#also though they do mention wyverns so

[violentdelightshavevioletends]

20% into Fourth Wing (according to my audio… I love that I can listen and work on commissions/wrapping gifts simultaneously😂)

Thoughts so far:

Do all books give content warnings? … is this because it’s that violent or is this just a thing now? Appreciated either way! Just new to me :-)

Her mother makes no sense. I hate her. Yet, I have a feeling I will regret saying that. And if I don’t WHY would you do that to your kid.

Okay, ow, so the brother is dead… that hit the grief point.

Do we love Mira (idk why I’m using plurals)? I think I get her, I’d do anything for my little siblings… but I also am a younger sibling and know how that babying hurts.

“Fragile.” — WOW, WE ARE THE SAME😅

I love Violet (I’m predictable).

Her hair sounds dope. And I actually get why she loves it because it’s hers, it’s healthy… I feel that.

Funny her eyes are well detailed to match the EDS coloration for some subtypes *not licensed but nurse brain says*😂

Even if I don’t know people ship her with Xaden (tbh idk if it’s literally just that cause of tropes & 0 canon) but I can see why… immediately fits the “forbidden, bad boy, should be enemies, has sudden interest, they were the most beautiful I’d ever seen”

I should not have gotten so attached to Dylan so soon. But also I kinda knew it?

I love Rhiannon… plus Maasverse brain says it’s a win

“I will not die today” — that’s a good mantra

Jack can die today please!

Great so they are killing each-other off, that sure sounds like a great place to spend three years in “hunger games college”.

Childhood best friends to lovers, oh great this is gonna get me, I’m screwed.

Okay, legit the knee sublex scene is so well done and relatable to me and I imagine every EDS/LDS/Marfins/HSD friend I have. *I say this as I type currently wearing a brace ring on my thumb, ice brace on my knee, and heating pad on my back😅😭*

… how do we feel about Dean… Dain? How do we even say it… I don’t know.

These fueds sound kinda old to me

I like the quote per chapter thing

+ The “a dragon without a rider is a tragedy but a writer without a dragon is dead” is a good one

[flowersforthemachines]

Some facts about Lucanis (and also Spite and the Crows) gathered from the banters

I went through all companion banters on DanaDuchy's channel after playing the game to write down all facts about companions/the world that I haven't seen brought up anywhere in the game as a writing reference (and for funsies).

Note: This list may not be exhaustive. I might have missed some something or didn't write it down because I considered it common knowledge. If you have anything to add, please DM me or send an ask! (do specify what banter the information is coming from, though)

Note 2: Posts from this series (mostly) don't include information from banters specific to quests or between companions and faction members. I plan to do another playthrough to capture more of those and will add any relevant info to the character posts.

Other characters' posts: Bellara, Davrin, Harding, Emmrich, Neve, Taash. I'm also planning a post about just the Lighthouse some time later

About Lucanis: 

Family and the past:

Lucanis learnt to cook while helping the kitchen staff at the villa when he was a little boy. One of his motivations was learning how to make churros

Side note: Lucanis mentions that cioccolata calda was his favourite drink when he was a baby, and he serves churros to a romanced Rook who picks cioccolata calda as their favourite drink. It’s all coming together! 

Lucanis wanted to be a Crow when he was a child (at least most of the time)  

All of Lucanis's relatives were Crows as well, and all of them were killed by a rival Crow house

Lucanis says Caterina would be proud of Illario hiding his plans well, as well as killing her 

Lucanis says that the hard part about setting Illario free would be convincing Caterina 

Lucanis says that nightlife was more of Illario's thing, and he never got out as much

On Crows and Antiva:

Viago still stares daggers at Lucanis for throwing his (Viago's) pet snake out of the window in a dream

Lucanis doesn't like it when people confuse murder and assassination ("Murderers are hobbyists, we are professionals")

Lucanis has taken contracts in Orlais

Lucanis doesn’t know Treviso as well as he once used to 

Heir didn’t train Lucanis

Lucanis says he has never killed an innocent “by his count” (other people may disagree) 

Lucanis doesn’t think of the Crows as a “big organisation” (unlike the Inquisition) because they stab each other too much

Lucanis became a mage-killer at Caterina’s behest (she wanted to tap into new markets)

The nickname “The Demon of Vyrantium” came from Tevinter news-sheets, though Lucanis thinks Viago started it

Lucanis says that there aren't any special tricks to killing mages. Though, if nothing else works, you can try pissing them off, as that could attract a demon that would eat the mage

Lucanis once killed half a dozen venatori while stuck inside an elevator 

Lucanis doesn’t consider himself a gentleman assassin, manners are less important than getting the job done

Lucanis sometimes spares his targets. He mentioned letting go of a servant who killed her master, as well as a 14-year-old boy. He thinks it’s wrong to kill people so young because they still have time to change

Lucanis doesn’t accept contracts without merit, and the merit is decided by the talon of the house

General:

Lucanis can make bread

Lucanis has never been to Ferelden

Lucanis isn’t interested in killing wyverns, just looking at them :)  

Lucanis has a pet snake 

Lucanis stays awake at night by cleaning his gear, exercising, studying Orlesian and knitting ("it’s just another kind of blade work") 

Lucanis doesn’t understand a lot of things people find attractive

(In a conversation with Harding) Thinking about cooking was one of the things that helped Lucanis stay sane in the Ossuary (the other was thinking about killing his enemies) 

(In a conversation with Davrin) Lucanis survived the Ossuary by shutting down and not thinking about anything except escaping

These two points sort of contradict each other. Either an inconsistency or Lucanis describing his experience differently to different people. 

The Wetlands ruined at least one pair of Lucanis’s boots

(If Rook chooses to save Treviso) Lucanis offers to pay for any supplies the Shadow Dragons may need 

Lucanis doesn't get a better bed because he's afraid of accidentally falling asleep 

Lucanis can identify the killer’s weapon and the height difference between them and the target just through the blood splatter left at the scene

Lucanis considers Grey Wardens dangerous 

Lucanis doesn’t like necromancy, because bringing people back to life is a waste of hard work

Lucanis finds the ice coffee from Minrathous offensive (Harding describes it as “snow, but made of coffee, sweet, and with cream and toffee sauce on top”)

Lucanis had never been in a romantic relationship before Rook/Neve

Relationships with other companions: 

Lucanis gets into reading Bellara’s serials (very passionately - they chat about it a bunch)

Lucanis is outraged that the Veil Jumpers don’t get paid for their work and offers Bellara his contract negotiator

Lucanis made biscuits for Assan

Lucanis is sceptical that the griffons will be safe with the Wardens

Lucanis think that Assan shouldn’t go soft (referring to the time he took care of a halla) because he is a predator at heart

(If Emmrich becomes a lich) Lucanis offers to hold a funeral for Manfred

Lucanis and Harding talk a lot about dreams (mostly silly things like showing up naked for the job, getting chased by someone/something etc.)

Lucanis thinks Harding is deadly with her bow

Lucanis offers to pay Harding for being his lookout/aide at the rate of 6000 gold per contract

Lucanis offers the help of his contract negotiator to Neve after he finds out she doesn't have one

Lucanis made deep-fried peppers for Taash

About Spite: 

Emmrich can hear Spite even when he doesn’t take over Lucanis’s body (at least from a close distance)

Spite is impartial to Emmrich, believing him more than Lucanis

Emmrich says it’s impossible to separate Spite and Lucanis without killing them

Emmrich encourages Lucanis to read to Spite to bring them closer. Lucanis agrees to let Spite pick a book

(If Emmrich becomes a lich) Spite asks if he and Lucanis can get rid of their skin too 

(If Manfred is revived at the Necropolis) Spite asks Emmrich to teach him how to use fire magic. Lucanis isn’t thrilled by the idea

Emmrich sets up wards to prevent Spite from leaving the room when Lucanis is asleep

Spite no longer sleepwalks after “Inner Demons” because he apparently understood the concept of space

By the end of the game, Spite has agreed to stop sleepwalking completely

Spite controls the wings (confirmed in banter with Harding) 

Spite wants to try swinging off the astrolabe at the Lighthouse

Spite is very excited about Manfred having hands and feet (Curiosity. Has. Feet!)

Spite finds the wisps in Neve’s room unnerving (as do Lucanis and Neve)

Spite likes to play with whetstones Bellara got for Lucanis (Bellara got them from the Irelin who supposedly got them from somewhere in Arlathan) 

Spite wants to try eating self-lightning candles at Blackthorne Manor

About the Crows: 

Crows frequently visit Nevarra and have received 20 contacts to assassinate the king. The King has been poisoned 7 times

Crows get a lot of contracts for Divine Victoria

Some seers in Rivain are powerful enough that there are contracts on them as well

Caterina once killed a man with a thimble

When Crows kill someone, most of the time they want others to know it was them (rather than presenting the death as an accident) 

The crows buried six different Eight Talons and rarely take contracts in Ferelden after the Zevran fiasco

[acmelxvr]

Take A Seat, Inquisitor

Pairing: Female Lavellan x Solas

Summary: Solas finds the Inquisitor in desperate need of some relaxation in the Winter Palace. And, well, he can provide.

Genre/Tags: Explicit, Canon Compliant, POV Third Person, Spoilers for Dragon Age: Inquisition, Drunk Sex, No Penetration Though, Thigh Riding, Praise, Dirty Talk, Ear Licking, Edging, Orgasm Denial, Biting, Premature Ejaculation, Mentions of Oral Sex

Word Count: 3,900

Notes: This is my first Solas fic so be gentle pls...I also posted it on AO3, you can read it there by clicking this link if you want :3

“And that’s how I ended up hunting wyverns in the Frostbacks with only two pairs of breeches!” All the nobles and Inquisition personnel in the small circle laugh at the lord’s story, some more forced than others. The ball at the Winter Palace wanes into the early hours of the morning now with no end in sight. Although drinks and food are still being served, the massive crowd has thinned into small packs of chattering lords and ladies who would dare not make the faux pas of leaving too early.

“I think I’m going to explore the library.” Lavellan murmurs to Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen. The excuse is enough to dissuade the rest of the crowd from protesting the Inquisitor’s departure from the group, but her three advisors are unconvinced.

“Take me with you.” Cullen pleads through gritted teeth, smiling a bit too wide as he barely follows along to the conversation taking place. Josephine tuts at the Commander but simply nods at Lavellan. 

“Good idea. You might find some of the more intellectual attendees who would be interested in learning more about the Inquisition.” Josephine’s eyes twinkle at the possibilities, and the Inquisitor nods politely.

“Yes, I will most definitely be doing that.” She says flatly, causing Cullen to snort and this time earn a light kick from Leliana that could easily be passed as a stretch of the knee. As Lavellan begins to take her leave, the Spymaster grabs her arm and turns to speak over her shoulder to avoid any eavesdroppers.

“You did well tonight.” She starts. “You are a complete natural at The Game, despite the many forces working against you.” Lavellan smirks at the praise, knowing Leliana probably thought she would trip over her own two feet. “You’ve earned a respite, even just for a few hours before our work starts up again.” The last part she fully whispers, leaning in conspicuously. “For once, I will advise you to not listen to Josephine.” She smiles knowingly before dropping the Inquisitor’s arm. 

Lavellan chuckles. “You read my mind.” She takes small steps through the ballroom towards the vestibule, occasionally saying hello to people she passes. Her mind spins with the possibilities of her alliance with Empress Celene; what it means for the Inquisition, for the Dalish, for herself. The Inquisitor is still deep in thought when she looks up and realizes that her body seemed to auto-pilot her straight into the Grand Library. The guards that used to be stationed near the entrance have disappeared, gone hours ago once the threat against the Empress’s life was neutralized. She worries over this for a moment, before dropping her shoulders and taking a deep breath as she remembers Leliana’s words.

Her fingers trace over the many titles packed into the various shelves, some in languages Lavellan doesn’t even recognize. She smiles softly as she picks up a book by a professor in the Free Marches collecting Dalish songs and tales. She leans against a desk, facing away from the Grand Library entrance, while she flips through the pages and remembers a much simpler time. 

“I figured you’d be hiding in here.” The voice makes her jump, yelp, and drop the book at the same time. She quickly turns with her hand over her hidden dagger strapped to her thigh, only to sigh when Solas snorts with laughter. “The Inquisitor should not be so easily caught off guard.” He exclaims, the two flutes of champagne in each hand shaking as he chuckles to himself.

“Yes, well, forgive me if it pleases you.” She snips, then grimaces when Solas raises his eyebrows slightly at her short tone. “I’m sorry. I had finally escaped from all those people out there…I guess I got a bit caught up in what I was reading.” Her explanation is jumbled, but Solas places the two drinks on the desk before waving her off.

“Do not apologize. I’m certain you’ve had a much busier night than I. I can leave, if you wish.” He points towards one glass as an offering. Lavellan nods gratefully before grabbing the thin spine of the delicate piece and holding it close to her chest.

“Please, stay.” She says. “You’re good company.” Solas smiles and shakes his head as another laugh escapes him. He heads towards the shelf Lavellan previously occupied, now examining the tomes himself.  With his back towards Lavellan, she can’t help but take in Solas’ form. He towers over her a bit and his broad shoulders also help distinguish Solas from the Dalish elves she’s used to. Even in the alienages, Solas stands out as…bigger.

Lavellan coughs, a flush climbing her cheeks as her mind wanders to more depraved thoughts about Solas’ body. Solas was certainly free with his verbal affections, but they had only just started engaging in physical affections recently. Even then, they had only kissed. Lavellan didn’t mind waiting, of course, but it felt as though every time it developed into something more that Solas pulled away. 

Solas clears his throat, bringing the Inquisitor out of her thoughts as though he has eyes on the back of his head and can see how she’s examining him. Or maybe being a mage with a speciality in the Fade lets him read minds. Lavellan’s eyes widen as the drink begins to take hold. Can Solas read minds? She thinks, half seriously. “Inquisitor?” Solas asks.

“Yes!” He turns to fully face her as he holds a book in his hand. “Yes, sorry. Long night.” She mutters, taking another sip. She can feel Solas’s gaze on her as she redirects her vision to a different corner of the room. The shadows dance along the wall as the various candles around the room burn low. There’s a moment of silence, as though Solas is deciding to address the tension in the room. 

“I asked whether you enjoyed your time in the Winter Palace tonight.” Solas leans against the bookshelf, a sly smile gracing his face. “The way you managed to navigate the nobility, the ballroom floor, and an assassination attempt was particularly stunning.” He swirls his beverage in one hand as he flips through his chosen book. Solas’ choice of words cause Lavellan to finally bring her attention back to him. She scrutinizes him for a moment, furrowing her brow as her eyes rake over his stature from head to toe. Finally, she smiles too.

“Solas, are you drunk?” She asks. She giggles as Solas opens his mouth to give a quick retort, but closes it when he realizes he doesn’t have one. He shakes his head in slight embarrassment and drops his eyes as the Inquisitor continues to quietly laugh. “I guess I need to catch up.” Lavellan murmurs as Solas regains his footing in the conversation.

“I will admit to partaking in more drinking than I usually allow myself. All the power, intrigue, danger, sex…” He notices how Lavellan crosses her legs when he pauses. “Well, I suppose it’s nice to go unnoticed for an evening. To engage in behavior that is unbecoming of me.” Lavellan shakes her head, alleviating his fears that she thinks less of him now. “You haven’t answered my original question.” He states, placing his book back on the shelf.

“Enjoyed is not the word I would use.” She pauses, thinking deeply on her answer. “I’m glad I was able to play The Game well enough. It was almost satisfying being able to talk circles around humans.” Solas nods ruefully, staying silent. “But I was on edge the entire time. Constantly waiting for something to go wrong. And when the Grand Duchess was dragged away…” She trails off. 

“Power can be suffocating, sometimes.” Solas finishes Lavellan’s thought. They’ve both finished their drinks at this point, the flush on Lavellan’s face indicating that she’s just as tipsy as Solas is. “There are times when a decision needs to be made. Even the correct choice is never an easy one.” Solas’s expression turns serious, and Lavellan cocks her head.

“So you think I made the right choice? Going with Empress Celene?” She asks. The candles in the Library have dimmed even further as the moon creeps higher above Halamshiral. Solas tilts his head back against the fine wooden shelf, crossing his arms and looking down at the Inquisitor.

“Is my praise necessary for you to feel at ease?” His question makes Lavellan laugh, a true laugh that comes from her stomach. It’s infectious to Solas, a smile creeping onto his face replacing the scowl he had moments before. “Briala and Celene could never have ruled together, and Gaspard is a disaster when it comes to court. In the Fade I’ve seen whole nations crumble because someone would rather force a compromise than make a real decision.” He moves towards Lavellan, all social grace completely lost, and places a hand on her shoulder. “You made a real decision, ma vhenan. They are never easy.” 

Lavellan looks up at Solas, who is only now an arm’s length away. “Ma vhenan?” She restates, teasing Solas now. “That is an odd way to pronounce ‘Inquisitor’, Solas.” Her hand creeps up to rest on top of Solas, the space between the two elves shrinking as he moves to grip her waist.

He rests his forehead against Lavellan’s, rubbing her shoulder with his thumb adoringly. “You looked breathtaking tonight. You were magnificent, awe-inspiring. You’ll forgive me if I drop your title. I couldn’t bear to hide how I feel for you any longer.” He pulls back momentarily to kiss the top of her head, one hand moving to the small of her back. She leans into his touch, and for some minutes the pair is silent, their embrace only betrayed by the soft skitters of someone passing through the hallway.

The trance is broken as Lavellan gives a soft push to Solas. “I should head back now. There are people probably looking for me.” She groans and rolls her shoulders, her muscles tensing back as she recalls what it feels like to have a dozen pairs of eyes on you at all times. She turns to leave, but Solas captures her arm.

“You’ve played your part for the night, vhenan.” Solas pulls Lavellan flush against him, her backside against his groin. Solas forgets his inhibitions as he pulls her collar back to plant a kiss on her neck, making Lavellan gasp. Another kiss and a roll of Solas’s hips makes her groan louder, planting her hands on the desk. “Relax with me. Forget your duty, even for a moment.” Solas’ words cause a small pit of guilt to form in his heart, but it retreats when Lavellan moans again. 

“Josephine would personally see to our executions if we were caught having sex in the Winter Palace.” Lavellan’s skin is practically lit on fire with every single one of Solas’s touches, his fingertips dancing down her waist. “And I think the Orlesian nobility would die from heart attacks if they found two naked elves here.” She turns to face Solas, who stops momentarily to grin wildly, showing his sharp canines.

“I haven’t said anything about being naked.” Their faces are inches apart, both of them breathing heavily as arousal sits heavy in their stomachs. “There are many things one can do to relax without being naked, if their imagination allows it.” Solas whispers in Lavellan’s ear. He pulls away and guides Lavellan to a plush couch in a dark corner, far from any immediate entrance into the library. Solas lets go of her hand and sits on the couch, spreading his legs wide. He leans back on the couch, throwing one arm over the velveteen, and pats his thigh, beckoning Lavellan to sit.

To sit on him.

Lavellan swallows as she takes the sight in. She’s imagined, dreamed of sex with Solas dozens of times, but this was something entirely new. Something she hadn’t even begun to consider, but was still enticing nonetheless. “Is this something you want?” She asks him.

“Yes.” Solas answers so quickly that Lavellan is taken aback. “Nothing would bring me more pleasure right now than to give you pleasure.” He holds out a hand for Lavellan to grab, and tugs her on top of him. “It is selfish of me to admit, but I do not kiss you the way I do solely for your benefit.” He rolls his thigh up causing Lavellan to cover her mouth as she moans. “I do it because I also enjoy it. No, enjoy is too simple of a word.” He turns his head to think while Lavellan grips his shoulders with both hands. “I relish it. Feeling you against me, with only some layers of clothing to separate us…Fenedhis, ma vhenan. You’ve undone me. I haven’t been this overcome with desire in a long time…You make it difficult to control myself.” He plants his hands on her hips. “Let me guide you. Let me show you what I mean. We can reckon with our indulgences in the morning.” 

Solas’ words have Lavellan dripping. she nods, and plants herself fully onto Solas’ thigh, moving her hands to Solas’ neck and jaw. He starts pushing her back and forth against his leg, adjusting the pressure by examining the way her face contorts just so. She moves to cover her eyes but Solas stops her. “You are so beautiful right now, vhenan. Do not think about how you might look, but focus on how you feel.” She obliges Solas and slowly drops her fingers back to his jaw. Solas notices how his words make her quicken the pace, if for a moment. “Ah, so you do need my praise to feel at ease. Very well.” 

Solas keeps one hand on Lavellan’s hips, and moves one to the back of her head, entangling his fingers in her hair and pulling her down so he can whisper to her. She gasps as he presses up into her, causing her to roll her hips on her own. Although she can’t see it, she knows Solas is smiling with pride right now. “Just like that, perfect. You are a natural at this, vhenan.” His lips move against her ear as she forms a rhythm, her moans forming a perfect harmony with Solas as he groans from the pressure building in his own sex. The slight push and pull causes him to rub against the smooth fabric, making him knit his brow in concentration to ensure he somehow doesn’t cum before she does. He can’t remember the last time he did something like this with someone else; and while he’s relieved himself plenty of times since meeting the Inquisitor, he didn’t allow himself to think their relationship would get this far.

Lavellan whines loudly when Solas grinds up against her clit, the wet patch on his thigh exciting him more than before. He pulls Lavellan so that way they’re face to face, and kisses her like it’s the first time. She heaves against him, pressing her chest against his to get a better angle. Solas groans, louder this time as Lavellan’s knee presses up against his erection. Like everything else about Solas, it’s somehow bigger than she expected. “If you keep stopping, Inquisitor, you will inflate my ego. And getting you into this position has made me prideful enough already.”

 He kisses her again, sloppily this time, the alcohol ignoring any expectations of how their first time together would go. Solas presses his tongue against Lavellan’s, his eyes rolling back at the vibration of her moans. He finds her chest with one of his palms, kneading her and finding a nipple with ease. She yelps when he pinches and rolls, her thighs beginning to shake. Lavellan’s pace has quickened to a point where her thighs burn, the strain of muscle mixing with her pleasure. She begins to chant his name, panting and whining when Solas lets go of her nipples and moves his hands to her backside, massaging Lavellan and gripping her with a strength she didn’t know he had. “Do you know how many times I’ve finished thinking of this exact situation? How I’ve dreamed of having you completely?” Lavellan shakes her head. “Thirty four times I’ve spilled myself over my own hand thinking of how beautiful you’d look like this. For the first time in my life, my dreams cannot compare to the real thing.”

Lavellan gains confidence through Solas’s words and leans forward, almost coming in for a kiss but at the last second, she moves past Solas’s lips. Instead, she focuses on his ears; she licks a long strip from his jawline to the tip of his ears, noticing how Solas shivers and making him wonder how the hell she figured that out. She laughs while still moaning and gasping for more. “I knew you were sensitive here. Had to be, because I noticed how you pulled away the first time we kissed when I went to grab you,” She moves her thumb just underneath the other ear, making Solas jump in shock and pleasure. “Here.” She finishes, returning her mouth to latch onto Solas’s helix. She licks a circle around the apex of his damned ears, running her tongue up and down the ridge before returning to his lips. “Imagine what else my mouth can do.” Her breath mixes with his as both of them pant, although Solas does close his eyes momentarily to see the picture she’s painted. 

Solas bites his lip, almost drawing blood by how close he’s come to cumming over himself. Both of them are sweating now, Lavellan’s pristine hair stuck to her forehead. “Fenedhis–” She presses her knee against Solas’ cock again as she moves her clit down onto him, “–Fuck–”, he groans loudly as her pace quickens and she begins to babble quietly in his ear. If someone had walked in on them, Solas was too preoccupied to notice.

“I’m going to–I think I’m gonna–” Solas nods approvingly while Lavellan’s release reaches its peak. Solas closes his eyes, tears forming in the corners as he pleads with himself to hold off for just a bit longer. In a final move of complete desperation and arousal, Solas latches onto Lavellan’s neck.

And bites.

Lavellan yelps and it’s what finally sends her over the edge. She cums on Solas’s thigh, stuttering and gripping onto him while he licks at the marks his teeth had left. Both of them are moaning, although Lavellan has the sense to cover her mouth. When she finally comes down from her orgasm, Solas leans back to examine his work. Lavellan looks down and breathlessly laughs. “I made a bit of a mess.” Is all she says, and Solas lifts her momentarily to examine her handiwork.

Solas’s thigh is so soaked that Lavellan’s juices had even begun to pool next to Solas in those final moments. He smiles softly and pats Lavellan approvingly. “It is an easy enough task to warm my hands and dry my clothes, as I have done before. Do not worry.” Lavellan moves to get up off of Solas and onto her knees in front of him, but he stops her. “As much as the thought entices me, and believe me when I say it does, I’ve stolen enough of your time tonight.” She crinkles her brow in confusion, and gestures towards Solas’s groin where his erection is clearly visible, and pre-cum has even started leaking through his trousers. 

“Ah.” He says, and while he does entertain the thought longer than he should have, he still shakes his head. “This was for you, not for me. And besides,” He stands up and kisses Lavellan. “I can’t imagine there won’t be more opportunities for me to catch up.” Lavellan snorts, giving another kiss to Solas before smoothing down her attire and hair. 

“How do I look?” She asked sarcastically.

“Magnificent.” Solas responds, moving closer to brush her hair with his fingertips. He plants a gentle kiss on her forehead. She seems to be remembering something and laughs; Solas tilts his head in a silent question.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you curse like that. I didn’t think ‘fuck’ was even in your vocabulary.” Solas’s cheeks flush red and he coughs in surprise.

“Yes, well…” He stammers underneath Lavellan’s stare. “You bring out a part in me I thought I put away long ago.” Solas smiles lightly. “And that part is inclined to curse, occasionally, when underneath a fascinating woman such as yourself.” This time, Solas is the one to let go. He nods towards the Library entrance, and Lavellan sighs before squeezing his hand and stepping quietly into the hallway. He waits until he can no longer hear her footsteps before sitting down and throwing his head back against the couch. The late hour and sudden physical activity has him utterly spent.

The elf looks down, his cock practically bursting against his leg and begging to be taken care of. “I’m not that depraved.” He murmurs. Solas’s eyes close, and while he tries to think of more important matters, he can’t remove the image of Lavellan on top of him from his mind. The way she bounced on his lap, how her mouth felt against him, makes Solas bite his knuckles to hold back a moan. How she jittered when he marked her, claiming the Inquisitor all for himself as her neck bloomed with purple splotches from his sharp teeth and how quickly her release came from an action that felt as natural to Solas as blinking. Solas breathes in, then out through his nose, attempting to bring himself back to reality, but he can’t help but recall the offer she left on the table before Lavellan took her leave. Her lips would look so pretty wrapped around him, gagging and moaning as she would try to take him all the way, his tip hitting the back of her throat—

Solas jolts suddenly as his orgasm hits him like a slap against the face, the dark stain of cum now spreading down his thigh. Solas bites down hard on his palm, unable to fully hold his voice back as the smallest movement against his trousers prolongs his release even further. When the immense pleasure finally subsides, Solas opens one eye hesitantly to assess the damage. He groans into his hands, a conjured flame able to dry his clothes but not the Orlesian, and definitely expensive, couch.

It’s hours later when the morning sun rises over Halamshiral that the Inquisition takes their leave. Solas blearily rubs his eyes and yawns, although when he catches Lavellan’s smile he can’t help but reciprocate despite his weariness. The Iron Bull looks between the pair before laughing and slapping Solas on the shoulder. “Sleep well?” He asks simply, although Solas knows the Bull well enough to know that his questions are never simple.

“No, I had a long night.” Solas quips, eager to head back to Skyhold and be as far away from the Winter Palace as possible. The unspoken part being that he is more eager to finish what he started mere hours before.

“Yeah? Spend some time cleaning in the library?” The Iron Bull asks, looking at the way Solas and the Inquisitor blanche before guffawing loudly. As he walks away he shakes his head. “You guys are not fucking subtle.” 

[smile-files]

i'm trying to do some speculative biology stuff on how dragons could exist: provided i'm thinking of the typical hexapod/six-limbed dragon (four legs and two wings), however, i have to contrive reasons for how the extra set of limbs would arise on a quadruped, and how they'd function (wyvern dragons are much easier to envision, as they're just scarier pterodactyls); i'm also curious as to how dragons would behave given their anatomy. assorted thoughts below...

for one thing, i instantly imagined dragons evolving from dinosairs. i was thinking of some sort of conjoined/parasitic twin mutation common to the dragon species which would add the extra wings, but that idea rested on one twin having the wing-limbs to contribute to the wingless dominant twin, which apparently would be impossible as all conjoined twins are identical (which is pretty obvious now that i think about it). i should still keep the conjoined twins idea in my back pocket, though, so there could be hydras!

maybe the extra limbs would just be a product of polymelia, specifically notomelia... as it is, though, i'm wondering how the mutant extra limbs would evolve into wings fast enough that the mutation could even persist in the population: the presence of the extra limbs would likely be a hinderance for as long as they aren't actively beneficial, after all. maybe i can look into how pterodactyl and archaeopteryx wings evolved to get a sense of how that occurred: for them, too, any evolutionary stage at the midpoint between leg and wing would likely have not been specialized enough in either direction to be helpful, so the transition must've been quick/direct and therefore a product of a single large mutation with subsequent refinements. for dragons, i could imagine two stages, with a simpler, smaller wing evolving in a quick first pass -- giving the animal more air time when leaping -- and a second stage of the wings enlarging to provide the capacity for real flight. (either way i'd imagine that dragons, like birds and mammals, would initially be very small and only evolve to their maximum size after the extinction of the dinosaurs.) i'd have to look more into the occurrence of notomelia and what causes it (does it even occur in reptiles/dinosaurs?), to see how realistic it would be for it to occur commonly within a species and produce fully-functioning limbs.

i'm picturing dragons as carnivorous, meaning they'd likely evolve from theropods: this would make sense, given theropods' hollow bones, as well as their evolutionary proximity to birds. with that in mind, having the wings as an extra set of limbs would be especially beneficial, as all four of the animal's legs could be maintained: the hindlegs for running, and the forelegs for grasping (these would necessarily not be tiny like a t-rex's). also, the idea of feathered dragons is a very fun one: imagine the vivid colors and patterns they could have!

in terms of size, we tend to picture dragons as very large -- however, i'd have to keep in mind that the larger the animal, the harder it will be to maintain lift and fly efficiently, especially if the animal in question has more than four limbs to carry in addition to its body. there have been some genuinely huge flying reptiles and birds in existence, such as quetzalcoatlus northropi (~35 ft wingspan, 440-550 lbs weight) and pelagornis sandersi (~20 ft wingspan, 48-44 lbs weight) -- and these awesome animals were able to fly, despite being so massive! there are several factors that would contribute to this, including the giant wingspan and hollow bones. because of the weight of the extra limbs, i doubt a hexapod dragon could grow quite as massive as quetzalcoatlus and still be able to fly well, though i still think it would be possible for them to be very large; it's worth mentioning, too, that having four legs to power liftoff would make it more viable for a dragon to take to the skies at all.

in myth, dragons often breathe fire; i don't think i could manage to find a reasonable biological means of that evolving, though perhaps dragons could evolve to spit venom, which would be a more realistic means of delivering a ranged, burning attack. in flight, the dragon could take down its prey by targeting it with venom, then quickly snatch it up with its forelegs to eat without ever alighting. sounds evolutionarily beneficial to me: very efficient, and very awesome.

tying into the trope of a greedy dragon's hoard, perhaps dragons are especially keen to shiny objects, which they can see from afar: with this mid-flight grasping maneuver, they'd snatch them up to add to a bowerbird-like nest decorated with "treasure". to connect more with myth, dragons are often associated with weather, storms in particular; perhaps dragons migrate at high altitudes during rainy seasons, creating that correlation.

it should be noted, too, that the reality in which i'm picturing these dragons is one in which humans also exist. these humans, witnessing the behaviors of these awe-inspiring creatures, would tell stories about them: they breathe fire (they spit venom), and they abduct children (they snatch up their prey in their claws), and they steal treasure from kings (they take shiny things for their nests), and they control the weather (they migrate during the rainy season). perhaps humans aren't their main prey source, causing dragons to be a fear but not a genuine threat to humans (like how we view sharks); or perhaps dragons indeed regularly eat humans, meaning humans have to live out of sight of them. in the latter case, considering how dragons are highly effective predators, they might drive humans towards extinction!

i hope you enjoyed my spec-bio ramble on the evolution, physiology, and behavior of dragons! it's very fun to think about :)

[yuri-is-online]

Weird Yutu thingy but what if Yuu came from the Pokemon world

I believe the support system in the Pokemon world is much better than Earth so-

Single parent with a raging teen-

Add some emotional support Pokemon

And when Yutu comes to his parent's timeline Yuu gets so excited to see new Pokemon (that love them for some reason. Almost as though they were their first trainer-)

Oh Yuu and Yutu would be in such a better place if they came from the pokemon world. Yuu gets a house with a bunch of neighbors and nearby a lab and no one really cares about not knowing who Yutu's dad is.

The pokemon part is a bit trickey though... would they remember Twisted Wonderland? Probably, I couldn't see the magic marshal's keeping the pokemon? But I could also see one of Yuu's team staying with Yutu's dad by accident. Maybe it helps keep the boys who remain alive that much more sane, maybe it stands reluctant guard nearby where the phantom resides, unable to think of anything else to do until it sees Yutu and gets some of its old energy back. This whole ayuu is based off of Fire Emblem Awakening so I have to mention Cherche and her wyvern Minerva... her son Gerome takes up his mother's mount and brings her back in time with him, it's how she recognizes him even before he shows her the wedding ring... perhaps something similar happened with Yutu where he has one of your pokemon and you just know that he's lying to you even before you know he's your son (Gerome's supports with his dad made me so mad because I always S ranked Cherche and Libra because Libra actually learns to speak wyvern in their support chain but that's not reflected in his support with Gerome because it's generic and i wanted to scream every time i read iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit. I sort of based Jade! Yutu's attitude towards his dad on those supports though)

But back to nicer thoughts, I always struggle with pokemon aus because half of it is just assigning the pokemon, and then I get super caught up in what region everyone is from and just bleh

Riddle! Yutu has to have a Roselia right? It just makes sense, maybe he has the shiny stone for the evolution all ready to go but it was the last present Yuu ever gave him so he's reluctant to use it. Maybe, if you want some extra angst, when he comes to Twisted Wonderland he still just has a budew because he's not super into pokemon battles but he struggles to raise the friendship level enough for budew to evolve once he's there. He's so upset about losing his parent and budew is trying their best tm but it's not enough until they see Overblot Riddle and finally get on the same wavelength.

The triplets... one of them has to have a Fidough that's just a given. I was tempted to say they all have one? But I like the idea of Yushi having a Swirlix since she's more into candymaking. That's 2/3 fairy types so I was scrolling looking for another one when I saw Sinistea and went "oh that would be cute and the perfect fit for a cafe themed se-" and then I realized I could give that to Yutres. Could. For funsies. But it makes much more sense and is less cruel to give her a Milcery. So Yutu gets Fidough, Yutres gets Milcery, and Yushi gets Swirlix for a cute little fairy cafe set.

Cater! Yutu is trickey, he's big on mindfulness and I was really tempted to give him my favorite pokemon because of that, but he also really likes music... I feel like psychic pokemon sort of fits his vibe? And I am torn between Chimecho and Espurr. Espurr is supposed to have difficulty controlling its power, so maybe Chimecho and Yutu could have been focused on helping one out. Cater is super underrated so why shouldn't I give his Yutu two pokemon, it'd be very cute.

Ace! Yutu is pikachu coded to me <3 They would fight so much because both pikachu and Yutu are little brats but once they get in sync watch out they're super scary. Easily the pokemon most excited to see Yuu again... perhaps all that ego clashing is just something that happened in Yuu's world because pika and Yutu bonded while grieving Yuu. Maybe Yutu never evolves his pikachu because that's how Yuu gave it to him. Maybe Pikachu doesn't want to evolve because that's how Yuu left it.

Deuce! Yutu... there aren't any explicitly chicken pokemon outside of maybe Moltres but there is Togepi who is an egg. Baby Yutu loves his bestest friend in the whole wide world, Delinquent Yutu is sort of embarrassed by them. After he catches a houndoor he stops actively using them in battle... he doesn't hate Togi, he just doesn't let anyone in his gang see them and gets really violent with anyone who might try to hurt them. Probably defends fairy types any chance he gets before stammering out some sort of excuse trying to play it off as someone else's opinions. Maybe his boys catch on and one of them gets the idea that maybe they could like... start using impidimps. Make Grimmsnarl the icon of the gang instead of Houndoom, just cause you know maybe fairies are kinda neat maybe. they all want it to be togi instead please boss we made them a little biker jacket isn't it so cu- i mean badass?

Leona! Yutu is loved by cats and he loves naps. Litleo feels like the most thematic pokemon for him, maybe they were napping under a tree one day and a Munchlax decided to follow him home because sleeping on Leona! Yutu was actually pretty warm and Yuu makes the best snacks. His dad probably didn't appreciate the correlation between him and his son's pokemon but as I have said before, he's very much that dad who doesn't want the cat but ends up asleep on the couch with it in his lap two days later. Except this time it's him feeding all his vegetables to Munchlax.

Ruggie! Yutu is my little dandelion prince so he gets a Hoppip. I like the idea of him coming home with one stuck in his hair and they've been best friends ever since. He feels like the one most likely to take over training Yuu's team, if he had continued living in your world I don't think he would have become a trainer. He would have been happy to have a normal job and maybe never evolve his pokemon, but he doesn't regret taking on the role of trainer in the bad future. It gives him a lot of self confidence.

Jack! Yutu... I will bestow him the honor of giving him one of my favorite pokemon. He gets Cacnea because Yuu remembers that Jack liked succulents. Yutu is very serious about taking care of him and making sure he has the best possible habitat at home. Cacnea is under the impression it is doing the same for Yutu and Yuu, but the stubby little hands it has make helping with chores difficult.

It's really tempting to give all of the Octatrio kids water type pokemon, maybe left over memories from Twisted Wonderland make Yuu think that would be a good idea. But I want to give Azul! Yutu a Clobbopus sosososososo bad. It's such a cute pokemon and I think Yutu would agree that his pokemon is super cute. So does everyone in Savanaclaw much to his annoyance, it's like his pokemon is the dorm leader and not him.

Jade! Yutu feels like a Mareanie guy. Water type since he's a merfolk, poison type because that's pretty punk rock, and it looks just enough like a mushroom to be thematic. I could see one of Yuu's pokemon staying in Twisted Wonderland with Jade... a Shiinotic who helps him at the bar and is the best cared for mushroom out there that Yutu is envious. Why does his parent's pokemon love his dad so much? Why won't it agree to come with him into the past where you are still alive because it insists on staying with Jade, saying that's what you would want?

Floyd! Yutu's favorite pokemon ever since he was a little boy was Sharpedo. He asked, suspiciously politely, to be given one when he was old enough to get his trainer's license. He even made a power point, how cute! The answer was still no, instead Yuu convinces the lab near by their house to take Yutu on as one of those trainers with a pokedex who goes on a journey to collect all the gym badges. He really likes being a trainer, probably would have been the annoying rival to his next door neighbor, definitely picked whatever pokemon was strongest against whatever they picked. He still catches his Carvanha and doesn't hold it against Yuu for not giving it to him, he thinks that was probably for the best.

Kalim! Yutu deserves a Whooper. It's cute, the little face is always smiling and Whooper and Quagsire are such joyful little guys I think Kalim would love them. Oricorio feels like a good choice too because of how much it likes dancing... but I feel like Yutu would have a hard time choosing what form to train because they are all so cool. His dad would be such an enabler, sure son lets have all four! And throw a themed party for each one lol

Jamil! Yutu also feels like a good candidate for a pokemon rival. Sure, Ekans and Arbok feel like good pokemon for him thematically, but I just know he would have a well balanced and thought out team of pokemon he deeply loves and takes great care of. Keeping with the snake theme, lets say he started out with Snivy. Serperior fits Jamil's overall vibe pretty well, it's a beautiful pokemon and very regal. Other pokemon I could see him having are Gastrodon, Clefable, and Scizor.

Vil! Yutu loves to draw but I do not like Smeargle in the slightest and will be pretending it does not exist. I feel like anyone attached to Vil should get a Buneary, it's a cute pokemon with a friendship evolution who has real hate in its heart. It is more like Vil than any poison type pokemon fr fr. I could see Vil! Yutu doing well as coordinator, but being a bit uncertain of who else he wants to add to his team, but catching an evee with the intent of evolving them into... something he just doesn't know what.

I hit the text block limit lol, I should just. Stop being distracted by cassette beasts and get back to writing. Or replay a pokemon game.

[dragonskulls]

in the Vast Moor, the ruling system is fairly similar to other quivers; there's a leader –the Accipiter– and their second in command –the Noctua– but with the exception of having a third rank, the Corvus:

the Corvus has a practical role that borders on the religious. Wyvern training is incredibly important for moor runners, as such, it's obvious that someone who oversees that aspect would have a respected position of power. The Corvus is an influential advisor, playing a big role in the selection of future leaders, and is the one tasked to supervise all wyvern rearing in the quiver, being extremely knowledgeable on these creatures. Burials were another task traditionally assigned to them, but it wasn't until recently that they were allowed to do that again.

The reason for this previously mentioned prohibition is attributed to one dragon only: Shrikeshred

(cw for cannibalism mention lol) Shrikeshred is a controversial figure. Regarded as the Vast Moor's most talented Corvus in history –something clearly seen in her masterpiece book "Way of the shrike" which showcases her incredible wyvern handling abilities and techniques, some of which are still used today– that unfortunately took a turn for the worst. A famous cannibal, not much is known about what made her go off the deep end, though it is believed tensions with the Accipiter in her era and the lean times of winter season may have had something to do with it. After disappearing into thin air one day, her shadow is still cast over the foggy moors. How could anyone forget what she had done? There wasn't a Corvus for a long time, which proved detrimental to wyvern management in the quiver's territory. Some say she's still out there, waiting for the right moment to come back. The wyverns pictured here were Shrikeshred's favorites, all of them species considered untameable, especially the Death spitter, a dreaded wyvern that can spit boiling acid. So far she has been the first and only dragon to be able to train these species.

been wanting to post this for a while but i had to finish all the refs first 😭 if you're wondering why the style changes it's bc they were done months apart aheem. ANYHOW! im excited to do more pieces and comics revealing what actually happened with Shrikeshred, as well as other characters involved with that whole mess. Also here's some tiny bits of more info on her toyhouse

+ some silly posts

[tyrantisterror]

What are some examples of benevolent (or at least benign) dragons in classical western folklore? I recall you mentioning that they did indeed exist, but I don’t recall you ever mentioning any specific examples.

Well, firstly, most of the dragons from Greek mythology. Like, the dragon that Cadmus slew was Ares's pet, and Cadmus had to build an army to fight war in Ares's name as penance. The dragon of Colchis was beloved by Medea and viewed as a protector by her people, and in some versions of the Argonauts myth was put to sleep peacefully instead of slain. Ladon, the dragon who guards the Hesperides, was specifically beloved by the nymphs who lived alongside him, and in the versions of the myth where Heracles slays him, Ladon is explicitly mourned by those same nymphs. Dragons were agents of the divine in Greek myth as often is not more so than they were enemies of it, which makes sense given that so many of them were, like, first cousins with the Olympians. It's really funny that people will cite the Greek myths as examples of dragons as "agents of evil" in the same way it's funny when people cite Greek heroes as moral paragons, when any actual look at Greek mythology shows its morality was always very murky shades of gray rather than the black and white view we like to pretend all European mythology shares.

I think this inflicting of Christian black and white thinking on a morally gray mythology also occurs with Norse myth, though sadly we don't have a lot of pre-Christian Norse literature to serve as concrete evidence for this opinion the way we do with Greek dragons. Like, outside of Ragnorok (which some have argued is not a REAL Norse myth, but something concocted during the Christian-ization of Europe as a way to placate Christianity into not destroying all of Norse culture), Jormungandr doesn't do a single malevolent thing in any Norse story. The most he ever antagonizes anyone is when he lets Utgard Loki (no relation to normal Loki) make him look like a cat to teach Thor a lesson in humility that the god of thunder never fully learns. All subsequent encounters are a result of Thor fucking with Jormungandr out of spite for the cat prank. The corpse chewer dragons in Niflheim are terrifying, but the souls they're gnawing on are the dishonored dead, and they don't cause problems for the living until - well, until Ragnorok, which again, may not be a real Norse myth. Fafnir's a piece of shit, sure, but he's not a dragon by birth - he's a dwarf who turned into one out of greed for gold.

Then you have a myriad of stories about dragons who were tamed by saints or heroes only to be killed by townsfolk who thought they were still vicious, and promptly mourned afterwards - the Tarasque is probably the most prominent of these, but there are other stories that are variations on the formula. I'd also include Maud and the Wyvern/Dragon of Mordiford in this category, as while the dragon is never fully tamed by Maud's affection, it's nonetheless kind to her, and the story ends with her mourning its death rather than the townsfolk celebrating it. You are clearly supposed to feel sympathy for these dragons, even if the stories present their deaths as necessary or inevitable.

There are even examples of good dragons in explicitly Christian Medieval stories, despite them usually opting to treat dragons as purely evil. You have Y Ddraig Goch, the red dragon of Wales, whose defeat of a white dragon is an explicit omen of how the wicked Saxons will be overthrown and driven out by a good (or at least better) king in time, and who becomes the heraldry of King Arthur, a paragon of virtue by the standards of the times each of his stories are told in. There's one saint - I think Carantoc? - who found a dragon sleeping in a well and convinced it to move without much complaint, and another, St. Simeon, who removed a thorn from a dragon's eye to the amazement of all and was shown gratitude by the dragon in turn.

Benign/benevolent/not-explicitly-evil dragons may not make up the majority of European dragons, but they're not as rare as modern generalizations of it would have you believe.

[gabilina]

Can you explain how Manon Blackbeak is a ripoff of Visenya Targaryen (I love Visenya)

Hi, virtual-dragon-almond-bakery! How are you? Thank you so much for your question.

I'm going to answer this in the best way I can but I don't know if I will be able to since this is my first Tumblr ask and my hands are shacking with excitement, but anyway this post will contain some spoilers, so if you haven't read Throne of Glass (TOG) or A Song of Ice and Fire/Game of Thrones (ASOIAF/GOT) or just any other George RR Martin's book and you don't want to be spoiled than don't read this post, but if you don't mind being spoiled than feel free to keep reading!

Before we start with the Manon/Visenya comparison I feel like we need to talk about how similar Manon is to Targaryens in general. As I mentioned in my previous post Manon IS very Targaryen coded. Even though some tog fans might argue that Manon's long, moon-white hair, and eyes of the color of burnt gold make her look different from most of the Targaryens whose main features are: pale skin, long, silver/gold/silver-gold/platinum hair and eyes in a variety of shades of light-blue/purple, the similarities are still hard to ignore, especially if we compare Manon's arts with those of the members of House Targaryen.

Manon Blackbeak-Crochan

The Targaryen's

Now onto the similarities between Manon and Visenya:

Their personalities

Monon in the Throne of Glass books is depicted as a person who is cruel, heartless, ruthless, yet cunning and resourceful. She is also described to be cold, uncaring, and icy. Meanwhile Visenya in Asoiaf is stern, serious, and unforgiving.

2. Their connections to the iron

In the world of Throne of Glass, there are 3 clans of witches: the Blackbeak Clan, the Blueblood Clan and the Yellowlegs Clan. Each of these clans belong to the group known as Ironteeth Witches.

As Ironteeth Witch, Manon has a specific physiology such as iron teeth and claws.

In George RR Martin's books, iron is also very important. As a metal, iron is used in tools and armaments. We also have ironborns, we have iron islands, but most importantly we have The Iron Throne which is a seat of the Lord of Seven Kingdoms. The Iron Throne was constructed by Aegon I Targaryen, also known as Aegon the Conqueror, first king of the Seven Kingdoms and Visenya's husband (and brother). It was made from the swords surrendered by Aegon's enemies.

3. Their connections to magic/sorcery

As I've said previously Manon is a witch but she's also the last surviving Queen of Witches. Visenya apart from being a skillful and powerful warrior was also rummored to be doing some magic stuff, including dark sorcery and poisons:

“Some claimed that Visenya dabbled in dark sorceries and played with poisons.” (Martin, A Wiki of Ice and Fire)

4. Dragons and blades

Just like Manon, Visenya is also a dragonrider. Her wyverns name is Vhagar, while Manon's wyvern is named Abraxos. What's interesting in all of this is how they named their dragons. Both of these names were associated with Gods of their respective series.

Manon named Abraxos after the Three Headed Goddess' pet and Visenya named Vhagar for one of the gods of Old Valyria

Apart from that they own swords, Manon - Wind-Cleaver and Visenya - the Valyrian steel longsword Dark Sister.

If you want more examples of this then go to @1800naveen blog and @autolykus one.

If someone has much more information on Manon/Visenya similarities or other Throne of Glass characters being Asoiaf characters copycats fell free to reblog and write about it.

Anyway that's for now. Hope you have a wonderful evening ❤️

[fandomstatewrites]

— IGNITUS

pairing: sauron | annatar x narien (original elven female character)

summary: after the fall of eregion, narien flees with sauron, finding brief repose in a mountainside. they both must decide what to do with the blooming alliance between them.

warnings: mention of nudity, lowkey weird vibes from sauron, angst, wound + wound care

word count: 6.8k

author's note: this has absolutely no plot lol. i wanted to just write whatever came to my head so I gave myself a blank doc and said go crazy. maybe it will eventually turn into something more structured but alas. also narien and her people are my own creation and i did my best to build them within the realms of the canon. if you want to learn more about her check out my art account @nataliabdraws this was not beta read and may contain errors

The Misty Mountains rise before them like jagged teeth, snow caught in the ridges, in the deep furrows of ancient stone. Narien's breath comes short in the thin air, crystalizing in front of her face. Her fingers, though wrapped in wool and leather, have long since gone numb where they grip the wyvern's reins. The creature's wings beat a steady rhythm against the bitter wind, each movement drawing them closer to their destination. Far now from the burning wreckage of Eregion.

The Deceiver is a weight at her back, pressing close enough that she can feel the unnatural heat of him even through her cloak and armor. Close enough that when she chances a glance over her shoulder, she can see how the shadows pool beneath his eyes, how they gather in the hollows of his face. There is something hungry in his expression—something that makes her think of wolves in winter, lean and patient.

"Where are you taking us?"

His mouth is fever-hot against her neck when he speaks, and she can feel the shape of his teeth behind his lips. The urge to bare her throat wars with the instinct to pull away. She does neither.

"Not much farther," she manages, voice steady despite the tremor in her chest. Despite how the air seems to thicken around them, pressing down like storm clouds, like the weight of his attention focused solely on her.

The sound he makes is neither human nor beast—a low vibration that she feels more than hears, traveling up her spine. Satisfaction, perhaps. Or anticipation.

When the pillars come into view, Narien's breath catches. They rise from the mountainside like the remains of something once-holy, now desecrated. Rain and wind have left their mark in deep gouges, in twisted shapes. The entrance they frame is black as pitch, a mouth opened wide in the grey stone. Waiting.

The impact of Angruin's landing shudders through stone and bone alike. Narien's dismount is less graceful than intended—her legs lock beneath her, muscles screaming from hours astride. 

The cold here bites deeper, settling into her bones, clinging to the marrow like a starving thing. She can’t quite swallow the sound that escapes her—half pain, half exhaustion. The mountain swallows it, unmoved by her weakness.

When Sauron slides down from the wyvern’s back, something is wrong in the way he moves. His limbs shift too smoothly, each motion practiced, precise, almost unnatural. He pauses, his gaze resting on Angruin with an intent that borders on childlike fascination. For just a moment, she glimpses something beneath the mask—a hint of wonder, perhaps joy, before it sinks back into shadow.

His gaze finds her, and the weight of it pulls the air from her lungs.

The wind does not simply blow here—it keens, high and hollow, a sound like grief made manifest. It plucks at their cloaks with greedy fingers, scattering loose stone into the endless dark of the chasm below. The shadows gather thick in the doorway, viscous as old blood, beckoning them closer with promises that taste of ash and defiance.

"What... is this place?"

Inside, the mountain's chill presses against Narien's bones, seeping through wool and leather until her teeth ache with it. Her words emerge as mist in the stale air: "Erair’s Hold." She can feel him listening, the weight of his attention heavy on her neck. "My uncle carved these halls. A monk's devotion made flesh in stone."

The corridors swallow their footsteps, hungry for the sound of life after so much silence. Narien's fingertips brush the wall—rough stone worn smooth by countless hands before hers, each touch a prayer or plea long forgotten.

When the passage opens, the darkness is absolute. Like being swallowed. Guttering torches cast more shadow than light, their flames cowering in their sconces as though they know what manner of creature walks among them. The pillars that rise into the gloom above are twisted things, corrupted by time or something worse—she cannot bear to look at them directly.

"And what gods," he says, inquisitive, "demanded such devoted emptiness?"

The statues watch them pass with blind eyes, their faces worn to nothing by centuries of mountain wind. Once they might have been kings, or saints, or demons. Now they are only stone, bearing silent witness to this new sacrilege.

"I know not," she whispers, though the words catch in her throat like thorns. The air here is thick with age and endings, pressing down until each breath feels like theft. As though the mountain itself rejects their presence, knowing what they bring into this sacred place. What they will take from it.

Each pulse of pain in her side brings memory: blood-slick grass in Eregion, the singing flight of arrows, the moment steel found flesh. The spear has become her crutch, though pride keeps her from admitting how much of her weight it truly bears.

 "A refuge," she says, the words thick in her throat. Her uncle's faith seems distant now, fragile as spring ice. Sacred spaces. As if anything could remain untouched by what stalks these halls.

The wound makes each step a fresh torment. Black spots dance at the edges of her vision, and she can feel wetness seeping through her bandages—blood or something worse. Her strength bleeds away like water through cupped hands, impossible to hold. Soon the stone itself will have to catch her.

Better here, she thinks with bitter humor, than tumbling from Angruin's back into the void.

"I need to tend to myself." Her voice sounds hollow. He remains perfectly still in the cavern's mouth, a dark shape cut from darker night. Only his eyes move, following her with an intensity that makes her skin prickle with animal awareness. Like being watched by something ancient and patient. Something that has all the time in the world to wait.

"Stay if you wish." The words catch in her throat when she meets his gaze. "Or find your own refuge."

She turns away before he can answer, but she can still feel the weight of his attention like hands pressed to bare skin. Like ownership. Like hunger.

The darkness swallows her whole.

2.

Smoke knows him. It curls around his form like a devoted pet, seeking the spaces between his fingers, the hollow of his throat. Sauron breathes it in, letting ash coat his tongue, settle in his lungs. Victory tastes like this—bitter and sweet at once, familiar as an old lover's touch. How fitting that destruction drapes itself over him like a second skin, like something earned. Once, he had drawn fire from nothing, bent the world's bones to his will with barely a thought. Now the evidence of ruin clings to him, desperate, as though afraid he might try to wash it clean.

But why would he? Eregion laid broken beneath his feet, ground to dust and scattered like seeds that will grow nothing but grief. Just as it should be.

Blood has dried his robes stiff as armor, crackling with each movement. An inconvenience, nothing more—this flesh is merely borrowed anyway, a vessel to contain what cannot truly be contained. Soot works its way beneath his skin like prophecy, like promise, even as the wind tries uselessly to sweep it away. As if he could be made pure again.

And then there is Narien.

She wears battle's aftermath like a crown, all savage grace and unspent fury. Grime and blood paint her skin in patterns that please him—war-marks that speak of efficiency, of brutality barely leashed. Her eyes catch torchlight like a beast's, reflecting something wild and hungry back at him. Something he recognizes.

Something in him stirs watching her move through her domain—the way she commands both beast and blade with such easy grace. Admiration would be too simple a word for what he feels. Too mortal. No, she is more like a particularly fascinating specimen, the way she cuts through her enemies without hesitation, the way power sits so naturally on her shoulders.

He might keep her, he thinks. For now.

The thought brings a particular satisfaction he chooses not to examine. Like Galadriel had been, all righteous fury and blazing light, believing herself his equal. His mouth curves remembering that defiance, how sweetly it had crumbled in the end. Even stars can be devoured, given time.

The leather pouch finds his fingers like an old lover's touch. Inside, the rings wait with patient hunger—each one a perfect trap, destiny shaped in metal and stone. His touch has already darkened the leather, the way everything he handles eventually stains.

His thoughts turn to Narien despite himself.

Queen of the dragonlords, they name her. Queen. The word tastes unfinished on his tongue, waiting to be remade. She carries authority well enough—that particular way she has of bending others to her will with nothing but a glance. But he wonders what she might become with proper guidance. If she would accept his gifts with grateful hands, or if some trace of older power might make her... resistant.

The possibility pleases him more than it should.

Time enough to shape her properly. After all, corruption is sweetest when it comes slowly, drop by careful drop.

Until even queens learn to yield.

A ring would sit pretty on her finger. He imagines how the corruption would spread—slow at first, sweet as honey in wine, until she belonged to him entirely. Though perhaps—and this thought warms him more—she might resist. His little queen, proving herself worth the effort of breaking properly. If nothing else, she promises better entertainment than the pathetic creatures who call themselves her allies.

She's vanished while his mind wandered, but he can still feel where she's been, like heat lingering on skin. Blood marks her path across stone—bright drops scattered like rubies. His eyes narrow at the sight. She hadn't seemed badly wounded in their flight, but then, Narien hoards her weaknesses close as dragon-gold. Pride makes her foolish that way.

Something dark coils beneath his ribs. If she thinks to run now, when he still has need of her, when her part in his design remains unfinished—well. His plans cannot afford such... rebellion.

The leather pouch burns against his palm, rings pressing sharp through fabric. He tucks them away with careful fingers that betray none of the hunger building in his chest. No. She will not slip from his grasp so easily. She's far too precious for that.

Her defiance kindles something ancient in him. Something that remembers exactly how to teach such lessons.

He follows her blood like thread through shadow. Like tracking some wild thing that hasn't learned it's already his.

After all, everything here belongs to him.

She'll understand soon enough.

The Hold remembers its own antiquity—dust thick as sin coating his tongue, cobwebs trembling at his passing like old prophecies waiting to be fulfilled. He pays little mind to the decay. His attention fixes solely on the blood trail leading him forward, each drop still wet enough to catch what little light remains. How quaint, that she thinks to hide from him here.

The chamber opens before him with an exhale of stale air. A bed drowned in shadow, its linens gray as burial cloth. Her spear watches him pass with its dragon-eyes, abandoned like everything else she's left behind.

For a moment, silence stretches tight as a bowstring.

Then—

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

He follows the sound, each step careful, deliberate, savoring the strange intimacy of the moment. Behind an old oak wardrobe, tucked into the rock itself, he finds it—an alcove with a bath carved straight from the mountain stone. Steam rises in soft, twisting wisps, curling and vanishing into the still, stale air. Her clothes lie in a blood-streaked heap at the foot of the bath, abandoned, half-forgotten, in a state of disarray. 

Narien sits curled in water gone pink with her own essence, knees drawn to chest like some half-feral thing. Wine-dark hair spills loose, catching what little light remains until it burns like ember-glow against pale skin. 

She doesn't notice him yet. Too lost in whatever fury keeps her spine so straight, her jaw so tight. He finds himself oddly pleased by the sight—this strange, savage creature wearing anger like a crown. There's something almost... endearing about her attempt at dignity, even now.

He stays in the doorway, content to watch. To study how she holds herself together with nothing but spite and will, glaring at stone as if it might crumble under her gaze alone. Such delicious defiance in every line of her body, even as blood seeps steadily from her wounds.

The gash in her arm weeps steady crimson, each drop a small sacrifice to the bathwater below. He follows its path with ancient eyes—the way it winds over her chest, between her breasts, dispersing into pink-tinged water like wine into clear spirit. Her body tells stories in its scars, a history written in flesh. So young, to wear violence like fine jewelry.

He can taste the copper-sweet scent of her blood in the air, mixing with steam until it coats his tongue like memories of older wars, older wounds. The tension in her shoulders speaks volumes—some deeper hurt than mere flesh, some weight that presses against her bones until they threaten to crack beneath it.

"Narien?"

Her name falls from his lips—gentle but unmistakably a command. She takes too long to find his gaze, lost somewhere in that peculiar mortal tendency toward introspection. When she does look, her eyes are dark as wells, pupils blown wide with something that isn't quite pain.

How fascinating, to watch her fragment so quietly.

The war has carved pieces from her, yes, but it's the loss that interests him more—the way it sits beneath her skin like a fever. Eregion's victory carries a price she hasn't finished paying, one that writes itself in the fine lines of her face, in the careful way she holds herself together.

"Narien?"

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Her blood keeps time between them, steady as a heartbeat. Something old and hungry stirs in him at her continued silence—he is unused to being denied attention, especially by creatures who should know better. He moves forward with careful intent, each step measured until he towers over her bath, close enough to catch the heat rising from her skin.

Still she looks through him, past him, at something he cannot see. Her stillness is almost perfect, save for the steady seep of red that paints the water in spreading rings.

His eyes trace the path of her blood, the vibrant streak against her pale skin. Her lips part slightly, just enough to suggest a whisper waiting to escape, but nothing comes—only the relentless drip, drip, drip echoing in the still air.

Without a word, Sauron reaches for the rag draped over the rim of the tub, his fingers curling around it. He dips it into the water, watching the fabric darken as it soaks up her blood. Slowly, he drags the cloth along her arm, wiping away the crimson with meticulous, deliberate strokes, the heat stinging his fingertips. Narien flinches—a small, involuntary jerk of her elbow—but she doesn’t pull away.

When the blood is finally gone, wiped clean from her skin, he leans in closer, his fingers reaching out to brush lightly against the wound. The contact is delicate—a mere touch, but enough to send a jolt of pain through her, enough to make her eyes snap to his with sudden, startled awareness. For a moment, her dark gaze locks with his, pupils blown wide, her expression caught somewhere between shock and suspicion.

With a faint, almost imperceptible shift of his fingers, the wound begins to close. Shadows stir at the edges of his touch, knitting her flesh together with an unseen thread, pulling the skin tight and whole as if it had never been torn. The injury vanishes, erased by a power older than the mountains that cradle them, a power as subtle as it is terrifying.

He expects relief in her eyes, perhaps even gratitude. For most, the sight of such healing, the sudden absence of pain, would have elicited thanks, or at the very least, a softening of the gaze. But when he looks up, he finds nothing of the sort.

She stares at him with eyes gone dark as wells, terror written in every line of her face. Not the meek fear of mortals faced with power beyond their ken—no, this is older. Primal. The kind of recognition that lives in blood and bone, passed down through generations since the First Age.

"Get away!"

Her voice cracks like ice in spring, high and sharp and desperate. Water surges over the bath's edges as she recoils, the sound of it against stone echoing like broken bells. Each breath comes quick and shallow—not the measured control of elvish grace, but something raw and animal that pleases him despite himself.

He remains still, letting her panic fill the space between them. How fascinating, to see her stripped of that careful pride, that cultivated strength. Here, bare of armor and pretense, she is almost... delicate. He hadn't meant to frighten her quite like this, but the knowledge settles sweet as honey in his chest.

The bloodied cloth drops from his fingers with deliberate care. Such a small thing to break her composure so completely—but she watches it fall as though it carries all the weight of prophecy, all the terrible truth of what he is beneath this borrowed flesh. Her chest heaves with each breath, tears cutting clean tracks down sharp cheekbones.

"Narien."

He shapes her name carefully, lets it carry just enough command to remind her what she is, what she was before terror took root. He has no interest in offering comfort—but there are other ways to gentle wild things when necessary.

Still that haunted look remains, that bone-deep recognition that speaks of memories older than forests. How unexpected, these tears on her proud face. This trembling in limbs made for war. Has he truly reached past her carefully constructed walls so easily?

“Begone! Leave me!” Her voice splinters on the brittle command, high and sharp, cracking like a blade against stone. She throws it at him, but the words scatter, hollow, hanging in the air with no weight behind them. It’s fear speaking—raw and cracked—not the queen of dragonlords. 

For one indulgent moment, he considers disobeying, a test to see if any trace remains of the woman who had once fixed him with a glare aflame with fury and pride. Instead, he lets the silence press between them, savoring how her defiance falters, fraying beneath the heat of his gaze.

This—this is not Narien. Narien is fierce, proud, unbreakable; she does not retreat, does not tremble. The sight before him unsettles him, worms beneath his skin in a way he cannot quite name. His mind twists around the image of her—her blood diffusing like ink in water, the tremor in her fingers as she gripped the edge of the tub. She has faced death, she has weathered storms that would break any other. Yet here she stands, shrinking from him, eyes wide with a terror that clings too close to her skin, fragile as frost.

For the briefest moment, he hesitates. Uncertainty coils within him, unwelcome and unfamiliar, stirring something he cannot name. He does not know what to do with this fractured, fearful creature that glares back at him with eyes both desperate and defiant. He does not understand this sudden collapse, this breach in her carefully maintained armor, or why panic blooms from her like smoke. Had he miscalculated so disastrously? What had cracked her open like this, this queen who ought to wear her wounds like a crown, who had spilled blood at his side? Why now does she pull away from the hand that could steady her.

Perhaps it’s the realization of her own fragility—the understanding, finally sinking in, that her pride and strength mean little when the body fractures. Or perhaps it’s the weight of her failures pressing too hard, deep enough to crack that self-made armor she clings to so stubbornly. Or perhaps, he muses with the faintest smirk, it’s the sheer contrast that unnerves her—her blood, her pain laid bare in the steam, while he stands unscathed, untouched, as if nothing in this world could lay a finger on him if it tried.

He rises slowly, unfolding to his full height with a languid, deliberate ease. This moment unsettles him, he admits. Her disorder, the chaos of her brokenness creeping into his presence, feels like an unwanted guest in the carefully ordered halls of his mind. Her fear lingers in the air, thick and tainted, and for the first time in an age, something in this world dares to move just beyond his control. He knows only that it cannot linger.

Whatever this is—this fracture in her—it must end.

Without another word, he steps back, letting the quiet pull her brokenness away like a severed thread. 

And he leaves.

3.

The bathwater has gone cold, though Narien barely notices through the tremors wracking her frame. 

Strange, how silence can press against skin like a physical thing, how it fills lungs with each breath until even thinking becomes an effort. Her thoughts move thick as sap, dragging themselves through her mind as though weighted with lead.

The water around her has turned to dirt-dark soup, blood and earth painting patterns she doesn't care to interpret. Iron coats her tongue, familiar as home, as victory—but this taste speaks only of defeat.

Her fingers find the place where his power touched her.

The skin lies smooth now, perfect as new-fallen snow. As if the wound had never existed, had never bled her essence into his keeping. But the memory of his touch lingers like frost—precise and gentle in a way that makes her stomach turn. His fingers had been unexpectedly soft against her flesh, like the first kiss of a blade before it bites deep.

She hadn't meant to bare her teeth at him like some wild thing. Hadn't intended for those jagged words to tear themselves from her throat, each one raw as a fresh wound. She can't even remember what she said—only remembers how it felt, like swallowing broken glass, like screaming into void.

The water ripples with her shivers. Or perhaps it's laughter. After all, what is there to do when you realize the monster wearing a friend's face has just shown you its teeth?

But she cannot forget the terror that had flashed through her like lightning, quick and blinding, the moment he touched her. It was irrational—dog-like, as she bitterly thinks now—and yet it had been real, the kind of terror that seizes the body before the mind can make sense of it. That sudden spark of fear, so foreign to her, still burns at the edges of her consciousness, refusing to be snuffed out.

The water runs cold, fingers pressed to the unblemished skin of her forearm. The unmarred flesh mocks her—pristine and perfect where moments ago blood had welled dark and thick from the gash. She presses harder, as if she could conjure back the wound through will alone, restore the honest pain of it. But there is only smooth skin beneath her touch, only the persistent memory of his fingers there, gentle and sure.

She hadn't meant to let him so close. Hadn't meant to give him the satisfaction of seeing her hunched and bleeding, hadn't meant to feed that hungry light in his eyes when he reached for her arm. The wound had sealed beneath his touch like wax melting backwards, flesh knitting whole in a heartbeat. Her gorge had risen at the sight—not at the healing itself, but at the intimacy of it. The presumption.

The room feels too small now, the walls pressing in as her thoughts circle, and she can’t shake the feeling that Sauron, even after leaving, is still here, lingering in the air, watching her unravel.

The bathwater drains with a wet, gasping sound—like something dying, watching the clouded water spiral away. Blood and dirt disappear down the gullet of stone, but the memory of his touch remains, stubborn as a bruise beneath her skin. Narien fills the bath again, hardly waiting for the steam to rise before she's working the soap between her palms, scrubbing at her flesh as if she might scour away more than just the battle's remains. As if she might wash away the crawling sensation of flesh knitting whole beneath his fingers, the way her body had betrayed her by accepting his aid so readily.

It takes three attempts to rise—her body protesting with each movement, her limbs slow, heavy, reluctant to obey. The exhaustion settles in her bones, thick and unyielding, as though each muscle has turned to stone. She towels off quickly, her motions mechanical, almost detached, and wraps herself in a soft pale gown and  midnight grey over robe she finds in the wardrobe, the fabric soft and worn, as though it’s been waiting for centuries to be touched again. She runs her fingers over the material absentmindedly, wondering how long it has sat there, forgotten, gathering dust in this decaying fortress. It smells faintly of age, of disuse—of a place that once thrived, now lost to time and neglect.

Pulling her cloak tighter for warmth, she grabs her spear and steps out into the corridor. The hall is empty, dim, the light barely enough to cast shadows, but at least the air is fresher here, not thick with the stagnant dampness of the bath. She pads along the cold stone floor, her footsteps soft, but the silence is so absolute that even the smallest sound seems to echo, bouncing off the walls in a ghostly whisper. 

The fortress holds its silence like an old secret, and Narien finds herself counting heartbeats, breaths, the soft whisper of cloth against skin—each sound unnaturally loud in spaces meant for armies. No servants hurry through these halls, no guards stand watch. Even the dust seems to pause in its endless falling, as though waiting for permission to settle.

The walls remember greater days. Now they lean inward like dying things, their strength turned brittle as old bone. She pulls her cloak tighter, though the chill that follows her has little to do with cold.

Since the bath, he has played at shadows—there and gone, like trying to catch smoke between fingers. But his presence fills every corner of this place, thick as incense, patient as stone. The weight of it presses against her skin, against her thoughts, until she can taste it on her tongue.

When she finds him, he's arranged himself with careful precision behind a scarred table—every fold of his robes exactly where it should be, as though even fabric knows better than to defy him. His hair catches torchlight like spun gold, while she still wears battle's grime beneath her skin. The contrast pleases him, she thinks. This evidence of how unlike they are.

A scroll sprawls across the table's surface, its edges curling with age. His fingers drift across ancient words with casual possession, as though everything here exists solely for his touch.

"Have a good bath?"

The question falls sweet as honey from his mouth. He doesn't bother looking up from his staged disinterest. Narien narrows her eyes at him, the irritation flaring hotter now, her fingers tightening around the edge of her cloak. There is no warmth in his tone, no concern, no acknowledgment of the vulnerability she had shown in the bath—in her panic. Only this mocking, this dismissal, as if her struggles, her pain, were nothing more than a momentary inconvenience to him, a passing amusement.

"I could have done without being interrupted by you." The words come steady despite the water's chill seeping into her bones, despite how her body aches with battle-memory and lost blood.

She shouldn't provoke him. Not when exhaustion makes her limbs feel like lead, not when she can barely hold her head up. But something in her refuses to yield, even now—especially now—with his eyes on her skin.

"It is nothing I have not seen before," he says, voice rich with that particular casualness that makes her teeth ache. As though her nakedness were some quaint thing to be observed and dismissed. As though she were another curiosity in his collection of ancient things.

His indifference burns worse than the wounds. Something hot and dangerous coils in her belly, tasting like copper, like pride.

Heat floods her cheeks, a deep flush that she knows betrays her anger. It rises fast, hot, and sudden, and she is sure she must look as red as her hair now, her temper unraveling in her chest like fire. Without thinking, without hesitation, she leans her spear against the table with a loud, deliberate CLANK, the metal tip of the weapon clinking sharply against the stone floor—a declaration of her distaste. 

"You have a curious knack for forging alliances, I do not need your care." 

Her gaze holds steady, unwavering, piercing through his composure with a silent demand—as though, if she only stares long enough, she might unearth whatever lies beneath that smooth, practiced mask. Yet the Maia meets her gaze without a flicker, his expression molded into an unsettling calm, observing her with the cool, idle interest of a scientist studying a specimen: something curious, yet ultimately trivial.

"Perhaps not," he murmurs, his voice soft, laced with a shadow of private amusement. "And yet, here you are. Seeking me out once more."

Her lips tighten, a flash of irritation sparking behind her eyes. She reins in the impulse, her voice emerging in a measured, deliberate tone. "Mind yourself. I am the one who offers you shelter and I am the one who can take it away." 

He lifts his hands, palms outward in a placating gesture, though the smile that tugs at his mouth is knife-thin, predatory. “Forgive me. A careless choice of words.” 

The sound she makes is all spite and steel, bitter enough to cut. She lets quiet fill the space between them, feeling the weight of it settle in her chest expanding until she is forced to expel it. "I have an offer for you." 

The deceiver’s lips split, wolfish. “Indulge me,”

She does: “Come the dawn, I will leave. I offer to take you wherever in this middle earth you wish to be delivered and we go our own ways.”

“Or?”

“You return with me to Aldrast—as a guest.”

This pulls his spine straight. “A curious proposal. Might I know the terms of this… offer?” 

It seemed nothing in this world came without clauses. Narien knew as much. She drew her own.

“At Aldrast, you are under my rule as Queen. No chaos shall be sewn amongst my people. No bloodshed.”

She watches as the offer turns in his mind, like dark tides shifting behind those eyes. A muscle flickers in his jaw, his expression unreadable until he finally nods, relenting.

"Very well. I will go with you."

Narien tempers her small victory with a curt nod, her fingers closing around the haft of her spear where it rests. The weight of it is reassuring, grounding her. “We will meet at dawn,” she says, her tone clipped, businesslike.

Without another glance, she turns on her heel, the spear tapping softly against the stone floor as she leaves him behind. "Goodnight."

-

Sleep refuses to find Narien. She lies in the moth-eaten bed, staring up at the weathered canopy above. The faded green fabric has a sickly hue, as though someone had died in these very sheets and, with twisted decency, allowed themselves to be buried beneath the earth. The blankets itch against her skin, the pillows are misshapen, and the mattress beneath her feels more like stone than anything meant for rest. Even the faint, cloying scent of age and disuse unsettles her. How long had this room been abandoned? How many visitors had once laid in this bed?

Narien’s fingers absently pick at the embroidery on the pillow clutched to her chest, the threads unraveling beneath her nails. She rolls the offer she made to Sauron over in her mind, the words heavy, clinging to her thoughts like damp fog. Inviting him into her home—into Aldrast—was not a decision she had ever imagined herself making. But the truth is clear enough: the Elves are untouchable without his help. He now commands an army of Uruks, a force she needs. There’s no point in lying to herself. The alliance between them isn’t born of trust or choice—it’s a necessity.

If Sauron poses a threat to her, to her people, she will handle it. She must. She would keep him contained—at least, she would try. Yet beneath the surface, something hums inside her, not quite fear, not quite anger—something akin to excitement. The thrill of ambitions she had long since buried, the kind she told herself were out of reach. There had always been reasons, hadn’t there? Her husband, her son, the fragile threads of duty that kept her from clawing at the desires festering beneath her skin since exile.

But now, with Sauron’s power so near, she feels it again—that itch—the one that had waited all along. If it was a monster the Elves had seen in her all those years ago, perhaps a monster was what she would become.

—

Morning breaks with a cruelty that feels personal, the sky a brittle blue, as if made to shatter. The cold sinks its teeth into Narien’s skin, sharp as any blade, leaving only the sting behind. Her breath clouds in front of her, thick and fleeting, a ghost in the dawn—a reminder she is still here, still breathing.

The sun rises slowly, hesitant, its light creeping over the horizon as if unwilling to chase away the night. The scent of wet stone lingers, mingling with the dampness of old earth, the memory of last night’s rain refusing to let go. Narien pulls on her war-stained clothes, the fabric stiff with dried blood and grime. The weight of it all presses down on her, but she wears it like regalia.

Her fingers split the tangled waves of her wine-red hair, combing out the knots with methodical care. The heavy mane falls back as she ties it with a worn strip of leather, the braid settling down her spine. She has always worn it long—always—and its weight is a comfort, a small piece of herself she still knows.

Her hand finds the spear, the cool metal grounding her, stilling the faint tremors that linger in her limbs. The sanctuary looms ahead, a dark hollow against the cloud-choked mountains. Far below, shrouded in mist, lies the Gap of Rohan—and beyond that, home. But here, high above the world, there is only the fortress, the wind slicing through the silence, and the weight of what is to come.

Sauron stands in the archway, black and gold robes whipping violently in the wind. His hair, like spun gold, catches the dawn, turning into molten fire under the light. He waits, unmoving, until her footsteps draw near. His gaze finds hers, sharp as the morning chill, already calculating the distance she has traveled, the weight of every step.

“Did you sleep?”

“Well enough.” Narien adjusts the scabbard on her hip. His eyes are on her, reading her, seeing too much. She wonders how much of her restless night he already knows.

“Good.”

“And you?”

He shrugs, the movement lazy, almost indifferent. “It’s not something I require.”

Of course not.

“Your beast will not settle,” Sauron murmurs, his voice roughened by an edge of irritation, the kind that seeps through despite his best attempts to conceal it. His gaze drifts towards the horizon, narrowing, as if the answers he sought lay somewhere beyond the world's edge. For a moment, the calm facade wavers, the ancient patience of a Maia, cracking. Overhead, a bellow rolls through the sky, low and resonant—a defiant challenge that thrums against the quiet dawn.

“It has been restless all night.”

Beast. The word digs beneath Narien's skin, raw and barbed, leaving behind a sting that burns. Her jaw tightens, a cold fire simmering low, kindled by the insult. Her response, when it comes, is sharper than she intends:  “She is not a beast.”

Sauron’s gaze shifts back to her, slow, deliberate. Dark eyes hold hers, probing, a hint of something that could be amusement or disdain. He presses, every syllable chosen to push, to test. “What else would you call it?”

“She is family.”

The conviction in her voice allows no room for debate. There is nothing left for him to say. Narien moves before he can think of something to provoke her further, two fingers lifted to her lips. Her whistle slices through the air, keen and commanding, echoing off the rock walls and cutting through the cold like a stone skipping across water. Silence, for a breath, and then—a deep rumble answers, unfurling across the sky like a promise made of thunder. The beat of wings follows, powerful and rhythmic, the sky’s own pulse.

The wyvern bursts through the layer of cloud, her scales a dark silver, shimmering beneath the first touch of sunlight. She is radiant, her roar splitting the air, a sound that shakes the earth beneath Narien’s feet, dislodging stones that tumble down the mountainside.

“Angruin,” Narien calls, her voice steady, a note of command mingled with something softer—something almost like reverence. The wyvern’s beady black eyes meet hers, bright and fierce, and Angruin shakes herself, the great wings folding in as she descends, shedding the sky’s weight as if it were nothing. She is not as large as her dragon kin, not as thorny or colorful, but her presence is every bit as formidable, something out of an old tale, something forged from myth.

Angruin strides forward, her steps deliberate, her movements carrying a grace that belies her size. The air shifts, the scent of rain and stone thickening as her bulk fills the cavern. Sauron’s gaze follows the wyvern, his expression a mask, cold and impassive. There is no awe, no flicker of acknowledgment in his eyes, just that same unreadable stillness.

“At ease,” Narien murmurs in Nareni, her voice softer now. 

The great wyvern settles onto the stone, her vast wings folding with a rustle of leathery sinew, the sharp talons of her hind feet clicking softly against the rock as she shifts her weight. Her eyes, molten silver, never leave Sauron. Wary and unblinking, the spines along her back ripple as her muscles coil with tension, a living current beneath her gleaming scales. The saddle on her back, crafted from thick leather and reinforced with iron and polished steel, looks both battle-worn and indomitable, fitted for the creature it adorned.

It is her hand that steadies first against Angruin's neck, fingers finding the familiar ridges of scale and bone.

"Behave," whispers Narien and the wyvern's muscles coil beneath her palm like storm clouds gathering.

The beast's growl starts low, trapped and thunderous; but when Narien's eyes find Sauron where he stands among the weathered stones, his form remains edgeless, drawn in shades of shadow and smoke. Angruin's tail—thick as ancient heartwood, twice as merciless—cracks against the mountain face, and suddenly there are pebbles raining down like tears of stone, each one marking the seconds of their shared hesitation.

Something raw trembles in the space between predators. The wyvern watches him as wolves watch their own kind—all leashed violence and barely-contained knowing, silver eyes tracking each minute shift of his form. Her wariness bleeds into Narien's awareness even as muscle memory guides her up, the motion of mounting carved so deep within her bones that her body moves without thought. The leather beneath her thighs whispers its history: here where they first learned trust, there where they earned it, each scar and smoothed patch telling of leagues flown together.

She reaches down to the Maia—just as she had that day above Eregion, when smoke had painted the world in shades of ending—something flickers across his face, quick as summer lightning, gone before she can name it. His hand finds hers, and she pulls.

He settles behind her, and the ancient saddle creaks beneath their combined weight. His presence burns through leather and steel and all her careful distance until she can feel the steady rhythm of his breathing matching hers, beat for treacherous beat.

Angruin turns with a tug of Narien's hand, each step a percussion against stone. When they leap, the earth releases its greedy hold and sky rushes in to claim them, the world softening at its edges until freedom tastes sharp as newly-forged steel on her tongue.

In that space between heartbeats, between ground and clouds, Narien allows herself to forget everything but wind-song and wing-beat.

that's part one! Hope you enjoyed! I have a part two I'm working on where we discover Aldrast.

[theshadowsingersraven]

Marked for the Hunt

Bodhi Durran x OC | Iron Flame Pt. 2 & Forward| Slow Burn | Eventual Smut | General Fantasy Violence| WC: 2,193 | Also posted on AO3

Summary: All Kestra Bishop had wanted to do was follow in her father's footsteps, even if that meant concealing her surname to avoid skepticism and the assumption that being a Kaori meant things would be handed to her. She worked her way to Wing Leader of First Wing, honed her signets (yes, signets), developed a bond with her dragon, Creideamh, that any rider would envy, and made Basgiath her home.

All Bodhi Durran had wanted to do was honor his mother's sacrifice and protect Xaden, even if that meant losing who he truly was outside of being Xaden's cousin. He risked his life, honed his signets (yes, signets), developed a bond with his dragon, Cuir, that any rider would envy, and made Aretia his home.

Now, with the truth of venin and wyvern breaching all military clearance, Kestra is clinging onto the fragments of the life she once knew, a task that feels more like watching the current carry sand out of her palms. Bodhi, on the other hand, is focused on helping arm the Porromish drifts and activating the ward stone in Aretia. But as Cuir and Creideamh draw closer, so do their riders—whether by fate, duty, or something neither of them is ready to name.

KESTRA

“That’s where the leadership is now! Trying to hide the bodies of over a dozen dead wyvern!” Dain Aetos finishes. 

Kestra Bishop's gaze leaves her wing and stares at Aetos to the left of her. The other two wing leaders exchange glances as murmurings throughout formation blossom into pockets of arguing and yelling. 

She runs her teeth over her lower lip, trying to make sense of everything she's hearing. She has no reason to believe Aetos would lie, especially about something like this. Venin? Wyverns?  But how could something this huge have been kept secret? Such a large-scale cover-up required organization, at the very least. Not to mention power.

Aura Beinhaven steps out of formation, weapon in hand. Garrick intervenes, and Kestra feels a spike of anxiety as things rapidly spiral out of hand. She's a Wing Leader, she's meant to keep order. To keep her wing in line. But how can she fathom holding herself together enough to lead anyone when her entire life might be a lie? Her dad's life, as well? What does he know, as the professor of dragonkind? Has he been lying to her, too?

Her blood feels like it's freezing in her veins with apprehension. The idea that her father was lying to her all along feels so categorically false, but these things cannot all be true at once. Someone is lying, and if Kaori was somehow kept in the dark, too…what on earth did that say about leadership? 

“If you don’t believe me, ask your dragons!” Dain shouts.

“Creideamh?”

Kestra forces herself to keep a straight face as she directs her thoughts to her green daggertail. If there's anyone she trusts not to lie to her, it's her dragon. Greens are famously reasonable and rational, something especially valuable in the chaos burgeoning around them. Creideamh was especially honorable, even by green dragon standards. She would never lie to her unless it risked her life otherwise. 

“I trust you with the knowledge that this is true. But if you seek proof, I was not at Resson. Cuir was,” Creideamh murmurs to her. 

Holy gods.

This entire time, Kestra believed their enemies were the Gryphon fliers. But for it to just be a distraction for the true enemy hidden in the sky, ones capable of killing dragons…

Her knees waver, the weight of Creideamh's words threatening to crush her composure. For a brief, dizzying moment, it feels as though the ground beneath her vanished entirely.

Her father's life, her life—had it all been built on lies? Kestra clenches her fists at her sides, her nails biting into her palms as if the pain might ground her. She turns her gaze back to the spiraling chaos of the courtyard, struggling to find her footing as a Wing Leader amidst the growing uproar.

She understands their anger, after all. It's more than just being lied to. It's like leadership has been handing them ropes to hang themselves with. And it's even worse for the marked ones, considering they were knowingly sent into a death trap.

Kestra is angry, too.  

There’s a sudden twinge of anticipation that colors the connection between Kestra and Credieamh. It feels like a sickly, nauseous yellow, then shifts to a neutral, soft white. “The others’ memories are being shared with us now. I shall show you.”

Kestra only has time to blink before the memories are shunted through her mind. They cleave through her, nothing short of awful. They’re flashes of crackling lightning, fleeing civilians, two-legged dragon-like creatures with red-eyed riders. Ugly red veins bulge from their skin, apparently against their temples. Then, the point of view suddenly changes. It veers to the back of a dragon—Durran's, specifically, with him saddled. A gray wyvern with clawed wings and two legs chases them, jaw unhinging to croak out curling blue flames.

“Shit,” Kestra breathes through her clenched teeth as she's brought back to the present. Voices overlap from within formation in panic, in anger, in disbelief. She runs a hand through her hair roughly, causing the brown-and-orange dyed strands to come loose. It’s true. Everything Aetos said is true, and she doesn’t know how she’s supposed to operate how she did before the ground had practically been stolen from beneath her feet.

“Enough!” Riorson bellows. His shadows retract from dancing around the ankles of the cadets in formation. Kestra didn't even notice their presence initially, her mind too unraveled with trying to make sense of the world around her.

A chilling silence envelops the courtyard. With a pregnant pause, Riorson continues, “You are all riders!” he shouts. “All chosen, all threshed, all responsible for what happens next. Act like it! What Aetos has told you is the truth. Whether or not you choose to believe is up to you. If your dragon has chosen not to share what some have seen, then your choice has been made for you.”

“Do you know if Dad knows?” Kestra asks. Creideamh makes a noise somewhere between a hum and a sigh. 

“I do not know. But I would assume most likely not.” 

Xaden continues addressing the cadets. They shift from an organized unit to a writhing mass of black flying leathers. Murmurs continue until professors flood the doorway to the flight field and the Gauntlet. 

Kestra's gaze snaps to the group of professors, zeroing in on her father's head of dark hair. Fire erupts from Carr's hands, but Durran steps up and twists his hand like he's turning a dial.

Then, the fire is gone. Like a match into water. 

Kestra needs to get to her father and fast. Cadets are making decisions left and right, murmuring about staying or leaving. She needs to do something, say something—she's a Wing Leader, for fuck’s sake. 

“First Wing!” she announces, magically amplifying her voice over the crowd. “Those of you interested in following justice and truth, I expect you to follow Riorson, as I will be. You will have my protection if you go with us.”

Many pairs of eyes in First Wing dance between several different emotions. Fear, confusion, skepticism, hurt…but the ones that become resolute, that seem to strengthen at her words make her heart swell. It looks like she did something right after all. 

“Yes, ma'am!” Delun, a dark-haired third year from Kestra's original squad responds. A Marked one. His eyes are bright and…proud, almost. “I will follow where you lead.” 

Kestra can't stop the soft smile from spreading on her face. Her eyes water, and she dips her chin gratefully. But she doesn't give anyone else a second glance as she races off the dais. Delun’s faith in her gives her the strength she needs to cross the courtyard to her father. 

Xaden, Violet, and the rest of their typical posse have already beaten her there.

“Dad!” Kestra shouts. Violet steps back from Kaori, giving Kestra ample room to approach him. Various eyebrows raise, Riorson’s head whipping to look at Violet, but Kestra hardly cares at this point if that secret is out.

“Cadet,” he begins, his deep voice smooth despite the chaos.

“Don't ‘Cadet’ me!” Kestra hisses. She weaves past Durran and Tavis, grabbing her father's hand. “Did you know? Please tell me you didn't know all this.”

Kaori shakes his head firmly, his mustache quivering as his lip curls. “No. I had no idea, and I am livid.” 

“We have to go,” Kestra says. 

Kaori's face drains of color, looking from Kestra to Violet, the Marked Ones, and back to his daughter. His face wrinkles with an apprehensive frown. “I…I can't,” he says. His voice is tight. Torn. “My place is with the Empyrean. If the enemies breach Basgiath, then I must defend the Vale with my life.” 

Kestra's stomach drops to her feet. “Dad,” she breathes, her hands trembling. She’s always thought his place was with her. With their family. 

“They need you, Kess,” he says. “I've taught you everything I possibly could. They will need someone to help with the dragons in my stead if I'm here.” His hands cup either side of her face.

Hot tears roll down Kestra's face as she tried to shake her head despite her father's hold. “How can I leave without you?” she asks, lip wobbling.

“You turn around, and you go find Creideamh. You get on his back, and you follow them.” Kaori gestures to the group of marked ones around them. 

She can't.

“You can,” Creideamh says firmly. But how can she bring her feet to move? It's always been her, her father, and her older brother, Clayton. 

Oh, gods, Clayton!

“Is Clayton staying with you?” Kestra blurts.

Kaori nods. “Most likely, yes.” 

Kestra sobs. She can't leave her whole family behind, not like this. This isn’t like the summers in Morraine when she would visit her mother and younger sister, Isolde. There was a guaranteed return then. This situation is life or death. Guarantees are a luxury no one can afford right now.

Kestra shakes her head again. “No,” she insists. Her father presses a kiss on her forehead.

“I love you. Be safe.” He releases her face from between his palms.

“I love you, too. Dad, please—”

“You need to leave, Little Huntress,” Creideamh tells her through their bond, voice uncompromising. “You are mine, and you cannot stay here. We must leave.” 

Kestra's hand ghosts over the green dragon relic on her collarbone. Hers. She isn't wrong. 

Before she can argue any further, a hand closes around Kestra's bicep. Bodhi. “We need to go,” he says urgently but not harshly. 

Kestra's head snaps to look at him. Within his cloud of black curls, a few are slicked with sweat and sticking to his forehead. The look in his eyes is serious, and he slowly starts to pull her along with him. “Cuir and Creideamh are waiting for us.”

Kestra just manages to extend some kind of feeling to her legs to make them move, albeit far less gracefully than normal. How does he know that her dragon is waiting for her? Unless Cuir and Creid are together, which means…

“Did…did you have Cuir tell him to bring me?” she mentally asks.

“You needed assistance,” Creid responds simply. 

Bodhi holds her bicep the entire time across the courtyard, through the quadrant, and up the stairs to the flight field. 

“Is there a reason why you're still holding onto me?” she asks, more curious than irritated. 

“I get the sneaking suspicion that if I show up before our dragons without you, I'll be turned into soot. I'd like to at least graduate before that happens,” he says. 

“Oh.”

“Oh, indeed,” Bodhi remarks. 

“...I didn't realize our dragons talked.”

“I didn't realize you're Kaori's daughter. So I guess we're all learning something new today.” 

Fair point. 

Still, she doesn’t pull away just yet. And Bodhi doesn’t let go until they reach the flight field. It's probably for the best that he didn't. Kestra isn't sure if she would've been able to resist the temptation to break away and chase down her family. 

Creideamh and Cuir touch down side-by-side as their respective riders cross the field. At the sight of them so close, Kestra spots a slight falter in Bodhi's step. 

“Anything you want to tell me?” Kestra asks, head tilting. 

Creid chuffs, lowering her snout to Kestra and butting the tip of her massive, leathery nose against her hand. “Not at the moment. But I am with you, and I am proud of the choice you’ve made.”

Kestra can feel tears prick her eyes again, and she has to wipe at them with her sleeve. “Time to go, yeah?”

“Indeed.” Another soft butt from Creideamh, a puff of steam leaving her slit nostrils. Most dragons aren't as gentle or comforting as this. Typically, not even Creid is. But the grief, the anxiety festering in Kestra's chest is enough for extra sympathy, it seems. 

By the time she's settled (both in her supplies and her emotional state) and made it to Creid's shoulder, Bodhi is already pulling his flight goggles down over his eyes. He spares another glance toward Kestra, a hint of a sympathetic smile on his face. Then, the pair take off. 

Creid follows after them in mere seconds. Kestra stares down at the grounds of Basgiath, normally something she avoids as much as possible so as not to lose the contents of her stomach. But watching the campus grow smaller and smaller is the closest thing she will get to saying goodbye to her brother. 

“You will see them again,” Creid reassures her. 

“I hope so.” Kestra's hands squeeze the pommels of her seat in the hopes of finding anything even slightly grounding. 

“You will,” Creid insists. “Smachd will protect your family.”

Kestra finds a twinge of relief at that acknowledgement. Her family isn't defenseless, and she trusts Smachd implicitly. How can she not? She practically grew up with her father's dragon. And they still have the wards. For now. 

That hope, though fragile, is all Kestra can cling to as she flies away from everything she's ever known, with Cuir and Bodhi ahead of her. 

[vicky82gargoylesfan]

Still waiting for my Gargoyles Quest issue 4, was hoping I would get my physical copy by now, looks like it's been delayed.

I realised I hadn't done my thoughts on the issue 2 and 3 yet so here some quick thoughts.

Issue 2 Quo Vadis Cum Hoc?

Goliath agrees this deal with Vinnie but does Goliath know who his boss is.

Angela hugging Turquesa is cute.

Prospero makes his first appearance. Caliban and Ariel are mentioned but are at the Gathering on Avalon. Monsieur Le Maire appears for the 2nd time, his first appearance was in Bad Guys,

I guess Shari is a double agent.

Broadway gives the Mayan Sun Amulet back to Jade and Turquesa.

Thailog and Brentwood steal the Hand of Valmont from Prospero. At first I thought this was one of the new keys to power.

Exo- Frames attack the Gargoyles but its all a distraction so Demona can get something from Owen or Puck.

Issue 3 Acquisitions

Lex wants to find out who's controlling the Exo frames but Coldstone completely destroys them but obviously he's done it deliberately so they can't be be tracked.

Turquesa sees Demona fly off and recognises her from Argentina, so that's why Avalon sent them to New York.

Owen tells Goliath that Demona has stolen Puck's flute, which he admitted stole it back from Oberon. He also says that he was the Pied Piper.

Coldstone tells Demona that Angela wants to find her and tell her about her commitment ceremony to Broadway.

Thailog and Shari deliver the Hand of Valmont to the illuminati at Eastcheap, so we see the return of Falstaff.

Was surprised to find that Wyvern the Dragon is an Illuminati member!!!!!! and is number 3 When did that happen????? Also back in Bad Guys comics the Redemption Squad could of seen him.

Lol at the Dragon telling Thailog he smells differently, obviously it's because he's a clone.

So the Hand of Valmont is used to get the 2nd part of the Lance stick and Thailog has to do it so the Dragon doesn't suspect it's been stolen.

Now Demona has 2 Keys of Power,

Cut to September and Elisa's suspension is lifted and back on the force. Love that they are still meeting at the Clocktower.

The next page happens over a few weeks starting from October 16th, Katana and Coldfire together possibly looking for Demona. October 31st which is the Halloween Special. November 11th Brooklyn, Broadway and Lex together at near Nightstone.

Then November 17th, with a beautiful shot of Angela in front of the moon. Even though Angela doesn't have any dialogue in this issue she certainly didn't need it as you could tell what's bothering her. She wants reconciliation with her Mother and attend her commitment ceremony but Demona's latest Quest for domination is not helping things.

The next page is November 18th and Antoinette is at an auction in Geneva getting Cleopatra's necklace, which is the 3rd key to power.

[sieglinde-freud]

so the way endings in awakening work is a bit off if you have the gay mod because it reads single people normally, but married people have the man’s ending read, and then his wife just. attached. and so that alters which ending you see for both of them. unfortunately, that means if i have f/f pairs, which most of them were, i dont get to see any because none of them were read. and at least with the second gen, i did almost entirely f/f pairs, which dont show up, or m/m pairs, which had nothing written, so. everyone please give it up for gerome and cynthia, the only second gen ending i got to see!

😭😭 good for them!!! anyways unorganized final thoughts under cut so i dont have to make a whole other post for it

awakening lunatic sucks! but project thabes makes it suck a little less. in all honesty i had a lot of fun, awakenings a good game to revisit, and finding a way to make it challenging while being able to use my favorite units (awakening second gen) ever was awesome. normally having all 13 (or 14 in this case, with both morgans) would break the game, but lunatic kept the enemies strong, so it didnt matter what my units had. i actually got overwhelmed a lot 😭 HUGE difficulty jump between hard and lunatic all i’m saying. and then the games like “hey now u have lunatic+ if that interests you” NOOOOO THANKS.

anyways. here are my top three guys according to the medal thingies at the end

im so proud of them :3 of all the kids really but yeah these three were huge standouts. virion actually got a change in the mod where one of his subclasses was swapped for myrmidon, so yarne got to inherit astra which was actually insane? it procced ALL THE TIME so. that was crazy. chrom!inigo and fred!cynthia are always good thats not new but they were really clutch in the last few chapters. i had them both hopping around classes for most of the game bc thabes redoes skill progression so. IT TOOK CYNTHIA SO LONG TO LEARN LUNA. ITS FROM WYVERN LORD. GOD. she went through a LOT of classes yall dont even know. also honorable mention to marc and morgan, the best rallybots ever, and dancer lucina, who was outserving everyone she was in a scene with. my girl.

like ok serving cunt on the back of the god youre about to kill? get it girl!

anyways so for second gen pairs i did: lucina/f!morgan, owain/m!morgan, inigo/laurent, yarne/brady, severa/kjelle, nah/noire, and cynthia/gerome and you know what. i think i have a great taste. a lot of these were born from being unable to do other pairings but thats ok. i liked how it turned out. though i was gonna do nah/noire anyways because they were actually like. an insane duo. honestly im surprised noire didnt get a medal thing bc i feel like her nostanking with nah backing her up got me out of so much shit. maybe its because i didnt see her ending… oh. oh wait thats probably it. well. anyways.

i think awakening is not a properly balanced game, nor are the maps made for a difficulty like this. towards the end game especially, the maps are just. flat. most of them anyways, and they just become really repetitive and bland and boring. and despite this being the game with the tactician character of all the time, they dont really allow you flexible strategies, because if youre not pair up stat stacking, you will die! and that sucks. mid game is alright, but the last arc is really weak and kinda dampered my whole experience. im glad i did it, but i wouldnt actually reccomend it to anyone unless you like to play like that (which is totally fine! its just not my thing). definitely requires some solid planning as well. all in all, not the worst fire emblem ive played but… well. im not doing it again. ok anyways heres inigo mouthing off at grima

[passionateseadruid]

Why Lucifer is a dragon

Okay Fine! I'll write the essay you savages! But as consolation I'm tagging it as whatever the hell I want!

One may ask themselves what a mythical creature of Sin has to do with a quirky father in an adult Cartoon. Everything! That is what they have to do with each other! He has the religious evidence to back it up. He has the form of a dragon. Finally he has the symbolism. Throughout this essay the intent will be made to prove without a doubt Lucifer from Hazbin Hotel is certifiably 100% a dragon.

Onto the first point: what makes a dragon. Dragons have many forms from European six limbed beasts of destruction to Asian four limbed creatures of prosperity. Lucifer may seem like he fits into the Eurocentric definition of dragon but considering he has 6 wings that may shed some doubt on the credibility of this thesis. Fear not however, for according to Christian History For Everyman a seraph is defined a 1) a fiery serpent and 2) a six winged being. This seems pretty conclusive that some people saw seraphs as serpentine creatures. "Heavenly creatures of fire stood above him. Each creature had six wings" (Isaiah 6:2 — New Century Version). What more is there to say? So to recap Seraph (the singular form of Seraphim) are six winged angelic creatures with fire and serpent connotations.

Point 2: His form. Lucifer from Hazbin Hotel has a very unique form in the show. "According to Vivziepop... demons that appear more humanoid-looking, such as Lucifer and Charlie, are actually quite rare" (Hazbin hotel wiki, Demons page). So not only is his appearance called out to be quite different by the creator herself but as is about to be brought up in the show his "other" form is quite unique as well. Sera and Emily do have different forms from each other in their full angelic forms but they do have similarities, such as their long lashes and a third eye in their foreheads, as well as gaining several dozen eyes (Season 1 episode 6). Lucifer However notably lacks a third eye on his forehead. Some might ask themselves "why is this in the essay?" reason 1 to pad the run time, reason 2 because it demonstrates that Lucifer can have a draconic form even if he is still biologically an angel. Onto Lucifer's appearance! Lucifer's other form (his demonic form) has crooked horns with a small fire in between them, a snake shaped halo (Quite possibly being the same snake wrapped around his hat in his normal form), six wings (like previously mentioned), and a black tail with a red heart in the center of the triangular tip, as well as breathing fire at Lute when he tells her to "Go home" (Season 1 episode 8). When people think of dragon they usually think of the Eurocentric type of dragons that have two front legs, two back legs, wings, a tail, and horns (though a lot dragons/dragon variants (I.e. wyrms, wyvern, drakes etc.) have horns, even Asian dragons).

Finally onto point three. Symbolism of sin. Lucifer is the sin of pride in both the show and in the Peter Binsfeld classification of demons. "In 1589 Binsfield published [a]... list of demons and their associated sins... Lucifer (pride)" (Wikipedia, Peter Binsfeld page). An important thing to note is that other lists also have Lucifer as the sin of pride such as the Lanterne of light. Dragons are also the ultimate symbol of sin. Being big and powerful (both good to represent Pride and Wrath), sitting on mounds of gold all day (Greed and Sloth), kidnaping princesses/generally beautiful women (Lust), and eating any humans who come by especially if they're trying to save said women (Gluttony and Envy).

Bonus:

Dragons are literally associated with the guy

So to recap Lucifer from Hazbin Hotel is a dragon. He has the religious evidence to back it up. He has the biology to back it up. Finally he has the symbolism to back it up. If somehow this essay isn't convincing enough then 2-3 hours have been wasted on making this.

Isaiah 6:2

Demons

Peter Binsfeld

[nonhumanresources]

A List Of Books/Stories About Transformation

You ever seen those titles of extremely specific essays? If this was one of those I'd call it "A List Of Books That Contain In Whole Or In Part Some Amount Of Transformation, Or The Changing Of Oneself To Another That Has In Some Manner Been Fundamentally Altered From The Self You Used To Be." That was the original title but I didn't want to be mean.

I was rambling far too long about post TF on one of warmer-hotcakes's posts and they mentioned not being able to find stories with a positive relationship to transformation (as well as transformations that are permanent) so I wanted to put a few down in a list!

Granted, these are incredibly inconsistent in pretty much every way other than being SFF but hey, we take what we can get here. Plus they weren't wrong it is VERY hard to find these kinds of stories, half of the list at this point is self published novels on Amazon written by people I've met by chance in TF circles, to give you an idea. So, to pad it out I will add more tangentially related TF stories.

If anyone happens to have more stories feel free to comment them and I'll add them on! I will also add to the list sporadically if I feel like it.

Anyway, without further ado:

Wolven by Di Toft is about a kid finding a werewolf out in the woods. It's been years since I read it but it's got a fun dichotomy between a villain and a protagonist both suffering from partial werewolfication and the ways they deal with it.

Thousand Tales by Kris Schnee is a self published series of books set in the near future where an AI runs a video game that allows people to be "uploaded" into it. There's a lot of books that don't need to be read in any specific order focusing on different characters and is generally a more lighthearted approach to the topic than most, and also it has furries in it. There are books about people who upload immediately, people who do eventually, and people who never do. Not quite the same as adjusting to changes IRL but this is my list and I get to shill whatever I want. Also, it's some of the highest quality writing/editing I have seen in a self-published novel (especially TF novel).

How To Be A Hero: (And Part Time Dragon) by S. Blakeway is a book about a hero who gets defeated and turned into a wyvern by the Dark Lord. Her eternal torment is interrupted, though, by said Dark Lord sending her out on a quest, during which she has to navigate turning back into a wyvern every few days. It's fun and silly and has lots of TF and the author is a very nice and cool person. Go buy this one and the sequel and help me bother her into finishing the trilogy please.

Perspective Flip also by Kris Schnee and Shifting Tails by Paul Lotor are a pair of short story collections. These are more of a soft recommend; both include cases of protags adapting to transformations, and generally involve positive stories, but not all of them are great. Perspective Flip is generally good but Shifting Tails especially has stories that lean very far into the horny side of things as well as topics I was very much not into, but some of them were admittedly very enjoyable. Being horny isn't bad, of course; it's moreso that there is less "story" and more "hey wouldn't this TF be hot." To be fair, sometimes they are, but sometimes they stray far away from my interests, so take that how you will.

Wereworld by Curtis Jobling is something I read as a kid but I'm gonna be honest I remember almost nothing about it. However it is about therianthropes of all types and I like that so it's going on here. They even have sharks!

The Dragon and the George by Gordon R. Dickson. Full disclosure, I have not finished reading this one, and I do not believe it has permanent TF, but it does feature a dude who astral projects into a dragon and is generally a fine book.

The Dangers Of Wearable Technology by Serathin Sabertooth (gods I hope that isn't a pen name, that would be so cool). This is one that I don't really recommend? Which is odd, you might say, for a list of recommendations. Correct! I just have a complex relationship with it, which I will include in a post here so that I don't flood this list with unnecessary words.

That's all I can think of at the moment, but like I said, feel free to send suggestions my way and I'd be happy to read em/add em to the list! Obviously it's pretty short right now and I'd love to bulk it up as much as possible for all us COOL NERDS

[nemeliis]

Spoilers for the Legendary Red Dragon update and like. All of the updates involving the dragon's will be mentioned in some capacity here lmao

Okay so something that's crossed my mind a LOT is that the dragon's (and Wyverns) are probably frugivores, or frugivore leaning at least. Especially since most, if not all of the stuff we've seen them eat, or get offered by cookie's up until this point in CRK and CROB is fruit! We know that it isn't cannibalism in the CRK/CROB universes, as we've seen cookie's and dragon's eat there own ingredients—like Cocoa Cookie with hot cocoa or Ananas Dragon Cookie with pineapples.

Cannibalism seems to be frowned upon to dragon's, or at least just uncomfortable for them based on Pitayas reaction to the Dragonhead Stew, which shows there sentience and psychological intelligence. I think it'd also make sense for them to be frugivores based on where Longhan, Ananas, Lychee & Lotus live, (mainly sunny area's with lot's of fruit and vegetation, as well as open fresh/saltwater source's, making a great place for fruit to grow freely).

But for Pitaya it's a little more nuanced, mainly because of the conditions Pitaya lives in, which isn't very good to grow fruit at all. The Dragon's Valley is also shown to not have much vegetation, if any at all due to it's hot conditions—though plants are present, there scarce and usually the same species, most likely being near cooler places for water consumption.

But we've seen Pitaya eat berries (and get poisoned from them) near the Hollyberry Kingdom during the Special Episode with them, and other Dragon's taking opportunity of the chaos with the Legendary Red Dragon. Which means that Pitaya and other Dragon's/Wyverns are probably scavengers and opportunistic eater's! So they'll eat whatever's available and in there diet, whenever. Similar to some species of snake's and lizard's, which are usually also scavenger's or predators in there own right.

Dragon's could also be omnivores, seeing as Pitaya eats (and enjoys) a meat stew in the Special Episode of the Legendary Red Dragon! I do think that fruit is probably a huge portion of Dragon and Wyvern diet's, since most of the places Dragon's seem to live in have great amounts of fruit or vegetation present. I think it could also be like the phenomenon of how deer and cow's sometimes eat bones, snakes or other small animals if there lacking vitamins/nutrients in there diet despite being herbivores.

And given Pitayas power situation at the time, they we're probably EXTREMELY hungry since they we're like withering away slowly the entire adventure. They even said themselves they have no idea why their Cookie form is this hungry, which also implies that Dragon's could be intermittent eater's, so they don't eat everyday, which makes sense given that Dragon's are based on lizard's and reptiles in folklore involving them.

[lumilasi]

I wanted to draw something more worthwhile today, but due to utter lack of proper sleep for past 3 days + resulting severe mental health drop, I only managed to doodle some NCP lore relevant stuff. I've mentioned the Overshadowers Council in some posts, but there are other important governing bodies, such as the Arcane Council, they handle the matters of primary magic users.

(I.E beings who otherwise would just be humans, though non-human beings also ofc learn magic that might be outside of their "natural" type, in those cases deciding which of the five groups they fall under is just trickier sometimes, and often they are already governed by another body)

I picked 5 main categories even though I do know there are plenty more, I just wanted to keep the scope fairly limited for the time being as this is just world BG lore. How I defined each is somewhat loosely inspired by D&D, but has more of my own twist on things so its not exact. Also picked a character to represent each category lol

For the Sigils, I decided to only use one of them to show examples of how they work, I just didn't have the energy to do all 5

More info below:

It is VERY rare for a magic user to be able to claim two titles and requires some very specific circumstances. Currently, the only known person who is technically both a Sorcerer and a Warlock is Azul Samaros/Chester Knight

Technically, Soul Eaters could be considered the most ancient Warlocks there are, but given their power is so inherent to them by now beyond just channeling something, they are classified as their own thing by now.

Sorcerers/sorceress' are the most powerful magic users, whereas Mages are considered the weakest, given their abilities tend to be highly specific.

In case of a nonhuman being with natural magic learning something beyond that, their matters are mostly still handled by their own governing body, unless the situation specifically relates to this learned magic.

Characters shown in the post: 1.Beatrice (Forest/plant witch) 2. Janus (Summoner mage/has some wyvern heritage so he can use fire) 3. Reuben (Fire Elemental) 4. Angus (Blood sage Warlock) 5. Iris (Astral Sorceress)

The name of each sub-branch are as follows: Witch Covenant, Mage Ward, Elemental Hive, Warlock Guild, and Sorcerer Senate

While Franziska Belmont (A character in NCP) Is known as a "Cat witch" by humans (or sith-cat) she does not fall under the governance of the Arcane Council, given she doesn't have any magic powers that aren't natural-born skills for her.

The governing body is largely democratic, though when it comes to voting for the members of the individual branch, only those part of the said branch can do so. (witches can only vote in covenant elections, Warlocks in the Guild election, etc).

Every magic user listed as the Arcane member however, can vote for any candidate for the Arcane Council itself.

ABOUT THE SIGILS:

Witch symbol: inspired by lavender flower, which is associated with mystery, magic and spiritualism among many other things, also in the shape of a star, which is also a classic magic symbol

Mage symbol: a torch and a common portayal of a soul as a ball of flame, referencing the fact basic magic exists within everyone, even if they cannot use it. Blue because I needed the full rainbow lol

Elemental symbol: Life tree, as reference to how life is formed and shaped by the basic elements. Green because nature reference

Warlock symbol: Spooky spiky starlike shape with eyes and blades, because Warlocks often do stabby spooky stuff, and ofc red because blood. 3-spikes as to reference mind, body, and soul.

Sorcerer symbol: A Hourglass with the infinity symbol, because magic is "eternal" in the eyes of the people, and this is also often the most ancient type of magic people can utilize. Golden yellow to give off a "regal" feel. (They are often seen as sort of "nobility" among magic users and held in high regard/feared the most depending on the power's themes)

OTHER CHARACTERS FROM NCP THAT ARE SPECIFICALLY MAGIC USERS/HAVE LEARNED MAGIC OUTSIDE THEIR NATURAL POWER:

Witches: Yume, Clover (male witch)

Mages: Miriam, Adam (He is a chesire cat who has learned illusion magic on top of his basic abilities) Lionel (He's also a chesire, has learned exorcism magic)

Elementals: Currently none apart from Reuben

Warlocks: Marci, Azul

Sorcerers: Azul (his primary type), Thalia