Dragon Prince Writings

Unfortunately the link works, tumblr mobile is just a very fickle beast for what it lets you click through (pages vs posts vs searches, etc). The only other thing I can think to do is post the rules themselves and link to that post--I’ll probably do that if it becomes an issue with others.

In the meantime however, feel free to send your request in regardless! I’m quite laid-back as a writer. Perhaps to put it short:

I’ll write any character

I’ll write fluff, angst, smut or whatnot (though no explicit content with characters under the age of 18)

I write headcanons, drabbles and fics

The only themes or topics I won’t write include abuse, rape, torture, murder, suicide or violence (if anything irks me I’ll let you know, YKINMK)

Requests are always open, but that doesn’t guarantee I’ll get to them in any specific timeline since I fill them for free

It’s certainly not a bother! Anything to make things more accessible to mobile users is important to me c:

Thank you! :D 

One of the things that Aaravos takes the most delight in when interacting with another person, particularly his love interests, is being able to see their smallest tells. There’s only so much that mere words can say and so very many things that they can hide--nonverbal cues are a layer of communication all in themselves and he is quite a master at reading them, so he likes to be as physically close as possible.

The subtle shift of weight, the parting of lips, the expanding of pupils or even the softest gasp of breath when he towers over you, his voice a tantalizing song of power and intrigue. He likes to see everything and wants it all to himself, possessive in a way only one can be after being trapped in a mirror for a countless number of years and isolated from another person.

Lies are hard to tell when someone is so close, close enough to read every twitch and feel every shift of motion. It’s harder still when his hands are on your waist and his eyes are on you, taking in every detail with a curiosity some people might even find overbearing or smothering--but Aaravos is simply curious, simply likes to know in word and gesture what you feel for him.

That really is simultaneously the cutest and saddest thing I’ve heard for Aaravos and the reader how dare you make me feel such conflicting emotions at once.

Imagine him being able to great you every morning and bid you sweet dreams every night, awake until after you fall asleep and before you even open your eyes to the morning sun. He’s even taken to moving the mirror on his end closer to his reading desk, if only so he can occupy himself while still being able to keep an eye on you--when you’re in the room, of course.

He listens quite avidly to anything you care to tell him and, honestly, you begin to wonder if that is one of the few entertainments he’s afforded outside of his seemingly endless array of books. Anything you’re willing to tell him, he’s interested in--the daily happenings of your personal life, the goings-on of the kingdoms, the change in even the weather. The world for him is stagnant, unchanging and lifeless on his side of the mirror, so it’s a delight to hear just about anything you care to tell him on your side.

How may I serve you?

Those words are powerful, a leash, a reign in which you can pull in whatever direction you desire. They’re certainly not without consequence of misuse, of course, as they slip from the lips of an eons-old mage who could probably end your life with but a blink if he so chose.

But no.

He kneels before you, head resting against one of your knees and his eyes half-lidded in something that runs deeper than simple lust. It’s heavy, so thick that it makes the air hard to breathe (or maybe that’s simply the awe you feel in looking at him like this). You card the fingers of one hand carefully through Aaravos’ long, silvery hair, idly wondering if it’s comparable to silk or satin in how soft it feels against your skin.

There’s so many layers to the moment, each deserving to be observed and enjoyed to the fullest. The way Aaravos feels against your hand, the way he presses, nuzzles needily against your knee or even how you can feel the heat of his arousal jutting perversely so against your shin with his legs folded beneath him on either side.

The elf himself seems at a loss for words but certainly not for sounds. He purrs in delight with each scratch of your fingers against his scalp, and shivers every time your nails gently catch at the base of his horns.

He moans when you inch your leg forward, pressing it against his arousal.

He doesn’t ask for anything, but his desires are powerful even if unspoken. His body glimmers and glows like the night sky with every passing moment, leaving you in equal parts awed and proud of the power you hold over him, the power he seems so willing to give to you (just you) so he can be vulnerable in this soft, intimate moment.

It would be so easy to guide Aaravos’ face forward, press his soft lips and sinful expression between your legs with hands gripped hard and unyielding over his horns–you doubt not even a single word would need to leave your mouth for him to know exactly what to do. It would be so easy to push your leg forward and command him to grind his hips against it, make him reach the edge by nothing more than the privilege to use a piece of your body like an animal might.

It would be so easy to do a lot of things, and Aaravos is plenty wanting, needing to do every last one of them for you.

“Runaaravos,” you try the word on your tongue, carefully sliding the whetstone up the blade of a curved short sword. “Runa...vos?”

You feel Runaan’s curiosity before he even speaks, gaze soft from across the space of your chairs.

“What word are you trying to conjure?”

You stare down the blade for a moment before answering him, feeling pleased at the lack of scratches against the metal.

“I was just thinking that, if we put our names together, it would sound pretty cool--Runa, Runaan, Aaravos?”

“I see.” 

Your partner’s tone is neither disinterested or annoyed. He moves his hands with a quickness over the blade over his knees, experience and practice distinct in the way he almost doesn’t even have to look down to make sure he’s getting the right angle or pressure.

“....what possibilities have you come up with then?”

“Oh, just a few,” you say, dropping the sword from your eyes so you can spare a glance to him, then over to Aaravos who is merely sitting in the corner reading through one of his books. “There’s Runavos, then Runaavos--two a’s in the middle--and then the outlier Aaraanaaan.”

“That’s,” Runaan blinked, quirking one of his brows. “That’s a lot of a’s.”

“I happen to be rather fond of that option,” Aaravos says from his spot, peeking mischievously over the cover of a tome you can’t read the title of. 

“What’s the point of tossing names together anyway?” 

The startouch elf and you shrug at the same moment, both of you looking at Runaan.

“It’s just a touch of fun,” you say after a moment. “It’s fun to merge words together, so why not names?”

Runaan seems to consider this a moment, then finally he gestures slightly with a tilt of his head in as much of an understanding as he’ll get on it.

“Alright then,” he says, glancing up between you and Aaravos. “How about Aararuna?”

A beat of silence passes before Aaravos is the one to speak, tone firm and words unrestrained.

“That one doesn’t make any sense,” he says, though taking delight in the roll of Runaan’s eyes. “Too many r’s and it certainly doesn’t roll off the tongue as well. I like Runa’s versions better.”

“You’re not being fair,” the other man argues. “You just favor Runa in general.”

“Of course; both of us do.”

How could I not take a stab at such a wonderful poly opportunity?

Honestly, I think half the fun was just trying to think up of an AU/canon-divergence that would make sense to toss all three of them together romantically, especially with how little we know of elven culture and Aaravos’ background.

AO3 Version

Relationship: Runaan/Reader/Aaravos

Rating: General

Summary: You saved Aaravos and Runaan both from their respective imprisonments without even knowing how you could do such a thing. You're the castle-keeper of Katolis, not a mage and certainly nobody powerful--and yet you free them both, leading to Runaan taking you and Aaravos to his village in Xadia to try and patch together some semblance of a normal life.

This is just one glance into your lives together.

It’s been a year.

Twelve months, fifty-two weeks or even three hundred and sixty-five days, depending on the way you choose to divide up the time. It’s darted through your perception as quickly as a frightened doe, but it has also limped by as slowly as it takes for the new moon to rise full.

Despite all of that time spent in practice and observation, you still don’t know how to sharpen a blade quite as good as even one of the village’s youngest initiates.

It’s not as if you don’t understand the concept or technique, as you’ve seen the knights caring for their weapons as far back as when you were castle-keeper of Katolis, but there’s simply something in the execution that always leaves you stumped.

So here you are, sitting on the steps outside the humble cottage you’ve called home in the last year, willing for even a single god above to let you do this right.

You feel your brows furrow as you stare down at the small dagger in your hand, a whetstone in the other. You’ve been trying to sharpen the damn thing for almost an hour, but all you’ve seem to manage is just to put unseemly scratches against the edge you really hope can be buffed out.

It’s aggravating enough that you don’t realize there’s someone in front of you until their shadow falls over your hands. You’re about to look up just as a hand reaches forward and grabs the wrist of the hand holding the whetstone.

“You need to remember to keep the angle smaller.”

The grip is as gentle as the words, voice familiar enough that you simply turn back to the job literally at hand and allow the help from the man, Runaan, as he takes a seat beside you.

“I don’t know how you’re able to do this so quickly,” you sigh. “I seem to damage blades more than sharpen them, no matter how many times I’m shown.”

You hear the elven man let out a short, disbelieving huff.

“And have you asked for any help?” It’s hard not to hear a thread of tension, the same tone of voice he’ll sometimes get when speaking to the young initiates he’s training. “I recall Merith and Rydell having offered.”

also they're what got me into tdp bc the world flashed aaravos in front of me like oh whats this? a hottie? aren't u interested? look further!! what's this? another hottie?? don't you want to watch now? :)

I mean in all honesty it seems like 50% of fans were those who watched the first season when it came out, and the other 50% took one look at Aaravos and decided then and there that they like the show and they are valid in their elf thirst