TheWaffleBat
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V had never had charisma, and he didn't even have a good face to make up for it. Plain and weather beaten like the bare metal of a sandblasted car, stripped of paint, he cut a humbler figure than Jackie; his dark hair shorn evenly and his scruff of a beard kept short, the clean lines of cybernetics cutting across his cheeks and up through his eyes stark against the ragged scar slashing his face from brow to jaw. Unremarkable, really, except for the hungry, lean frame of a nomad, wiry in a way that belied his real strength - as sullen and mean-looking as the coyotes, face long and narrow and hollow-cheeked, brows low over his eyes and mouth thin. Like any second he'd bare teeth and bite.
Jackie strode ever onwards with a confidence in himself and a certainty that the future he dreamed of would come to pass that was enthralling, and V followed by his side and a half-step behind like a scowling ghost.
V holds his friend close, and the reason he left his family even closer. But somehow between Jackie's friendship and V's death, they come together.
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"The fifth and final dragon!" Cried the herald. "A she dragon gifted by Eyvind, High King of Daganheim, raised in the northern Crags where storms rage without rest! Her birthplace is hard and unforgiving, and she is equally as fierce."
Sigi leaned forward with a gasp, straining to see deeper into the passage leading deep underground as its portcullis opened once more. "Ohh, Florian told me about her," She breathed, eyes wide and bright. The oily squirming in Joran's throat writhed again, a tightening knot - his heartbeat drummed too loudly in his ears, slightly out of time with itself. "She'll tolerate the Keepers, he said, but she's refused everyone presented to her and no one knows why - he said she nearly killed a candidate a few years ago."
"Madness," Muttered their father once more, but his gaze was as rapt on the sands as everyone else's.
Sigilind is a wanderer, a warrior, a restless soul eager to leave work in her father's forge behind; her quiet brother Joran is not. But there is more to a dragon's choice than a warrior's strength.
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He’d split a rock on his head as a child. He’d ripped a nadder’s head from its shoulders as a baby. He’d been made chief when his father died to dragons, and as chief he’d watched his Valka miscarry for years only to be snatched away by dragons from their only surviving child; and, nearing what should have been the end of his time as chief, his heir and son had gone missing, probably because of dragons too. And he’d survived that. The people of Berk were tough, worn and weathered and rooted down into the earth like the mountain against whose base they had settled.
But Stoick wasn’t so certain anymore that they could survive much longer. Hiccup was gone, but the village still skirted disaster; Astrid was his heir, but the Berk she was inheriting was char and charcoal.
After Hiccup went missing Stoick's certainty in victory against dragons disappeared too. A mysterious Dragon Master offers hope, but hope is a man with a Night Fury for a shadow and a power that brought the tyrant who last bore that title to his knees.
Series
- Part 1 of Forced to Dream
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Ghosts and Devils Come A'calling by TheWaffleBat
Fandoms: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
04 May 2024
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The fear began to swell, pressing up against the base of Eret’s skull. The smell of smoke drifted on the chilled breeze, acrid and sharp. Blood began roaring in his ears, like the flames that consumed Drago’s ships - Eret’s breath faltered in his chest, a phantom press and pressure of heat. The man nodded slowly, mostly to himself.
Eret clenched his hands into fists against the tremble in them, forcing his breaths in shallow gulps and long, thin gusts. “There’s a rider here?” He said tightly, almost normally.
“Aye,” Said the man, low and hushed. “That ruin there, against the wall? Used to be a market hall in days gone by. Dragon trappers from all over the world came ‘ere to trade; more coin passed hands in them walls‘n almost anywhere else in the world. Not even kings had the gold we saw in there. After a gronckle broke my leg I was no use for trappin’, so I worked the trade routes. I was there in that hall when that one came.”
Eret has given up dragon trapping. But dragon riders still haunt him, even outside the archipelago.
Series
- Part 2 of Forced to Dream
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These Worn Out Souls by TheWaffleBat
Fandoms: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild/Tears of the Kingdom
29 Sep 2023
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Days blurred into weeks. The world overhead had changed while Zelda stared past the ground into greater depths deep below the earth. Chasms and caves and islands in the sky, ruins older than Hyrule falling across her kingdom and strange beasts no one had ever known crawled out of hiding. The Zelda of months gone would have leapt at all the new discoveries waiting for her. Her ravenous curiosity clawed at the weight settled over Zelda’s thoughts even now, but she had little room left in her head to care.
Still. Still, Hyrule needed her. The world was ending all over again and Link was gone, but Zelda was a princess still; the goddess’ power hummed in her blood. This was not the first time she’d shouldered the burden of the apocalypse on her own, and she doubted, now, that it would be the last.
Zelda isn't unfamiliar with losing Link; to death from a Guardian's beam, to amnesia from his resurrection, and now to the darkness below Hyrule Castle. But Link may be closer, and further away, than ever before.
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Kassandra, and the only parents to really love her.
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Link, and his grief for the Champions as he remembers them.
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Summary
Hans Capon and Henry of Skalitz fall in love without knowing that it's love.
To quote "The Great Escape" by Woodkid, men are meant to be more than the shadows of each other.
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Bookmarked by TheWaffleBat
28 May 2025
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There’s no flattering way to mention that there are times that it feels like there is something rotten beneath his skin, that the only way to get it out would be to peel it off.
So he doesn’t.Henry doesn't have the words for why his nightmares are as often about sex as they are about bloody battles, or why dancing with pretty girls sometimes makes him feel like he's dying. And if he doesn't understand it himself, how can he possibly expect anyone else to?
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Five times Henry doesn't understand that what Doubravka did to him was wrong, and one time Hans helps him realise it was.Series
- Part 1 of A Garden for Herbs
Bookmarked by TheWaffleBat
15 May 2025
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"Are you cold?" Henry asked.
Without armor, in hose and gambeson, he was still an imposing figure: tall and broad, hands stained with dirt and blood, jaw stubbornly stiff. His bare feet were a shock of white in the dirt. He held his helm with both hands, embracing the metal into his belly. His hair was damp with sweat. There was another string of bruises on his throat, shaped like two wide thumbs.
Hans looked away. The tunic around Henry's knee had darkened. Blood was trickling into the dirt.
Hans kills a man, prepares for a wedding, and tries to do at least one thing right.
(Or: five times Hans and Henry didn't share a bed, and one time they did.)
Bookmarked by TheWaffleBat
06 May 2025
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Bookmarked by TheWaffleBat
03 May 2025
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Summary
Henry supposes he doesn't like - that.
Series
- Part 2 of Clemency
Bookmarked by TheWaffleBat
01 May 2025