#but i don’t know how to draw a dragon and if i did learn the dragon would look like shit + i would lose motivation really quickly

[junos-cacophony]

aren’t they just a bit silly

just the background:

[sugudoe]

⋆ ˚ ཐིiཋྀ ˚ ⋆ 𝗟𝗘𝗧 𝗠𝗘 𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝗬𝗢𝗨 ── ✎ ₊· 𝗷𝗷𝗸

✶ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: in desperate need of a skin, you, a talented beginner tattoo artist, decides to test your partner and his love for you in a comical way — “ can i tattoo you ? ’’

✶ 𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: i’ve been drawing for a couple of days now, and this is inspired by my sibling ( a tattoo artist ) and their influence on me, cause i too wish i could tattoo myself whenever i’m bored. ALSO i know we all see geto as tough but i had to!! and nanami surprised even me but the vision is visioning, you can not deny. I KNOW you can’t do many tattoos in one setting but please it’s just for plot. divider by: @cafekitsune

✶ 𝐬𝐲𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐬: fluff / crackfic / smau with writing / reader has no gender / english is not my first language / there is mistakes because the app beat my ass sowwy / mentions of needles and pain / foul language / suggestive theme and horny police for nanami

✶ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: gojo ﾉ geto ﾉ nanami

──── ✎ ° ⋆ 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

Satoru is sitting in your chair, ankles fully on display for you, but you’re actually occupied with keeping everything sanitized in the makeshift space of your boyfriend’s spacious room. He is laughing and acting tough until he hears the buzz of the machine, then he stops and gulps.

“Shit, sweets. Don’t know if I’m ready for this.”

“It’s too late.” You answer with a devilish smirk, before laughing and putting the pen down. “It’s okay if you don’t want anymore, no pressure.”

Maybe it’s the combo of your puppy eyes with small pout, but Gojo falls for your antics and let you have your way in his skin, it’s takes just a few minutes before you end the drawing of the little ants crawling his ankles. He, obviously, has the limitless off, and that scares him a bit — to feel pain, see dots of his blood. But when he looks at your concentrated face, pain dissolves, and he is happy to have something permanently his made by you, his only love.

By the end, though, he grins at you and asks for another one, bigger, blue! And you make the design and ink him again, before realizing you did not gave him the Suguru cat, but you fall for his dragon. Bitch.

──── ✎ ° ⋆ 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔

Geto can see black dots in his vision when he lays belly down on the bed. He is a tough guy, been through stuff you have only an ideia about. You could guess by the minimal details and the fucking huge scar on his chest, he has been deeply cut by something. Still, he is scared of the needle you are holding.

But here he is, presenting his blank large and sexy back to you, making you rethink of doing another thing instead of the tattoo, but you have your opportunity and need to grab it.

“My love, are you ready?” You voice has the buzzing sound of the machine in the background, Suguru groans at that.

“Please, beat me to sleep.” It’s all he says before you touch his face. Before you can say anything, he talks again. “I’m fine, I think. I trust you a lot, baby.”

Suguru soon learns how soft and weightless your hand feels, because although something is burning in his back, he thinks is just you rubbing alcohol — that is until he wonders why are you rubbing alcohol for twenty straight minutes now, and then he shifts his face a bit to stare at you. He almost passed out again when he realized the tattoo is already in progress, but he is fine, and simply goes back to his original head position, before deciding to sleep.

Suguru wakes up hours later with this intricate tattoo on his upper back, he smiles and flexes his muscles on the mirror before staring at you, seeing you googling him. Yeah, if you keep looking at him like that and your hands feeling like feather, he may enjoy this whole thing — he does! By the end of the year, his whole torso is designed by you.

──── ✎ ° ⋆ 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎

Nanami presented you what could be called a slideshow of tattoos he would like to have. Basically he made a pinterest board and added you to put the tattoos you would think he look nice with (basically all you’ve seen).

By saturday, he is wearing a white shirt, showcasing his big arm’s muscles, you get occupied with a little thing before you even start to prepare the living room. Now, he has no shirt anymore.

“So, what did you choose for me, love?” His soothing voice asks you, he is sitting by your dinner table and you smile at him, showing your tablet with the many arts you made based on what both he and you liked.

“Now you pick one and we start.”

“Can I have all of them?” Oh.. “I like the art, you are so talented, love. Let me be your canvas, do what you want.” Yeah, you get occupied again in the day.

It’s nighttime when you crack your bones and look at both of your boyfriend’s arm, all inked up. He stares at you normally, no pain, no heavy breathing. He really was a punk in high school.

“So, since we already did all 12, can we finish the chest as well? I think legs would be nice too, or neck… I can have neck tattoos now!” Nanami says with a energetic voice when both of you are eating pasta later.

“Damn baby, you are getting addicted.” You sit on his lap, eyes focused on the ink all over him. “Yeah, we can do all that.”

[the-apocrypha]

Cottagecore Series DVD Bonus Features

By popular request: the deleted scenes of how Dream and Hob ended up confessing their respective Big Secrets to one another. Below the cut are a series of conversations that take place a few days after Dream announces his pregnancy with Orpheus, and they are incredibly angsty. They also heavily feature abortion as a conversation topic. These were originally written to intercut with at least two miracles but didn't end up working out due to tone issues, and also don't really work as a standalone fic, so. If you're interested--enjoy!

The possibility of a child—their child, their own, of them—had occasionally crossed Hob’s mind, in the same way that other fantastical things like dragons and public libraries did. Fleeting. Unformed. Simple, wonderful little daydreams. 

The reality of it was both impossibly more exciting and terrifying than he could have ever imagined. 

Hob thought of a beautiful child with tiny pointed ears and glowing amber eyes. He thought of a babe born to the world still and pale, never to draw a single breath of life. He thought of all the stories his mother used to tell him, the skipping games and the toy swords and songs that lived inside of him, waiting to be passed down to someone small and new. He thought of a fae child, enamored of the forest and magic and books of learning, with little use for its mortal father. 

Once, when Hob was young, his mother had been called to help an ewe who had been laboring for the better part of the day. Twin lambs, both trying to emerge at the same time.

They’d had mutton for dinner, that night. And for many nights after that. 

Hob could not stop thinking about it. About everything.

What if the child came out completely human. 

What if the child came out completely fae. 

“You told me once,” Hob said, the words leaving his mouth even as lead weights sank pits into his stomach, even as his heart said don’t ask this don’t ask this don’t do it, but he had to, he had to know. “You told me once. That it took you a very long time to grow up.” 

Dream paused. “Yes,” he said, at length. “But time in the realm of the fae is not so… linear as it is here. It is—it was subject to neither law nor order. Time was fickle. Changeable.” 

“You said that it was almost a hundred years.” 

“That was… a guess,” Dream said. 

Hob stared. 

“It was unusual,” Dream added. He did not meet Hob’s eyes. “It. It was a choice I made. The rest of my siblings came of age much faster than I.” 

“How fast?” Hob asked, heart in his throat. 

Dream swallowed. 

“How fast?” 

“The child is half mortal, Hob it should not—it will not age as a fae child would. It cannot, it—it will not have the same power, the same gifts, and moreover, the laws of this universe would not allow—” 

“Oh, you know that, do you?” Hob asked, eyebrows raised. “Like you knew that a mortal man couldn’t get you pregnant in the first place?” 

Dream flinched. 

Hob sighed, and scrubbed at his face. “I’m just. I’m just thinking. We don’t know what we’re going to get, eight months from now—” If they were going to get anything at all. “—and we’ve got zero precedent to go off of, here. It. It could be anything. It could grow like a human and take sixteen years and be done. But, it could also…” 

“It will not,” Dream said, but there was a traitorous wobble in his voice.

“It could,” Hob insisted. “It could, Dream, and we just. I just want to be prepared for that. I want you to be prepared for that.” 

Dream stared, like the whole world was crashing down around him. As if he had not considered this at all. “No.” 

“Yes.” 

“Hob—” 

“But, listen—listen, it’ll be okay,” Hob said hurriedly, and took Dream’s hands into his own. Put on the bravest face he could muster. “Whatever happens, it’ll be okay. I promise. I’ll be with you every step of the way, for. For as long as I can be. Even if it means being stuck in the terrible twos for an entire decade. You just might have to do the teenage years on your own, that’s all. And. You know. The thousand years that come after that.” 

Dream closed his eyes. 

Hob tried desperately to rally. “And, hey! The good news is, at least I won’t be around to give any dodgy sex talks when it comes time for that, since I obviously—” 

“Hob,” Dream said. 

“Though clearly pregnancy prevention isn’t your strong suit either,” Hob allowed. 

“Hob.” 

Dream’s eyes were open again, and they were full of tears. 

“Hob,” Dream said again, and it caught in his throat. “Hob, I—I am not going to live for another thousand years.” 

Hob frowned. “But—”

“I made,” Dream said, and with the next blink the tears spilled over, “a bargain.” 

The reason that Hob had kept it a secret for so long (was because he was a coward) was because, in his opinion, there had been no good that would come of the truth. 

Dream had assumed that the people of Eskham had turned against Hob for being a hedgewitch. He’d assumed in turn that mortals were prejudiced against any being with magic, which was a category that happened to include the fae but more importantly included Hob, who did not have the ability to summon tornadoes or fell ancient oaks. Dream still sweetly seethed about the injustices Hob’s own people had done upon him. He had yet to even once seem concerned for his own safety. 

This was fair. 

Dream had, after all, taken out an entire village of mortals in one wrothful fell swoop. 

Now, Dream had confessed what had happened in the aftermath of that massacre—what he had so readily sacrificed, to save Hob’s life—and it had been devastating in its own right. It had left Hob awake at night, imagining what it would be like to grow older and older and older, while his child did not. 

But it had also pulled on the string that unraveled whatever remained of their tapestried joy at the possibility of impending parenthood. The happiness was gone. The happiness should never have existed in the first place, because the ache of its absence was far worse than to have never known it at all. Hob could not believe he ever felt such simple, mindless elation at what had quickly become a question to which every answer was more horrifying than the last. 

Hob thought of a babe with perfectly pointed ears, stolen away in the night, drowned in the river. 

Hob thought of a child with huge, phosphorescent eyes, tied to a stake above a pile of dried tinder. Screaming.

Hob thought of black-nailed teenager who had had forty-odd years of childhood with its parents before they succumbed to old age, and left their child alone in a world it did not belong in. Orphaned. Ostracized. Hunted. 

It filled Hob’s stomach and left him unable to eat. It pressed down on his chest at night, and he could not sleep. 

And he knew what he needed to do. 

At the same table where Dream had confessed not three days ago, Hob sat himself heavily on the bench. 

Dream stared back wanly. He’d spent most of the morning vomiting copiously, which perhaps made this timing even worse, but Hob knew if he did not say it now he might never say it at all. 

“Dream,” Hob said carefully. The words stuck in his throat like glass, and they tore him open one by one as he forced them out. “There’s. The other day, when you told me about the bargain you made. I—there’s something that I should. Something I should have told you, before—something. Something.” He swallowed. “Something I. Something.” His nails dug into his palms. His heart was pounding in his ears. “Something—” 

“Hob.” 

Dream’s hand splayed across his chest is like ice on fire. Hob sucked in a breath, and relished the burn. 

He seized Dream’s hand in his own. Looked Dream in the eyes. Prepared to pull this one last thread of sanity for the person he loved more than anything in this world. 

“Something,” Hob said unevenly, holding onto Dream like a lifeline, “that I should have told you a long time ago. About. About Eskham.” 

Dream tilted his head, brows drawing together. “Eskham?” 

Hob nodded. 

“What about it?” Dream asked. 

He had no idea. He had no clue. 

“That day,” Hob said, and he was gripping Dream’s hand hard as if he could prevent the inevitable withdrawal. “When they came for me.” 

And Dream nodded. He reached out with his other hand to rest it on Hob’s forearm—a gesture meant as supportive that only served to make Hob’s stomach drop to new depths. 

But this was not about him. This was not even about Dream. It was about their child, carried one day into a town square with pitchforks at its throat and devil spawn in its ears. It was about deserved truths. 

“That day,” Hob said again. He swallowed against a dry tongue. Against the heart that was trying to escape through his throat. “That day. The mob. They weren’t looking for me.”

Dream stared. 

Hob’s heart was pounding so hard he thought he might be sick. 

He watched, as Dream’s face went from confusion, to realization, to—

Bloodless. 

Grey. Dead eyes and parted lips. Staring, but not seeing. 

“I—defended you,” Hob made himself say. “I wouldn’t tell them. Where you were. I told them that I loved you, that you were just as natural as any other creature in this realm and that I would rather die before I let any of them hurt you, and—” 

Dream yanked his hands back. 

Hob tried to hold on, but he wasn’t quick enough. Not strong enough. 

“You,” Dream whispered. 

“I don’t regret it,” Hob said frantically, almost angrily. He was losing control, the tidal wave of panic and horror sweeping him out to a roiling sea he could not swim in, and he barely knew which words would leave his mouth when he opened it again. “I haven’t regretted it for a single second, Dream, not once, not ever, I’d have burned on that stake a thousand times over before I let them touch you, I’d—” 

And Dream bolted. 

Hob leapt to his feet to follow—but his calf muscle seized, and he careened to the side and just barely managed to grab the table at the last second. Stood there, panting, gripping the table as his calf cramped hard enough to render the entire leg useless. Staring at the empty doorway. 

He deserved this, he supposed. 

It didn’t make it hurt any less. 

The summer air was thick and sweet beneath the canopy of the forest. The trees mostly blocked the breeze, but so also the warmth of the sun, which made it about as pleasant as any place was during the midday heat. They were sat at the base of an ancient yew tree that Dream favored, not far from the cottage, and had been for some time. Ravens chattered and rustled softly overhead. A large halo of bird shit was slowly accumulating around them. 

Dream inhaled as if to speak, for the third time in about as many minutes. This time, though, the words came. 

“I do not want. Our child. To be hunted.” 

Hob closed his eyes. “I know.” 

“We do not know what powers it will be born to. What features it will be born to.” 

Unspoken—the slimmest chance, the highest hope, that it would somehow be born wholly mortal. 

A mortal body. A mortal magic. A mortal lifespan. 

“We’ll do whatever we have to, to protect them. Whatever it takes. You know we will,” Hob said, and even as anxiety turned his stomach over, rage flared through him hot and fast. “Anyone that tries to lay a finger on our child, I’ll—I’ll kill ‘em. I would. Anyone. Everyone. And if they think I’m terrifying just wait until they meet the thirty-foot forest nightmare right behind me that can summon hail and rent the earth.” 

Dream swallowed. “Hail and earth. Did not save you.” 

Hob tightened his grip around Dream’s waist. “Yes it did.” 

“You—” 

“Yes it bloody well did. You saved my life that day, you fought, and if you hadn’t been there I—” 

“If I had not been there,” Dream interrupted darkly. He barked one harsh, bitter laugh. “If I had never inflicted myself upon you in the first place, then no mob would have ever come for you at all. You would be—” 

“Lonely,” Hob said. He tried desperately to keep the frustration from rising. “I told you. I would have been lonely, and bored, Dream, and I would have died in that house feeling as if I’d never truly lived at all. You are the best thing to ever happen to me.” 

“I nearly killed you,” Dream said. 

“You saved—”

“And now,” Dream continued, staring into the depths of the forest, “I have attempted to thrust a child upon you, without your consent. I have tried to sentence you to spending the rest of your meager years consumed in the care of a creature that will only suffer as a result of my own hubris—my own selfishness—and it will resent us. It will hate us. It will hate me, and it will be right to do so for—” 

“Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey,” Hob said, scrambling around in front of Dream, and cupping his face. 

Dream stared determinedly to the side, with eyes that were red-rimmed and shiny. His breaths came uneven and jagged. 

“You and I both know that you didn’t get pregnant on purpose,” Hob said fiercely. “You didn’t know better. I didn’t know better. Right?” 

“Hob—” 

“This isn’t something that you’ve done to me. To us. Neither one of us is to blame here. Not one little bit. And it wouldn’t matter anyway if it was, because whatever happens, you know that we’re in this together. We’re going to do what we always do, and make it work. Figure it out. Pregnancy, childbirth, parenthood, all of it. Together. Yeah?” 

Dream set his jaw, and at last met Hob’s eyes. Slowly, he reached up, and pulled Hob’s hands away from his face. 

“You argue. That we are absolved of any guilt, for what strife our child may face in life. Because we held no intention of conception, in our couplings,” Dream said. 

“...Yes?” Hob said, eyebrows raising. “I don’t think we can be blamed for bringing a child into the world when we didn’t know it was possible in the first place.” 

“Incorrect,” Dream disagreed. 

Hob opened his mouth, but Dream continued too quickly. 

“Ignorance acquits us from blame in the conception of this child, yes.” Dream’s hand moved, in the periphery of Hob’s vision, delving into the folds of his robe. “But we are not without agency, in these early months of pregnancy.” 

Dread swung sudden and hard into Hob’s chest, like a fist. 

“...What do you mean?” 

Dream held out his hand between them, and uncurled his fingers. A cluster of flowers rested there. 

Tansy. 

“It sings to me of… release,” Dream said. His thumb brushed over golden petals like spikes. “Of choice. Liberty. Of the harmonization of poison and medicine, as one.”

Hob took in a deep breath, because he was, for the first time in days, hopeful. 

Hob was also terrified. 

Hob was sick, sick, sick, sick. 

“I believe,” Dream whispered, eyes boring in Hob’s, “that it would be enough. To—take care of it.” 

There was a cup of water on the table, steaming and yellow with tansy. 

Choice, Dream said it sang. Release. Liberty. The harmonization of poison and medicine, as one. 

But to Hob, it was silent as a grave. 

Dream was holding the cup so tightly his knuckles had gone white. The steam had long disappeared from the cup, leaving only a stagnant yellow tonic. Hob had offered to leave the cottage twice and allow Dream some privacy, and on the second time Dream had grabbed his hand, hard, and he hadn’t let go since. 

Hob’s fingers ached where they were threaded through Dream’s, but he did not complain. 

He sat in silence, and watched Dream raise the cup to his mouth. 

Watched him inhale. 

Watched him close his eyes. 

Watched him press the rim of the cup to his lips. 

Watched as Dream froze, and was perfectly still for an eternity save for the tremble of the cup in his grasp—

And the cup slammed down onto the table, sloshing poison everywhere, and Dream gasped, “I cannot. I cannot, forgive me, Hob, I—” 

Hob grabbed him and pulled him in hard. “It’s okay—” 

“—I cannot do it, I cannot—” 

“—you don’t have to—” 

“I should,” Dream snarled, gripping the fabric of Hob’s tunic and pushing back. There were tears streaming down his face. “I should end it, I should be rid of it. It is. It is the only humane option, the only option that guarantees that—that—” 

“I know, love,” Hob said miserably, his own throat going tight and hot. “I know that. But—” 

“Hob,” Dream choked out. He tried to inhale, but could not. “Hob, I can—hear it.” 

Hob’s heart skipped a beat, and his mouth went numb. “Y-you—” 

“I can—” Dream slapped his hands over his mouth. He stared at Hob in horror. 

Dream, who could hear the songs of river stones and the herbs in the garden. Who communed with foxes and ancient oak trees alike. Who had come to Hob with news of this pregnancy but without explanation as to how he knew. 

“You can hear it,” Hob repeated blankly. 

“I should not have told you,” Dream said, shaking his head. His eyes were blank and unseeing and wet with tears. “I. I should not have told you, I told myself I would not, I—it should not matter. It does not matter.” 

“What does it sound like?” Hob asked. 

Dream looked up at him. His mouth opened, but no words came out. 

“Dream, what does it sound like?” 

He shouldn’t ask. 

He couldn’t not know. 

“Like. A songbird,” Dream whispered. 

A songbird. 

“The most beautiful—” Dream choked on a sob. “The most beautiful songbird, Hob, the most wonderful songbird in the world.” 

And Hob. Hob, quite abruptly, could not imagine a world where he did not one day get to hear that song. He could not imagine a world in which he did not get to hold their child in his arms this winter and instantly fall in love with whatever features the world had seen fit to give them, mortal or fae or some splendid combination of both. 

He could not imagine what it would be like, for Dream to sit at this table and drink down poison and then listen to the song of their child go silent. 

Dream sobbed in his arms. He begged for forgiveness—from Hob. Their future child. The universe. I have failed, he said, over and over again. Selfish, and weak, and worthless, he named himself, and he would not be consoled with any combination or repetition of words Hob had to offer. 

But still, the tansy sat untouched. 

Eventually, it went out the window. 

And the songbird lived another day.

[angstywaifu]

Black Dahlia - 9. 10 Gold Pieces (Garrick)

One tragic day changes Dahlia's life forever. Despised by her father and brother, she's spent her entire life trying to be the child and sister she use to be. But nothing she ever does is good enough. She joins the Rider's Quadrant to prove them wrong. Garrick now in his second year has proven he is more than the mark on his skin to his fellow riders, and taken leadership of his own Squad alongside Xaden. Little does he know the girl walking across the parapet is about to send him on a rollercoaster of a year.

Set Pre Fourth Wing/Books

Garrick Tavis x OC (Dahlia Aetos)

Black Dahlia Masterlist | Masterlist A/N: I just wrote her threshing part. And I can't wait for you guys to meet her dragon.

The snapping of twigs and crunching of leaves announces the arrival of the rest of the group. Xaden and I turn to see Eya leading the very small group of first years over to us. One by one they lower their hoods, their faces illuminated by the moon overhead.

”So, how did you all go in challenges?” Xaden asks as if he doesn’t already know.

He had watched every single fight we we’re in. He already knew what everyone needed to work on and improve. But he wanted to hear it from them. Needed them to figure out their strengths and weaknesses on their own.

”Well I don’t know about you guys but I kicked ass out there today.” Imogen says confidently as she crosses her arms across her chest.

She had done good. She’d clearly ended up in a home where she was allowed to train and fight. Her technique was a little sloppy, but it was something we could work on and fix.

”Yes, we all know you did well.” Ciaran mutters as he leans up against a tree.

Imogen’s head snaps towards him, eyes locking onto his instantly. I watch as Ciaran cowers slightly at her stare. A stare I couldn’t help but compare to that damn Aetos girl now. Fuck.

”Yes I did, unlike you two. What the hell was that footwork? I’ve seen babies taking their first steps have better footwork than you.” She snaps back at him without missing a beat.

”Not all of us got sent to homes where we were allowed to train.” He grumbles back before turning his head away from her.

Bodhi rubs the back of his neck nervously. He had won his fight, but barely. “I won, but I definitely could have done better. Pretty sure I was a few seconds off losing.”

Xaden nods in agreement. “You just need to get use to different fighting styles again, refine your technique. Which is why we’re doing this. Having these meetings so we can help each other instead of insulting each other.”

Imogen huffs at Xaden’s words, fully knowing the last ones we’re directed at her. Deep down she did care, and would help anyone who needed it. She just needed to stop having such a short fuse.

”Which is why we’re also going to start shuffling the groups up for training, that way you guys can learn off each other.” I announce, everyone nodding in agreement.

”We’ll keep the same nights per week, you’ll just change who you’re with every day or two so you don’t get use to fighting the same person.” Xaden adds.

Bodhi clears his throat, drawing our attention to him. “Am I still able to keep my one night per week for the other training?”

He doesn’t say her name, but I know who he means. Dahlia. He’d been training with her and two others from his squad. Similar to what we we’re doing with the other marked ones. Making sure they survived.

Xaden nods. “Yes, I want to make sure our squad has a good chance in challenges, and hopefully squad games later in the year. And honestly training with her would be very beneficial.”

A growl rumbles from my throat before I can stop it, everyone turning to look at me. Everything about her infuriated me. The way she’d proven me wrong today in her challenge, her attitude, and of course that damn last name.

”What’s his problem?” Imogen mutters to Bodhi, causing him to smirk.

”He doesn’t trust Dahlia. Think’s she’s going to rat us out to her father if she finds out what we’re up to.” He tells her happily.

Imogen looks at me and cocks her eyebrow. “Really? Have you seen how she is with Dain? They hate each other. Pretty sure that extends to her father to.”

”Yes, but as I keep saying it could all be an act. She’s probably waiting for us to slip up.” I growl out before clenching my jaw.

”Someone’s just salty he under estimated her fighting ability.” Xaden teases from next to me as he leans back against the tree.

”I am not!” I grumble back at him.

”Oh, so you weren't ranting to me earlier about her making you eat your words?” He challenges.

I narrow my eyes at Xaden, my nostrils flaring as I huff at him causing him to chuckle at me. Out of the corner of my eye I catch Bodhi smirking at me. He wasn’t wrong though. I’d very much under estimated her. Thought everyone had talked her up because of who she was. But today she had only solidified the talking I’d heard about her. How she had definitely taken down that third year without breaking a sweat. I’d even laughed as she’d pulled out a staff she’d kept close to her side. A very rare weapon choice, especially for dragon riders. But she’d made it look so easy. Made that damn staff look like a deadly weapon. And something told me she would be just as talented with any other weapon she touched. She’d literally made me eat the last words I’d uttered in her ear before she stepped onto the mat.

”Damn Tavis, she’s really gotten under your skin.” Imogen teases, not even phased by my temper.

”Oh you have no idea.” Xaden mutters causing the others to snicker.

”You lot done? Because last time I checked we weren’t here to talk about her.” I say angrily, trying to end the conversation.

”We’re done. I’ll let you know who you’re training with tomorrow.” Xaden says, promptly ending the conversation topic.

Everyone nods in agreement before placing their hoods over their heads, turning to head back up to the quadrant. Xaden and I hang back, taking place at the rear of the group, ready to hang back so we don’t arouse suspicion heading back into the quadrant together. Now that there were more marked riders, we’d noticed Professors and any leadership that were around were becoming more strict on us sticking to the hanging out in groups of three or less.

A few steps a head Imogen leans her head towards Bodhi. “How much you wanna bet he ends up fucking her?”

”What did I just say!” I roar, causing everyone to burst into fits of laughter as I push past them.

”10 gold pieces.”

Taglist: @imtoanonymousforyou @simplyme-fornow @omalmal @lalaluch @wolfbc97 @leptitlu @fullmoon-94

[floofanflurr]

Meet Ink Frisk and Chara, an UTMV redraw

(Ink Sans belongs to Comyet)

My friends helped me figure out a whole bunch of character mashups for me to draw! I’ll be doing the rest of UTs main cast as different UTMV characters.

(Bonus image and more ramble under the cut:)

@humankk and @bee-the-aroace-dragon said that Ink Sans would take Ink Frisk and Chara under his wing (and would keep them away from the more 18+ AUs) so have a sketch of that. Because I love the thought of Ink Sans mentoring little Color Drop.

Now for ramble! This was supposed to just be a reimagining of Ink Sans’s role in the Multiverse, though I’ll admit that I’ve named them and have a few head canons… so for anyone curious, here we go!

Color Drop:

- They prefer going by Frisk and Chara, but if there’s multiple Frisk or Chara around, they go by Color Drop.

- If you have need to refer to only one of them, (Why would you, though? We’re pretty much the same.) Chara answers to “Color,” and Frisk answers to “Drop.”

- Similarly to Ink Sans, they come from an abandoned AU, where Frisk was the main character, and Chara was attached to them as a ghostly narrator. Frisk was the only completed being with a soul in that world, though Chara was also fully aware.

-Frisk, however, was not originally aware of Chara’s presence as an aware being, as Chara was stuck only narrating things.

- By nature of Chara’s death, they do not have a soul of their own.

- When Frisk almost destroyed their soul in hurt and confusion and despair, Chara latched on and took it for safe keeping. It’s now stored in a recreation of their locket. This was when they both fell into the nothingness.

- Being stuck in the nothingness is where Frisk learns more about Chara and that they are aware.

- Neither of them know how to return Frisk’s soul.

- Frisk can still feel because of the proximity of their soul, but it’s more numb than they were used to. They need the paint to feel as strongly as they once did.

- Due to Chara’s lack of soul, they use the paints to help them feel things. Being closer to Frisk also helps them feel because of their mental link.

- Chara is tangible in the doodlesphere, void, and antivoid (when they want to be)

- When visiting AUs, Chara is intangible. They can also go back to just being in Frisk’s mind where no one else can see them if they want.

- Frisk is the one who makes most of the choices and actions, but they don’t talk a lot. Chara prefers to leave things to them, and mostly narrates and provides commentary.

- Chara and Frisk share a mental link where they can talk telepathically.

- Despite having different and distinct personalities, sometimes they struggle to figure out where “Frisk” ends and “Chara” begins.

- Frisk is selectively mute and uses ASL or a tablet to write out what they want to say. They speak aloud on occasion, but it’s rare.

- Frisk’s colored hair isn’t consistent. It’s constantly changing which strands are highlighted.

- Frisk’s favorite character in the AUs is Papyrus. It’s why they chose the red scarf.

- Chara’s favorite is all of the Frisks. (They also love Sans and his jokes and pranks, though they won’t admit to it, especially considering how many Sanses out there hate them)

- If you manage to separate them somehow… Things will not go well. For anyone.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hello! Just found your blog and I love how you explain yourself here :] Also, your oc is so cute 😭

I'm here for some advice, since I'm still learning about the lore (started playing some months ago). I was thinking of making an oc who's a half fae, and I was thinking of the age thing similar to how Marcille from Dunmeshi ages (she's a half elf). But I didn't know Sebek was a half fae... And I read your post about him and his aging process, and he seems to age pretty similarly to humans...

So I was thinking: do you think that's a "All Half Faes age like this" thing, or could it depend on the type of fae one of the parents is? Basically I want to know if I could still make him age like my original concept or if I'd have to change it HAHDHSBABD

(my other idea is to just make him a full fae, since he'd also be a 3rd year I could just make him the exact same age as Malleus... but I'm still not sure, it doesn't convince me 😵‍💫 Do all faes age in the same way? Could he be "younger" than Malleus in fae years but still be in the same maturity/age range in human years? Idk if you have any info on that 😭 sorry if these are difficult questions! You just seem to know much more about it than I do and idk who to ask 😭😭😭)

[Referencing this post!]

Hello and thank you very much!! 🙇‍♀️

This may not be what you’re looking for, but I don’t think we can conclude one way or another right now. We just don’t have enough information; Sebek is the only half fae-half human character we know of in detail, and 1 is not a good sample size to draw our answers from.

A few other half-fae we’re aware of are Sebek’s older brother and sister, which we know next to nothing about. The older brother is a graduate of NRC, but we don’t have a value for how long ago this was (or even what Big Bro Zigvolt is like personality-wise) so this can’t be used as a reliable metric for how they physically age or emotionally mature.

We know there is life span variance among fae themselves based on the type they are. Whatever kind of fae Lilia is (it has yet to be entirely specified but I think he’s a bat fae?) can up up to 1000 years old. For dragon fae like Malleus, 1000 is considered the age of adulthood (so roughly 18ish for humans) and can live much, much longer. It’s not stated what the maximum age for Sebek’s kind (theorized to be crocodile) is, but we know it must be 500+ since his grandfather Baur was in his prime (as an adult) in the war era of ~500 years ago and is still alive but retired today. Again though, we can’t be sure how this variance would factor into the lifespan of a human-fae child.

The current lore seems to suggest that Sebek and Silver aged similarly, at least as young children. They say that the other boy was one of the few close to their age in Briar Valley (most others are long-lived fae), and they share many childhood memories. That’s the only “evidence” I have of Sebek aging like a normal human. Even then, we cannot be entirely sure since it’s possible Sebek just stops physically aging once he hits a certain point.

It’s also difficult for us to gauge how long-lived races age compared to others. Like, did Malleus age like a normal human up until a certain point and then his physical appearance plateaued at an older adolescent form??? Malleus looks like an older teenager/young adult even though he’s still “a child” by dragon fae standards. Then we have Lilia, who looks the same at 200 and at almost 700… but he looks way younger than Malleus. It’s implied that Lilia is getting up there in age but doesn’t appear elderly at all. Is that just their individual differences or is that the result of their species’ traits?? Again, we don’t know because we know so few fae to compare with.

We also don’t know for sure how this aging impacts their mental and emotional maturity. Currently, Lilia is nearing 700 and Malleus is said to be 178 years of age; the maturity between those two is significant, but that’s probably because being 200 is considered “still a child” for dragon fae (500 is adolescence, so ~13ish?). The gap is too wide for us to discern anything about their development in the time between childhood and adulthood. It’s can also be hard to discern what is “immature” and what is general fae mischief or individual traits, as both Malleus and Lilia can be pranksters but Sebek isn’t.

For now, I’m personally running with the idea that half fae-half human individuals have regular life expectancies until new lore is introduced which disproves it. I’m not going to draw any conclusions about the fae aging or development process, since that’s also left vague.

If you’re making an OC, I don’t think you need to really sweat the details 😅 People bend canon lore all the time for fun, so…

[heaven4lostgirls]

a slice of heaven

artist!james potter x fem!reader

tags: fluff, friends to lovers, james being cute<3

summary: james drawing on you<3

james had always been an artist, he had developed his skill through school as he spent most of his classes doodling in his notebooks rather than listening to slughorn drone on and on about whatever potion they were learning.

when he met you, you had noticed his little doodles taking place in his notebook rather than his notes so all you did was slightly slide your hand over and tap the pen motioning it was okay for him to draw on you.

slowly but surely you would leave your classes with little snitches and dragons drawn on you, sometimes they were related to what the teacher was talking about, other times he just drew what came to mind.

it had become a habit for you to lean your hand out whenever james would sit next to you and when you didn’t he would grab your hand from your side of the table and drag it to his.

you had figured out that although it seemed like he wasn’t paying attention, his drawings told you differently, it helped him focus. his brain couldn’t keep up with the noise so drawing had helped him centre himself.

you weren’t a shy person but you didn’t have it in you to bring up to james the little situation you both had going on, however it seemed you didn’t have to as james waved you over to sit next to him and his friends.

the famous marauders, you had seen them walking around school however you had never directly spoken to any of them for more than five minutes and that alone would mostly be about group projects or classes you were both in.

“y/n! how are you? i wanted to know if you wanted to sit with me and my friends?” james asked shyly as he smiled up at you, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“yeah, sure! hi i’m y/n, i share potions with you guys” she smiles at them and remus smiles back kindly as sirius smirks, seemingly coming to a realization.

“say you wouldn’t be the one who lets prongs’ draw on your hand would you?” he asks slyly

james blushes and you nod somewhat confused on how he’s realized, i mean the idea isn’t entirely perplexing as you would walk around hogwarts with little drawings on your hands but you didn’t think you had made it that obvious.

“that’s me, that’s a bit stalkerish that you know that sirius” he gasps as if he’s somewhat offended by your words as remus snorts a laugh.

“i just wanted to know who the girl is that james always goes on abou-“

“RIGHT! that’s enough out of you mate” james quickly states as he flushes and pulls you away from the group.

“sorry about them, they’re not usually that annoying” he sighs.

“it’s alright, they seem really nice” you smile and you see his eyes drop to your hands which are still interlocked. you try to pull away out of embarrassment however you holds them tighter before his eyes widen.

“holy shit, is that a tattoo?” he questions and you’re suddenly confused before you smile to yourself.

“yeah, it’s-“

“the deer i drew on your hand” he says shocked.

“yeah it was really cute so charmed it to stay there” you smile as he rubs his finger over your ‘tattoo’.

“that’s sick, i didn’t think that you’d like it that much”

“it reminded me of my patronus and i thought it was cute-“

“wait what?”

“i thought it was cute?”

“no the part about your patronus-“

“oh yeah! it’s a doe! it’s kind of odd but i really like it”

james is shocked. his hands still and you think you’ve said something wrong before he looks at you.

“mines a deer”

you smile to yourself again.

“coincidence hm?”

“yeah, definitely…do you wanna maybe, i don’t know go to hogsmead later? i mean you don’t have to if you don’t want to but i would like to take you out-“

“JAMES! relax, i would love to”

“really?”

“yes really, idiot.”

“now that was uncalled for”

[absolutelynooneaskedforthis]

Life Lately…

nico hischier x reader

short little insta edit for my pookie who scored TWO OUT OF FOUR GOALS LAST NIGHT GO BBG ❤️🙏🏼

y/n.user

liked by nicohischier, jackhughes, lhughes_06, and 8k others…

y/n.user Life lately…❤️

view comments…

jackhughes why is she learning swedish

nicohischier just asked her; this just in: she doesn’t know!!!

y/n.user LUKE DARED ME

lhughes_06 Okay let’s all just relax

jackhughes two questions 1.) Why not choose a more useful language? and 2.) how much money was on the table?

nicohischier you don’t want to know.

y/n.user …$300…

jackhughes WHAT

nicohischier and she’s kept her streak for like a month

lhughes_06 idk i did it so i could watch her do her duolingo in the middle of the bar every night to get guys to stop talking to her

y/n.user works every time

user18 she loves him so much my heart 🥹

nicohischier slide seven 😞

y/n.user was gonna put the picture of you in your fatigues after but i chose to be nice

nicohischier yes…nice…definitely

y/n.user you’re on thin ice cap.

jackhughes literally and figuratively

y/n.user 😐

user13 this is the most y/n post ever posted

nicohischier without a doubt

user13 OMG HEY Y/N’S BF

nicohischier 🤭

user16 @/y/n.user if you were to assign a song to this post what would it be 🎤

y/n.user maria by justin beiber

jackhughes you need to stop with the JB.

john.marino97 jack’s fav song is that should be me don’t lie rn

nicohischier all three of you are banned from team outings for the next 10 months.

y/n.user can i change my mind bc i want the song to be margaritaville by jimmy buffet

jackhughes somehow that’s not any better

john.marino97 who drew the dragon..?

y/n.user jack while drunk

jackhughes WOW REALLY?!

lhguhes_06 i asked him to draw his favorite animal.

nicohischier good choice.

[randoimago]

Day 13. Selkie Rohan x Reader

note(s): Rohan and Selkie is definitely an interesting combo and I hope I wrote this alright!

requested by anon

Rohan wasn’t really looking for romance or anything of the sort. Humans fascinated him and gave inspiration for his stories. So shedding his skin and living as a human was easy for him where it may be difficult for others of his kind.

Of course, once he started growing famous from the manga he’d write and draw, he needed someone to manage his schedules and things. There are still many human concepts that he doesn’t grasp or care to take time to understand. And that led to him hiring you.

He didn’t really speak to you in the beginning, figuring you’d be like other humans that saw him as a pretty face. Rohan would sometimes give you specific orders, but besides that he let you handle things. Your resume was good enough that he had trust in you, so long as you listened.

Over time, Rohan grew more curious about you. He’d ask questions, learn about things you enjoyed. Sometimes he’d bring up ridiculous hypotheticals just to see your reaction. Although none of your reactions were as funny as when he’d “waste” money on things like a third house somewhere that’s supposedly haunted.

Rohan should’ve known that your curiosity as his… maid? Manager? Whatever job title you had. He has enough money and your resume is good enough to handle a lot of things he doesn’t have time for. But, he should’ve known that your human curiosity would get the better of you.

There was one room he told you to stay out of. But his trust grew in you and so he asked you to get him some art supplies from the room, so long as you didn’t snoop around. Maybe it is partially his fault for not specifying where the supplies were.

Rohan heard you muttering before you came back into his office, holding up his shedded skin with a look on your face like it was gross.

“Is this from another animal you killed just for inspiration?” You ask him and he rolls his eyes.

“You make it sound like I steal people’s pets and kill them.” He ignored the pointed look on your face. “That’s just my skin, go put it back.”

“Your… skin?”

“Yes, I’m glad you can hear.”

He recognized the annoyance on your face from his lack of clarifying. Rohan just let out a sigh as he finally gives you his full attention. “It’s a long story. We’d need to go to the beach for me to explain.”

“Did you kill a seal?” A smirk crosses Rohan’s face at your question.

“You’re getting warmer, but I promise I hadn’t killed anything.” He watches as you seem confused, annoyed, then finally tired of dealing with him being cryptic.

“Fine, don’t answer my question,” you say and turn away. “I have half a mind to throw this away.” He hears you mutter and a look of panic crosses his face. You have thrown away the remains of some mice he’s had as well as snake shed. He would not put it past you to throw out something else you deem as him not needing anymore.

Rohan stands and before you can blink, he has you against the wall, his hands on either side of his head. He’s not trying to intimidate you, especially with the look in his eyes.

“Do not throw it away. I can’t lose it,” he tells you, an almost pleading in his voice. While he has lived most of his life as a human, the sea still calls to him. The idea of losing his skin and being unable to ever go home is torture.

“Rohan, you’re acting weirder than usual.”

He lets out a sigh and looks at you. For a second, he’s curious about the reaction you’d make if he leaned in. But there are more important things to think about and so he steps back, giving you your space.

“How versed are you in mythology and folklore?”

“… Like dragons?”

Rohan makes a face. “Dragons, really?” You look annoyed again and he sighs. “Do you know what a selkie is?” He asks, deciding it’d be easier than having you tell him whatever myths you know of.

“Selkie? I think I’ve heard some people mention something about them living in the water.”

Rohan nods at your words. Considering how close the water is to this town, he’s not surprised that there are murmurs of selkie.

“Well, it’s what I am. That skin you’re holding is mine. I had to shed it to be able to pass as a human.” You look unsure about his words. You probably think he’s lost it.

“It’d explain how eccentric you are.” Rohan makes a face at your words.

“Eccentric? I’m perfectly normal.” He ignores your look again. “If you don’t believe me, we can go to the ocean and I can show you,” he adds, reminding you of that option. You still look unsure.

—

“It’s too cold to be at the beach, Rohan,” you complain and he ignores it as he holds his skin and walks closer to the water. A sigh of relief hits him as he steps into the water, always feeling relief when he comes back, and the skin in his hand begins to stick to him.

The transformation takes a moment and as Rohan treads the ocean water, he looks to where you’re standing on the beach, wide eyed and looking as if you’ve seen something unbelievable.

“This is my true form,” Rohan tells you, unable to help a smirk at your reaction. If he knew this is how you’d act then he’d have taken you to the beach years ago.

“What the fuck, Rohan.” Well you’re still functioning at least.

“Like I told you, I’m a selkie. Go to a library or something to learn more,” he says and rolls his eyes playfully at you. The water always does make him feel a bit more mischievous than usual. “I’m hungry. Want me to catch you a fish?”

Oh your reaction is priceless at that.

It’s rather amusing trying to answer your many questions. Especially when he finally sheds his skin again and you still don’t know how to react. Perhaps it’s still his mischievous nature but he lets out a long sigh, feigning annoyance.

“And now that you’ve seen my true self, we have to get married.” It’s not quite true, but he deeply enjoys your reaction at that.

[hugsandchaos]

So I’m starved for Smiling Critters content, but I don’t exactly have a oneshot in mind to write nor do I exactly have an AU. I do, however, have some headcanons that are definitely canon divergent, especially since I imagined it in the cartoon-like world they were in during the tape recording. I don’t know if it’s enough to build up an AU, but I’m posting them anyways.

•Bubba is fluent in English and Portuguese, and is currently trying to learn sign language from Catnap

•Dogday has 2 sisters and 3 brothers, and he is also the runt of the litter (most of his siblings don’t really care, but one of his brothers likes to pick on him for it and is upset he got “special treatment” when they were younger — that special treatment was mostly just medical treatment and their parents and siblings being responsibly worried about him)

•Bobby and Picky share a favorite way of showing her friends love; by making them their favorite/comfort food for them

•Hoppy doesn’t usually like going slow, but she adores running with her two younger brothers to no end

•Bubba strongly believes Hoppy might have seasonal allergies due to her falling ill for a few weeks when winter turns to spring and pollen levels rise, but Hoppy has her suspicions due to the fact that she’s never been diagnosed to be allergic to anything

•Picky always looks at the nutrition labels at the grocery store

•Picky is thinking about starting her own garden

•Crafty prefers to draw rather than write, but enjoys a good book (she definitely doesn’t have a small library in her living room, I don’t know what you’re talking about)

•Crafty isn’t the best at magic, but she’s learning and her friends are very encouraging

•Bobby’s house is a cozy two story cottage that she keeps nice and clean on a daily basis

•Bobby and Bubba both have a closet in their house full of extra blankets, pillows, towels, and winter clothes

•Kickin’ loves to teach anyone who asks how to surf, how to skateboard, or how to ski

•Catnap almost never talks or makes any sound, but it’s not because he can’t, it’s because he simply prefers not to

•Kickin’ has a great sense of balance

•Catnap is a light sleeper

•Bobby and Catnap sometimes work together to get the group to bed, but in the end, Catnap “turns on her” and gets her to bed too before going to sleep himself

•Kickin’ and Dogday love to plan hiking or camping trips for the group (Hoppy has to stay within someone’s sight so she doesn’t run off, Bobby and Crafty like to stop and look at flowers, Picky likes to pack healthy snacks for everyone, Bubba enjoys telling facts about plants, and Catnap keeps an eye on the whole group by walking in the back)

•Catnap has a surprising amount of knowledge surrounding sleep, even Bubba didn’t know a lot of the things he did

•Bobby has made a plushie for everyone except Catnap, who already has a small, odd plushie resembling a blue creature with yellow hands and feet (Crafty has a flower, Dogday has a bone, Bubba has a dinosaur, Picky has a strawberry, Hoppy has a star, Kickin’ has a dragon, and Bobby has a heart)

•Bobby can actually be scary when she’s protecting her friends

[countrymusiclover]

7 - Smells like Fire

Part 8

The Lion Knight and Dragon Princess

Tags- just send an ask to be added @cdragons @kmc1989 @starkleila @noirrose21-blog @lover-of-books-and-tea

Days later things had seemed to get better between Sansa and I but she didn't know the truth. I knew she had enough on her plate rather than deal with my current situation. Entering Tyrion’s chamber I shut the door behind me hearing it click and lock behind me. Looking around I found him and a swordsman named Bromm standing at his table near the window. 'Why don’t you just use that on them instead of fighting the lot on the battlefield?’

“Because I'm not certain it will work. And if it does we can only use it once to be a surprise attack.” Tyrion responded leaning his palms on the table.

I finally made my presence in the room known to the pair. “What’s the one time attack?”

“Vaella! Um, it's nothing you should worry about. You'll be in the crypts with Sansa.” Tyrion spun around trying to hide the map with his body.

“Tyrion, what is it?”

He avoided my question with a compliment. “Doesn't she look nice, Bronn. I think she does.”

“Tyrion!’

He watched my movements and held his arms out blocking me. I ran forward and he threw some punches at me holding me back for a second till I twisted his wrist and threw the lord down onto his back. “Vaella - agh!”

“Woah, I'd never think a princess would land you flat on your back.” Bronn mocked with a proud smirk.

Tyrion groaned, pushing his body up from the stone tile. “How did you manage that, princess?”

“Jaime briefly taught me defense in secret.”

Bronn's smirk grew bigger on his face. “I’m beginning to like this girl more than I like you.”

Pushing over my hair out of my face I huffed going to the map seeing a bright green jar beside it. Slowly picking up the jar in my hands concerned if it broke onto the floor. “You’re going to use Wildfire on them. That’s why you didn’t want me to see this.” Glancing over my shoulder I felt tears welling in my eyes thinking back on the many times I’d seen it used.

“I wasn’t sure how you would react if I told you what the battle strategy was. Your - your father was obsessed with it. I - I - I’m sorry for not telling you in the first place.” Tyrion nervously responded standing behind me next to Bronn.

Sitting the jar down on the table I eyed the map behind me recalling the section of tunnels I would use to sneak out for Jaime and I to spend time alone without my father or other guards realizing we had gone. “It’s okay, Tyrion. I shall wish you luck that your plan works. Wildfire is unpredictable, just like me.” Walking around him my dress swaying with my hips and I closed the door behind me.

“What do you think she meant by that?” Bronn asked, rather confused.

The youngest Lannister eyed the door where she had left, he hoped that one day he would get to know more of the Targaryen princess. “I don’t know but hopefully I can find out.”

Amber had fitted me into a black tunic shirt, red trousers and black riding boots figuring that a dress of any sort wouldn’t be suitable for sword training. Tying my hair up into a ponytail Jaime and I snuck our way through the secret tunnels. “So what does your lady in waiting think of you doing this?” Jaime asked, laying his sword on the ground and drawing out another blade for me from his belt.

“She thinks that I’ll beat you.” I teased with a smirk in his direction.

Jaime smirked a cocky look my way, handing me the handle blade. “Oh, she does. Well I’m sorry to disappoint her and say that a beginning like you can’t.”

Closing my fingers around the blade handle I sucked in a breath raising the sword beside my head before we started charging at the other beginning to fight one another. “Don’t be so cocky, Lannister.”

"Relax your dominant arm, Vae." Jaime instructs as I swing with my right arm out more even though I'm holding the sword in both hands. "If you use the same move all the time your opponent can learn which arm is the weakest."

Our swords smack against each other before gently shoves me backwards in the training yard that overlooks the water outside of the Red Keep. "Jaime?" I grunt, taking another swing at him.

He swung back circling me to make our sword press against one another for a moment. "Yes, my princess." He steps back a little sword still raised as I get back in a fighting stance.

I raise my sword trying to strike him but he lightly elbows me in my side to strike me from below. I switch my sword to my left hand for a moment to knock him away. "Your form is better than the last time."

He complimented my reply. "Thanks -uh!" I grunted out, pressing my sword against his. He pressed his sword against mine, never losing gaze with mine.

"Jaime, I-uh..." He started to loosen his hold on his sword when we pushed the other back but suddenly he knocked my sword from my left hand, knowing we both are dominant in our right hands. I dodge his next attack to reveal a dagger from inside my boot and block his sword coming down on me.

"Impressive, princess." He parts his lips when I push his sword down getting up from being on my knees.

"Thank you. But don’t call me that.” I aimed the dagger up, tapping the tip against his chin.

Jaime placed his sword into his holder, closing the distance between the two of us. “You know you love it.” He smirked, connecting our lips together. He was secretly right about, yet I wouldn’t ever tell him that was the case.

I had told Sansa that I wouldn’t be joining her and the other ladies in the bottom of the castle. I needed to see Tyrion’s plan go through otherwise the entire city would be taken down. Tugging a black cloak over my head I peaked my head around the corner seeing nobody was there. Running through the streets I climbed up one of the nearest ladders of a building top that allows me to see the ship ports.

Looking over the shortest column I saw hundreds or maybe thousands of ships coming towards the land. An arrow on fire flew over my head landing onto a ship that had Wildfire liquid pouring out of it and circling the ships so that when the arrow hit the water green flames grew so quickly there was no way of stopping it.

The familiar haunting fire spread before my eyes with multiple explosions shaking the ground that was near the area of water. I gasped feeling a tightness inside my chest seeing bright green before my eyes after all these years. “Burn them all - Burn them all!” Those three horrible words through my ears where I covered them, stumbling down the ladder and running wherever I could trying to escape the loud sound of men screaming and flames filling the sky above my head.

Cutting through the empty hallway I came out into another area filled with the king guards fighting Stannis’s where I had to duck underneath some of the attackers, rolling onto the ground. “Vaella! What are you doing out here?” Whipping my head around I saw Tyrion coming towards me in battle armor.

“I saw your attack.” My gaze shifted quickly seeing a Stannis soldier running straight up to us carrying a knife in his hand attempting to stab me until Tyrion stepped in the way getting cut across the face and collapsed to the dirt. “Tyrion!”

Dropping to my knees I touched his chest seeing fresh blood coming from the cut not sure what to do for him. “Get - out of - here.” He coughed before I felt someone grab my shoulder causing me to draw the blade I had hidden inside my boot. I stabbed the soldier in the chest that had cut him and drew the knife quickly frantically looking back at the lion on the ground carrying the blade in hand.

It took me an hour to get back to the castle and up to my chamber room. Slamming the chamber door behind me and pressing my body against it I sighed sliding down onto the floor trying to catch my breath until I heard footsteps come around the corner. “Clarisse, are you alright?”

“Sansa - what are you doing in here?” Lifting my head up from my knees I saw the young girl a few steps away from me.

She lowered her intertwined hands in front of her gown. “I was worried about you.”

“You don’t have to worry. I can handle myself, my lady.”

Sansa eyed something laying at my feet. “Where did you get a dagger from?” The dagger she was talking about was at my feet covered in blood from when I had stabbed one of Stannis’s men and fled back here. I hoped that Tyrion would be alright.

“It doesn’t matter. You should head back to your chambers. It is getting late-“ I scrambled to my feet to the chamber pot feeling instantly sick to my stomach. Leaning over it I emptied my stomach raising my head back up I collapsed down beside the pot.

Sansa poured me some water and handed it to me. “Here, drink. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“That’s not really what you wanted to ask me is it? Why don’t you just ask me what you really want to know.” I slowly downed the drink.

She parted her lips, muttering. “Who are you really? Because you know this place far better than a lady in waiting would who just came here, you snuck out tonight to watch the battle and you look like someone I read about in one of the old books.”

“Seems to me that you already have an answer so just say it.” I trailed off seeing she was a lot smarter than I had first given her credit for.

Sansa shook her head no in defiance. “I’m not sure I should.”

“Then I will.” Raising myself to my feet I curtsy to her in my handmaiden gown, my gaze holding intensely with hers. “Vaella, daughter of Aerys II and Rhaella Targaryen. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Seven hells.” Sansa for the first time in her life uttered a curse word from her mouth.

[kayawolfhorse]

Day 21 — Old Bones

—☾—

In the sleepy little town of Hermitshire, at the draw of the golden hour’s final breath, the centralmost tavern was bursting with life.

High-spirited clamor and warm, savory aromas poured from the pair of heavyset wooden doors at its front, and through them, every table or stool was filled. Hearty laughter erupted from one corner; piling plates were served to the next. Along the back wall, patrons nursed drinks on their own or chatted with their neighbor or the keep. Sat at the heart of the bar, one pair bent towards each other and swapped gossip over shared pints.

“Did you hear about the ol’ dragon?” asked the first, a lovely woman draped in pinks and framed in brown. “Scouts went out a week ago, and they came back just yesterday, spouting its death.”

The brow not obscured by an eyepatch rose high on her companion’s face. “There’s no way. Dead, just like that?”

“Dead, just like that,” the woman confirmed. “Nothing but dust and bones, now.”

“Do they know what happened?”

“They don’t know what did it, only that the earth around it—” her voice dropped in timbre— “was as charred as what remains of the dragon itself.”

“Spooky,” the man said, to be met with her giggle. He shook his head and passed a hand through his cropped hair. “I just can’t believe it. Something so old, suddenly gone.”

The woman’s nod was solemn. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but what followed was lost in the clinking and conversation that enveloped False further as she tossed a couple coins on the bar beside her largely untouched drink and pushed back her seat to make her hasty retreat.

—☾—

She hadn’t meant to do it.

Only, that wasn’t right, was it? False had trekked through dense forests and frosted mountains with every plan of carrying out the job offered to her that fateful, wretched night. She’d never wanted to, and every instinct in her body had yanked harder at her nerves with each step she took.

Intention and desire may spark the same, but False had long learned the difference in how they burn.

The stairs creaked beneath her feet as she climbed to her borrowed room, and the sound fell harshly against her ears. Her heels itched in the narrow hallway. The keys felt wrong in her hand.

Her room was nothing special—a bed took up most of the space, accompanied by a small desk and a chair nestled into it. The sheets were comfortable enough as she perched upon them, and her sword’s silver guard glinted in the lantern glow that poured through the single window from where it hung across the chair’s back. It was not her preferred blade; its grip had yet to mold to her palm’s shape.

False removed her coat slowly. The tender flesh of her arms had begun to ache something sharp, and the bandages were long overdue for a change. She uncapped the healing potion produced from her pocket—the first thing she’d bought upon her arrival—and set about addressing her wounds.

By the time she finished gathering the old scraps to later toss, exhaustion fell leaden upon her battered body. Unbuckling her boots was a feat in its own; she hardly had time to wiggle out of them before she slumped back. Her head hit the pillow, and she sank into the ink-spilled dream once more.

[askneftis-sam]

Q: “how did you come up with the nickname Iris for Neftis? And did Sam always know Neftis’ true name?” Iris is the name Sam gave the spirit in her millennium pendant after learning she had no memories nor name. It’s a name Iris treasured with all her being.

Sam: Thanks to my dad, since he loves mythology (he's an archaeologist in his spare time after all) I've always been in touch with ancient Gods stories. After I met the spirit of the Millennium Pendant I felt like she was some kind of messenger like the Greek Goddess Iris c: that's why I chose that name. And no, I didn't know her name was Neftis, that's why I gave her a name!

As for the name Neftis… Pegasus created the Phoenix card based on one of Sam's drawings that resembled a tablet that depicted both the phoenix and the blue eyes white dragon surrounding the Millennium rod and Millenium pendant. That tablet was made in honor to the two monsters that helped the nameless pharaoh, and as history was “recorded”, the phoenix was referenced as a “phoenix of Neftis”, meaning it belonged to Neftis. But Pegasus had no idea that was the name of a person so he attributed it to the goddess Nephthys when the hieroglyphics were translated and named the phoenix “Sacred phoenix of Nephthys”. So… you can imagine Sam’s total annoyance in the memory world arc when she learns it WAS Neftis’ name lol. I tried my best inventing that tablet with the phoenix and blue eyes lmao sorry if it’s messy, also of course I’m bullshitting the inscriptions so don’t be harsh on me. 😂 I had very little time to finish this.

And oh well, also she resembles the card Iris, the Earthmother -u-

[tiny-minecraft-rabbit]

how to show your heart on your sleeve

After the events of how to growl and bare your teeth by Odaigahara, Pearl begins to learn, with the unintentional help of Scar and Grian, that she is not unloveable.

Part of @mcytrecursive made for @destinys-dragon

Words: 1131

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Pearl curled around her hand, glaring at it like that would make the burn any less painful. She hardly felt it was fair that she was burned. How was she supposed to remember that she couldn’t just grab the kettle off the fire without a rag, it’s not like she’s used one in over two years; probably longer since she’s heated it over an open fire instead of a furnace. 

She had just wanted to get the tea ready for the three of them before Scar and Grian came back from the nearby town. She had stayed to cook and hunt, happy to once again traverse the forest.

She even found a few of her wolves again. It was clear that the pack had thinned, and she mourned the loss of some of her girls, but she had found Tilly again. The silver wolf was thinner than she remember, and the eyes had aged from their light green to a swampy yellow, but it was her Tilly alright. 

Grian had been wary of the newest addition to their travel party, but Scar had fallen in love in an instant, cooing over the wolf like she was a little puppy and not the terrifying hunter she was. Pearl had to agree though, Tilly was about as adorable as a puppy. Sweet like one too, when she wasn’t mid-hunt. 

Her head poked up as she heard rustling in the woods and the now familiar tones of Grian and Scar. They were once again arguing and she couldn’t help smile as she picked out a few words. Not even two weeks after their grand escape, just a two towns over, and Scar was already starting a scam. They weren’t even out of the Lonely Kingdoms yet, for goodness sakes! She’d have to hear what this was about. 

“Ah! There she is,” Scar exclaimed as they came out the bush into their little clearing of a campsite. “Pearlo, you just have to settle this debate we’re having.”

“It’s not a debate, Scar. You want us to do something stupid, and I’m telling you not to,” Grian replied with a heavy sigh. 

Scar tutted, setting down his bag by the fallen log they had dragged over before setting himself down on top of it. “See, Pearlo, I want to– What happened to your hand?” he asked mid sentence, brows furrowing.

“Oh this?” Pearl asked and waved her hand out, much to fast for either soulmate to see, before tucking it back under her crossed arm. She grimaced as the burn brushed against the fabric of her shirt, “It’s nothing. Just a bit of a burn. Scott will– Or… no. Huh, I guess it’ll just heal on it’s own eventually then. Unrelated question, how long do burns heal without potions?”

Grian sighed then, setting his own bag and beginning to dig through it. “Okay, crazy lady, let’s see it.” 

“See what? I’m fine ,” She insisted, drawing out the ‘i’. She stood, Tilly sitting up to watch her, and used her uninjured hand to grab the potholder off to the side. She grabbed the kettle off the fire properly this time, “See! I boiled water. For tea! You guys like tea, right?” 

Grian didn’t even look up from his bag, just continuing to pull out medical supplies. Scar gave her a soft look, walking over and setting a gentle hand on her arm. He moved her arm to set the kettle back down. “Let’s have tea after. We don’t need to be soulbound to know that you’re hurting.” 

She blinked up at him in quiet surprise, something warm exploding in her chest. There was no shame or anger in Scar’s gaze, just his usual kind smile. She left a growing lump in her throat as she glanced over to Grian. She expected annoyance from him, he was annoyed with everything the two of them did if he wasn’t actively participating in it himself, buy instead he was contently organizing their meager supplies. He was going to waste bandages and medicine on her . 

“I.. I don’t know what to say,” She muttered softly, “You– You guys don’t need to help me, y’know. I’m not going anywhere. Can’t get rid of me, really. Probably.” 

She would follow these two fellas wherever they wanted to go, for as long as they tolerated her. She half thought they would have gotten tired of her by now, but they hadn’t shooed her off like a dog that begged for too many scraps just yet. Instead, they acted like they actually wanted her around. Like she wasn’t a nuisance they kept around for the sake of convenience. Though, she couldn’t figure out what would ever be convenient about keeping around a broken soulbound and her feral wolf would be. 

“You’re our friend Pearl, we’re fixing you up cause we want to,” Scar answered, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Oh,” She said, dumbfounded. She doesn’t think she’s had someone just want to do something for her, just cause, since– since even before she ran from Scott. 

Ah, and there were the waterworks. 

Scar’s eyes widened in surprise and he immediately squished her face between his hands, “OH no. No. No. Why tears? Why crying? Grian, why is our Pearlypop crying?” 

She could hear Grian groan loudly from the other side of the campsite, “I don’t know, Scar! What did you say to her?” 

“I just said we wanted to fix her up and she started crying!” Scar exclaimed, letting go of Pearl’s face so he could push her towards his soulmate. “G, fix it! Fix her!” 

Pearl couldn’t help it, beginning to giggle through the tears. Something in her was tearing apart: a wadded up ball of stress she hadn’t realized was sitting in her chest was being torn apart bit by bit with every sob and laugh she had while listening to the two squabble.

This. This is what she wanted when she left. She had thought she had wanted carefreeness of the woods. She thought she wanted the biting winters over palace walls. 

Scar sat her down on the log and Grian began the careful administration of salve onto her burns and bandages around her hand. He made cutting remarks about how weak she was for a weird little witch as he did so. Tilly slipped beside her, nosing at Grian’s arm and he let her, only stiffening up a bit. Scar held her free hand and cooed over her, wiping her tears and promising her first dips of all the fresh fruits and vegetables they had brought back with them. 

She wanted this. She wanted company and friendship and, most of all, she wanted people who cared for her. She wanted love, and she finally had it.

[housederiva]

I just finished writing the last chapter of Coming Back to Roost which you can read here! I've also put the first of the chapters underneath the cut xx

It's a retelling of the beginning of Lucanis recruitment mission but with more Crow Rook back story and interaction with Viago and Teia

(also thank you so much for 900 hits on it so far, I'm glad people seem to like it!)

The group had been standing before the eluvian for what felt like hours now, though it couldn’t have been more than ten minutes. Bellara insisted on poking and prodding each and every corner of the mirror she could reach before any of the others so much as breathed in its general direction. Which was fine by Rook as it gave her a moment to take in what it felt like to be in the Fade while not being actively threatened or hunted. Her blood could be mistaken for being aerated now that she focused on in, it was the same sensation as sailor would get before an incoming storm.

Much of Bellara’s ministrations were filled with humming and quiet murmurs that couldn’t quite be understood. While the inspection took place, Harding busied herself with examining a small patch of clover before finally selecting the exact one she wanted to pluck and tuck safely within her satchel for later pressing in her journal.

“So, how’d you get so good at fixing eluvians?” She asked once the cutting was slipped away.

“Hm? Oh, it’s mostly a survival thing,” Bellara didn’t look away from where the edge of the mirror met its frame as she answered, “Accidentally release a couple demons or rile up local wildlife with misdirected magic a few times and you learn what not to do.”

Harding chuckled nervously, “Ah well… practice makes perfect, I guess.”

It wasn’t lost on Rook how Neve kept glancing off into the distance towards a secondary eluvian. Unlike the one before them, which was cradled in the arches of Treviso like a lover’s embrace, the one that caught her eye was surrounded by the unmistakable architecture of Minrathous, jagged like that same lover’s scorn. Harding’s anxious banter with Bellara did nothing to draw anything close to a smile on the detective’s face. Too lost in thought to listen in, Rook supposed.

She moved back under the guise of not wanting to be her fellow elf’s stepping stool so that higher sections of the glass could be reached. Only stopping her stride when she got to Neve’s side.

“We’ll go to Minrathous as soon as we get back from Treviso,” Rook said, “Requests like this usually don’t take long.”

Where Neve had a sort of reverence in her stare - a longing for the familiar, Rook had wariness and an urge to forget. While Rook was most likely born there too, it was never her home like it was for Neve. Her childhood spent in its suffocating walls was full of laughter while for Rook, there wasn’t even a childhood to begin with. To her fellow mage, the walls were never suffocating and the people were kind – or at least they could be. Rook had cruelty and a cage coloring her vision, it blinded her at times.

Neve sighed, gently pressing two fingers into the soft spot below her eye socket where her bruise was the deepest, “It’s not all as bad as…” She trailed off, taking in the way Rook was staring at the secondary eluvian, “There are good people in Minrathous, Rook.”

“How would I know?” She sighed in turn, pushing away the seed of spite in her chest before it could fester into resentment. Neve and the Shadow Dragons weren’t at fault for the injustices dealt Rook’s way. They weren’t to blame for the people pressed under more powerful thumbs then the resistance could lift. She was once just one back bowed out of many, no need to be remembered or afforded special treatment in the grand scheme of things, “It’s hard to go sightseeing when you’re at the beck and call of a man more powerful than you.”

“Rook I-”

“Okay!” Bellara called out with several claps, effectively, and unknowingly, stopping the conversation before it could begin.

Harding, the ever-watchful scout, darted her eyes away from the two of them and back towards the mirror. The sad expression switched to embarrassment when she was caught staring.

Varric had said that Harding just needed time to deal with everything. But Rook had known her for months now, this wasn’t the same despondent sadness she had when they ran into a hitch in their plans. Harding looked lost, defeated. There was a grief knitted into her brow that had been more prevalent in the last week than any day before.

“Great work Bellara,” Harding spoke up before Rook could, smiling in that gentle way that made her believe everything was alright.

The compliment was waved off before any others could be added, “Pshh, All I did was double triple check the attunement spheres and a few other things, it’s no biggie.”

“It’s safe though, right?” Neve rested her hand on her hip, putting her weight off her prosthetic as she stared up skeptically to the rippling reflection of the city before them.

“Yes! Most likely…maybe.”

Before a deeper hole could be stuttered into, Rook put her hand on Bellara’s shoulder with a reassuring squeeze “If you say it’s good, then it’s good.”

She was expecting at worst a despondent shrug and at best a half-felt delayed agreement from the other women after asking if they were ready to go. If Varric were there and not back at the Lighthouse resting, he’d give a short and sweet speech about being able to show off the sights of her city and how amazing it’d be that they would be home in time for the dinner Bellara was so excited about making.

Instead of the laughter or an eye roll that he would have drawn out, she got three nods in unison, succinct like the speech she skipped out on.

It was only then that she released the tension in her shoulders, a bad habit she was never quite able to break out of, and let the gravity of what she was about to do fully sink in.

She was going home.

In her letter to Teia sent ahead through the eluvian with the aid of a crow conjured by her magic, she had explained what had happened in the most concise way she was able. Rook wasn’t expecting the ball of electric energy she had given wings to return with a letter penned by Teia’s own hand.

The messenger sent was a trick she had learned from one of the few other Crows capable of magic, maybe her proficiency with it was how Viago convinced the former Head of de Riva to keep her around in the first place. Her teacher in that regard was Marcio de Riva, a Crow only a few years older than herself. The skill and experience he had when they first met made her look like an infant in comparison. But, any resentment for him she had as a child had since bloomed into admiration.

Teia’s response was one sentence long, tucked elegantly within the paper sheet folded into a diamond: Come home.

Rook could hear the distant chiming of harbor bells where the freshwater of the canal met the salt of the ocean. The crickets and cicadas buzzed alongside the lapping of water and creaking of floorboards. When she breathed out the stiffness her body held, the unmistakable smell of damp earth and seaweed washed over her. It was a scent that could not be duplicated anywhere else in Thedas and one she would make a candle out of were she able.

It had been over a year now since she was home. Thirteen months and twelve days since she was sent away. In that time, Rook had only ever gotten one letter from her Talon. It was dated six months beforehand and got to her four prior.

Idiot, the page began, which all in all was a good start, considering everything. I hope you’re reading this. That was all she needed to know that he still cared. However, to not go over the rest of Viago’s letter would be a disservice to the elegant swirl of ink that made up his chastising.

His handwriting had always been a comfort to her, a fact she knew Viago was well aware of. The first time she had ever seen her name written on paper, the name he gave her, it was penned by his hand. When she was young, Rook had spent hours late into the night after training copying the way the tale of the R curled.

It was Viago’s handwriting that she had learned to read by all those years ago. His that she had learned to unintentionally mimic. The same curve of the R and the G, the strike of the S's tail and the dot of the I. She didn’t have the shaky uncertain handwriting of a slave trying to be more. There were no words to express how grateful she was for that. Several heads of other houses were much less kind to their roost than Viago was to his.

He had a sternness, yes. A pension for annoyance and an unrelenting need for perfection for those under him. Rook could never say any of it bordered on cruelty. De Riva was lucky to have Viago, her family all knew that.

They had members better suited for teaching a slave how to read, but Rook had curled her tiny little hand into the cuff of his jacket she held onto far too often as a child. She only had to ask once for him to say that he would try.

That closeness was a problem, she knew that now and, while it hurt, understood the distance put between them when he became the head of de Riva and later the Fifth Talon. Any and all softness that Viago gifted her and others could be seen as a weakness. She was a possible poison he couldn't build an immunity to. Of course he sent her away after her blunder with the Antaam. She couldn't be seen as an exception to the House’s standards.

The letter Viago had sent was a scolding, a reminder of her mistake and that she could return home after helping Varric. Despite the cold tone of the letter's center, she held onto it. With the aid of a small ball of veil fire, she’d read the opening and closing whenever the regret of being cast out became too much to hold. Teia told her once that his strengths were in beginnings and ends. Rook never fully understood what she meant by that, she’d like to think she could see the sentiment reflected in the letter.

Don’t get careless out there. Don’t fail. And don’t get yourself killed, or I will come after you in the Fade myself. The blackened ink that closed his reminder at her superior’s lingering annoyance had a blue tinge that the rest lacked, signaling that it was written at a different time. ‘Don’t be careless’ was one of the first lessons her Talon taught her. In fact, those were among the first words Viago said to Rook.

Over the years, she had watched countless parents kiss their children on the top of their head’s goodbye with a request for them to be safe before sending them on their way. Viago always told her not to be careless. Before any outing and every mission, it would be accompanied by a nod that she would mirror back without hesitation. She never had the tenderness of a parent’s goodbye. Viago’s unspoken worry would always be worth more.

The first kindness ever afforded Rook’s way was the day Viago killed the man who kept her enslaved. A spice merchant from Minrathous who, in Rook’s opinion, wasn’t important. The terms leading to the man’s contract were never shared with her, not that she ever asked. She supposed it didn’t matter now.

In the quiet of night, she could still hear the way Crows that were now dead snickered when he brought her home.

Those same gossiping Crows claimed that Viago took pity on her simply because Rook looked eerily familiar to Teia from a distance and similar to him upon closer inspection. Though none would be stupid enough to remark on the coincidence within either’s earshot.

Coffee black hair that sat in curls at the nape of her neck when she attempted to take care of it, tan skin a mix of the two of theirs. Her eyes were brighter in direct sunlight but, in the blanket of Treviso’s night, were the same slate blue as Viago’s.

Whatever the reasoning for his lapse in judgement, it led to Rook bleeding out in Viago’s arms while she clutched onto the leather of his jacket. She could still feel the way her blood gurgled in her throat as she drowned. Now she wanted nothing more than the comfort of gripping onto his jacket as he muttered out with annoyance, “Well, that was rather careless of you.”

The two of them decided that she was at youngest fourteen and at oldest sixteen when her throat was stitched together and dressed.

Her former master ordered Rook to stand in front of him as a shield when Viago came for his contract. Without hesitation, she had complied. When the man realized that was not going to stop his soon to be assassin, he slit her throat in a bid for distraction.

It didn't work.

That first night in Antiva, other Houses had swarmed around her like vultures, appraising her as one would a lamb for slaughter. Giuli Arainai, the Eighth Talon, had grabbed the bottom of her chin with such force she thought her jaw would crack. Viago moved from his place after one stern look to their previous Guild Master before he draped his coat over her bare shoulders, drawing her close to his side.

“I take responsibility for her,” he had said with unwavering eye contact to his predecessor, “She will not be a disgrace to our House.”

Viago was impulsive when he was younger. It was the same kind that he reprimanded her for now. But, had he not moved then, she would have ended up in a warehouse pitted against other slaves fighting for scraps of food only to be tortured by crueler Crows.

“Rook?” Neve led the charge of the others looking at her skeptically, “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah, yes. We have the Demon of Vyrantium to get” She cleared her throat, giving the group the smile closest to Varric’s she could mimic, “With any luck, we’ll be back before dinner.”

[alyshiba]

Rebecca Yarros Iron Flame Interview breakdown

I was reading Rebecca Yarros's interview fo Verity, and I couldn't help but notice the amount of info she gave there, some of which feeds right onto some of theories that has been floating around since Iron Flame came out. Ofc Spoilers Ahead for Iron Flame.

I'd like to break down the most interestig parts and bits of informations she ends up giving.

I'll jump straight into the questions in which they focus on the book and the storyline. And I'll break them down in the same order they are written in the article, so if you want to read and draw your own conclusions itìll be easyer.

The first interesting piece of information is given when she's asked about the opening of Iron Flame:

[...] the first way I wrote it in her POV, it was a 7,000 word chapter where he explained everything because she was like, you will tell me now. And it was an info dump at the end. So we cut it and we put it in Xaden’s POV.

This refers to very first chapter where Violet has just learned that Brennan is actyually alive.. I find it very interesting that Rebecca ended up cuttin it since in those 7000 words there was probably info about Naolin and what really went down the day Brennan "died". It makes me think that there's really something more to the story that we aren't meant to know now.

Then Rebecca is asked how come Violet is much less perceptive in “Iron Flame” than she was in “Fourth Wing,” to which the author gives, at least in my opinion, a very interesting answer:

Violet’s entire sense of self is based on her knowledge. Her knowledge of history, her knowledge of being raised as a scribe, her knowledge of everything that’s been poured into her. [...] She doesn’t know what of what she’s been taught is a lie. She doesn’t know if it’s her brother that just lied to her or her boyfriend or her best friend Dain or her mother or the guy she thought was like an uncle, Dain’s father. [...] And she has to learn that she has to trust herself again before she can trust anyone else. And she finds that in knowledge and in history and in books.[...] So she’s very torn between, I need to know everything because I know nothing now, and maybe I don’t want to know, because maybe loving him should be enough.

I was reading this article while writing my other post about Violet's second signet, and if this is doesn't answer what Violet's most pressing need is, what might influece a second signet I don't know what else will. Rebecca has just given us the answer to that question.

We are then met with a question regardin Dain, and "whether we should like him or not". So this is what she has to say about this:

*I knew Dain’s arc in book one. So while writing book one,*I had the interrogation scene from “Iron Flame” already in my head.[...] *[...] when you’re in first-person POV, you only see it from Violet’s point of view.* It is never confirmed that he knew they were going to die, it is never confirmed that he knew what they were sending them into*. All he did was see something and trust his father.

I think this part is answer enough to those who think Dain was plottin with his dad to send Xaden & co to die. I'm not saying it's confirmed that in Iron Flame he's on the good side, but now we have confirmation that at the time of Fourth Wing he 100% wasn't plotting anything.

Then we're given a very random piece of information concerning the weather in Aretia, the question might be random, but the answer, again is very interesting:

It grows hotter as more dragons arrive. Just like the Vale is tropical at Basgiath, as more dragons arrive in the valley in Aretia, the temperature rises*.*

I find this interesting since we know that there are at least 2 types of magic currently being used in the FW / IF universe: magic channeled from mythical beasts (yes, I'll group gryphons and dragons toghether, since asaide from the strenght of the magic, we know channeling from these two species is almost the same concept) and magic channeled from the earth (the source). We also know that dragons, and griphons i assume, can't channel their own power directly, there's very limited things they can do (like holding a rider in place, for example), without bonding to a human. So the fact that their presence influeces the weather of the area they choose to live is a very important and interesting detail. It shows that somehow dragon's magic influences the source.. so that makes me wonder how do these different types of magic interact (aside from the ability of a Venin to drain a dragon) ? Do they "come from the same place"?

I think this is an important point becouse if the source and dragon magic interact, than they do not exclude one another, and if this is the case, than we confirmed that one can be Venin while still channeling from their dragon, if the dragon doesn't choose to sewer the bond (we have no info on this actually happening ever though).

Is there something there? Or am I goig nuts?

The next question revolves around Jack Barlowe, Rebecca is asked why does he save her if he's venin, to which she responds:

[...]he’s still in hiding at this point and who better to convince everyone that nothing’s wrong with him than Violet

This is explanation enough, if he's the spy, he needs to maintain his cover, then she adds:

[...] By saving Violet, he’s still hiding what his true nature is and he’s still trying to prove to the professors who have been trying to quote, unquote, mend his soul and bring him back that he is fixable that he is mendable when really in the background, he is orchestrating this entire takedown of the wards.

This passage confirms, in my opinion, that if someone is plotting with the Venins, than it's not someone that has access to Basgiath. Becouse everyone who about him was trying to fix him, and find a cure to his veninism. This also explain that quote we're given at the start of I don't rememeber which chapter**, in which Lilith Sorrengail is being said that there's no cure, but only contol.** At that point probably Nolon has deemed that Jack was too far gone in his Veninism and his soul couldn't be mendend.

Oh yes and sould mending is confirmed to be a thinh lol, but only if you are already a mender.

We then skip the sex talk lol, and jump to why did Rebecca chose to introduce us to Catriona There's a passage in this answer, aside from the need to have one prominent chacter that makes dragon rider question the way they are being thought to ride, channel etc. which story wise, for the development of the character was a great choice to this passage:

[...] I wanted them to see Catriona’s not out to get Violet just because she loves Xaden, or because they had this relationship, she’s out for the power. [...] [...] She flat out says, you think this is about a man, this is about a crown. And any man in that situation would absolutely take another man to task over winning that crown.

This is very interesting phrase, considering that this is how Rebecca opened this very iterview:

[...] “One of the things I love to play with is that absolute power corrupts absolutely*, and that* when you want magic and you can’t have it because you haven’t been chosen by a dragon or a griffin, what will you pay for it? And people will pay with their souls. You see it in our society, all the time, people will sell their souls for power. So it’s a matter of, how much of his soul did he exchange? And once you start, how do you stop and is it an addiction?” [...]

I know that Catriona kind of has a redemption ark, she ends up saving Violet's life and they become somewhat civil at the end, but.. Rebecca repeated the same concept only twice so far, and casually she does when asked about Catriona.

She is then asked about Xaden's second signet, and Rebecca says the following:

[...] What I love about that is he says, it’s a kind of inntinnsic — but they don’t have any alive*. So* how does he know exactly what he is? How does he know if that’s full? How does he know what it is? He has no clue. They have no inntinnsic alive. So he has no idea what he is. And he has no idea, is it intentions? Is it words? Is it thoughts?

This is exactly what we've been asking ourselves, and I feel like with this phrase she is hinting that she will take one of this two directions: Either there are inntinnsics alive, adn Xaden has had some sort of training/knowledge however brief that might be, or he is not what he sais he is and he can read more than intentions, or will be able to. I'm more lenient towards the first.

In the end it is safe to assume that there are more than one type of inntinnsic and that some of those can remain hidden or are just killed, like truth tellers. There is (i don't remember which chapter) an heading quote in IF that goes something like: Inntinnsics are always killed on the spot for the danger they provide, but yet we let truth tellers live, so it wouldn't be odd for a full inntinnsic (that hasn't gone mad) or some type of them that hides pretending to be an "accepter kind of inntinnsic"

We are then told that Xaden did not fall in love with Violet from the stories Brennan told him, as some theories stated, and that he did in fact hate her, but could't act on it since his deal with Lillith.

Rebecca also says, in this response that "he’s [Xaden] not the guy who’s going to save the world", and is one of those who would destry the world for the one he loves, so there's that. He's no hero..

Then, as I also said in my post about Violet's second signet, we have confirmation from Rebecca herself that Liam was just an hallucination and that her second signet manifested

After this we get some questions that are answered with "you have to read book three", confirmation that Xaden is turning into a Venin, and not yet a full one like Jack. AND that No one as ever seen someone be cured of veninism, but we haven't read book three yet. So maybe there is a cure after all.

Then:

The dream that Xaden has featuring the Sage in that final scene, which reveals how he began to turn venin, appears to be the same dream Violet has been having featuring the Sage throughout all of “Iron Flame” — but that Violet’s dream has actually been from Xaden’s POV this whole time. Does this mean the Sage (who says he’s actually General!) always wanted Xaden, or he wanted Xaden to get to Violet, or he wants both?

So I feel like I am right in my prediction of Violet's second signet after all

Then when Rebecca is asked if the characters will remain in Basgiath for book three she ends up saying the following:

[...] that there are weaknesses in the wards they aren’t aware of. You see it in “Fourth Wing” when he shoves the energy into her while they’re sparring.

So basically, the way she phrased this makes it look like Venin are siphons for the power of the source, they do no just drain, but "fill" with the energy/magic they steal. And yes considering that in that scene Jack's eyes are described to be red-trimmed I'm 100% that this was part of his Venin powers. That is a take I personally have not yet read anywhere, and that makes one wonder if siphons (or at least a specific siphon**) are more prone to turning Venin becouse their power works in the same way**, and wheter this is the reason they are kinda rare as a signet... do they all end up turning venin?

This is about it, I find that she made such interesting points, and that she danced a lot around the major theories going around since november... what do you think ?