#the wyvern's bride

[vaya-writes]

The Wyvern's Bride - Part 3.7 (NSFW)

When Adalyn gets sacrificed to the local wyvern, she’s a little annoyed and a lot terrified. Upon meeting the wyvern, she discovers that he’s not particularly interested in eating people, and mostly wants to be left alone. In a plot to save himself from the responsibilities his family keep pushing on him, Slate names Adalyn as his human Envoy, and tasks her with finding him a wife.

6800 words. Cis female human x Cis male wyvern (slow burn, arranged marriage, eventual smut). firefly-graphics did the divider.

Masterlist - Previous

All the smutty content warnings. There is penetrative sex. There is oral. There are handjobs. There is overstimulation and a little bit of edging. There's a heap of profanity and a bunch of fluff too.

I'll include content breaks if you don't want to see the explicit stuff, but the whole thing will be suggestive. This chapter IS about Adalyn seducing Slate. But it's also a confession chapter, so there's wholesome stuff for the non smut readers too.

Slate is steadily growing closer to his wit’s end. 

It had started with the nightgowns. The first had been a pale spring green colour. Modest in cut. Daring in meaning. The colour that wyverns tend to flush around their mates. Signifying trust. Fondness. Love. He’d never expected anyone to do that around him.  

But Adalyn can’t possibly know that. 

She’s been wearing them every night whilst lying beside him.  

Things had escalated during yesterday’s beach date. (Outing. Trip. Whatever.) He should have said something. She’d asked him what to wear, and he hadn’t said anything about the colour. It had to be his fault, really. If he’d said something, perhaps she wouldn’t have worn that sky blue delight. Had the audacity to wear such a shade in public. Blue, the colour of attraction, desire, lust.  

He wants to strangle the cousin who’d gifted it to her. Or thank them. He’s not sure yet, there are too many feelings he needs to sort out. Mostly because females only flush blue when they’re open to advances.  

Another thing Adalyn couldn’t possibly have known. Especially with that genuine smile, and that sweet look of focus whenever he’d chatter about something most people found boring. It wasn’t wanton behaviour. Even if wearing the colour beside him in public had made his brain stall several times. 

He’d barely been able to look at her. Had spoken about every fun fact under the sun to stop from spilling his guts or disgracing himself. Because there’s no way Adalyn had meant anything by the dress.  

She’d married him to save him from embarrassment. To try something new, away from the mundanity of life in Fleecehold. Not because she was attracted to him. Not because she wanted him.  

He’d decided it must be Rin, playing a trick on him. Especially as things intensified. Starting with that letter. That parcel. The only thing Adalyn had said about it was that Rin had sent her a book.  

So, he’d deduced that this is Rin’s doing: Adalyn wearing more and more of those colours. A green tunic here. A blue shawl there. The nightgowns fray at his sanity the most, gradually getting shorter or more elaborate. 

He doesn’t sleep well. Lies perfectly still in the bed next to Adalyn, entertaining thoughts that are downright obscene. Frustratingly aroused, most mornings he has to excuse himself before she wakes, to find a private spot in which he can relieve himself. He tries not to think about her when he does. Tries and fails.  

The touches are equally tantalising in their torment. She’d started small. Innocent brushes here and there. A hand on his elbow. A bump against his shoulder. Adalyn reaching up to straighten his collar, or brush hair out of his face. Always with a smile. Gentle grazes that drive him mad. 

Lunch breaks are fraught with tension. Since he’d helped her with the garden, Adalyn has incorporated handfeeding Slate into her repertoire. Offering bites of her own pastries or catching him when his hands are otherwise occupied. Today Slate emerges from her wing, filthy, to find her holding his lunch. 

“Open,” she demands. 

He does so without hesitation. Is scarce able to breathe at her proximity, at her intense stare. He feels his cheeks flush grey-green, but is unable to look away, unable to hide any of the awe or desire from his face.  

She uses her thumb to brush some crumbs from the corner of his mouth, and he damn near melts. She smirks at his reaction, and that’s when he begins to suspect that she’s complicit in the attempts on his control.  

It has to be intentional, at the point. It has to be. The colours, the touches, the ancestors damned pheromones. She’s wearing them again, he notices, not for the first time.  

It had gotten so much worse when she’d unearthed the perfume. Rin’s gift, he begrudgingly remembers. The explosion of scents and pheromones that had given him a headache when first revealed. Now skilfully applied, just faintly enough that at first he thought they might have been his imagination.  

Scents that beckoned him closer. That bade him lean forward when she walked past, or that made him hyperaware of where she was in the room. Ones that whispered hello and tried to put him at ease. Others that got under his skin with how daringly inviting they were, almost begging him to reach out and touch Adalyn.  

Today she’s wearing one of the latter. Along with a teal dress – unseasonably short. He’d be concerned for her wellbeing if he weren’t so busy sneaking glances at her woollen leggings. Or the way the dress clings to her chest. And her ass.  

Ancestors, is he really ogling her so openly? He has to shake his head clear before recentring. She has him in such a daze, that he hadn’t processed any of their conversation. Had he even said anything? Had she? He’s searching his memory when Adalyn turns away and bends to pick up the picnic basket.  

He watches the dress creep up the back of her legs, completely rapt again.  

A strained sound escapes his throat, breaking the spell and startling him out of his trance.  

She’s packing up and he has no recollection of eating. He really did sit through the visit, mute and staring. He curses himself. He’s becoming a pervert and a lecher.  

“I’ll see you at dinner,” she smiles at him, and it hurts.  

He watches her leave before looking down and realising with shame that he’s hard again. It’s probably a contributing factor to his dizziness.  

The only thing that holds him back is perhaps she doesn’t realise just how strong of an effect these things are having. If she’s trying to make him want to jump her, to pin her to the bed and fuck her for hours on end, then mission accomplished.  

But if she’s just trying to court him, to encourage him closer, to tell him it’s okay to feel things, to care about her more than they’d discussed...  

He doesn’t know. He just doesn’t know what to make of the advances.  

It comes to a head when Slate returns from work that night. Adalyn has made dinner again and is dressed in the same teal dress she’d worn at lunch, though she’s stripped out of her shoes and leggings. Her scent wraps around him – inviting and lovely – and he sits and readies himself for another painstaking meal.  

He glances up when she asks about his day, and nearly drops his fork. She’s wearing makeup. Which by itself isn’t a big deal. She’d spent the past few days experimenting and trying on different cosmetics. But tonight her lips are painted a washed out blue and there’s a pale eyeshadow to match.  

It’s ridiculous, but the colour goes right to his hemi. He stares back down at his food, a bit shellshocked, completely spacing on the question she’d asked him.  

“Sorry, I missed what you said?” 

“I said, what did you get up to today?” 

“Oh, uh, the usual. I spent some time in your wing working on the second floor. Then...” he looks again. Can’t stop himself from glancing back up at her too innocent expression, her carefully composed interest and smile.  

He loses track of his words again. “You know, just the usual.” 

Adalyn regales Slate with details of her day while he forces himself to eat. He barely tastes the food. Barely hears what she’s saying. He’s not sure if he’s more in a hurry to finish and leave the table or dreading what comes next.  

Adalyn finishes before he does, and watches him eat with a stare that’s almost predatory. For a moment Slate forgets himself. Forgets his size and his magic and his near immortality. He feels like her prey. A thrill goes through him at the thought. He squashes it down immediately. 

“I think I’ll go do some more work before bed,” Slate mutters, standing once he finishes. 

“Slate.” 

He halts at his name.  

“Please sit back down.” 

He does, face flushing; worried that he appears too eager.  

Adalyn stands and approaches him. All his nerves strain when she stops behind him and rests her hands on his shoulders. He feels like he could jump out of his skin. 

“You should take a break. Are you really going to work through the night?” 

Mute, he shakes his head, mesmerised by her tone. Her words are masked with faux sympathy.  

“Good,” she murmurs, before kneading his shoulders.  

Slate’s face turns greener when a whine escapes his throat. He covers his mouth and coughs, hoping to disguise the slip.  

Adalyn huffs her amusement before digging her fingers in, unknotting his shoulders and working her way down his back. He feels like putty beneath her touch, mouth slightly agape, entire self-control devoted to keeping any more embarrassing noises to himself.  

When she stops he could almost cry, but instead things intensify when Adalyn rounds the chair and takes a seat on his lap. 

He stares at her, eyes too wide. 

“Is this okay?” For a moment she seems hesitant. Doubt creeping into her expression. 

He nods, almost frantic in the movement. “Mhm.” 

She sags in relief before looping her arms around his neck. It puts her face a little too close to his, and he swallows; the only movement he’ll allow. 

She crinkles her nose. “Your clothes are wet.” 

He waits, desperate to see what she does next.  

“Would you... like help taking them off?” 

He goes stiff at her words. In every sense of the word. Thankfully she ignores his erections, using her finger to trace a pattern on his chest instead.  

He’s clenching his jaw so tightly that it hurts. His hands dig into the armrests. He’s worried his claws will materialise and splinter the wood. He has to reply, he remembers, or he won’t get to see what happens next. 

“If you want.”  

She raises her brows. “I’m not asking what I want, I’m asking what you want.” 

By the fucking Ancestors. 

Unbidden, his hands go to her, trembling as he cradles her jaw. The other drifts into her hair. He gets even harder when she relaxes into his touch, turning pliant under his grip. He tries not to sound so choked, so raspy, but he can’t hide his desperation when he replies. “I want to kiss you.” 

She lifts her chin in silent permission, eyelids drooping and jaw going slack. But it’s not enough for Slate. He presses his forehead against hers. “Please, I need to hear you ask.” 

He’s breathless when she shifts, bringing her leg around so that she’s straddling him. He can feel much more of her now. Seated like this, it’d be impossible for Adalyn to miss the bulge in his pants. Shame darkens his cheeks.  

Then she grinds her hips against his.  

The movement is so minute, he’s not sure if he imagined it.  

Her hands tighten around his neck. She brings her lips to his ear. Speaks so clearly, there’d be no mistaking her words. “Kiss me, Slate.” 

Every doubt, hang-up, and hesitation empties from his mind. His shame slips away and it’s almost blissful the way he’s able to turn, touching his lips to hers without overanalysing his actions. 

He realises he’s holding his breath. Pulls back to let it out in a whoosh, before leaning in and kissing her again. He’s too occupied with her touch to fret about the gall of his actions, and he’s moves instinctively, trailing soft kisses along her jaw and neck. He wants to commit every sound she makes to memory; every hitch of her breath, every pant and subdued gasp. He wants to worship every inch of skin he can reach; enjoy every shiver and sound he can wring from her. 

Adalyn is the next to pause for air. Slate doesn’t let up though – having been given permission to kiss his wife, he intends to make the most of the experience. He lavishes kisses down her throat, across her shoulder, savouring her warmth. He lets his teeth scrape against her skin and nearly trembles with excitement when she flinches, before tilting her head back to give him better access. 

“What else do you want?” She murmurs. 

“You.” 

She huffs a laugh. “I’m tired of guessing. Elaborate.” 

He makes himself pull away. Feasts his eyes on her. Her lipstick has smeared. The colour might drive him insane if he looks any longer. 

He closes his eyes and tilts his head back, trying to organise his thoughts. He doesn’t get the chance. Adalyn picks up where he’d left off, leaning in to suck a line of kisses down his throat. He lets out a shaky breath and his grip on her tightens. 

Adalyn pauses. “Is this still okay?” 

“Yes. Fuck, yes. Please, don’t stop.” 

Emboldened by his plea, Adalyn grinds against him – there's no way he’s imagining it this time - her kisses becoming fiercer, their embrace more passionate. She nearly growls when her access is blocked by his collar. “I want to see more of you.” 

--- NSFW Content Ahead ---

Slate doesn’t check himself, removing his shirt faster than he’d done before. Pieces finally click in his brain, and the next step of the evening presents itself to him. He stands, hands going under Adalyn’s ass, and carrying her to the bed. She isn’t fazed by the relocation, doesn’t even stop rubbing against him. She just wraps her legs around his waist before dragging his lips to hers again.  

He kicks off his boots on the way there. Starts unlacing his pants. They make it to the bed and he sits, letting Adalyn straddle him and push him against the mattress.  

“Much better,” she says before trailing her lips down his chest. She takes her time, and Slate practically melts at the attention. Wonders if Adalyn had been as eager to get her hands on him as he’d been her. Probably, he notes as she kisses and sucks nearly every inch of him. She’s exploratory in her path. Her cheek grazes his ribs when she kisses the indent of his scar. She runs her hand along his side, over the ridges and valleys of his muscles. When she turns her attention to one of his nipples he jolts. 

He’s so focused on her mouth that he nearly misses her hand creeping down past his waistband. He lets out a shuddering breath when she rubs against his erections. His thoughts fizzle out when she fists her hand around one of his cocks and pumps it.  

“Is this alright?” She murmurs against him. 

He drags his pants down in answer, giving her better access. She squeezes and Slate can’t help but moan. It takes everything he has to not buck into her hand. 

Adalyn doesn’t bother restraining herself, grinding against Slate’s thigh. When she stops mouthing at his chest he grasps her by the hair again, prompting her upwards to his face. She doesn’t need further instruction, and goes back to kissing him, mindless and messy.   

Slate is close to coming. All she’s done is rub his cock and sit on his lap, and he’s nearly finished. He’s not sure if he should be embarrassed or elated. Is still caught up in surprise at the turn the night had taken. 

Adalyn pulls back to catch her breath. She looks almost smug, watching him writhe and twitch under her touch. She brushes his hair back before placing her free hand on his cheek. “You look good like this.” 

It takes a monumental effort to pull her into focus. He’s so hazy with need and so close to coming that tears prick his eyes. Adalyn is a blur of colour. The smear of her makeup, the marks blossoming on her throat, the flush in her cheeks – it's intoxicating. Another sound escapes him. 

Her face softens at the noise. “You okay?” 

“Adalyn...” He’s breathless. It’s an effort to speak. “If you keep- I want- I'm-” 

“Use your words, dearest,” she leans down in a slow, deliberate movement. Presses her lips to the skin beneath his jaw. Then sucks.  

He can’t use his words. Instead, he sees white as pleasure shoots through him, intense and unrelenting. His hips leave the bed. His breath catches in his throat. His eyes flutter closed. He doesn’t notice Adalyn’s praise as he comes – quite possibly harder than he’d ever done in his life. 

Awareness drifts back to him as he comes down from his high. It doesn’t take long for him to reorient himself, but when he does the room is spinning. His brain feels like mush. Adalyn is still straddling his thigh, her hand splayed against his chest for balance. He wonders if she can feel how hard his heart is beating. She still grips one of his cocks, looking at the mess he’d made with an unreadable expression.  

His tongue feels like lead, and he tries to string the right words together. “I’m sorry, I...” 

He cuts off when she gives his spent cock an experimental squeeze. His hips jerk and he wheezes.  

She huffs and smiles, watching him as she raises her hand to her mouth and licks her fingers clean. 

His untouched cock throbs. What few thoughts had formed in his head quickly disperse. 

“Why are you sorry? It’s not like I did this on accident,” she chides. 

Fuck, he wants more. He needs it. But Adalyn is still dressed. Still composed, looking down at him with a bright-eyed expression he’s entirely unfamiliar with. Five centuries worth of matriarchal and societal conditioning are the final tethers keeping him from responding. From grabbing Adalyn ravaging her. Playing out every dirty little thought he’s had, every fantasy, every impulse.  

He has to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that it’s wanted before he can act. That he’s wanted.  

“Do you-” he starts, looking up with searching eyes, “Do you feel like this too?” 

She relaxes on top of him. Her lips twist into a wry smile. “Well, I didn’t come.” 

Need unfurls inside of him, sudden and desperate. To see Adalyn come undone the way he had. To make her gasp and moan and beg for him. To make her feel the way he constantly does around her; needy, depraved, dying for her to take the initiative.  

Before he knows it, he’s swapping places with her. Kissing down the length of her body. Slipping off the bed to kneel on the floor. Murmured pleas stream from him, too fast for him to process each one, “-let me help, let me make it better-” he grips her by the knees and pulls her towards him. “Please, fucking please, I want you so badly, I need to taste you, need to touch-” He parts her thighs. Wetness strings between them. She’s not wearing underwear. The observation knocks the breath from him. 

He kisses her inner thigh. His unspent cock aches, painfully stiff. He grinds against the end of the bed, yearning for friction. “Ask me to touch you. Give me permission. Fuck, Adalyn, tell me what I need to do to make you want me.” 

A hand closes around one of his horns, tugging. His whole scalp lights with pleasure at the sensation, and he shivers, staring up at Adalyn. Having her exert control over him like this is intoxicating. 

Despite her actions, she doesn’t look like she’s in control. Her hair is mussed, her face pink, and she bites down on her lip viciously. Still, she tightens her grip on him. 

“I already want you. I’ve wanted you for weeks. So stop teasing and just-” she cuts off. She lets out a groan, “Gods, are you really going to make me say it?” She pulls her dress up and stares pleadingly. “Use your mouth.” 

Her words are the final fraying on his restraint. Lust rolls in and he pulls her to the edge of the bed. Too eager to temper his actions, he thrusts his face between her folds, tonguing up and down and before he finds her clit and sucks. 

He should have stroked her first. Fondled her breasts or used his fingers. But there’s no room in him for sympathy and he continues his rough treatment, enthralled by the way she squirms beneath him. Her legs shake and jerk, and a stream of high-pitched noises escape her throat. He holds her steadfast, draping her knees over his shoulders and nuzzling closer. 

“-slower, please-” he hears despite the clenching of her thighs around his ears. 

Part of him flickers with remorse. He’d attacked her without any preamble or warmup, lapping up her juices like a wyvern starved. The rest of him is unmoved. Thrilled to hear Adalyn beg. Delighted at being told what to do. And merciless. Having waited long enough for Adalyn to give him an order, he intends to follow this one to the letter, even if she grows to regret the request.  

“You want me to slow down?” He hums as his imagination runs free. She’d been teasing him all day. Two could play that game. 

She whimpers and nods her assent.  

He moves back, giving her some space and lathering kisses on her thighs once more. Despite his sadistic intent, he nearly loses himself worshiping her legs. He sucks and nips at the soft flesh of her inner thighs, watching marks bloom and darken with unshakable focus.  

She goes limp with the treatment. Her moans drop in pitch, her breathing evens out. They both relax, drawn into a new rhythm; less manic, less starved. Softer; more intimate. Her spasms grow further apart, and she seems content to lie there under him. Until she’s not.  

There’s a gentle tug on his horn, and he blinks up at her. She looks wrecked. Her eyes are watery, and her makeup is smudged. He wonders if he’s taking things too far. 

“Please, Slate. Not there.” 

He holds fast to his plan, trusting Adalyn to tell him to stop if it gets too much. He kisses her other thigh. “Here then?” 

She shakes her head. 

He holds back a smirk. Kisses her knee. “Here?” 

Adalyn lets out a whine. Bucks her hips. “Stop teasing.” 

“You told me to slow down.” He nips at her skin before dragging his nose upwards, perfectly content to draw things out. “Unless you want me to go fast again?” 

She doesn’t say anything. Drops her head and lets out a frustrated whine. 

“Tell me where, Adalyn.” He doesn’t hide his smile this time. 

“You know where.” She sounds petulant.  

Warmth spreads through him, but he continues to play dumb, and shrugs. Echoes her earlier words. “Elaborate. I’m tired of guessing.” He scrapes her with his teeth again. “Plus, I like hearing you tell me what to do.” 

Tears drip from her eyes. Slate pulls back, startled. He’s about to apologise, certain he’s pushed too far when she grabs him by both horns. Guides his face to her pussy. 

“Here.” 

His mind goes blank at the action, his thoughts skittering away. Until he’s only aware of her grip and the delectable warmth before him. He takes his time with kitten licks and soft kisses. Teasing forgotten, he treats her with awe, with gentleness. His wife spreading her legs for him is such a privilege, he can’t help but savour every taste.   

Despite his abandoned plan, Adalyn still feels Slate’s exploratory pace. He winds her up until she’s groaning and bucking once more. Impatient, she uses her grip on Slate’s horns to grind against his face.  

Slate drops further at the sensation. With his eyes shut tight and Adalyn’s thighs pressed hard around his head, it’s too easy for him to lose himself. He works without thought, drawn into her taste, her sounds. Her grip on him sends goosebumps down his neck and he hums, happy to relish the sensation, letting Adalyn pull him wherever she likes. 

Trancelike, he moves with increasing fervour, flicking his tongue against her clit before moving down to tease her entrance. Over and over until he’s sucking hard at her pearl just to enjoy the way she shudders against him. He doesn’t notice the growing tension in her limbs, or the change in her volume. Doesn’t notice the signs of the orgasm creeping up on her until she’s gripping his horns with every ounce of her strength and gasping out his name.  

It draws him out of his daze. Rekindles his lust. Slate decides then and there that he needs to hear Adalyn say it again. That he’ll do whatever it takes to keep her like this – moaning and incoherent. Appetite barely whetted, he keeps working, sucking harder on her clit and teasing her entrance with a finger. She’s so slick, slipping inside is effortless. She whines and tries to jerk back, but Slate is resolute, intent on pushing Adalyn as far as she can go. He adds another finger. 

She’s a mess beneath him. Still shaking, riding out the aftershocks of her orgasm. Unable to come down with the way Slate keeps going. She wants to relax, wants to relish the intrusion, but is too heightened to do so. She’s barely aware of the sounds leaving her, the whimpers and groans.  

Every time she untenses, Slate moves his fingers, prompting her to clamp down. Again and again, until she stops trying to pull from his grasp. Starts opening for his touches again. Though she can’t yet stop her cries or hold still. Tears brim her eyes. It’s almost as if she doesn’t know what she wants. 

His prior plan to tease Adalyn until she begged comes back to him. He could keep going, turning her into an oversensitive mess. But looking at her, he doesn’t think he has the restraint. Watching her twitch and loll her head just reminds him of how much he wants to experience her pleasure for himself. To sink inside of her and feel her tremors directly around his cock. 

Slate rests his cheek against her thigh and pauses to catch his breath. He uses the moment to check in. “How you doing, Ad?” 

She tries pressing her legs together, succeeding only in pulling Slate’s face closer. A spent little noise escapes her.  

He can’t help but smile. “Sensitive?” 

She nods. 

He runs his free hand up the outside of her thigh, soothing. “Do you want me to stop?” 

She covers her face. Flinches when Slate curls his fingers inside of her. But doesn’t pull back.  

“I asked you a question.” He takes mercy and eases up. Lets her think unimpeded. Even if he wants to keep distracting her. 

A moment passes and she shakes her head. Her voice is barely a whisper, but Slate still hears her reply.  

“More.” 

He plants a soft kiss onto her thigh. He’s desperate for the next step, still achingly stiff and untouched. But if she wants more, who is he to refuse?  

He kisses his way back to her core, spreading her legs and ready to taste her again when he’s accosted by the swat of her hand. 

“Slate,” she cries and indecency of the sound makes his mouth water. “Please,” she wraps her hand around his horn once more and tugs. “I need the rest of you.” 

He doesn’t have the discipline to hold back. To feel anything but relief at her words. It’s all he can do to crawl up the bed, breathless, until he hovers over her face, caging her in with his forearms. He still needs to see her ask. 

“Say that again.” 

Her nose crinkles and she balls her fists against his chest. Her voice is small. “I need you...” 

Her embarrassment endears him. Arouses him. He can’t help but lower himself, settling between her legs. He strokes her thighs. Creeps his fingers closer to her dripping folds. She pants at the touch, spreading her legs eagerly. The sight threatens to unravel him, but he can still draw this out. Just a bit more. 

“You’re going to have to be specific, sweetheart.” 

Her hazy eyes clear long enough for her to blink up at him, pleading through dampened lashes. “I need you to fuck me.” 

Ancestors. When she looks at him like that, when she says something so crass – he's not going to be able to hold out much longer. His legs tremble as he rubs his cock against her folds. Carefully. Tauntingly.  

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you.” 

She whimpers. Hits his chest. “I said, fuck me.” 

“Ask nicely?” She could give him hell for it later. Right now, nothing beats the glee he feels hearing Adalyn beg. 

“Please,” she whines and tears escape down her cheeks. She wraps her legs around his waist and grinds against him. “Please stop teasing, please just fuck me, please Slate, please.” 

He can’t hold back anymore. Not when she’s lined up so perfectly or begging so prettily. He can’t stop himself from leaning down to brush his lips against her cheek. He tastes her tears before moving his lips to hers, gently at first. Heat grows inside him until he’s kissing her with abandon, fervid and hungry. When he pulls back he’s breathless, but no less eager. 

“I’d be delighted.” 

The last of his patience fleeing him, Slate thrusts inside.  

Her legs wrap tighter around him. They’re both silent but for their heavy breathing. The pause probably only lasts a moment, but it stretches on for Slate, enthralled by Adalyn panting in his ear, the tremble in her muscles, the absolute euphoria of having one of his cocks inside her.  

She moves first, grabbing the hem of her dress and pulling. She lifts her hips to ease the dress up, the motion sending pleasure curling in his gut. Still, he takes Adalyn by the wrist. 

“Leave it on.” 

Adalyn leans back to look into his eyes again, even as her cheeks grow redder. There’s a question in the air, and as he stares at Adalyn, some of the mania, some of the subservience leaves her. She looks pleased. “You want me to leave it on?” 

He nods, suddenly abashed by the request. By the ease at which Adalyn can take control of the situation.  

Her smile widens and she pulls him down into a heated kiss. “Don’t rip it. I like seeing what it does to you.” 

He groans against her neck, heart pounding when Adalyn rolls her hips against him. “You’re a fiend, Adalyn.” He starts fucking her, resisting the urge to sink his teeth into her shoulder while he does. 

She meets his thrusts, thighs trembling with the effort. She takes his hands, coaxing him to squeeze her ass, to touch her waist. “Your fiend.” 

His hemi throbs at the words and he lets out a near growl. The curve of her hips, the warmth of her skin. She’s so soft beneath him. “Yeah?” 

“Mmhm.” 

Slate sits back, pulling Adalyn onto his lap as he goes. She doesn’t need to move much, legs already locked around him. Splayed open above him, with her dress ruffled and her hair loose, Slate doesn’t know where to look. He can’t see a single part of her he doesn’t desire.  

She takes his hands again. Glides them up her stomach, pushing the fabric up as she goes, until her breasts are peaking out. He doesn’t need further instruction, and begins to fondle her, awed. He leans in to suck and nip at her flesh. She jerks in his lap, arching and gasping at the attention, and Slate groans as she clenches around him.  

“All yours, Slate.” 

His hips jerk. “Fuck.” He starts bouncing Adalyn on his lap, eliciting a stream of her gasps. She closes her eyes. Bites down on her lip. He reaches between them to press against her clit, delighting in the way she starts to squirm. “If you keep talking like that I’ll end up fucking you all night.” 

She laughs, but cuts off in a moan. It takes her a moment to reply. “Why wouldn’t I want my husband to fuck me all night? I happen to like him a lot.”  

Her teasing, sultry tone is undermined by her breathlessness, but it still does things to him. He stops palming her breast and grabs her by the hips. Overrides her easy pace on top of him in favour of a rougher fucking. Bucks up against her momentum and weight, driving himself deeper with each thrust, until he’s nearly slamming her down onto his cock. 

There’s still a part of him wondering if he’s taking it too far. Worried he might hurt Adalyn. The bed shakes beneath them, and the sound of their fucking echoes in the stone room. But Adalyn seems to enjoy the treatment. Her mouth is agape, her back arches, her nails scrabble to find purchase on his back. 

There’s no more room for rational thought, watching her like this – feeling her like this. The only thought he’s capable of having is the realisation that he needs more. He fucks her harder, faster, chasing that need for more. More of Adalyn. More of her sounds. More of that hot, wet texture gripping him so tightly. Until she’s convulsing on top of him, clasping a hand over her mouth, strained gasps escaping her. 

He grabs her wrist, unthinking. “I want to hear you.”  

Slate doesn’t give her a chance to respond. Keeps bucking, even as she trembles, limbs wracked with tension. Her moans peak, then stop entirely for a moment as she flexes. The spasms around his cock, the additional slick – feeling her come on top of him is his own undoing.  

The last of his thoughts turn to static. Every muscle in his core tightens. Then he’s slack jawed, head thrown back as he comes inside of Adalyn, hips faltering and coming to a stop once she’s taken every drop. 

“Fuck,” he says. His muscles turn to jelly. When Adalyn stops twitching around him she too goes slack, collapsing against his chest.  

“Yeah,” she agrees.  

--- NSFW Content Ends ---

He closes his eyes against the spinning of the room. Catches his breath. His muscles burn with a pleasant exertion. Strength is already starting to return to his body. The only downside to his quick recovery are the thoughts spooling back into his head; invasive and demeaning. 

Did he really just fuck Adalyn? 

He opens his eyes, and blinks down at her, bewildered. Hair sticks to her nape. Her heart is still pounding, but she’s boneless, the slight drag of her fingers against his arm the only indication of her consciousness.  

Yes. That had just happened. She’d climbed into his lap and asked him what he wanted. And then he’d carried her to the bed. 

She’d literally seduced him. 

Right? 

He curses his doubt. He should be ecstatic. Basking in afterglow. Giddy at Adalyn’s proximity. Not analysing whether or not his wife had actually wanted to have sex with him.  

He glares at the ceiling. He knows he’s being ridiculous. He knows it, he knows it, he knows it. It’s something he’ll have to unlearn. To talk to Adalyn about. Because if she does want him the same way he wants her, and he’s being cautiously obtuse – he winces at the thought. 

“Did you say you’ve wanted me for weeks?” It’s honestly a miracle he remembers the words. The rest of their encounter had been intense enough that all the foreplay, the banter, had burnt into afterthoughts.  

She stirs, opening her eyes to look up at him. Then smiles, her cheeks flushing before she hides her face against his chest. Her words are muffled. “It sounds familiar.” 

“Did you mean it?”  

He feels her swallow. She shifts so that she’s no longer straddling him, instead curling up against his side. “Yes.” 

He stares. Tries to reply, but words just catch in his throat. 

She wants him? (Wanted him. Still wants him?) Does she mean physically? Romantically? He has to know. Has to ask. If only he could formulate a proper sentence.  

Seconds stretch into minutes. Worried he’ll lose his chance, his nerve, he blurts: “Do you like me?” 

She pauses in stroking his collarbone. Looks up at him again, another wry smile at her lips. “You’re asking now?” 

He flushes. “Well, I know you wanted to- that you wanted me. But I mean... Do you want to court me?” 

The smile drops as she presses her lips together. Her face goes red as she stares up at him. She probably doesn’t realise Slate can see so much detail in the dark. 

Finally, she lowers her stare. Her voice is small. “I’ve been trying to court you for weeks.” 

He’s shocked into silence. Barely manages a weak, “What?” 

“I thought bringing you lunch every day and trying to spend so much time with you might clue you in.” 

His eyes widen further. 

“But humans do things differently. We’re a lot more reserved with physical touch and professions of emotion until we’re sure there’s returned feelings. And it’s usually done in equal parts by both men and women. I felt bad approaching you because I didn’t know how you felt about it.” 

He splutters. A small part of him starts spiralling. “You-” 

“I think I would have driven myself insane if Rin hadn’t sent me a book last week. It’s a treatise on wyvern physiology, though there was some etiquette stuff in there too. But even trying some of the stuff it mentioned, I was worried I might go too far.” 

He’s still incredulous. “You like me. Romantically?” 

She hides her face in the pillow. There’s a muffled noise of affirmation. It’s cute. 

It doesn’t tamper his bewilderment. “Why?” 

She turns her face, enough to be audible. “Well, you’re handsome. And interesting. And kind. And easy to be around. And every now and then you do something that’s really attractive. Liking you was mostly... just a crush. That snowballed into something bigger.” 

Amusement breaches his shock, and he relaxes. “You think I’m attractive?” 

Her face turns redder. “Yes. When you... lift things. Or when your clothes get wet.” 

He can’t help but laugh. Wraps his arm around her shoulders and draws her close again.  

“Do you...” she hesitates. Looks nearly as bothered as he’s felt these past few days. 

He scans her face, wondering what could possibly be wrong. Finally, it hits him. 

“Oh!” 

She deflates at his exclamation. He nearly panics at the posture. Rushes to reply. 

“Adalyn, I adore you.” 

Her brow crinkles. “But I’m... I’m just...” 

He takes her by the jaw. Runs his thumb over her cheek. “You’re thoughtful. You take me seriously. You listen to me. You respect me.” 

She calms enough to frown. “That’s a low bar.” 

Slate presses his forehead to hers. “You make me feel welcome. It’s... you have no idea how much I appreciate you.” 

She untenses when he leans in and touches his lips to her own. She melts into the kiss and his mind goes delightfully fuzzy. It’s sweet, and soft, and he loses track of time. His head spins when they pause. Close enough to share breath.  

He flushes as he contemplates his next words. “Can I... Can you tell me more about how humans make advances? Maybe not right now, but...” 

She smiles, and it’s sweet enough to wind him. “Of course.” 

He stares for a moment. Touches his forehead to hers again, inhaling deeply. Sweat and time have dulled her perfume, but it still lingers in the back of his mind, ambrosial and rich. Euphoria trickles into him, steadily enough that he leans down to kiss her again. Slowly, with a gradual increase in hunger. Until his hand is curling in her hair again, and he’s nearly on top of Adalyn – the heat between them rekindled. 

She breaks away, her eyes crinkling as she grins. “Are you still hard?” 

His lips twitch. “That’s the other one.” 

“Didn’t I get that one off before...?” 

He huffs. “I told you what’d happen if you kept running your mouth.” 

She laughs before stretching up to kiss him again. The intensity returns, Adalyn definitely encouraging it with the way she clings to him, her hands coasting along his back, her breasts pressing against his chest. Until she pulls away, and shuffles back. 

Slate doesn’t have time to be disappointed, because Adalyn rolls onto her stomach and lifts her ass. She gives an enticing wiggle, rubbing against him. “I could take more. But you’re changing the sheets afterwards. 

Something in his chest begins to soar. He could probably tear up from happiness, from affection. Especially if he thinks too long about her smile, or how easily she’s able to proposition him.  

He sets aside the feelings for later.  

Then pins Adalyn to the mattress, ready to start again.  

Next

#vaya writes #the wyvern's bride #christ it's finally done #this took me like a month and a half and that was mostly just to edit and revise SO MANY TIMES #there will be more but there's nothing else mapped out so I'm a bit tentative about what to write next #but yeah I want a nice epilogue #and then maybe a series of shorts for things like more cute dates and Slate going into rut #monster romance #tetaro #wyverns #dragons

[kuramirocket]

Wyverns

#Isekai One Turn Kill Nee-san #dragones #wyverns #Asahi Ikusaba #Maya Ikusaba #Kilmaria #sad that only the first 12 chapters are translated in spanish #(only the first 6 are translated in english) #but at least in april we have an anime adaption coming! #I'm looking forward to it!! #along with season 2 of the ancient magus bride ans ofc s3 of demon slayer #let's go!!

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

If you still want prompts, may I suggest number 11 for Geraskier? <3

11. Calling them nicknames

Here's some pre-relationship Geraskier! No warnings.

“We need to step it up,” Jaskier tells Geralt. “No one here thinks that you and I are actually lovers.”

Geralt frowns at him. It’s been two days since Jaskier snuck Geralt into a week-long wedding celebration (where the bride may or may not be sacrificing local maidens to a fertility god for immortal youth) under the guise of Geralt being Jaskier’s lover. “But we’re sharing a room.”

“We share a room all the time, Geralt.” Jaskier rolls his eyes at the ceiling. “We need to find a way to sell it. Luckily, from what I’ve overheard, no one thinks you’re a witcher here to investigate the disappearances. They just think you’re an escort I’ve hired so I would have some lovely arm candy for the week.”

Geralt shrugs. “That’s alright then.”

“No, it’s not!” Jaskier’s voice goes high with indignation.

“We visit brothels all the time. What’s the difference?”

“It’s one thing to seek out the services of a professional for an evening and an entirely different matter to pay someone to pretend to love me for a week. The first is perfectly lovely and reasonable. The second is a cry for help.”

“Probably more believable than me choosing to be here.”

Jaskier swats him on the chest. “Like I said, we need to be a more convincing couple.”

Geralt pauses a beat, waiting for him to elaborate. When he doesn’t, Geralt asks, “How?”

Because Geralt has never really had the kind of serious, steady lover that he and Jaskier are pretending to be. And when it comes down to it, neither has Jaskier. His love affairs usually only last however long it takes for a jealous husband to start wondering where his wife wandered off to.

“You should touch me more,” Jaskier says. “Hold my hand, put your hand on my knee when we’re at dinner, sling an arm around my shoulder when we’re walking.”

Geralt nods. None of that sounds difficult; he and Jaskier have always been tactile with each other.

“You should try to gaze at me dreamily across the room, then act embarrassed when people notice you.”

Geralt spends a lot of his time gazing at Jaskier across rooms, though he doesn’t know if he can make his expression look dreamy. “Fine.”

“And.” Jaskier taps his chin, looking thoughtful. “Pet names. We need to find pet names to call each other. Something suitably soppy, like two people madly in love.”

“No.”

“Oh, come on! It’s an easy way for us to show affection. I already call you ‘love’ and ‘dear heart’ all the time.”

“You call everyone ‘love’ and ‘dear heart.’”

“Excellent point, Geralt!” Jaskier says with a grin. “I need a pet name tailor made for you.”

Geralt shakes his head. “That’s not why I was—”

“You have an easy time coming up with my pet name,” Jaskier says. “Lots of people call me ‘songbird’ or ‘buttercup.’”

Geralt doesn’t know why, but the thought of calling Jaskier something that lots of other people do rankles him. “I’ll just keep calling you ‘idiot bard.’”

“That is not a pet name, Geralt.” Jaskier crosses his arms over his chest. “You need to call me something nice.”

Geralt considers for a moment, then says, “Blue jay.”

“Oh.” Jaskier’s cheeks turn a bit pink. “I like that. Blue jays are lovely birds.”

“They’re noisy as shit,” Geralt tells him. “And they destroy other birds’ nests and eat their young.”

“You’re really not understanding the assignment, witcher.”

“Think I understand it perfectly, blue jay.”

“Nope, you’ve ruined that. You’ll need to find something else.”

“Vulture? Ostrich? Pigeon?” Maybe this pet name thing isn’t so bad. Geralt is enjoying himself.

“You know, if we were a real couple, you’d be sleeping on the floor tonight.” Jaskier crosses his arms over his chest with a huff. “Alright, what should I call you? It’s a toss up for me between snookums and snuggle bum.”

Geralt would give anything for a wyvern to come crashing through the window and put him out of his misery. “Snuggle bum?”

“Because your bum is round and snuggly.” Jaskier leers at the bum in question.

“I will kill you.”

“No you won’t. If you were going to kill me, you would have done it that time I gambled away Roach playing Gwent.”

“I would have killed you if I hadn’t won her back the next round.” Geralt does his best to loom over the bard. Jaskier, damn him, has looked more intimidated when confronted with an angry goose. “No to both of those.”

“If you insist.” Jaskier taps his chin thoughtfully. “Sweet cheeks?”

“No.”

“My little pierogi?”

“Don’t ruin pierogi for me.”

“Ger-bear?”

“I’m going to tell Lady Vivienne that her forest god would prefer bards over local virgins.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been a human sacrifice. I do look dashing in white. Muffin?”

Geralt doesn’t know why he’s been pining after this man for the better part of a decade. Too many blows to the head, he supposes.

“You’re right.” Jaskier claps his hands together. “Snuggle bum is the clear winner.”

“Jaskier—”

“That’s how you should choose a pet name for me, Geralt. Just find a body part of mine that you like and add ‘snuggle.’ It’s perfect.”

Geralt is hard pressed to find a single part of Jaskier’s body he doesn’t like. His eyes roam frantically until they land on Jaskier’s toned arms, on full display with the sleeves of his chemise rolled up. “Snuggle… wrists?”

Jaskier heaves a sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose. “You know what, just call me ‘songbird.’”

“No.” Geralt’s lips twitch. “I think snuggle wrists works for you. I like it.”

“You wouldn’t know romance if it bit you on the round, snuggly bum, witcher.”

“Hm,” Geralt says, watching the curve of Jaskier’s lips and the way his eyes twinkle with good humor. “You’re right. I wouldn’t.”

***

Later, when he calls Jaskier, “darling” at dinner and watches his bard go adorably pink, he thinks that Jaskier had the right idea. Maybe this pet name thing won’t be so bad after all.

***

Tag list: @kueble @mollymawkwrites @feral-jaskier @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @dawnofbards @thisislisa @mosaicscale @tsukiwolf42 @rockysstupidity @fontegagrilledcheese @kuripon @help-i-need-a-cool-username @julek

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #ghost's writing #prompt fills

[julietvoid]

People I'd Like to Know Better!

The sweet @dark-and-kawaii tagged me in this tag game, you can find a link to her post here, if you're nosey like me >:-)

Last Song: human replacement - billie marten Favorite Color: jade green Currently Watching: x-files Last Movie/TV Show: runaway bride (1999) Spicy/Savory/Sweet: savory!!! Relationship Status: jason derulo - ridin' solo (i guess this technically makes this my last song but shhhh) Current Obsession: bg3, gillian anderson (always), grilled cheese with tomato soup, and making stupid pages for my stupid little characters :-) Last Google Search: anime girl saul goodman pose... SOMEONE TAGGED MY GALE PIC THIS AND I YELLED

plz feel no obligation to do this tag but i would love to get to know YOU: @deadletterpoets , @zyana-wyvern , @phasebun and @ritualhymns (if you've already done this tag link me your post!!! also if you weren't tagged but still want to do this tag- DO IT! i wanna see!)

#tag game by lady gaga or whatever the fuck she say

[lairofdragonagelore]

Andrastian Statues

The purpose of this collection of statues is to show the Andrastian style depending on the region, the details in it, and how this may or may not influence other statues we saw in game. I also attempt to recollect some interpretations of them, although most of them are mostly based on speculations.

The current post contains the following set of statues:

Ferelden Style: Pre-Divine Andraste, Chasind Andraste, Ferelden warrior protector Andraste, The Maker, The Dwarf [?], Rider Maferath  [?], Masferath Repentant, Hanged Masferath, Other Statues.

Orlesian Style: Rustic Maferath, Hessarian, Andraste; The Orlesian Warrior Andraste, The Stylised Orlesian Andraste, The Orlesian Andraste, The Orlesian Maferath, The Orlesian Havard, and the Orlesian Hessarian; The Weight of War

Free Marches Style: The Free Marches Hessarian, The Free Marches Andrastian Warriors [?]

Unknown Style: The Skull with sword, The Guide, Guardians of the Path / The Watcher.

[This post belongs to the series “Analysis and speculation of Statues”]

Ferelden Style

Pre-Divine Andraste

One of the most iconic statues in DAI.  

It’s present all over Ferelden, specially in big, colossal statues along the paths of Hinterlands. They are so big that sometimes one can overlook them unless you look upwards [check Hinterlands: Statues, paintings, and structures found in the open]. 

In Skyhold, we can find this statue in a small version in the local chapel, which triggers the note Bride of the Maker.

Thanks to the DLC Jaws of Hakkon [Main Chamber of Razikale’s Reach], we know that this statue belongs to a pre-divine time. It is probably one of the oldest representations of Andraste we have in-game.

As usual, she has a one-spike helm that has strong resemblances to Flemeth’s tiara, and to Humanoid Mythal statue, Dragon Mythal statue, and the Ferelden Wyvern.

She has a sword in her hip. 

Her sleeves and skirt have long lines that emulate folding. It’s a style we saw in statues that were considered “elvhen” in-game [for example, the Elven Archers or The guide]. But we can see this became an Andrastian style since we also see it in the Blocky bearded humanoid.

Her gigantic hands have been used in several elvhen places, and I wonder how meaningful these are: these hands appear in Exalted Plains: the Dead Hand as well as in the  Shattered Library, holding eluvians. Is this a mere reuse of resources or hides some lore in it? We know DAI is less lazy about this than previous games.

This statue is curiously aligned with Humanoid Mythal statue in the Fade, as well as with the Imperial Highway Columns [check The Raw Fade:  Part 1]. A Design choice that keeps me wondering if it hides some meaning in it.

Chasind Andraste

It has the design of a totem.

Its relief is very intricate. 

She is represented as a protector warrior due to the strong presence of the shield on it. 

We can suspect this statue is also ancient, and you can see that it has similar style to the Alamarri Monolith with swirls we find all over Hinterlands.

If you pick the Chantry-related garden in Skyhold, this statue appears in it and the archivist Banon will mention details about it in The Women of All War. He claims it’s Chasind, not original from Skyhold, brought by Ferelden into the castle. He also suggest it’s a re-usage of an ancient totemic statue. 

This last comment streghtens the idea that ancient Andrastian art tends to be done over or using/co-opting statues from previous civilisations.

Ferelden warrior protector Andraste

Another classic representation of Andraste in game.

It’s Ferelden style.

She is represented as a warrior [holding shield and sword] but also as a divine entity [I suspect the ring behind her works as a rustic design of a halo].

There is a chance that the thick “halo” could be an adaptation from another icon we saw among the Elvhenan design: the Golden Ring. How is this possible? I think it’s not too strange considering how deeply related to the elves the Avvar are. If we think that part of this culture comes from the Alamarri, one could guess that through the elvhen lover that Thrydda had, some elvhen presence has been around this culture to incorporate elvhen iconography in their own art, translated later into something of this shape.

The Maker

This mysterious figure has no face, in fact, it looks like bandaged. In his right hand holds a crown, while in his left hand, a dagger. The outfit is a very simple robe. 

The dagger is quite curious for a representation of the Maker.

This statue took me a long whlie to identify. In early posts I kept calling it  Faceless figure holding a crown. I came to the conclusion it is the Maker.

This statue appears always within the context of the Andrastian statues, so it could not be asumed in any other way than related to the Andraste Myth. In the posts Andrastian Design: Stained Glasses and Andrastian Design: Tapestry and Tryptich, we can see that a figure with no face and wearing a crown of similar characteristics is represented as the Maker.  These are my main arguments to be confident about this identification.

In Hinterlands, he appears in the main hall of Haven very high upon the hall, hidden in the shadows, in a room filled with andrastian iconography, which reinforces the idea that it represents an entity that is above all of them, Andraste included. Another confirmation of being the Maker.

It also appears in the Tyrdda Bright-Axe Path, which has a mixture of statues, and in Forbidden Oasis, when the place was took by the Andrastian forces. It also appears in the mysterious Hinterlands: The Unknown Ruin. Other more natural and Andraste-related places where we find it: Redcliffe - Future,  Therinfal Redoubt, Western Approach: Adamant Fortress.

The Dwarf [?]

This figure was tag along the blog as Blocky bearded humanoid. It is found in the main hall of the Templar building of Therinfal Redoubt and in the corridors of Redcliffe - Future

The design of this statue feels closer to the pre-divine Andraste. Maybe it has some influence of the Alamarri style.

The long lines on sleeves and chest seem to suggest similarity in style with the pre-divine Andraste but also with the elvhenan statues such as the Elven Archers, or The guide.

Its face seems to show a big smile, but if you see it with more detail, it may also represent a long, long beard.  The broad constitution, the big ears, the lack of hair, and the prominent beard seem to suggest a golem-like or dwarven representation.

I can’t say I can identify this figure in the Andrastian Myth, but it’s related to the Andrastian Faith since it appears where there are other andrastian figures.

If this figure comes from the Alamarri and it was co-opted by the Andrastian faith, I could suspect that may be related to the dwarven culture that Alamarri had. If we remember Tyrdda Bright-Axe Path, she had a child with a dwarven prince. The Chasind also had mixed descendants of humans and dwarves. So, if it’s an alamarri statue co-opted by the Chantry, it could not be strange for it to be a dwarf. These details may indicate that the Alamarri had a deeper relationship with not only elvhen, but also dwarves, and this aspect appeared in the art until co-opted by the andrastian faith resulting in this figure.

Rider Maferath  [?]

This statue appears only in Fallow Mire. Although, the same statue appears riding a horse in Crestwood: surface. Maybe it’s a mere reuse of resources.

It has a similar design to the  Blocky bearded humanoid.

It represents a man with a beard, and its angular design may suggest similar time and style than the previous one.

More details in the section Other Statues from this post.

Masferath Repentant

Mostly seen in the region of Ferelden [although, you can find it too in Western Approach: Adamant Fortress] 

This is the typical Ferelden statue of Masferath, regretting his betrayal.

He is sitting on a stone which has a design of a snake surrounding it, representing the Tevinter influence or deal he made with the Archon before handing over his wife. 

The helm in this statue has a C-shape, which I find very similar in design to the Tevinter helms [check section “Outfits” in Patterns and Styles: Tevinter]. I’m not sure if this is mere coincidence, or it speaks of a common [dragon-inspired] origin source.

Hanged Masferath

This totemic sculpture can be found in Hinterlands: Statues, paintings, and structures found in the open.

This is a Ferelden representation of Masferath being hanged. Clearly Ferelden has a strong sentiment with his betrayal.

The totemic structure seems to show mabaris at its base, followed by two different kinds of birds or maybe it’s a dragon [hard to say].

The top of these totems keeps bringing my attention: I can’t stop thinking there may be some link with the Tevinter metallic statue that I called  “Tevinter bird”, found in Ferelden in the underground region of Crestwood: Flooded Caves.

Other Statues

The couple can be found in Hinterlands: Redcliffe - Present, as a symbol to remember those who died in DAO-Redcliffe. It can also be found in Crestwood: surface as a memory statue of the drown, and in Frostback Basin [DLC]: Nigel’s point, as a memory statue of Ameridan’s friends: The templar Haron and the dwarf Orinna. It feels more like a reuse in most cases since it’s a strange statue to represent "fallen/lost people”.  Certainly we can assume it’s Ferelden made.

The horse with the rider seems to have, as we see in its drawing from the book Art of Inquisition, a lot in common with the previous statue I called “Rider Masferath”. The horse has been removed in some other places to only let the human figure stay.  It can be seen in Fallow Mire without his horse, and in Crestwood: surface. Sometimes the rider is not well chiselled in the stone. 

The vessel with many faces is only seen once in the game, in the The Darvaarad - Part2. We know the Qunari took this castle and put a lot of statues that they gathered around the world. However, this statue of many faces looks like it belonged to the inner corridors of the castle, implying the castle per ser may have been Ferelden, or elvhen in origin, but repurposed by Ferelden later. In the game we only see the “back” part of it, while in the book Art of Inquisition, we can see the full statue, which implies a beheaded figure. Maybe it’s the representation of a jury. It could also be interpreted as an entity that puts “the right head” into the people, suiting the Qunari and their Qun philosophy, but this interpretation would make me question why it is so related to Ferelden art in the Art Book.

Orlesian Style

Rustic Maferath, Hessarian, Andraste

A bit distant to the style of the Blocky bearded humanoid, we have these series of statues representing typical characters from the Andrastian Myth.

They are mostly located in different areas all over Orlais [or inside the Skyhold if you pick an Andrastian garden].

We find Andraste, in blue and red [I’m assuming one is the bride of the Maker, while the other is the warrior protector of her people]

Masferath is carrying a crown (?) in his hands, and Hessarian is holding the Sword of Mercy.

These seem to belong to an Orlesian style but rustic or more “popular”. They give me the impression that were made by the working class people who could not afford realistic artists to sculpt them in stone. 

They seem to be made out of wood.

The Orlesian Warrior Andraste

Unlike the previous one, this Orlesian statue is made out of stone and is bigger, more detailed, and realistic. It seems to appear in rich/high class places.

It also appears in Emerald Graves: Din'an Hanin, which may represent the influence of the Andrastian faith among the Ancient Dalish when the Dales was their Kingdom land granted by Andraste herself.

This statue presents Andraste as a warrior: she is wearing a detailed armour, a big sword, and, curiously, a helm that has no iconic single-spike. However, I can see some similarities in the armour design to Flemeth’s armour or the armour used by Humanoid Mythal statue.

Due to the strong similarities in style, this statue belongs to the same group than the Orlesian Andraste, Orlesian Maferath, Orlesian Havard, and Orlesian Hessarian.

The Stylised Orlesian Andraste

Another over-detailed statue of Andraste made out of Stone which appears in wealthy places.

The whole design of Andraste has a strong similarity to Tyrdda Bright-Axe, which may suggest that this statue may have a strong alamarri influence, mixing Andraste tale with the representation of Tyrdda.

The icon that represents the sun, ironically, has a strong similarity with the statue I called Sun-head creature, deeply related to the Elvhenan and, potentially, to Tevinter and its old dragon gods. This may imply that this statue may have collected several icons and details from different cultures and faiths to gather them in the cult to Andraste. This process is well known in human History, where the forced religion tries to blend with the local ancient one to produce an assimilation of the new faith.

The Orlesian Andraste

This Orlesian statue is made out of stone and is bigger and a lot more detailed and realistic that the “wooden” sculptures. 

It tends to appear in wealthy places as well as inside the Chantries of the game.

It represents mostly the divine Andraste and the bride of the Maker, without any element of her warrior side.

She has a one-spike helm that has strong resemblances to Flemeth’s tiara, Humanoid Mythal statue, Dragon Mythal statue, and the Ferelden Wyvern.

Due to the strong similarities in style, this statue belongs to the same group than the Orlesian Warrior Andraste, Orlesian Maferath, Orlesian Havard, and Orlesian Hessarian.

The Orlesian Masferath

It is called “The Betrayer”. 

We see the man worried, grabbing his own head, showing the weight of his own betrayal. He keeps the crowd of his leadership of the Alamarri in his hand since the Chantry tale says that he betrayed Andraste out of jealousy because she was more important than him among their people. I always questioned this since he was the one commanding the armies and their people into Tevinter, and he may have chosen the “lesser bad” option [read the The Chantry and the Mythology of the Chant of Light for more details].

Due to the strong similarities in style, this statue belongs to the same group than the Orlesian Warrior Andraste, Orlesian Andraste, Orlesian Havard, and Orlesian Hessarian.

The Orlesian Havard

Havard is shown here with avvar clothings [fur-based]. 

He is  carrying the urn of Andraste’s ashes that will be placed in Haven and will become later the Temple of Andraste [DAO].

We know thanks to the notes triggered in it that this statue seems to represent Havard but its appearance was based on a noble’s lover [check it in Emprise du Lion: Pools of the Sun].

Due to the strong similarities in style, this statue belongs to the same group than the Orlesian Warrior Andraste, Orlesian Andraste, Orlesian Maferath, and Orlesian Hessarian.

The Orlesian Hessarian

He is holding the sword that will be called the Sword of Mercy, used to kill Andraste in the pyre so she could not suffer anymore.

His hat has a bent T-shape that we can see in many other helms of Tevinter warriors in the section of “outfits” in Patterns and Styles: Tevinter.

Due to the strong similarities in style, this statue belongs to the same group than the Orlesian Warrior Andraste, Orlesian Andraste, Orlesian Maferath, and Orlesian Havard.

The Weight of War

This statue was tagged in this blog as Man holding bigger head  for a long while.

It has appeared in Forbidden Oasis, Redcliffe - Future, and in Orlais: Winter Palace.

Thanks to the constant presence of Andrastian-themed art around it, I could finally assume that this statue belongs to Andrastian art in Orlesian style.

The main man has angular features, his ears are not visible since it looks like he is wearing a chain-mail. He uses scale-based pauldrons, and a robe. He is holding a sword with one hand while the other holds a bigger head. By comparison with the state of the overall figure, we can assume that the bigger head has a lot of wounds and scars [meaning that this is part of the sculpture design and not a consequence of erosion]. 

Despite looking similar, the head in his hand and this man’s profile are different. The bigger head has a smaller, shrank nose. 

The only significant shape in this statue that can give us a resemblance of a hint to whom it belongs is his belt, which has pointy ends. We had seen this pattern in two places: in Tevinter artefacts, such as the sacrificial burial, or in andrastian outfits.

It triggers a codex called The Weight of War which is a bit unreliable, since the person explaining this is an amateur historian, but it’s the only hint we have about this statue. The amateur historian implies that this statue may belong to a warrior with a philosophy similar to the Grey Wardens.

More details about this statue in the post Forbidden Oasis.

Free Marches Style

The Free Marches Hessarian

It appears mostly in the Templar fortress of Therinfal Redoubt

This statue has a strong resemblance to Tevinter art. It’s not only the dark metallic material used for the sculpture, which was strong similarities with Tevinter artefacts such as Thrummer,  Water dispenser, Tevinter urn,  Tevinter artefact with spikes, Tevinter golem or Claw of Dumat, but also the prominence of angles and pointy ends. 

There is no codex associated with this sculpture, but I can guess it may represent Hessarian [the main Tevinter figure in the Andrastian Myth] since this statue has a version carrying a sword. 

It has a long beard and hair.

This statue has also been present in DA2, specially in the Chantry district of Kirkwall [check it in Architecture of Kirkwall : The Chantry].

The Free Marches Andrastian Warriors [?]

It appears mostly in the Templar fortress of Therinfal Redoubt and in the Fade.

This statue has a strong resemblance to Tevinter art. It’s not only the dark metallic material used for the sculpture, which was strong similarities with Tevinter artefacts such as Thrummer,  Water dispenser, Tevinter urn,  Tevinter artefact with spikes, Tevinter golem or Claw of Dumat, but also the prominence of angles and pointy ends. 

It’s wearing a typical DA2 Andrastian robe, but the helm has always brought my attention:  it has a lot of more similarity to the Tevinter warriors than to the one-single spike helm of Andraste.

Its weapon also has a strong similarity to the weapon used by Tevinter golems, while its helm has strong similarities with the ones that belong to the Tevinter warriors. One may say that both of them, in fact, are representing the one-spike helm of Andraste.

The unmistakable identification with Andrastian faith is given by the robe: if we see the chest, we will see the pointy half sun on it, which was the main design of the outfit of Elthina and other chantry priests we saw in DA2.

Unknown Style

The Skull with sword

This is the statue that I called Skull bud with sword all over this blog.

The skull is quite long for a regular human. It holds a sword. The body seem to be inside a bud or a shell that may look like a flower bud but also as the shell of an insect/scarab. 

This statue has always appeared within Andrastian contexts such as in Frostback Mountains - Haven [the basement], Hinterlands:Dead Ram Grove, or Ferelden: Therinfal Redoubt,  but also in places where the Andrastian context is not that strong, but still yet reasonable to appear, for example in Hinterlands: The Unknown Ruin [overtaken by Andrastian faith lately, so far we see in the statues present in this room], or Emerald Graves: Din'an Hanin [which clearly shows how the Ancient Dalish allowed a certain level of assimilation of the Andrastian faith thanks to Andraste’s gift of the Dales]. However, we also find this statue in Western Approach: The Still Ruins, Viridis Walk and Inner Sanctum, which is a pre-blight Tevinter building, so one is inclined to think that this statue may have been Tevinter in origin, and somehow, adopted later by the Andrastian faith.  Or maybe it’s just Elvhenan, taken first by Tevinter, and later by the Chantry [as we see this pattern repeats over and over with everything related to Tevinter].

One of the potential interpretations is that this sculpture represents a coffin, or a dead who is put to sleep in this position. The fact that this skull is inside a bud or an insect shell [in addition to the speculation that, like all what comes from Tevinter, was originally elvhenan] brings the possibility of being related to Uthenera and the mysterious codex of Vir Dirthara: A Flowering Imago that I tried to multi-interpret in several ways in Ancient Elven codices; Vir Dirthara.

So far I know, there is no codex associated with it, and we have only speculations about it.

Its style is not strongly similar to all these Andrastian statues, but the fact that it appears mostly within andrastian themed rooms, it’s hard not to bring it into this post.

However, I’m not confident about how to understand this statue and to what culture associated it with.

The Guide

It can be seen in three places only: Emerald Graves: The open pointing more or less towards Elgar’nan’s Bastion, on top of Stone-Bear Hold Avvars - Part 2 pointing out to the sea, and in the Fade, exactly in Flemeth’s Fade:  Part 2, pointing the path towards Mythal/Flemeth.

It’s associated with the unreliable landmark called The guide [written by this orlesian scholar who lacks of deep knowledge of elven culture], which identifies it as an elvhen statue, but it has a lot of style similarities to the Blocky bearded humanoid and the pre-divine Andraste as well as to the Skull bud with sword. If we see the back of an Elven Archer statue, we can find line-based similarities too, so it’s hard to decide whether this is truly Elvhen in origin and co-opted by the Andrastian and repurposed later, or it truly belongs to the set of pre-divine statues we spoke above and this amateur scholar misunderstood it as Elvhenan.

The unreliable landmark links it to Falon’Din for the mere fact that it is pointing out a place, so it “guides”. If we overlook this pathetic logic, and we give it a remote chance for it to be elvhen, we should be careful to identify it with Falon’Din. First, Via Solas, we know that Falon’Din was far from guiding people [Check Evanuris], and second, even if we consider this statue to be Falon’Din, we should never forget how Falon’Din and Dirthamen are entangled one another [check Humanoid Dirthamen], so this could also be a statue representing Dirthamen. The shape of the sleeves has some resemblance to the Elven Owl statue [they have long lines along it], but once more, both gods are so indistinguishable one another that it’s hard to say who is who.

Guardians of the Path / The Watcher 

This hooded statue was called Humanoid Dirthamen/Falon'Din in this blog.

The hooded statue can be seen in four places: in Emerald Graves: The open, as a watcher of entrances, in the Hinterlands, along the Tyrdda Bright-Axe Path inside the Calenhad’s Foothold; in Exalted Plains: Northern Ramparts and Citadelle du Corbeau, as the main big statue when you step into the Citadelle [again, watching over an entrance] and in Flemeth’s Fade – Part 2, as a statue bleeding profusely with a sword in its back, as an unmistakable symbol of betrayal.

In all these cases, the hooded version of the statue seems to be related to “watch or protect entrances”. Due to its presence in the Fade of Flemeth, we also can associate it with deep betrayal.

Once we see how the pattern unfolds with the statue I called Humanoid Dirthamen/Falon'Din [hodded version] we can understand the Andrastian version “guardian of the path” in similar fashion [he always appears in entrances as well], suspecting it was a re-usage and co-opt of the elvhen hooded statue when the Andrastian forces conquered the Ancient Dalish's lands.

The Guardian of the Path appears twice in game: in Crestwood: surface, at the entrance of the region, similar position as the hooded versions in Emerald Graves, and in the entrance to the region of the Exalted Plains.

#andrastian design #andraste #The Guide #guardian of the path #Skull bud with sword #Man holding bigger head #orlesian design #ferelden design #Humanoid Dirthamen/Falon'Din #andraste statue #hessarian #havard #Maferath #blocky bearded humanoid #Faceless figure holding a crown #the maker #maker #Analysis and speculation of Statues

[i-plague-eater]

OK! It's time for real odd fan theories!

It's a widespread fandom headcanon that Cedric is a naga. Which is a quite obvious thing to assume considering that nagas are basically snakes with a human torso. Many fans are giving his folk an Indian vibe and I really like such diversity.

Since small Cedric in my comic book is fond of folklore and especially everything including dragons, I started collecting mythology as well. There are four legged classy dragons, wyverns with two legs/hands but there are also wyrms who sound like worms. So I was like: who the heck are wyrms? From "The Lair Of The White Worm" movie I knew that it's an old tradition of calling dragons "worms". It seemed at first that a wyrm is a dragon that misses legs and only has snake-like body and wings. Also, breaths acid. I dug deeper and found out that according to the one of theories a word wyrm comes from Lindworm or Lindwurm.

Who are the lindworms then?

Lindworms are long, snake-like mythical creatures living deep in the forest that traditionally has the shape of a giant serpent monster. Legend tells of two kinds of lindworm, a good one associated with luck, often a cursed prince who has been transformed into another beast, and a bad one, a dangerous man-eater which will attack humans on sight. Sometimes Lindworms has legs and/or wings, sometimes they don't. It really depends on the myth. I do like a variation saying that they has two limbs but they move like snakes and use these limbs as hands.

Here the fun begins.

As you might know, the Escanors came from Britain, like, Arthurian Britain. Lindworms along with wyverns are a part of northern folklore, like, Scotland for example. Or we might remember The Lair Of the White Worm again where Bram Stocker is referencing a legend of the Lambton Worm.

Here's something to spice up things even more:

In the 19th-century tale of "Prince Lindworm" (also "King Lindworm") from Scandinavian folklore, a "half-man half-snake" lindworm is born, as one of twins, to a queen, who, in an effort to overcome her childlessness, followed the advice of an old crone who instructed her to eat two onions. As she did not peel the first onion, the first twin was born a lindworm. The second twin is perfect in every way. When he grows up and sets off to find a bride, the lindworm insists that a bride be found for him before his younger brother can marry. Because none of the chosen maidens are pleased by him, he eats each one until a shepherd's daughter who spoke to the same crone, is brought to marry him, wearing every dress she owns. The lindworm tells her to take off her dress, but she insists that he shed a skin for each dress she removes. Eventually his human form is revealed beneath the last skin. Some versions of the story omit the lindworm's twin, and the gender of the soothsayer varies. A similar tale occurs in the 1952 novel The Voyage of the Dawn Treader by C. S. Lewis. (source)

The most insane idea is to make Cedric a Phobos and Elyon brother, but a bastard. Like, a bastard who is a bastard due to his lindworm nature? Or just a aristocrat with the same background, also related to the Escanor clan. I mean, he's been called "a Lord" right?

I don't think I can use the first idea, although might use the second one for an adult cartoon Cedric. Anyway, I do like the idea of using ancient Northern mythology and English folklore. I'll keep digging and bring you interesting pieces once I'll find them.

#w.i.t.c.h. #w.i.t.c.h cedric #lord cedric #w.i.t.c.h. cedric #cedric

[ibiteactually]

Thank you for all your lovely tags on the Wyverns bride 💕 the epilogue is still in process but I’m totally working on it. You know. Between other things.

Of course!!! I love your work so much and I plan on reading your other stories too! I understand being busy with other things, as I have too. Which is why it took me a while to get back to this lovely story. Can't wait to see how you finish it off. I'll be sad to see it end 😔

#always bittersweet ending a story #take your time with writing #even if im anxious lmaoooo

[blood-darkened-moon]

Dark Souls

Dark Souls 1

Characters Chosen Undead | Anastacia of Astora | Knight Lautrec of Carim | Solaire of Astora | Blacksmith Andre | Oscar of Astora | Giant Blacksmith | Quelaan/Daughter of Chaos | Quelana of Izalith | Gwynevere Princess of Sunlight | Siegmeyer of Catarina | Sieglinde of Catarina | Kingseeker Frampt | Darkstalker Kaathe | Patches the Hyena | Lord's Blade Ciaran | Dusk of Oolacile | Darkmoon Knightess | Elizabeth | Furtive Pygmy | Witch of Izalith | Hawkeye Gough | Giant Crow | Shiva of the East | Black Iron Tarkus | Alvina of the Darkroot Wood | Big Hat Logan | Ingward the Guardian of the Seal

Bosses Asylum Demon | Taurus Demon | Capra Demon | Gaping Dragon | Bell Gargoyle | Chaos Witch Quelaag | Iron Golem | Moonlight Butterfly | Dragon Slayer Ornstein | Executioner Smough | Centipede Demon | Gravelord Nito | Seath the Scaleless | Four Kings | Great Grey Wolf Sif | Dark Sun Gwyndolin | Crossbreed Priscilla | Sanctuary Guardian | Artorias the Abysswalker | Manus Father of the Abyss | Black Dragon Kalameet | Gwyn Lord of Cinder

Enemies Silver Knight | Mushroom People | Havel the Rock | Black Knight | Wheel Skeleton | The Channeler | Black Hydra | Stone Guardian | Sunlight Maggot | Batwing Demon | Crow Demon | Ghost | Undead Attack Dog | Maneater Mildred | Crystal Golem | Skeleton Beast

Dark Souls 2

Characters Bearer of the Curse | Emerald Herald/Shanalotte | Lucatiel of Mirrah | Aslatiel of Mirrah | Lonesome Gavlan | Royal Sorcerer Navlaan | Vengarl of Forossa | Faraam, God of War | Alsanna the Silent Oracle | Nadalia Bride of Ash | Jester Thomas | Sweet Shalquoir | Benhart of Jugo | Weaponsmith Ornifex

Bosses The Rotten | Executioner's Chariot | Mytha the Baneful Queen | Old Iron King | Throne Watcher | Throne Defender | Looking Glass Knight | Velstadt the Royal Aegis | King Vendrick | Smelter Demon | Royal Rat Authority | Fume Knight | Sir Alonne | Elana the Squalid Queen | Sinh the Slumbering Dragon | Aava the King's Pet | Lud the King's Pet | Zallen the King's Pet | Burnt Ivory King | Darklurker | Nashandra

Enemies Aurous Knight | Heide Knight | Amana Priestess | Pursuer | Flame Salamander

Dark Souls 3

Characters Ashen One | Fire Keeper | Anri of Astora | Horace the Hushed | Yuria of Londor | Eygon of Carim | Irina of Carim | Orbeck of Vinheim | Sirris of the Sunless Realms | Unbreakable Patches | Greirat of the Undead Settlement | Siegward of Catarina | Princess Filianore | Company Captain Yorshka | Sir Vilhelm | Baby Ocelotte | Queen of Lothric | Painting Woman | Liliane of the Sable Church | Lord of Hollows | Karla | Cornyx of the Great Swamp | Ringfinger Leonhard | Rosaria Mother of Rebirth | Pygmy Lords | Yellowfinger Heysel | Old Wolf of Farron | Archdeacon Klimt | Archdeacon Mcdonnell | Archdeacon Royce | Shira Knight of Filianore

Bosses Iudex Gundyr | Vordt of the Boreal Valley | Curse Rotted Greatwood | Crystal Sage | Deacons of the Deep | High Lord Wolnir | Old Demon King | Champion Gundyr | Pontiff Sulyvahn | Abyss Watchers | Yhorm the Giant | Aldrich Devourer of Gods | Dancer of the Boreal Valley | Dragonslayer Armour | Lothric Younger Prince | Lorian Elder Prince | Ancient Wyvern | Nameless King | Storm Drake | Oceiros the Consumed King | Sister Friede | Father Ariandel | Demon Prince | Darkeater Midir | Slave Knight Gael | Soul of Cinder

Enemies Pontiff Knight | Fire Witch | Sulyvahn's Beast | Grand Archives Scholar | Lothric Knight | Darkwraith | Carthus Swordsman Skeleton | Tree Woman | Ravenous Crystal Lizard | Corvian Settler | Corvian Knight | Ringed Knight | Desert Pyromancer Zoey | Londor Pale Shade | Holy Knight Hodrick | Angel | Outrider Knight | Jailer | Grand Archives Scholar | Monstrosity of Sin

Groups/Ships/All Games Twin Princes | Nkstein | Ciartorias | Eygon x Irina | Four Knights of Gwyn | Crystal Lizard | Patches | Basilisk | Mimic | Skeleton | Velka Goddess of Sin

Others Dubious Grandma | Maiden of the Moon

DS Trivia

#dark souls #tag list

[ghoulsbeard]

Welcome to DADWC! Perhaps "Declaration" for any person(s) of your choice (but I'm thinking Dorian?)

thank you blue!!! :o) !! happy friday!

@dadrunkwriting

Thus far Dorian had kept his counsel to himself; endured the usual parade of corpses bearing swords, spewy wyverns, protective wards with opinions of their own-- but not a flooded fort, not with a rift in the water. Let Blackwall handle those; he seemed to enjoy being bashed on the head by demons.

“You won’t melt,” said the Iron Bull, mercilessly.

“The fen was worse,” said Mikal, frowning.

“My dear Inquisitor,” said Dorian. “I am not setting foot in this miserable, demon-infested heap of rubble until the river has gone down. It is tricky enough to cast spells in water without cooking us all to death, and now you’d like me to do it in a ruin? If you wanted to be buried alive, all you had to do was ask.”

“Bride save us. Dispense with the speeches,” said Vivienne. “We cannot cross the river until the bridge is mended. Shall we sit on our hands while demons swarm the Dirth?”

“Dorian,” Mikal began, warmly, “you could do me the honor of laying down a charm or so at the barracks gate--”

“As if I waded through miles of horrid fens only to desert you now!”

“That river isn’t going down anytime soon,” said the Iron Bull, with his eye to the flooded bank. “Short of some big spell.”

“No,” said Dorian and Vivienne together. He grunted in assent.

“Can we lure them out?” Mikal wondered. “Can I seal the rift in secret? Dorian! Can I borrow your little ring?”

“That’s worse,” Dorian protested, but Vivienne had beaten him; stooped down, and taken the Inquisitor’s gloved hand in her own, said quietly,

“-- my dear, never alone-- not while we travel together.” -- and the Inquisitor’s eyes turned soft and sweet as music.

“All right, all right,” Dorian grumped, to no one in particular, “I suppose the ring isn’t half bad, as a gambit. Bull, we’re scheming.”

“Finally!”

#microfic #dorian pavus #vivienne #mikal #the iron bull a little... #idk if i should tag him #thank you!

[vaya-writes]

The Wyvern's Bride - Part 3.6

When Adalyn gets sacrificed to the local wyvern, she’s a little annoyed and a lot terrified. Upon meeting the wyvern, she discovers that he’s not particularly interested in eating people, and mostly wants to be left alone. In a plot to save himself from the responsibilities his family keep pushing on him, Slate names Adalyn as his human Envoy, and tasks her with finding him a wife.

3000 words. Cis female human x Cis male wyvern (slow burn, arranged marriage, eventual smut). firefly-graphics did the divider.

Masterlist - Previous

No notable content warnings. Some mild descriptions of food. Enjoy another date, and pining getting worse and worse for Adalyn.

Despite Adalyn’s courage and resolve in pursuing Slate, it's hard to break from their old routine. Slate continues waking Adalyn before he leaves for work, bidding her gentle goodbyes. Adalyn throws herself into the kitchen, and immerses herself in gardening. During the evenings she’ll read, pouring over Rin’s treatise. Sometimes she even puts ideas to paper – crops and flowers she envisions planting if she had a place larger than the spire-side plateau.  

There are small changes. Ones that feel more like a result of their honest discussions, rather than the colours and perfumes that Adalyn starts to wear. Slate makes more of an effort to appear at meals. He rarely shows for breakfast, but he attends more dinners than he misses, and usually warns Adalyn in advance if he won’t be about to make it in the evening. 

Adalyn contents herself that Slate is talking to her. Sharing meals or conceding facts about himself and his family. Sometimes his smile is too practiced, and the conversations are too formal, or stiff, but Adalyn sees the effort he’s making. Hopes he’s just flustered when she presses close to his side or leans in to brush some dust from his shoulder. 

Almost a week passes. And while Slate appears rattled by her touches and is unable to meet her eye when she wears certain colours, no further steps are taken. Sharing the bed has been her only victory.  

Sometimes she despairs. Frets at the mirror too long or lingers in the main-way before bringing Slate his lunch. Questions herself. Wonders if she’s being too aggressive when his speech stalls. Feels rebuked when Slate says his goodbyes – sometimes in the middle of a conversation – to return to his work. Perhaps Slate is just... quirky. Socially haphazard. Shy. Or perhaps they’d never be anything more than friends.  

One night Slate is late to return to the Tower. He’d warned her about it. Told her not to wait up while he started hollowing out the next floor of her Spire. He’s tired; feet dragging and shoulders slumped as he trudges to the wash area. He hadn’t bothered rinsing before coming home. 

Adalyn watches from her spot in bed as he shucks off his shirt. It lands beside the laundry pile, a small puff of dust rising from it. She raises her brows, but Slate hasn’t looked her way. Hasn’t noticed she’s still awake.  

He turns to the balcony and carries in their reserved water, tucking the barrel against his hip in an impressive display of strength, only needing one hand to keep the water steady. His free hand goes to unlace his pants and he kicks his boots off as he walks. 

Adalyn’s face burns. Thankfully he steps behind the wooden partition before she can see any more of him. 

She rolls over. Listens to him pour the water and strip the rest of his clothes. She swallows, heart thumping. The expanse of Slate’s scaled back, the ridges of his spines, the scar over his heart; they’re absolutely burnt into her mind. When they’d met she’d been curious as to how far his scales extended. The unspoken question had finally been answered. 

Except now she can’t help but wonder what the rest of him looks like. If the scales extend to his legs. Across his hips. The colouration below- 

Adalyn bites down on her lip, scolding herself for the turn of thought. She does not need to be thinking about a naked Slate right now. Even if it’s hard to think elsewise with Slate undressed so close by. No. She does not need to indulge her imagination. 

She wonders if the scales of his back would feel different to the ones on his arms. How they’d feel flush against her skin. 

Adalyn groans and pulls a pillow over her face. Clenches her thighs together and brings her knees to her chest. It had been nearly three weeks since they’d been married, and the touch starvation has her feeling desperate. She’s used to the wide berth her neighbours had given her, but has always had privacy to take care of her needs. Without it, things are getting more and more frustrating. Being reminded that Slate is quite attractive is just another straw. 

When he climbs into bed she lies still, worried about what she might do if she allows herself to relax; to acknowledge the warmth beside her. As the night goes on her tension dissipates, and she goes slack, but Slate keeps weighing on her mind. The sudden upwelling of want doesn’t assuage with time.  

She sleeps poorly that night, gripped by vivid dreams and waking up with an ache she can’t quite placate. 

She’s been trying hard enough that she’ll readily admit she likes the wyvern. Romantically. That she wants to try something more with him. With the morning light she’s forced to admit that she might just want the rest of him too.  

Perhaps she should start pushing again. 

--- 

“How would you feel about another day trip?” 

Slate’s attention comes back to Adalyn. They’d been eating lunch in silence, lost in their own thoughts. He shrugs. “I’d love one. Did you have something in mind?” 

“I’ve never been to the Inland Sea.” 

His brow crinkles. “Why not? We could fly there in less than an hour.” 

Adalyn gives him a teasing grin. “Well, you’ve never offered to take me.” 

He rolls his eyes, before considering the details. “The y distil salt at Harrock. We could pick some up. And we could have fish for lunch. I could take you to the harbor and we could hire a boat? Or maybe just walk on the beach?” 

Adalyn pales. “I’m not too sure if I want a boat ride. But I’d love to see the beach. I’ve been told there’s an inordinate amount of sand. And that it smells completely different. I don’t get how a place can smell like salt, but I’d love to find out.” 

“We could go tomorrow?” 

Adalyn is delighted by the prospect. She gives him an easy, open smile. “I’d love to.” 

His returning smile is hesitant, but genuine. Then he runs his hand through his hair and drops his eyes. “I’ll look forward to it. But I’d better get back to work.” 

The dismissal makes her pout. Caught off guard by Slate’s hasty retreat, she doesn’t have time to formulate a smooth reply. Doesn’t know what to do to lure him back.  

Daring and clumsy, she grabs him by the hand. “See you at dinner?” 

He looks wide eyed for a moment, staring down at her before his face softens and he smiles again. “See you at dinner.” 

--- 

Adalyn looks over her collection with a frown. “How should I dress today?” She directs the question to Slate, sitting at his desk. 

“Something presentable and comfortable,” he shrugs. His focus is on a map. 

Adalyn considers some of the summer dresses. They’re shorter and easier to move in, if unseasonable. She spies a high waisted dress with a tie neck collar and bell sleeves. The pale blue colour would probably look nice against the ocean backdrop. Blue is also considered a somewhat risqué colour for most types of wyverns.  

She holds it up. “Maybe I’ll try a new one?”  

He’s silent and she glances to him, expecting him to be nose deep in his papers. But he’d heard her, and is staring at the dress, mouth open like he’d gone to say something and then lost his train of thought. 

She hides a smile, committing his expression to memory. “Is this alright?” 

“Uh,” he flounders for a moment. “It looks suitable.” 

She raises a brow. “I also enjoy looking nice.” 

He looks away, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. “It’d look nice on you too.” 

Adalyn grins and dresses for the day. In the privacy of the bathing area, she dabs some of Rin’s perfume onto her skin, to compound the effect. Before she steps out, she braids her hair back in preparation for the flight. 

Ready to leave, they linger at the balcony. Slate is barely able to look at Adalyn, glancing between her face, the dress, and his feet.  

“It’s going to be a long flight,” Slate musses his hair. “Are you ready?” 

Adalyn nods and steels her resolve as Slate picks her up and steps out to the balcony. This part of the flight is always the worst. When he swings over the balustrade and drops into the air, her muscles lock up, and it’s a fight not to scream. Only practice and begrudging trust make the ordeal any more bearable than it was the first time.  

When the chest behind her expands and hardens, and the shadows holding her morph into raptorial feet and scaled legs, Adalyn opens her eyes. Despite the bird-like shape to Slate’s legs, he has more range of motion, and manages to press Adalyn against his chest, rather than dangling her beneath him. She’s glad for it; the way Slate ducks and swerves around the Spires is enough to keep her tense, but she feels secure, held against him. 

They soar over the familiar sprawl of Clearwater Valley, the flight mostly in silence. Southward they continue, following the thin stream of water that gathers through the valley, growing in width and volume until it becomes a moderate river. Adalyn traces the blue line with her eyes, awed to see its path from the air.  

She barely has time to take in the delta. To examine the change in plant life and the colours beneath her, because suddenly ahead is the Inland Sea. It’s silvery blue expanse churns beside them, and Adalyn is transfixed at the sight. It stretches to the horizon, and Adalyn can’t help but wonder at its real extent.  

The follow the coast eastward until a settlement comes into view; a town of moderate size sitting on the water’s edge. White sailed ships sit in its harbor, and the buildings back up against the encroaching forest, flush against the green. As they decrease altitude, Adalyn picks out the details; the main road bisecting the town, the square on the ocean side, the carts and tiled roofs.  

Slate lands them outside of Harrock before shifting into his human form. Once on the ground the town sits in the distance, a moderate walk along the beach from them.  

Warmed by the morning sun, the pair strip off their shoes and take their time walking the beach. Adalyn marvels at the feeling of wet sand beneath her feet, and stares wide eyed at the occasional crustacean scurrying along the shore. Slate points out various sea birds, molluscs, and shells, and shows Adalyn how to dig for pipis. She watches him remove his jacket and roll his sleeves up, eying the fit of his vest appreciatively as he bends to claw at the sand with his bare hands. Sometime during her ogling she’s struck with the mundanity of the moment and has to cover a smile.  

As they walk he talks about different kinds of fishing; the tools involved and where each method is best used. Adalyn listens with her usual interest. His lilt is off; more rushed than usual, as if Slate making a larger effort to fill the silence. 

They make their way towards Harrock, climbing off the beach to walk in the shade. It’s unseasonably warm, and Adalyn feels flush. Slate looks it too, but that might be his nerves. 

By the time they reach town Adalyn has grown irritated by the sand between her toes. She has to stop to dust it off the best she can with a stocking, before putting her boots back on.  

At the main gate they are met by a pair of guards, hopping nervously from foot to foot. They wave the couple in with hardly a glance, eyes glued to the sky. 

When they pass out of earshot she turns to Slate. “Perhaps we should wait until after sundown to leave.” 

He glances at her, before looking away suddenly, eyeing his shoes. There’s an idle frown on his face. “You’d be cold on the flight back.” 

She bumps him with her shoulder. “Maybe my rich husband could buy me a coat.” 

He snorts, before hesitantly offering his elbow. He stands stiffly, none of his usual ease in sight, clueing Adalyn in to just how much of an effect the dress and perfume are having on him. 

She links her arm with his – heart fluttering a little with the gesture – and allows Slate to show her the sights. Even if he barely looks at her for more than a moment, he still makes for an excellent tour guide.  

They start with Northside, the district that backs into the forest. They browse the market (and indeed pick up a coat) before crossing the main thoroughfare into Portside. During the afternoon they stop for lunch, eating a share of baked fish and an assortment of charred clams and mussels. 

Continuing their leisurely meander, they pause at the edge of the harbour, where Adalyn’s feet take root before she can step onto the weathered planks of a pier. 

“We still have time for a sail?” 

Adalyn shakes her head, the thought of open water making her stomach clench. “Not right now.” 

Slate takes in her stance, worry flitting across his features, before searching the area. He gestures to a bench. “We could look at the boats from there instead?” 

Adalyn agrees, following him to the seat. Once settled Slate points out the different vessels, explaining their function and makeup, though admitting his knowledge of water faring is somewhat rudimentary. Adalyn listens avidly until that statement. “Isn’t Rendcliff by the sea?” 

His cheeks darken. “I can’t know everything, Adalyn.” 

The couple drift into silence as the sun sets. 

Slate glances at her. “Are you afraid of water?” 

She bites down on her lip. Is too ashamed to meet his eyes. “Yeah.” 

His tone becomes gentle. He inches closer and his fingers brush against hers. “Did something happen?” 

She shakes her head. Sighs. “No. No. I just never learned to swim. I don’t like the idea of being in water too deep to stand in.” 

His hand fits over hers and squeezes. “No one could teach you?” 

“There was no place to teach me. Only fools swim in the Red River. By the time I moved to the Valley I was too embarrassed to learn.” 

He considers. “I don’t think there’s anything to be embarrassed about. Rin didn’t know how to swim when I met her. And she’s centuries older than I.” 

“Hm.” 

They sit in silence again until it grows dark. They stand in unison and walk back to the gate, side by side. 

“I could teach you?” 

Adalyn turns sharply, but he’s not looking her way.  

He hastens to add, “I mean, if you wanted. I helped Rin learn too.” 

“I’ll think about it,” she mutters, finished with the subject.  

He seems to sense her recusal, and lets it go. “Okay.”  

--- 

Slate was right, and the flight back is positively frigid. She’s sure she’d freeze if it weren’t for the warmth at her back and her new coat. The Autumn chill is amplified by the height and wind, and by the time they return to the Tower Adalyn is stiff, sore, and cold to the touch. 

When Slate lands them on the balcony, he takes note, frowning down at her. “I’ll heat the water. You should take a bath.” 

She lets him fuss before stripping off her layers and relaxing in the tub. When she feels sufficiently defrosted and decompressed she dries and pauses in front of the wardrobe, wondering if she should pull out more stops and wear something scandalous.  

She muses, trying to get a feel for Slate’s mood while she stares at her options. “Did you enjoy today?” 

“It was nice taking a break from work,” he says from the table.  

Adalyn tries not to roll her eyes at the standard politeness. Picks her next words carefully, probing for a reaction. “I enjoyed spending the day with you.” 

There’s a grunt of acknowledgement from the other side of the screen. 

She scowls. It’s damn near impossible to gauge his feelings towards her sometimes. It irritates her enough that she decides to be bold, dressing in one of the more daring pieces. It stops just short of her knees and is cut low at her back, in a glossy material that feels nice on her skin.  

Slate straightens from his slump when Adalyn steps out from behind the partition. He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, and hesitates, averting his eyes. “I thought humans got cold easily,” he finally says. 

She joins him at the table. He’d made tea. Daring, she shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “You can warm me up in bed.” 

She takes a sip of her drink and watches him carefully. The fire burns low, and it’s hard to see the extent of her damage, but Slate’s face is definitely greener than usual.  

When he doesn’t make any further comment or move, Adalyn tries not to grow restless. She’s not sure what else she can do to make Slate act.  

When she finishes her drink she climbs into bed. Slate’s not wrong, and she is cold. He washes the sand from the day away before joining her. It doesn’t help, as he lies on the edge of the bed, far away from her. 

Adalyn uses the pillow to muffle her sigh. She still has no idea what Slate is thinking. Is she just embarrassing herself when she dresses up? He’s noticing her. He’s reacting. But he’s still distancing himself. Still not making a move. What more does she need to do? 

She’d told him to tell her if she pushed too hard. But she’s still filled with doubt. Aren’t wyverns supposed to be way less modest than humans? Is he trying to let her down gently and dissuade her? 

She resists the urge to groan into her pillow. The logical thing would be to just... ask. To reach out and say ‘do you find me attractive?’ Or ‘do you like the nightgown?’  

But what if he said no? 

The thought has her rolling over and curling into a ball. If he doesn't want her... she doesn’t want to hear his reply. Doesn’t want to think about how that conversation would go. 

Yes. The sensible thing would be to ask.  

But tonight she'll keep defying sense.  

Next

#the wyvern's bride #vaya writes #monster romance #tetaro #exophilia #dragons #wyverns #this was easy to do #but hard to post #bleh #fucking spice coming up next though so stay tuned

[flydotnet]

Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you send me requests according to this marvelous card!

(Red cross is the completed prompt, character headshots are prompts I’ve already filled. I don’t have any request left, so feel free to send in suggestions for this card!).

But I will be fine. I must be.

Unofficial Gay Fates has made me super partial to both Scarlet and ships with Scarlet. I'm a Ryoma/Scarlet girly too, but also, the Scarlet-Xander support chain was too good for me not to get into the trenches and write something for it too. I may've read the official Scarlet/Chevois lore doc a little too many times compared to how faithful to UGF my Scarlet ended up being? Oh well. You never get anywhere if you never try! I don't like how Revelation handled... well, most things, and the thing with Valla is stoopid as it's written there, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy playing with a zombie country of sort. There's a kind of horror to it and I had to set a mood y'know?the number of times I had "Deessu. Kurimuzon." in my head while writing this fic is obscenely high.

-----

Bride of Crimson

Summary: Guilt will come later - for now, Scarlet needs to escort a prince to safety.

Fandom: Fire Emblem Fates (Revelation route) Ship: Pre-S-Support Scarlet/Xander

Wordcount: words

Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo

AO3 version.

------

Vallites don’t bleed.

That’s because they don’t have a soul anymore, Scarlet has been told. They’re corpses haunted by the mindless desire to do something. Ryo has compared them to a lizard’s tail once cut from its body, trembling as if alive yet dead all the same; and she didn’t really question it. If Ryo believed Corrin, then she had no reason to suspect anything either: Ryo knew what he was doing, then why would she go against him? As far as she was concerned, nothing had contradicted what his sister had said.

 Vallites don’t bleed, which makes it oh so much more noticeable when it’s her comrades who do. It smears on the fluorescent grass of Valla and it smells like iron – not the sort that results from weapons clashing against each other, but that which has kept her on alert for so long, back in Cheve. It looks out of place right when she thought she had finally gotten used to bloodshed.

Scarlet has been through worse, though. It takes a special kind of guts to rise against a kingdom so much bigger than your country, whose nobles seem so adamant to hurt people they can’t see while they laze around and live in luxury (and someone may’ve helped with her perception of that, but one man can’t change an entire life experience of conclusions), but it’s this special kind that’s now allowing her to cut through ghosts that play pretend with everyone’s emotions and distress alike.

 A strong, belting voice screams from behind her, prompting her to briefly turn around.

“Scarlet, look out!”

She barely has the time to crouch before a sword dark as the night pierces through a Faceless’ chest. If the voice wasn’t a giveaway, then the weapon alone would be a dead seller for the ages.

“Xander?!”

He walks his horse to her, Siegfried still in hand. (A beautiful weapon, if sinister… and plain. Unfortunately, her offer to spruce it up has already been turned down).

“Are you hurt?”

“No, no I’m not, in no small part thanks to ya.” She shines him a smile.

“Very well,” he replies with stiff shoulders and a smirk just as uncomfortable to look at. “Where’s your wyvern?”

“Errrh… Vaida got injured earlier, so I’m lettin’ her a nice rest back at camp! Can’t let my ride get worse under my watch!”

“I see. I trust you can handle yourself on your own, right?”

“Of course! Dun take me for a fragile lil’ flower, Dandy-Lion!”

He blushes like a tulip at the remark, “p-please keep this silly nickname off the—”

Xander stops dead in his tracks, eyes opening wide.

“Dan…”

“Get down!”

 A hand axe cuts through the air, flirting so close to her pauldron that it tears it off from her, taking it in its course.

 Once the initial shock passes, she clutches her own axe to her and swings it at the culprit – some Vallite soldier with empty sockets for eyes, in a vague human shape, glaring at her with an expression just as soulless. Yep, no sympathy to be found here.

She slashes it in a single blow and doesn’t bother with delicacy, almost cutting the creature in two clean halves, looking around just enough to tell Ryo and his little brother have taken care of their left flank and Corrin and company the right one. The battle’s almost over, so she gets back up, straps her axe back onto her. She’ll polish it once they have downtime again.

 With an excited step, Scarlet turns around again.

“Good job spotting that, Dandy…”

A black horse is staring back at her with a nervous breath.

“…Lion…?”

It happens to have no rider.

 Urgency hurries through Scarlet’s every fibre, until she finally thinks about checking the ground. When she does, her jaw almost drops, but she clenches her teeth and runs to a crumpled body on the ground. Ignoring every feature, she puts her hand in front of the person’s nose and two fingers on their neck – air, a pulse, a groan of pain.

Good, he’s still alive (she doesn’t quite know what she’d have done if he hadn’t been). Now, for how long, she doesn’t know, and she doesn’t wish to find out. Time to bring him to safety and have someone who knows their way around with a staff do their magic.

 As delicately as she can, she picks Xander up in her arms as if carrying a bride. The irony isn’t lost on her, as removed as it is from the situation: she renounced to getting wed when she picked up a banner and threw her life into fighting for her land, yet there she is, carrying him like she’d have expected to be, when she was a little girl and she was allowed to dream.

Oh, but that was so long ago, she doesn’t know what she’s thinking about it. It’s not like she’d have looked as limp as Xander is right now, breathing almost impossible to see with how small the movement of his chest is. His skin is pale, the rings under his eyes darker than Siegfried, his limbs limp and fingers loose. In ways, she’s carrying a shadow, in others, a statue. In either case, her fingers feel like they could break something.

 Drops dripple down her shoes as she walks. The colour of her armour makes it hard to tell what it is, but the smell of iron never mistakes her. Xander’s would make it just as difficult, but whatever slashed him pierced through what was where, leaving skin and muscle naked for all to see and blood – a river of it, in fact, trailing behind them, and she wishes she could run.

The battlefield seems bigger than it was before and how does she regret not having Vaida by her side right about now. Xander’s horse can’t help them now, not with the sort of injury he has. For all she knows, it’d just make the blood loss happen faster – and gods, he’s already pale as is. Come to think of it, maybe his pallor never reminded her of the sheltered life she imagined the Nohr royals to have…

 A feeble voice calls her back to the sound of her footsteps crunching dying grass.

“Scar…”

“Keep your strength to yourself… Dandy-Lion.”

To her surprise, she sees him smile – one as delicate as his breath. It’s good enough, she thinks.

“I’m not too heavy, am I…?”

On second thought…

“You’re lighter than I expected, honestly.” She snickers. “Heh, if I had been told the High Prince of Nohr would worry about that on his deathbed, I wouldn’t have believed it, yet here we are!”

She hopes that, if he can focus on something else…

“I can’t be too worried if it’s you, can I…?”

Her face burns.

“What’s that s’pposed to mean?!” She snorts and chuckles. “Don’t make me laugh like that, there may still be enemies ‘round!”

Huh, his smile is loopy…

“Your presence… is reassuring…”

…and his cough isn’t getting better.

“What the…”

There is a thin trail of blood going down his lips and chin. Oh no.

“Scarlet, you’re…”

The good thing to do would be to make him spare his energy, but… despite it all, his voice…

“Shut up, I’m bringing you to a healer! You can tell me all ’bout it later!”

 She quickens her pace, despite the soreness in her legs and the way carrying someone tugs at her arms. Her pains are a minor thing compared to the man bleeding to death drop by drop in her embrace; and yes, she can’t call it anything else. Not when he calls her presence reassuring, not when she sees the way he makes her feel.

She clutches him closer to her, letting rust dripple down her breastplate, uncaring for any sort of aesthetic. Of course, this is a battlefield, and there’ll never be enough gemstones to make death and blood beautiful… but this is different, Scarlet finds. Everything around her is crimson, now, from the air she breathes to the skin she feels under soaked cloth.

If she could, she’d leave a peck on the forehead of a man who’s absolutely making it out of here.

 The rest of the road back to camp is long and silent. Xander’s breathing is a fragile thing, or so it feels, and he doesn’t rouse back to wakefulness. She regrets telling him to shut it, now, but if it’s so he can get some rest… then so be it.

She wonders what the scar she’s left him looks like – half out of pride, half out of shame… and a little bit of general curiosity. It’s impossible for her to tell what part of his silhouette is armour and what isn’t, sometimes, and she blames it on being starstruck.

…oh, she never even thought of Ryoma like that.

 The camp is now in view, with its white smoke and warm banners.

“Hey, Dandy-Lion…”

“Hmm…?”

“Is there someone you’re coming back to once this war’s over?”

He spits out some blood on the side. It’d have disgusted many, she supposes, but she appreciates the eternal reminder that, for all of his royal-ness, Dandy-Lion’s still a mortal at the end of the day. Makes him more approachable, more… lovable? (Oh gods).

“You mean… as a spouse…?”

“Yeah. So?”

“No… I cannot see myself take a wife… and neglect her as my father has…”

“You’re not your dad, ya big doofus. Pretty sure we’ve gone over that already.”

She isn’t quite sure what she expected he’d reply.

“Has someone… ever told you your honesty was refreshing…?”

She chuckles. For all of his princely ways, he isn’t above being embarrassingly adorable.

“Yes, you, that other time.”

“And you…?”

“Yeah?”

“Is someone… waiting for you back in Cheve…?”

She chuckles. Had the man she’s carrying in her arms the High Prince of Nohr, she’d have seen a reciprocal response there.

“Not in that way, no.”

“I see…”

His head lulls against her breastplate.

“You’ll be okay, Dandy-Lion. Just ya wait.”

“Oh, I know, Scarlet, I know…”

 She quickens her pace one last time, heart jumping up and down.

Xander lifts his head, painfully slowly, grunting under his breath. Aww…

“The camp’s not far. You’ll be fine.” It’s a little hard to believe when you see him bleeding, white like a sheet and eyes foggy, but if she isn’t here to believe in his recovery, then who will? “Sorry, by the way. If I hadn’t lost focus…”

“Peace, Scarlet… An injury is better than a death…”

“That’s true…”

“Isn’t it funny?”

“What would be?”

“That this is the second time you’re carrying me to safety…”

“Does the first time count, when it was just fixing my own mistake?”

He coughs when he chuckles with her, but he’s still with her.

“I’d say so…”

“Then guess it counts!”

 She steps into camp and, as gently as she can, gives her charge to a worried Camilla of Nohr, who, not unlike her, can carry Xander without grunting (gods, what little firecracker said really holds water). The horse, who she abandoned without meaning to, follows Camilla inside the camp, as diligently as it behaved when it was mounted.

Speaking of mounts, she’s missed Vaida very much. Maybe she can pay a visit to Dandy-Lion later, once she’s had a good conversation with her trusted wyvern about what to do when you seem to have a thing for the crown prince of the kingdom you’ve spent most of your life fighting against… oh, and once Dandy-Lion isn’t covered in crimson anymore. It’s not because beauty is never truly tarnished that she doesn’t want to see him soaked in his own blood.

She should start with cleaning her armour and weapons, actually… Blood doesn’t suit them either.

 It suits nobody, really.

#bad things happen bingo #fire emblem #fire emblem fates #fe14 #fe xander #fe scarlet #bridal carry #bthb

[fromtheboundlesssea]

If Syrax is possibly the one who kills Vhagar, then maybe after that people start calling her “ The Queen Slayer” , given she would have killed current holder of title of “ Queen of All Dragons”. Same could apply if Syrax possibly takes down Meleys ( Red Queen). Again suggestion and of course don’t know what you have planned.

Possible titles of Syrax to gain, especially during the Dance and decades after : The Golden Mother, Queen Slayer ( If she kills either Meleys or Vhagar), Wyvern of War, Usuper of Dragons ( if she kills and technically “dethrones” Vhagar, as Queen of All Dragons), The Red Dragon’s ( Res King) Golden Bride.

We shall see.

#keep the asks coming #neither gods nor men #a dance of songs

[nagaficat]

Wanted plots for everyone!

Deirdre:

- Lance: ohhhh she would be SO on board for this! Plus lance point for my bride class. It's perfect.

- Bow: weird forest lady wouldn't take issue without proper silverware. Maybe someone too proper sees her slurping her soup like a freak and drags her to play the game? Empresses don't use their hands, Deirdre.

- Riding: kids and animals! Also like look at Deirdre and tell me she's not the type of maiden a unicorn would befriend.

Ethlyn:

- Riding: Ethlyn's horse wears a lil unicorn horn so like she would be so jazzed to see a real one. And if there are missing kids the mom instinct will turn on. I think it would be cool to do something darker with this like there isn't a unicorn it's really a creep and we gotta save these kiddos.

- Faith: Eth has a competitive streak and would definitely be all about the challenge. Knowing the backstory about mages who can ignore terrain would definitely perk her ears up too. This woman hates sand more than Anakin Skywalker.

Altena:

- Armor: Altena would be sexy with a shield I think. Sreng is a cold desert but it would still awaken some long repressed childhood trauma and I think that would be fun.

- Any: This woman does not know how to date. And she's a wyvern rider she's not exactly trained in subtlety either. Surely nothing could go wrong!

#toa open

[occultusrp]

NETHERBRIDGE, OCTOBER 3RD, 1813.  2:12 pm. THE HOLY SANCTUM.

Excitement and loud, jovial murmur pulsed through the Holy Sanctum as the attendees gathered for the most prestigious wedding Netherbridge has seen in decades. Everyone chatted, wide smiles curling the mouths of even the gloomiest of persons - who could ever stay indifferent to such a wonderful, happy occasion? Even the stoic men smiled and laughed with their wives, many of them reminiscing on their own weddings, years and years ago. DANDELION SPHINX stood at the altar, watching his flock with a slight smile, his wife HEMLOCK SIREN sitting in the front row, glazing from her husband to JESSAMINE DAEMON, DRAGONBLOOD CETUS and the rest of the CROWLEY family, standing closely to their patriarch. In the first row sat BELLADONNA NYMPH with CALLA CENTAUR, ORCHID BANSHEE, IRIS VAMPIRE, PEONY WEREWOLF and ACONITUM FURY. The people were on their best behaviour, putting aside their private affairs to avoid spoiling such a grand occasion.

Soft and bubbly chatter soon turned into fidgeting which, ultimately, turned into anxious glances cast towards the open gates of the Holy Sanctum. Discomfort pulses through the crowd, grasping each and every person’s heart. VIOLET GORGON was the first to notice something amiss, a tension in the air that seems sickeningly familiar to something alluding even the oldest of members’ memory. IRIS VAMPIRE knows the feeling way too well, but they refuse to see the eerie resemblance. 

Minutes tick and tick, and the wedding that has been scheduled for 1:30 pm has been half an hour late now. JESSAMINE DAEMON and DRAGONBLOOD CETUS look at each other, both with a question mark lighting the depths of their eyes - even DANDELION SPHINX seems at an edge, glancing at HEMLOCK SIREN. Minutes keep ticking and when the belltower strikes 2:00 pm sharp, everyone falls dead silent. Waiting. Listening. 

But, even the iron cast bell falls silent after a minute and the silence now seems to echo around the Holy Sanctum. No one dares to speak, or breathe, but AZALEA WYVERN is the one who ultimately breaks the silence. “I do not think they are coming.” he speaks and LAVENDER ARACHNE agrees and calls for a search party. Murmur courses through the room before DATURA UNICORN repeats her brother’s words louder ; “As LAVENDER ARACHNE wisely noticed, shall we search for them? Perhaps they’ve lost track of time.” 

The CROWLEY, BLACKWOOD and CLARE families stand in unison, prompting the rest of the guests to divide and search for THE BRIDE and THE GROOM, and with some intervention from DANDELION SPHINX and VIOLET GORGON, they agree to pair into groups ; one group who will follow JESSAMINE DAEMON and hunt for THE BRIDE and the other will follow the CROWLEYS and look for THE GROOM. They’ve agreed to meet in the Holy Sanctum in two hours time with or without the couple.

EVENT DETAILS:

WELCOME to our first and opening event! This is a PART ONE of our two part event. IN GAME, part one lasts for TWO HOURS so until 4:12pm the same day. OOC. the event will last from TODAY, OCTOBER 1ST, until FRIDAY, 15TH. which gives both our current and future members enough time to plot and interact on dash. As stated in the event, the participants will originally divide into TWO GROUPS following JESSAMINE DAEMON and DRAGONBLOOD CETUS, however!! participants are allowed to divert from their original group and pair off with another character and search in another direction. GROUP ONE led by JESSAMINE DEAMON:

IRIS VAMPIRE

BELLADONNA NYMPH

PEONY WEREWOLF

ACONITUM FURY

DANDELION SPHINX

VIOLET GORGON

AZALEA WYVERN

ROSE HARPY

GROUP TWO led by DRAGONBLOOD CETUS:

TULIP CHIMAERA

CALLA CENTAUR

ORCHID BANSHEE

LAVENDER ARACHNE

OLEANDER PEGASUS

DATURA UNICORN

HEMLOCK SIREN

YARROW HYDRA

We wish you all good luck and happy writing for the event. May the search party begin!

#event #chapters #chapter one. #literate rp #skeleton rp #regency rp #supernatural rp #period rp #mystery rp #horror rp #original rp #lsrp #new rp #occultusevent

[vaya-mernda]

Tagged by @marbles-everywhere

Favourite colour: I like greens and purples. I’m a fan of black and dark greys too.

Currently reading: no books. Lots of fics online and webcomics though. Everything I’m reading is still updating.

Last song: in the car? Sudden Sky. I’ve got a crown the empire album in. At home? I’ve got a playlist of my favourite The Amazing Devil songs I’ve been listening to on repeat.

Last TV show: I just finished rewatching the good place. I’m currently watching Puppycat and Bee.

Sweet/savoury/spicy: Sweet, hands down.

Current Project: writing three fics. The Wyvern’s Bride. Willing Participant. And an unnamed WIP about a naga lord and one of his servants.

Tagging: @sio-writes , @lilkrissmuffet , and @that-one-ace-basterd

#vaya speaks #tag challenges

[guilty-pleasure-writings]

I just read all of your The Wyvern's Bride chapters throughout the day, it was so good!!!! Can't wait for more whenever you get the chance. Also the Strade series is A+ 💖

I’m a happy clam reading this. Absolutely exuberant and content at the same time. Thank you non 🥹

#guilty replies #guilty’s compliments