a woman who hadn’t come to greet him. 

“You have more to catch me up on, right now,” he said lowly. Spike looked over and his eyebrows shot up. 

“Pretty boy. Thought you were dead. Nice going on the still being here.” Spike made a vague gesture of congratulations and then turned back to his partner, but she was squinting at Jaskier like she knew him.

“There was a thing,” Dawn answered, dropping onto the couch. “An organizationy thing. Now he basically has a taser in his brain so he can’t eat people. He doesn’t have a soul but he’s still okay.”

“Watch yourself, little bit.” Spike waved a threatening finger at her, and Jaskier nearly leapt forward with his dagger, clear invitation be damned. A hand landed on his shoulder. He tensed and nearly whipped around. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt rumbled in his ear. “What’s going on?”

“When I left, that bastard was out to kill us.”

“And now?”

Jaskier huffed angrily through his nose. “He’s been invited to the party.”

“Treat him like he’s Valdo Marx, then.”

“Not fucking well helpful, Geralt, someday I’ll murder that little shit, I really will.”

“You’re Jaskier and Geralt of Rivia!” The accusation was sudden, giddy, and in the language Jaskier was used to hearing. He and Geralt turned as one to look at Spike’s conversation partner. Jaskier distantly noticed he was staring at her, too, though in a more ‘what the fuck’ way.

“And who would you be, madam?” The flirty, pleased smile touched easily on Jaskier’s face. Xander’s eyes narrowed. 

“Oh, when I went there, I usually went as Anyanka.”

“Anyanka...that’s familiar.”

“It had better be. I had at least three separate summons that stopped me and Hallie having days out because of you.”

“Summons?” Most of Jaskier’s excitement had dropped away.

“I was a demon zemsty.”

“Shit.” Jaskier could feel himself go pale. He could feel Geralt at his back, but couldn’t tell if he was angry or smug or indifferent. 

“But I’m not stupid. Witchers are almost as infamous as Slayers, and you’re the White Wolf’s bard.”

“Slayers?” Geralt asked. 

“It’s what I told you we have instead of Witchers. Except there’s only one, and she’s always a girl.”

“Seems like a lot of responsibility for one person,” he remarked. 

“Which is why Buffy has everyone.” Jaskier made a gesture encompassing the room. “And hasn’t died yet. No, wait, Kendra was Called. Well, she’s never died properly.”