#not wings of fire. just a medieval au

[plaguedbirds]

quick wof fans are asleep post destiny oc as a dragon again

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 25

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Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: 😁.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The queen snores in her bed. At last, peaceful. You leave her as she is, piled in bedclothes amid the glow of the low-burning fire. You emerge into the corridor, silent, and the door drags closed with a scrape at your cautious pull. The shadow by the pillar shifts.  

You glance over at the guard. Gilles has been relieved of his watch and another man stands in his place. You think you recognise him. He must’ve been one of those which helped the queen seize your cart. The road feels so very long ago and yet there is still much ahead of you. 

“Hold,” the guard warns and gives a whistle, the noise echoing along the high ceilings.  

There’s scuffling further down and you turn to face another silhouette, this one slender and lithe like a wraith. Ezme steps into the light of a lamp and stare at you placidly. She beckons with a hand. 

“Come, maid, I will show you your quarters,” she says. 

You bow your head and go to her. It is unusual you wouldn’t be left to find your way to the servants wing yourself, likely near the kitchens, and yet you are much too weary to question any of it. She turns and you walk at her side. The promise of sleep, even if only a little, has you aching to recline. 

The corridors are quiet but for the soft pad of your footsteps. Fewer lamps light the way than in the daytime and the path grows black. You follow the stirring of the women next to you as she carries on. She touches your arm to stop you, nudging you to the right. You wait and listen as she lifts a latch, the metallic noise cutting through the din, and hinges creak loudly. 

She guides you into the dark chamber by your wrist. It is lit only by moonlight and a brazier burning at the foot of a broad bed. The door clanks shut and you shiver. Ezme moves around you, her skirts brushing your own, and she goes to the low mattress. You squint, these are not servants’ rooms. The bed frame, the brazier, the space swathed in darkness; more often, bodies crowded over bags of hay or on the scant tatters of blankets. 

“You will sleep here,” she says softly, “with me. You will be safe.” 

“Safe? From what?” You croak and rub your cheeks as they burn with fatigue. 

“Need you ask,” she replies knowingly, “it is much too late for those questions. Come, lay, the morning will be upon us swiftly.” 

You don’t argue. She is right. You go to bed and remove your apron and cap. You fold them and put them to the foot of the mattress. She moves a dark square over the blankets towards you. You pause and reach to touch the obscured shape as the dim light offers only vague outline. It’s soft, furry. You feel around and find the familiar rough patch sewn into the lining. It’s the king’s cloak. 

“You will want to keep that close,” she says, “the soldier made certain to leave it for you.” 

“Bryce?” You wonder aloud, “is he your friend?” 

“He is a familiar face,” she shrugs and pulls her dress over her head. “The Lord of the Castle likes him well enough.” 

You shift the cloak over your apron and strip off your outer layer, standing only in your shift. You mirror the maid across from you and slip beneath the thick blankets. A sigh escapes you as your muscles finally release the tension of the day. She is still on her back as you lay upon your side, staring at the low flicker of the brazier against the wall. 

Curiosity nips at your exhaustion. How does a servant come upon a room like this? Is it simply at your expense? For whatever reason Bryce has bid her to keep you close. Certainly, the old soldier is overly cautious. 

Your eyes close before you can think very much on the unexpected resting spot. The day has been turbulent and full of many surprises. You only dread those that await you on the morrow. 

⚔️

Ezme wakes you from a heavy slumber. You both dress in the morning hue, rinsing from a basin before you face another day. You leave the cloak on the assurance it will be waiting for you. A thought glimmers of what the king might think should it go missing. Would he blame you? 

You emerge and part from your nocturnal companion. You procede to the queen’s chambers to find them open and the corridor a titter. A pair of servants, themselves dozy, carry one of her chests through as her shrill cry careens through. You approach as the steadfast guard with the fiery hair watches you with narrow eyes.  

You peer within and find the Queen Jazlene digging through the contents, tossing fabrics without a care, in a desperate search. You are stunned to find her awake with the sunrise but not disheartened. It might be a good omen. 

"Where is it?" She throws her hands up and scowls as her eyes skim around, "you," she points in your direction, "where is my blue dress? The one with the silver lace? It must be here!" 

"Your highness, perhaps another chest," you step inside. 

"You did remember to pack it, didn't you?" She accuses as she stands, "I did bid it." 

"Yes, your highness," you affirm, though it was Merinda who would've taken the order. "Shall I go look in the luggage?" 

"Oh, yes, you shall," she struts toward you, "I will not be dressed as some northern wench for the banquet." 

Banquet? You withhold your curiosity and bow your head. You have a task and it is always better to tend to it without question. 

You spin and hurry from the room. You nearly collide with another servant, a tray in their hands. Another chore you needn't attend. You press on and find your way through the kitchens to the rear of the castle.  

The luggage remains mostly in the stables which entails a venture into the wintry without. You mourn the cloak upon the foot of the bed but it would be worse to flaunt the king's patch so heedlessly. You tuck your hands into your sleeves and put your chin down before you push through, the door resisting your strength as the wind blows against it. 

You stagger through and the heavy wood slams just as quickly as you clear its breadth. The gales are strong but the snow has relented. You see dark bodies speckled amid the white as powder dusts up in heaps. The servants work to clear away the thick piles and make pathways around the castle's yard. 

You cross to the stables and delve into the stink of horses and hay. The beast nicker and neigh as you pass as others doze without notice. You find the luggage, chests still upon carts as others litter the unswept floor. If you find the dress, it might just reek of horse. 

You recognise the crest of Debray upon a chest and the painted sides of a few others. You unstrap several lids and raise them, the cold nipping but sweat rising nonetheless. The longer you sift through the contents, the number your hands and fingers become, the clumsier you are. 

A patch of blue, so pale and shiny it's almost white, gleams from beneath the heaps of cloth. You yank upon it, bringing out several other gowns with the effort, and claim victory. You do not neglect to suss out a pair of slippers and a hair net you think might go with it. You set it aside and pack away the mess you've made, breathless from the expense. 

You hug your lot and curl around the next row of horses, searching out Daisy as she leans her head against Chestnut's dark neck. Their eyes widen at your approach and they huff almost in time. You pat their noses before you apologise that you must leave them. 

Once more, the violent gusts greet you in the open, sending a spiral of snow around you and dusting you with the chill. Your teeth chatter as the wind pushes you from behind and fill your skirts. You can hardly aim your steps as you end up against the castle wall, sidling along until you're at the door. 

Within, the cold follows and lingers in your bones. You flit through the kitchens, pots steam as the large ovens blaze and bodies cluster and clash. You barely avoid a collision as you pass into the corridor. As you step around one figure, another appears. 

“Aye, there the mouse is,” Bryce greets as he folds a leaf around his finger, readying it to pop in his mouth, “I see she’s got you at work already.” 

“Sir,” you stop before the soldier, “how was your night?” 

“Eh, dark,” he shrugs, “and you? The other maid saw to ya?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Very good. If ye can, stay close to that one at the feast,” he girds, “she’s wise. She knows well how to bide the shadows.” 

You nod and hug the fabric, another shiver flowing through you. He tilts his head as he continues to play with the leaf between his fingers. 

“Don’t tell me you were outside without a cloak,” he accuses, “where’s yours, then?” 

“Sir, it was only for a moment--” 

“This cold does not soften for summer maids,” he tuts and shakes his head, “you will make yerself sick and who should have to deal with it, hm? Who should have to hear the king rant of it?” 

“Apologies, I was only in a rush,” you pout. 

“Don’t be sorry,” he steps closer and touches the dress in your arms, “in a rush for flimsy gown. These halls are too cold for satin.” 

“The queen bids it--” 

“Oh, I would expect,” he chortles. 

You purse your lips, slanting them one way then the next, as you recall your task. You watch him pinch the silk before he rescinds his reach. He puts the leaf in his mouth and chews. 

“You said feast and the queen said banquet? Is that this evening?” You wonder. 

“Certainly, is,” he sucks on the sweet leaves, “Lord Vesemir would celebrate our departure most fervently but as any good winter lord, he would not send his guests out in the cold without full bellies.” 

“Oh,” you utter thoughtfully. 

“And I suppose, it will appease the queen,” he adds, “for a time before she is once more miserable in the wildlands.” 

“And we are to leave on the morrow?” 

“Aye, by the nightfall,” he crosses his arms. “They must clear the pass and ready the horses and carts. It will be a labour but best we move on.” 

“I believe so too, sir,” you teethe your lip. 

“Aye, you are prudent, as ever,” he lowers his gaze to the floor, “mouse.” 

You shift on your soles and exhale solemnly, “I must...” 

“Yes, very well, go on to your queen,” he steps aside, “I must find our king. I suspect he might be hounding the lord of this castle, if not sparring with him.” 

There is a reluctance between you as you carry on your way; Bryce to one wing and you to the other, as if to mark the divide of king and queen. You come up the stairs and hurry along, the queen’s doors still ajar. Her voice carries still and servant scuttles out as a plate is hurled after them, crashing onto the floor as it narrowly avoids their foot. 

You slow and cautiously peek into the room. The queen shakes her head and pinches a morsel of brown meat on her plate, eyeing it with scrutiny. For a moment, her face twists, then she forces herself to shove it in her mouth. She chews as a battle rages across her features. 

Her gaze is drawn by your movement and she gulps down her mouthful. She stands, nearly overturning the stool upon which the tray rests. She brings her hands up as she storms over to snatch your armful. You back away as she lets the dress unfurl and you bend to gather up the slippers and hairnet as they fall. 

“Ah, wonderful, a proper attire for my first proper appearance as queen,” she beams and dances around with the dress, “oh, my hair, my hair. You must braid it for me.” 

She lays the gown on the bed and gives it a longing touch before she retreats. She clammers to the plain wooden table upon which she’s had a looking glass propped up. She leans forward as you stand behind her. Her hair remains in the braids she’s worn for some time, looking wilted and ratty from neglect. 

“Yes, your highness.” 

“I suppose the king feels horrid for his display yesterday,” she preens at herself. “He must realise he cannot keep a lady like me cooped up.” 

You think to mention that it is more send-off than anything. That is on Lord Vesemir’s whim, rather than King Geralt’s. At least that’s how you have it. Yet, you know well not to argue. Let Jazlene believe as she well and the world is always a bit more pleasant. 

You set to undoing her hair, gently as you notice how dry it is, whether from the cold or the air. She snaps her fingers and demands another servant bring her the tray off food. She picks at it as you unwind her hair and let it free. 

She looks at herself one way then the other. She smiles and wipes her mouth with her sleeve.  

“I am still pretty, aren’t I?” She asks, “I will be after the child comes, won’t I?” 

You swallow and nod, “yes, your highness.” 

“Gilles, Gilles,” she chimes and waves a hand, “come, come,” she turns in her seat and you pull away from her, not wanting to tug on her locks. “Tell me, how pretty am I?” 

The man steps into the doorway and clears his throat. He looks as sheepish as you’ve ever seen. You glance back at Jazlene as she poses and bats her lashes. 

“You are beautiful, my queen, as the summer sunsets,” he avows. 

There’s a click in your head, a wriggle in your chest, and a churning in your stomach. No. No, it can’t be. She wouldn’t betray her marriage. 

Yet you thought the very same of her husband. That’s different. The king rules all, even the queen. And that she so garishly flaunts her fleeting affections. But how can you judge, when your own folly looms over you like a cloud? 

You think of the king’s story; Cerrill and Wynifred and their forbidden romance. It tints in a different effect now, it aligns more evenly, for you do not see this ending well for either queen or guard should they stray. Just as you don’t see yourself faring any better. 

[shaiyasstuff]

a dance of ice and fire | zayne | chapter six

synopsis : Betrothed to the Crown Prince for the sake of peace, you are seen as a weapon to be wielded, not a queen to rule. But it is not your arrogant, power-hungry fiancé you fear—it is his brother, Zayne. As alliances shift and tensions rise, one truth becomes clear: he never wanted the crown, but for you, he will take it content : medieval!au, strategist/advisor!zayne x princess!reader, loads of eye-fucking, savage reader and zayne, political intrigue

parts | one | two | three | four | five | six

It had been spring.

The kind that didn’t feel real—when the blossoms clung too tightly to the trees and the air tasted too sweet, like the world was trying too hard to be beautiful before it shattered.

You were sixteen.

Barefoot on the stone path winding through the inner palace gardens, where no advisors dared follow and no guards dared speak.

The lilies had just bloomed, their white petals too bright against the dark green hedges.

And Zayne was already there. Waiting. As always.

He sat beneath the willow tree by the reflecting pool, his posture too relaxed to be formal, too composed to be careless.

A book was open in his lap, but you knew he hadn��t read a word.

“You’re late,” he said, without looking up.

“You didn’t tell me to come.”

“I didn’t have to.”

You dropped into the grass beside him, your crown crooked from whatever lesson you’d escaped.

He didn’t comment, but the corner of his mouth curved slightly—his version of laughter.

The pool shimmered beside you, catching the sky in its surface.

You tossed a pebble into it, watching the ripples dance outward.

“They’re assigning me a tutor for ‘emotional control,’” you said after a long silence.

Zayne didn’t react. Not visibly.

“Because of the fire again?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

Instead, you flexed your fingers, and a spark danced between them. It wasn’t angry this time. It pulsed like a heartbeat.

“They think if I just learn to keep it in, everything will be fine.”

“They don’t want fine,” Zayne said. “They want obedient.”

You looked at him then—really looked. The boy with frost in his veins and quiet in his bones.

The one who never spoke unless he meant it.

The one who had never once looked at your fire like it was something to fear.

“And what do you want?”

He turned to you, eyes catching the soft light through the willow leaves.

“I want you to stop hiding.”

You blinked.

“That’s dangerous.”

“So is pretending you’re something you’re not.”

You leaned back into the grass, heart thrumming too fast for something so still. “If I stop pretending, they’ll never let me wear the crown.”

Zayne lay back beside you, arms folded beneath his head. “Then maybe they don’t deserve you.”

The words hit harder than they should’ve. Not because they were sweet—but because they were honest. And no one had ever given you honesty like that before.

Not until him.

“You always say things like that,” you said.

“Because no one else will.”

You turned your head toward him. His eyes were closed now, lashes dark against his skin, but you knew he felt your gaze.

“Will you always be like this?”

“Like what?”

“Still. Steady. On my side.”

He opened his eyes, met yours.

“Only if you want me to be.”

Years later, when everything fractured, you’d remember that moment. That spring.

The pool. The willow. The way your hand had drifted so close to his in the grass, but hadn’t quite touched.

You hadn’t needed to.

Because in that space between skin and silence, a promise had been made.

One that neither of you ever had to speak aloud.

One that still held, even now.

—•

The summons arrived with no formality. No herald. No titles. Just a slip of parchment tucked beneath your door. The message was scrawled hastily by Kael’s hand.

Come. Please.

You should have ignored it.

But some part of you still remembered the boy before the crown.

And that part, traitorous and quiet, led your steps to his wing of the palace.

The doors to his chambers opened without resistance. Inside, the fire burned low. Shadows gathered in the corners, long and unmoving.

Kael stood near the window, his back to you, shoulders tense beneath the black-and-silver fabric of his coat.

“You came,” he said without turning.

“You asked.”

His breath fogged the glass in front of him.

He didn’t move.

“You were meant to stand beside me.” His voice was quiet, brittle like frost forming on stone. “I knew that before they even signed the treaties.”

You stayed where you were.

“I was promised to the empire,” you said. “Not to you.”

He turned then. Slowly.

The look in his eyes was not sorrow. Not anymore.

Something colder had taken its place.

“They’re turning to Zayne,” he said. “They whisper in the halls, thinking I can’t hear them. Thinking I won’t see the shift in their eyes.”

His hands clenched at his sides.

“Even you. Especially you.”

You held his gaze. “I never asked for this war between you.”

“You didn’t have to,” Kael said. “You made your choice the moment you stood beside him in court.”

You took a step forward, only to stop yourself.

“I made my choice long before that. When you stopped seeing me as a partner and started treating me like a possession.”

His expression didn’t change, but something inside him hardened. The lines of his jaw set deeper.

His eyes, once storming with uncertainty, now stilled into something sharp.

Fixed.

“You think Zayne will give you freedom,” he said. “You think he’ll hand you power as if it won’t come at a price.”

“I don’t want it handed to me,” you said. “I want to earn it.”

“Then you’ll bleed for it.”

There was no rage in his tone. Only quiet finality.

You felt the shift then. The last of the boy you remembered slipping away.

What remained stood straighter. Sharper.

Kael stepped past you, toward the hearth.

“Leave.”

You turned toward the door, but his voice stopped you once more.

“You should’ve chosen the crown when it loved you. Not now, when it must crush you.”

You didn’t look back.

There was nothing left to see.

The corridor was dim, the torchlight casting flickers of gold across polished stone.

Each step echoed louder than it should have, the quiet pressing in too tightly, like the palace itself was holding its breath.

You didn’t know what you expected when you returned to your chambers.

But it wasn’t him.

Zayne stood by the window, his arms folded, the silver threading of his tunic catching the moonlight like threads of frost.

He didn’t speak when you entered. He didn’t need to.

He’d already seen it in your eyes.

You closed the door behind you, slower than necessary.

The silence stretched between you, not heavy, but aware.

“He called for me,” you said.

Zayne didn’t move. “I know.”

“He’s not the same.”

“I know that too.”

You exhaled, the weight of it catching somewhere in your chest. “He’s breaking. And he’s trying to take me with him.”

Zayne finally turned toward you, gaze steady, unreadable.

“Will he succeed?”

You didn’t answer immediately.

Your fingers loosened the clasp at your shoulder, letting your outer robe slip away.

You walked past him toward the hearth, the fire still burning low.

“He said I should’ve chosen the crown when it loved me,” you murmured.

Zayne’s jaw tensed, just slightly. “And did you?”

You looked at him over your shoulder, something raw flickering behind your calm. “I never wanted the crown to love me. I wanted it to respect me.”

Zayne stepped closer, just enough to feel the cool shift of his presence behind you.

“He won’t stop now,” he said quietly. “You know that.”

“I know.”

“He’ll push harder. Become crueler.”

“I know that too.”

Zayne’s voice dropped, low and steady. “So tell me what you need.”

You turned fully to him then.

Not as a princess. Not as future empress.

Just as you.

And when you spoke, your voice didn’t waver.

“You. Steady beside me. No matter how this ends.”

Zayne reached for your hand without hesitation. His fingers curled around yours, grounding. Familiar.

“I never left.”

You stepped into him then, pressing your forehead lightly against his chest.

His arms came around you without pause, drawing you into the kind of stillness that made the rest of the world feel distant.

For a moment, that was all there was. The soft rhythm of breath.

The quiet promise between heartbeats.

But even here, wrapped in silence and warmth, the truth remained.

War was coming.

And this, was what you would protect.

Not the crown.

Not the court.

But the bond forged long before either of you ever dreamed of thrones.

—•

Outside the palace walls, the wind was shifting.

Messages moved like whispers through alleyways and between cracks in stone, tucked into the hands of riders who didn’t wear the empire’s sigil.

Fires burned low in distant keeps, drawing loyal banners under the cover of night.

House Velithar began drilling their cavalry just beyond the mountain pass.

House Draven moved supplies into border towns under the guise of routine defense.

And in the southern coast, Lord Varyn’s ships began to disappear from their harbors.

They weren’t retreating.

They were gathering.

The allies had begun to rally—quietly, purposefully. Each move was planned, every alliance solidified with more than promises.

Because now, they weren’t preparing for rebellion.

They were preparing for Kael.

—

You stepped into the throne chamber beside Zayne.

It felt colder today.

Not the kind born from ice or frost—but from something more subtle.

More deliberate.

The nobles lined the room with sharper posture than usual, and there was an unease in the air that hadn’t been there days before.

You could feel it even before you even saw him.

Kael stood at the dais.

His crown was not on his head, but in his hand. A gesture that felt like humility, but meant anything but.

He looked up as you entered, and for a heartbeat, his expression flickered—not warmth, not fury—something in between.

Calculated calm.

“I see our honored guests have arrived,” he said smoothly. “Let the court begin.”

Zayne didn’t respond. You simply nodded and took your place, though your steps were slower, measured.

Something was wrong.

Kael moved down from the dais, hands clasped behind his back as he began to speak.

“There have been… murmurs,” he said, pacing slowly. “Talk of division. Of shifting loyalties. Of those who would splinter the empire under the illusion of justice.”

He stopped and turned, facing the court.

“So I have decided,” he said, voice calm, “to take action in the interest of unity.”

From the side of the hall, a steward emerged. In his hands, a scroll—unrolled and marked with the imperial seal.

“By decree of the Crown,” Kael announced, “all territories operating without direct oversight from the capital will be reassigned interim governors chosen by this court, under my personal supervision.”

Gasps stirred through the room. Whispers followed like an avalanche.

You stiffened. So did Zayne.

This wasn’t just a tightening of power.

It was a preemptive strike.

He was cutting through the outer strongholds. Stripping your allies of autonomy under the guise of unification.

Zayne’s voice was low beside you. “He’s moving faster than we expected.”

You didn’t respond right away. You were watching Kael.

He wasn’t unraveling anymore.

He was evolving.

Kael turned his gaze directly to you.

“And of course,” he said, that false softness lacing his words, “the Princess of Fire will have a seat beside me to help oversee this transition. Her experience in diplomacy, after all, is unmatched.”

Zayne’s jaw tightened.

You stepped forward before he could.

“Is this your version of peace, Your Highness?” you asked. “Control wrapped in ceremony?”

Kael’s smile didn’t falter. “It’s unity. Unless you have reason to oppose it.”

Silence fell.

Zayne took a step forward then, slow and deliberate. His voice was quiet but carried like frost along the floor.

“Interesting. You only call for unity when you feel the court slipping through your fingers.”

Kael turned, but didn’t rise to it. Not yet.

You could feel the tension building. A subtle shift in the balance of power.

This wasn’t just a declaration.

It was a challenge.

And Kael had just drawn first blood.

The court stood still, frozen in the pause between breath and battle.

Kael remained at the center, his posture calm, the scroll still hanging from the steward’s hands beside him like a sword waiting to be drawn. He didn’t respond to Zayne right away. He didn’t need to.

Not when the pressure did the talking for him.

“I call for unity,” Kael said finally, “because the court has grown too fond of shadows. Too fond of secrets.”

He turned his gaze slowly across the assembled nobles. “I intend to bring everything into the light.”

Zayne stepped fully beside you now. His presence wasn’t loud—but it landed.

Even without words, the court shifted with him.

“And what happens to those who have operated in that light all along?” you asked, your voice calm, sharp at the edges. “Or do you believe that silence means guilt?”

Kael’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I believe silence means something wishes to be hidden. And when the empire is at stake, I can no longer afford to be generous.”

Murmurs stirred again. The nobles were listening now—closer than before. Some were afraid. Some were intrigued. But all of them knew this wasn’t diplomacy.

It was war dressed in royal colors.

“Generosity,” Zayne repeated softly. “That’s what you call gutting your outer provinces and redistributing their power.”

Kael’s tone cooled. “I call it correction. For too long, the court has bent toward ambition instead of loyalty. This is simply… realignment.”

“Convenient,” you said, stepping forward. “That those most loyal to you are the ones inheriting the benefits.”

Kael’s gaze found yours. His mask didn’t falter—but you saw it. The crack beneath it.

The desperation was still there.

He had simply learned how to wield it.

“If you wish to challenge the decree, Princess,” Kael said, “you may do so before the court. But I warn you—those who undermine order in times like these are rarely remembered kindly.”

You felt it then—every pair of eyes in the chamber. Every noble who had not yet picked a side.

Watching. Measuring.

Waiting to see who would move first.

Zayne’s voice dropped just enough for you to hear.

“He’s forcing your hand.”

“Then we don’t flinch.”

You stepped forward again, your voice rising just enough.

“Unity built on fear is not unity. It is a noose.”

Kael’s eyes sharpened, but you didn’t stop.

“And if you insist on tying it around every neck in this court, you should know—we will not bow to it.”

There it was.

The fracture made visible.

Some nobles looked away. Others shifted forward. The air was a storm, silent but rising.

Kael stepped back toward the dais, his expression smooth but his hands curling faintly into fists.

“Then let the court decide,” he said. “Let it be known that those who oppose this decree do not stand for peace.”

And with that, he turned.

Court was not adjourned.

But it was already over.

Because what had begun as a political maneuver had just become something else entirely.

A line had been drawn.

And every lord in that chamber now knew.

The empire would not survive both heirs.

And only one would walk away.

—•

The throne room had emptied, leaving only the echo of words that would not so soon be forgotten.

The nobles had filed out in silence, masks firmly in place, hearts split and loyalties shaken.

The weight of what had just unfolded pressed against the very stones of the palace.

You found Zayne waiting in the corridor beyond the grand chamber, half-shrouded in torchlight, arms folded, cloak hanging heavy across his shoulders.

He hadn’t spoken to anyone since Kael’s decree. He had only watched. Calculated.

When he saw you, he pushed off the wall, his steps slow, deliberate.

“He’s not playing anymore,” he said.

You didn’t stop walking until you were beside him. “No. He’s declaring.”

Zayne’s jaw tensed. “And the court’s listening.”

You glanced toward the archway behind you, where the sounds of whispered speculation were already drifting down the halls like smoke.

“Some of them were ready to move. Now they’re hesitating.”

Zayne looked at you, eyes sharp beneath the cool stillness. “He struck first. He caught them off guard. He forced a choice before they were ready to make one.”

“And he did it knowing we wouldn’t retaliate in front of them,” you said.

His expression shifted, just barely. Frustration, restrained beneath years of practice. “He made you look like the one holding secrets.”

“I am.”

Zayne stepped closer. “Not the kind that matter. Not like his.”

The silence stretched between you, thick and pulsing.

You looked away, down the corridor, toward the part of the palace where Kael had returned to his chambers—no doubt alone, with the scent of desperation still clinging to his skin like oil.

“He’ll double down now,” you murmured. “He thinks he’s turned the tide.”

Zayne nodded. “Then we take the tide from him.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And how do you propose we do that?”

Zayne leaned in slightly, the air around him cooling with thought, with resolve. “We show them what real power looks like. Not declarations. Not decrees. Action.”

You tilted your head, watching him. “You have something in mind.”

“I always do.”

You sighed, but the corner of your mouth twitched. “You’re enjoying this.”

Zayne’s voice dropped low, near your ear. “Only when you’re winning.”

The warmth of his breath sent a flicker of heat beneath your ribs—comfort and danger laced into one.

You turned fully to face him.

“Then we move tonight. Quietly. Call the others. We bring the court what Kael can’t—answers.”

Zayne nodded. “And certainty.”

You took a breath, letting it settle deep in your chest.

“Let him speak of order,” you said. “We’ll give them vision.”

Zayne’s eyes lingered on yours a moment longer before he stepped back, the cold calm settling over him once more.

“Then let’s begin.”

The corridor felt different now.

Not just empty, but waiting. Like the palace itself had exhaled and was listening for what would come next.

Zayne walked beside you as you turned down a narrower passage—one that led away from the court’s eyes and toward the old strategy chambers buried deep within the eastern wing.

The silence between you wasn’t hesitation.

It was coordination.

He spoke first, his voice low and steady.

“We bring Thalos, Varyn, Darien. And Aelric, if he can stay quiet long enough to listen.”

You gave a soft, humorless smile. “He won’t. But he’ll follow, and that’s enough.”

Zayne’s eyes flicked to you, the sharp calculation in them tempered by something softer—trust. Familiarity.

“We don’t bring them to react,” you continued. “We bring them to plan. If Kael wants to centralize power, then we show them what a network looks like.”

Zayne nodded. “Interlocking alliances. Shared resources. Intelligence. Protection. No one gets left alone for Kael to pick off.”

You reached the doors to the chamber—unused, dust-layered, with old iron sconces still bearing the emblems of a different era.

Zayne pushed it open.

Inside, the room was dim, but intact. The long table remained in the center, and the old war map—faded and cracked—still clung to the far wall.

It was colder here, forgotten by time and politics alike.

Which made it perfect.

You stepped into the quiet, letting the door fall shut behind you.

For a moment, it was just the two of you again.

No court. No titles. Just the fire and frost that had walked this path before anyone else could see where it led.

Zayne moved to the table, palms braced against the wood. His voice dropped, contemplative now.

“He’ll try to trap us into reacting again.”

“Then we don’t react,” you said. “We anticipate.”

Zayne looked at you.

“If we move too soon, we risk exposure.”

“And if we wait, we lose control.”

Another silence passed. Not strained—strategic.

He finally spoke again, softly.

“He looked at you today like he knew this was slipping through his hands.”

You met his eyes.

“That’s what makes him dangerous.”

Zayne studied you, and something in his expression shifted—just slightly. His voice lowered further, into something almost quiet enough to be mistaken for concern.

“You didn’t flinch. Not once.”

You stepped closer, hands resting on the table beside his.

“You were there. I didn’t need to.”

The moment lingered. Not romantic, not indulgent. Just anchored. The way only two people who had stood together too long under fire could be.

Zayne turned his hand, just enough to brush his fingers against yours.

“When this breaks open—because it will—do you still stand beside me?”

You didn’t answer.

You didn’t need to.

Instead, you laced your fingers with his and said,

“We don’t break, Zayne. We burn through.”

He nodded, eyes shimmering with pride.

The old strategy chamber had not seen this many noblemen in decades.

It wasn’t a place for ceremony. No tapestries adorned the walls, no crest-laced guards flanked the doors.

The air smelled faintly of dust, cold stone, and the ink of unspoken oaths.

You stood near the head of the table with Zayne at your side, both of you poised but silent as the chamber filled.

One by one, the lords arrived—hooded, cloaked, unannounced.

Lord Thalos entered first, his expression unreadable as always, the gold trim of his deep violet robes catching what little torchlight there was. He offered a single nod and took his seat without a word.

Lord Varyn followed, fire-red cloak trailing behind him, a sharp contrast to the stillness of the room. He didn’t sit immediately. His eyes found yours.

“He’s forcing hands now,” Varyn said. “And some of them are tired of being clenched.”

Next came Darien Vellor, calm and measured, his silver cuffs gleaming faintly under his layered coat. He moved without sound, eyes scanning the room like a man already plotting where the knives would fall.

And finally, Lord Aelric Draven swept in last—unapologetically loud in his presence, his half-armored cloak draped over one shoulder, expression just short of amused.

“I assume this isn’t a lecture on etiquette,” Aelric said, tossing his gloves on the table as he took his seat. “Good. I wouldn’t survive it.”

Zayne didn’t smile, but the corner of his mouth twitched. Barely.

Once the chamber stilled, you stepped forward.

“You’ve all heard what Kael did today,” you said. “The decree was more than politics. It was a warning. A net cast wide enough to catch even those who believed themselves untouched.”

No one interrupted.

Zayne spoke next, voice low but precise.

“He’s acting faster than we projected. That means he’s afraid. But it also means he’s no longer cautious. He’s making sweeping moves to look decisive.”

Thalos folded his hands calmly. “And what do you plan to do in response?”

“Not respond,” you said. “Act.”

You laid a scroll on the table—fresh ink, sealed with no house emblem. Neutral.

“We propose an accord. One not based in rebellion, but restoration. Shared territories. Coordinated defense. A network of autonomy that cannot be quietly dismantled.”

Darien raised a brow. “And who leads it?”

Zayne met his gaze. “Not one. Us. Together. With her voice at the center.”

All eyes turned to you.

You didn’t shrink from them.

“The empire doesn’t need a single crown,” you said. “It needs balance. Purpose. Strength that doesn’t come from fear. Kael thinks control is unity. We’ll show them the difference.”

Varyn exhaled slowly. “That’s a dangerous path.”

“No,” Aelric said, leaning forward, something sharper in his voice now. “That’s war, wrapped in strategy. And I’m in.”

Thalos looked to Darien.

Darien looked to you.

A beat passed.

Then, “So are we.”

Zayne’s voice cut through quietly. “Then we begin tonight.”

The fire in the room seemed to burn hotter. The shadows seemed sharper.

And around that war table, for the first time, the nobles didn’t wait for Kael to speak.

They waited for you.

It began in silence.

Not the kind that trembles at the edge of fear—but the kind that waits. That breathes with deliberation. That watches the world begin to tilt, and moves not with panic, but with purpose.

The nobles did not gather in full halls. They met in passageways with shuttered windows. In garden alcoves after midnight. In ancient rooms not marked on palace maps.

And always in pairs.

Never more than three.

They spoke without raising their voices. They used no seals. Every message was spoken and burned. Every agreement inked only in shared glances and sharpened nods.

It was not yet rebellion.

But it was preparation.

You moved through it like a flame carried in gloved hands—burning, but carefully. Controlled. Whispered names passed through the court with reverence: Thalos, Varyn, Darien, Aelric. Houses long content to rule from the sidelines now turning their eyes inward, toward the empire’s bleeding center.

Zayne moved faster.

He never announced his presence. He simply arrived.

In council rooms before the guards could alert them.

In noble halls before the lords remembered they’d sent no summons.

He didn’t threaten.

He offered truth.

And it was that—more than fear—that made them listen.

The next gathering happened just before dawn. In the vaulting stillness of the old ceremonial chamber, where the windows opened to the east and the sun had not yet found them.

You stood at the altar once used for coronations. Now, it was a war table.

The lords stood around it—not as subjects.

As equals. Cloaks drawn close. Weapons worn openly.

You spoke first.

“Kael has made his move. If we wait for another, we give him the ground he needs to break us apart.”

Thalos’s voice followed, measured. “Then we do what he fears most. We hold together.”

Darien nodded. “Border reinforcements are in place. We’ve adjusted our command structures—smaller units, faster response. If he tries to move troops, we’ll know before he does.”

Varyn flicked his fingers over the map. “The southern ports are sealed. No shipments pass through without our eyes on them. We’re choking his supply line before he realizes it.”

Aelric grinned, leaning his elbow on the altar. “I’ve already tripled drills in my territories. My men are half-trained and twice as angry. Kael tries to take what’s mine, he’ll find it covered in teeth.”

You glanced toward Zayne, who had remained quiet, his gaze on the east-facing window, where the first sliver of sun had begun to pierce the dark.

“We still need the capital,” you said. “We hold the court, but not the city. If he locks it down…”

“He won’t,” Zayne interrupted, finally turning. “Because by the time he realizes what we’ve done, he’ll be surrounded.”

You looked around the table.

Not rebels.

Defenders.

Not traitors.

Guardians of what the crown had forgotten to protect.

“This isn’t about taking the throne,” you said. “This is about making sure it’s still worth something by the time it’s handed down.”

The room held its breath.

Then Thalos stepped forward and pressed his palm to the table.

“For the realm,” he said.

The others followed.

One by one.

You didn’t press your hand down.

You laid your flame into it instead—small, steady, flickering with resolve.

Zayne’s hand found yours beneath the fire.

The sun broke the horizon behind you.

And the nobles no longer waited.

They acted.

masterlist

[rhythm-the-raptor-creations]

Funny things happen when two hyperfixations cross paths, so I present to you:

Malevolent: Wings of Fire AU

VAGUE SPOILERS FOR THE FIRST TWO SEASONS

Closeups and yapping under the cut, with (hopefully) enough relevant details about WoF to make sense if you’re not familiar with it; not much the other way around to avoid explicit spoilers (and because the setting is mostly just. 1930s US), go listen to it it’s good :>

(I already have several more sketches, so there WILL be more parts and that is a threat)

I’m not sure whether I want the setting to be more Malevolent or more WoF, so for now I’m presuming the more medieval-esque WoF cause dropping 1930s items in is easier than taking them out if I change my mind

Arthur is a SkyWing so he can:

breathe fire, which makes a decent replacement for a gun and the lighter (though I’m considering giving him something animus-touched (magical) instead to preserve the symbolism, and also talking might be a problem when you’ve got a mouth full of fire lol)

fly very well; to make it a bit more fun, John takes his wing instead of his foot (as it would be a bit redundant considering WoF dragons typically walk on all fours)

withstand cold weather better than most tribes; he should have died of hypothermia several times and you can’t convince me otherwise

His dragon name was a struggle, mainly because nothing sounded right in John’s voice; I’m not completely happy with Condor either, but it’s better than anything else I could think of

John’s name stems from the fact that Eagle is a common SkyWing name (we have two known in canon, which only happened like three times, aside from one very specific situation that’s not relevant here lmao), so it works quite well as a John Doe equivalent; tacked on Golden because that’s just too perfect for him

Kayne is a NightWing mainly because they can have mind reading and prophetic powers, and the star-like scales on their inner wings fit the vibe pretty well imo (not really visible here but eh); I gave him the teardrop scales behind eyes that signify mind-readers too. Aside from his eyes he’s completely greyscale, to make him just sliiightly off-looking next to other dragons

The King in Yellow is basically the same as I would draw him normally lol, just vaguely more dragon-shaped

[jessicas-pi]

Hihi! Omg are we doing the AU Ask game again !? How exciting!!

How do you feel about a Sabezra Medieval Dragon Rider Fantasy AU ?

Also hope you've been doing well! Thank you for being awesome 😇

Hi hi!!! Indeed we are doing the ask game again! :D

This is a FANTASTIC AU idea and I was really tempted to write a snippet from my HTTYD AU but then I got an idea for something else!! It didn't end up with a really strong fantasy tone but it's medieval and sabezra and they ride dragons so let's just say it's close enough!

(this also, uh. it got. like. really super long. sorry about that.)

---

Sabine lovingly stroked one hand over Phoenix's scaly head. The dragon blinked her liquid gold eyes and chuffed contentedly, nuzzling her head against Sabine's and purring deeply.

In the courtyard of the stables, Sabine could hear the young dragons yipping as they tumbled and roughhoused, chasing each other in circles. Sabine had always thought dragon pups were bothersome and high-maintenance, but she had a soft spot for the trio, from the time they were just a cluster of speckled, lavender-hued eggs. Phoenix remained Sabine's best hunter, but had embraced motherhood with surprising aptitude.

With a happy sigh, Sabine slipped her arms around her dragon's neck and hugged her close. She had bonded with Phoenix when she was no more than a toddler and Phoenix was a fresh hatchling, born of a pedigreed showdragon and Father's own hunter, herself a purebred.

Phoenix had taken after her sire, with her long neck and iridescent dark purple scales and deep golden eyes. Father had suggested pairing her with another purebred, a racer with shimmery black scales and powerful wings, but Sabine had refused. She knew her father adored the dragons as much as she did and only wanted the best for them, but Sabine wanted Phoenix to have the chance to choose for herself.

Gently, Sabine scratched her dragon under the chin, and Phoenix closed her eyes and purred louder.

Tristan had told her she was projecting her own feelings about her upcoming betrothal onto her dragon, and deep down, Sabine had known he was right. But as it should turn out, Phoenix had been able to make her own choice in a partner.

(It was an extremely questionable choice, but there was no accounting for taste.)

Phoenix had the blood of Queens' dragons in her veins, and carried herself with all the elegance that befit her lineage. She slid through the halls beside Sabine like a long velvet ribbon, sleek and silent and beautifully dignified. And the mate she chose? The sire of her pups?

Well.

Sabine snorted as she watched Wulf lead his rider in a merry chase across the stableyard, hissing and occasionally sneezing fire over his shoulder at him. Elegant, beautiful, dignified, and pedigreed were not adjectives one could apply to Wulf.

Badly-mannered, incorrigible, and an utter menace might be a better fit.

As Sabine leaned against the wall of Phoenix's stable and watched, Wulf scrabbled up one of the high stone walls and took up a perch on the parapet, giving poor Ezra a look that Sabine could only describe as a smirk.

"Well, you just stay up there, then!" she heard Ezra holler breathlessly up at his dragon. "We both know you'll come down when—"

That was as far as he got before the trio of dragon pups dogpiled him, chirring playfully as they sent him crashing down into a heap of hay.

Sabine laughed to herself and gave Phoenix a little kiss on her brow, then stepped out of the stable and into the courtyard, whistling for the young dragons. Immediately, the pups abandoned Ezra and came bounding and flapping over to her. Tumblebria, the biggest, looked the most like her dam, with shiny purple scales speckled with orange. Scuffletrix took after his sire; all blotchy orange and brown, with only his golden eyes inherited from his dam. Switchtail was the smallest, and he was a perfect mix of both his parents. Large-limbed and long-clawed, their fangs jutting out of their mouths, with scraggly, too-broad wings, no one could call them dragons worthy of nobility.

"You're an awful set of monsters," Sabine scolded cheerfully, stroking Switchtail's head and scratching Tumblebria under the chin. "Attacking a poor, defenseless stableboy? If I didn't know better, I'd think your father was a wild dragon some idiot managed to saddle up and half-tame."

The three pups bounced around her for a bit, eagerly accepting chin-scratches and snout-kisses, then went frolicking off. She let them go, and turned her attention to the boy who was half-buried in the pile of hay.

"I'm not sure if I should be more offended at the part where I'm defenseless or the part where I'm an idiot," Ezra remarked, shooting her a look that was too annoyed to mean anything besides repressed amusement.

"But not the part where you're poor?"

"I am poor."

"True enough, I guess," Sabine laughed, and offered him a hand up.

He grinned and took it—and then yanked her down into the pile of hay beside him. She landed with a yelp, immediately scrabbling up to her hands and knees and swatting at him. Before she knew it, they were tussling like a couple of dragon pups. It took more time and effort than it used to for her to pin him down and demand surrender—partly because she'd lost the size advantage she once had on him, and partly because they were laughing almost too hard to breathe—but she was still able to manage it

"Okay—" he wheezed, through tears of laughter. "Okay! You win! Now get off me!"

"Oh?" Sabine demanded, trying to school her face into something challenging and finding it difficult. "Are you giving me orders now, stableboy?"

"Hey, that's dragon tamer to you, princess!" he teased, shoving her off him. "Now cut it out!" She made as if she was going to pounce on him again for calling her princess, and he caught her wrist, an unexpected urgency in his voice as he hissed, "People are watching, Sabine!"

The use of her given name—something he technically wasn't allowed to do, and something he only did when they were alone or something was urgent—stopped her short, and she looked around.

He was right.

Other workers were in the courtyard, all of them meticulously not looking at the tussling pair. On the other hand, one of Sabine's cousins had come out to see his mount, and he was making no attempt to hide his staring.

"Right. Can't have you tarnishing my honor in front of the stablehands, can we?" Sabine muttered sarcastically, and then raised her voice a little. "Very well! I accept your unconditional surrender!" She lowered her voice and pointed. "Also, your jacket has a rip."

Ezra sat up slightly with a dismayed exclamation as he plucked at the fresh tear in the cloth she indicated. "Aw! The kids must have torn it."

Sabine leaned back on her elbows, smiling a little at his habit of calling the dragon pups the kids. It was endearing, and she'd caught herself thinking of them that way, too. Though he could always find new ways to be a nuisance, Sabine was glad for his company, after the day she had.

(Really, she was always glad for his company. But lately, the implications of that had started to feel perilous, and she tried not to think about it.)

"I have warned you about roughhousing with dragon pups," Sabine reminded him, tilting her head back to stare up at the cloudy afternoon sky.

"It wasn't a big deal when they were the size of cats," Ezra grumbled.

"Well, now they're the size of small horses who think they're the size of cats. You're lucky they know to play nice with you, or it might not be your jacket that got clawed up." Sabine grinned at him. "So maybe listen to the girl who's been training dragons since she was four, and don't train the next batch of hatchlings to tackle you without warning?"

"The next batch?" He turned his head to look at her, surprised. "Did one of the dragons lay? I didn't know the Count had decided to breed any—"

"Father didn't decide anything," Sabine cut him off. "But mister Prince Charming over there—" She nodded towards the parapet, where Wulf had started to slither along it towards the section of the stables where Phoenix was kept. "—has been pretty sweet with my girl lately, and their hatchlings have started flying on their own, which means the nest is empty. I'll bet you my best jewels she'll be laying before the month is over."

Ezra raised his eyebrows. "You're not going to... stop... them?"

She shrugged, leaning back and crossing her arms behind her head. "I'm a firm believer in letting my dragons do whatever they want with their love lives."

She could feel his eyes on her for longer than was comfortable, and when he spoke, it was gently and with sympathy—and a trace of a pain all his own.

"Your mother's still pushing that betrothal, then?"

"You're as bad as Tristan," Sabine muttered, squirming under his gaze and looking away, only to catch a glimpse of Wulf and Phoenix nuzzling each other tenderly. She watched the big orange dragon nimbly climb into Phoenix’s stall, circling around her and nestling down in the hay beside her. Sabine could hear her chirping and trilling fondly as he snuffled at her snout, and she leaned over and butted her head against his chin, rubbing her long neck against his shorter one.

"I still can't believe you let them be together," Ezra said quietly, his eyes on them as well. "Anyone else would have just smashed her eggs and forgotten about it."

Sabine pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped an arm around them, resting her chin on her knees.

"I would never do that to Phoenix."

"But you didn't have to bring him here, either. You didn't have to make the stablemaster hire me, when Wulf kept running away. I know you wanted her to have a choice, but… anyone would have drawn the line at choosing him."

"I never said I thought he was a good choice," Sabine pointed out, and grinned. "He's horrible."

Ezra didn't grin back at her, and he didn't meet her eyes. "Does it… even... matter, to you? If anyone else thinks he's not good enough. If—if your family thinks he's not good enough."

Sabine looked away, his words bringing a sinking feeling in her chest.

I guess I'm not the only one projecting onto the dragons.

"No," she said, gulping back a sudden lump in her throat. She'd had suspicions—no, she'd known—how he felt about her, but she thought he knew that it was something that couldn't be talked about. "It doesn't matter to me." She tried to smile. "I mean, why shouldn't a half-tamed wild forest dragon have babies with a pedigreed purebred hunter? Besides the fact that their pups will be an awful nuisance. They're just dragons. It isn't like it is with people."

"Isn't it?" he whispered.

"Of course it isn't. Dragons are just dragons. People have to be other things. Just—as an example—you and I. We could never be together."

His eyes darted to hers for a second, and it felt like all the air had been sucked right out of her lungs.

"Maybe we could," he said, still holding her eyes. His gaze was searching, and his fingertips brushed her hand. "If we—"

"Ezra, don't," she whispered sharply. "Don't do this to me now."

He shifted a little closer and lowered his voice further. "It doesn't have to be this way."

"Yes, it does. People like us can't be together."

"Because of who I am?"

"Because of who I am! I have a duty to my clan. The Empire gets closer to our border every day. I will do whatever I have to do to protect my people."

She leaned closer to him and, for just a second, she let her arm brush against his.

"I'll do whatever I have to do to protect you, Ezra."

His eyes flashed, and quick enough that she couldn't stop him, he slipped his arm through hers and pulled her closer, ducking his head to whisper in her ear.

"Run away with me."

Those four words made her heart flip, and she wasn't sure if it was thrill or horror.

"Ezra!"

"I've thought it all out," he went on urgently, pulling her a little closer and ignoring the way she gasped his name. "I'll take Wulf and you'll take Phoenix and we'll bring the pups. We can disappear together. There wouldn't be anything stopping us then."

"Have you even heard a word I've said?!" she hissed, frantically aware of how many people were around them. Even if they couldn't hear his words, they were watching.

He wasn't deterred. "You know I don't have anything to give you. I can't make you rich or comfortable. Your family will never accept me. You won't be proud of me. I can't even give you a ring. But I'd love you, and I'd do anything to make you happy. Think about it, Sabine."

She shook her head, too choked up to speak or do anything besides drop her face into her hands and squeeze her eyes shut tight. After a moment, he let go of her arm—then slipped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her against his side.

"Sabine? Was I—wrong?"

Sabine's throat was too tight to speak, and she just let herself lean into his side. It didn't matter who saw anymore. Nothing mattered anymore.

"If you don't want me, it's okay," he went on in a whisper that was as broken as it was gentle. "I'll still run away with you. We can say I'm your brother. You won't get pushed into a betrothal with some Imperial scum."

"Stop," she whispered tremulously, afraid to open her eyes and see the way he was looking at her. "Just stop. I can't do this. You're going to be part of my life for as long as our dragons live, and I don't want to look at you every day and think about what we could have had."

She heard him inhale sharply, and felt him move closer to her, leaning his head in towards hers and speaking in a breathless whisper.

"Sabine—you mean—you—"

"I mean I can't," she hissed, raising her face and finding that he was dangerously near her. "Not I don't want to. Not I won't. I can't. That's all there is to it. That's all we can do. That's—"

Something flickered across his face as he looked at her, and for a heart-stopping second, Sabine knew he was about to lean in and give her a kiss slow and tender enough to break her resolve.

"Don't," she whispered, barely putting breath into the words.

Ezra held her eyes, then nodded once and let go of her.

"Of course, Viscountess," he said, offering her a weak joke as he moved away. "Can't have me tarnishing your honor in front of the stablehands."

Sabine glanced around. The not-staring was so obvious she could feel it.

"Too late," she said with a painful half-laugh, because it was terribly true.

We're too late, Ezra. We never had a chance.

[lchufflepuffcorn]

Returning home

A dragon!hybrid!Targaryen AU imagine.

Note: I've used a prompt from @writing-prompt-s which will be highlighted.

Masterlist

🐉 hybrid Masterlist

Warning: I've used the term Lxdx to designate the reader, which you can translate as either Lord or Lady, at your discretion. Reader as at least two elder brothers (because rich families of medieval times).

Coming back to Dragonstone was alway like removing a weight from your shoulder. You could finally breathe freely. The sea air was cold, even with your cape, it felt like your bones were shaking to create a fire with their friction. It didn’t bother you much, however. For months you’d longed to see Jacaerys again. Letters exchanged between the two of you were not fulfilling enough as time went by. 

You loved your family, you truly did, and it had been because of them that you could be graced the honour of being prince Jacaerys everyday compagnion, it didn’t mean you didn’t miss him when you came back home. You never truly could express yourself as you liked in letters, the ravens being too weak to fly with too much paper on a long distance. 

The boat hit another wave, causing you tograsp at the railing to keep your footing. You didn’t have Jace grace when it came to his father’s craft, the sea remained a mystery to you, just like the sky. Yet, you detested horses even more. The choice of taking a boat and arriving at the port of Dragonstone, or to take the bridge was very easy to you, especially after days of riding. 

You leaned carefully oer the railing of the forecastle deck, to watch the island that was growing seemingly bigger with every wave that broke against the fore peak. The wind against your back had helped to shorten your travel by the sea, and you were glad. The captain of the ship had guaranteed that if the wind continued, you’d reach Dragonstone before nightset. A giddy feeling had taken over your belly since that news. Surprising Jace was hard to do, and this was the perfect opportunity to do so. 

In the horizon, a shadow detached itself from the grey stone of the mountain’s side. A flap of its dark wings had it soaring high in the sky, and a blood-curdling screech resonated against the cloudy sky and darkening sea. You smiled. 

“Lxdx (Y/N), we should dock at Dragonstone in less than three hours.” Shouted one of the septa your family had sent back with you, from the quarter deck. You turned to face her, waving to keep her attention on you. 

“We’ll be greeted before that!” You shouted back to her, a smile cutting through your face. 

“What?” 

You pointed toward the sky where the form of a dragon was clearly distinguishable from the grey clouds of the setting hour. The septa’s eyes grew comically wide, and hurried whispers came from the ship’s crew. A wave of worry, amazement and fear, you didn’t care. Having a dragonfly near was always a spectacle you were always glad to see. The beas screeched again, the sound of its leathery wings flapping sent a shiver down your spine, and glee gave your face a beam as you turned to look at the dragon flying closer yet toward the ship. 

In a rare piercing of the dying sunlight showed the light green scale of the dragon, its triangular face and backfacing horns confirmed what you already knew: Jacaerys was coming to greet you. How he figured out you were the one on the ship was beyond you. He grazed the water with one of his legs, making the water ripple before flying over the boat, letting dripplets fall all over the decks. 

A laughter escaped your throat, eyes following the beast as it circled the ship once. You escalated the railing of the forecastle deck to greet your dragonkin lover with enthousiast, as he looped joyfully in the sky. 

“Jace!” You called to him, waving at him. The dragon���s head snapped in your direction. Before you could react, the dragon swooped down, and you were hanging upside down in one of its claws as it quickly rose up again.

"Nice to see you too, darling," you managed to shout over the wind.

The dragon dropped his head for a second, showing his teeths in what you assumed was the mimic of a smile before looking ahead once more, flying the two of you toward the castle. He had no leather seat attached to him, you realised after a second. Head leaning against the scaly dragon’s skin to protect yourself from the wind, your hands holding onto the claws that were closed thigly against your middle. 

Dragons did not have the right anatomy to hold such a grip on humans, but Jace, or Vermax, you weren’t really sure of who was in control right now, was using both his back legs, or were they paws, and his tail to keep you steadily in his grip. You were holding on to the thiness part of it to help him transport you. He was careful, flying near the sea so as not to hurt you if you dropped, and for that you were glad. 

The ground was approaching fast and you couldn’t help but let out a shout in the dragon’s direction. 

“What’s your plan now?” Knowing Vermax, he didn’t have one. The screech he produced in response meant nothing understandable to you andyou couldn’t possibly climb the beast without potentially killing yourself in the process. You braced for a harsh landing. 

It went better than you’d thought it would. It still hurt, and you had scrapes and bruises on your arms and legs, but Jace (because the dragon had been mostly Jace during the landing) had taken the brunt of it. He’d managed to land on his front paws (you ought to ask what they were truly called), and rolled over for you to land on Jaces human form. The cracking of broken and healing bones had not been very invinting, but the warmth of his kisses made you forget commenting about it. 

“I missed you. I thought you were arriving tomorrow.” Jace said between kisses, his hands roaming all over your face, arms and hips as if he could hardly control his movements. 

“The wind was stronger than we thought.” You explained, breath short, cheeks warmth with the embarrassment of his actions done in plain daylight, where everyone could see. 

Jace nodded, hugging you closer for a moment before raising to his feet, and helping you on yours. “We have to tell mother of your return!” He beamed at you like a child, tugging you with him, only slowing down to take the cape a groundskeeper offered him to cover up before continuing the trek up to the castle. 

You could only smile at his excitement, babbling away, face in front, you could only grasp the bribes of his sentences. Jace only stopped talking once you reached the doors of the Dragonstone castle. Rhaenyra was waiting for the both of you, dressed in a sober black and red dress, hands clasped before her heavily pregnant belly, but a bright smile on her face. You bowed in front of her, trying to contain the panting of your breath from the quick walk up. 

“Your Majesty.” You greeted her. 

“(Lxdx Y!N), I hope your journey was uneventful. We are happy to have you back with us.” The queen eyed Jace for a fraction of second before her gaze came back on you. You nodded your head once more. 

“I had no difficulties, Ma’am. I am delighted to be here again.” 

Jace squeezed your hand with his, his eyes never leaving your face as you spoke with his mother. Once the exchange of pleasantries was done, Jace excused the both of you from his mother and pulled you through the castle, making a bee-line for your chambers. 

You’d always reside in the quarters next to Jace’s, for obvious reasons, and now was no exception. The room still in the same decor as you left them, if more tidy than when you left. Only your bed was undone, pillows askew and furs pushed down the foot of the bed, the sheet underneath pooling to the ground. 

“Have you slept here?” You asked him, looking around, leaving him to close the door. 

“Missed your scent.” Was his explanation, he wrapped his arms around you again, nuzzling his nose to the crook of your neck and breathing deeply. “Six months is a far too long time for you to be away..” He mumbled against your skin, his tone bordering on grumpiness. You chuckled at that. 

“I couldn’t simply abandon the wedding festivities of my second brother, and my eldest brother had his first child, thus delaying my leave further.” Jace grumbled at your answer, rubbing his chin to your shoulder. 

“What’s a baby going to remember of those celebrations, anyway?” He asked, kissing a burning trail down your neck. You scoffed, turning to face him in his arms, he let you do it, raising an eyebrow at your sudden movement. 

“The celebrations are for the parents.” 

Jace closed his eyes, a smile raising the corner of his lips and he nodded at your words. “Ah, this makes more sense. Nevertheless, I’ve missed you, you were away for too long.” Jace looked at the still closed door before leaning to capture your lips with his. 

“You’re taking liberties, my prince.” You teased him, taking a step back to produce distance between the two of you. “It’s not proper.”

“I do not care.” He breathed against your lips, chasing after you, closing the space you’d just created as soon as you had moved away. 

His hands moved to hold on to your arm, the other cupping the back of your neck, he kissed you again. And again. He kissed your lips until it didn’t satisfy him anymore and then the prince migrated to the rest of your face, delecting himself with the giggles that escaped you as he did. 

Taglist: @lady-dragon-rider

Current anon: 👑😵‍💫🥰🧑‍🍼😣

[whoevenheckinknows]

Mine (DickJay Week 2025 Day 2)

Fandom: Batman All Media Types

Rating: M

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationship: Dick Grayson x Jason Todd,

Characters: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd,

Tags: DickJay week 2025, Dickjay week day 2, possessive dick grayson, Dick Grayson was a good brother for all the Robins… except for Jason, protective dick grayson, unresolved sexual tension, I'm not really sure how to tag this, no beta we die like Jason Todd, Do not post to other sites, Cross-Posted on my other social medias, POV Third Person

Summary Jason knows he's the outcast of the family. He knows that, even without being forced to watch Dick treat his other brothers with more love and care than he ever showed Jason. And yet Dick has the audacity to get upset when Jason lays it all out for him to understand.

Or: There is a fine line between possessive and protective. Dick has trouble staying on one side.

AN: This fic ended up a lot different than I planned when I first started. I hope y'all enjoy anyway.

17: Medieval/Historical AU|Possessive Dick Grayson|Humiliation/Degradation Kink|Dick Grayson was a good brother for all the Robins… except for Jason

~~~

Jason hates dinner at the manor. He hates the reminder that no matter what he does, he'll always be the outsider of the family. The black sheep. The unwanted brother. They all make him well aware of that fact.

Especially Dick.

Jason watches from across the room as Dick fusses over the two youngest boys. Jason's Replacement and the Blood Son. Dick never fussed over him like that. Even when Jason was younger, Dick only tolerated his existence. And that's when he wasn't being actively hostile. Jason will give him credit for being less aggressive towards the end of Jason's time as Robin, but he was never like how he is now with his other brothers. And most of the time they don't even appreciate it.

Dick notices Jason staring at him and gives him a smile. Jason glares before looking away. Fucking prick.

(He doesn't notice Dick frown at the action.)

~~~

"Fuckin hell, Dickwing!" Jason yells in his com, making sure he's heard over the sounds of gunfire. He spins around and slams the butt of his gun into one of the goons. "Why are you here?"

"Don't be like that, Little Wing! It looked like you could use a little help cleaning up around here." And fuck does Jason want to punch that smug sounding mouth. If only friendly fire was an option right now.

"I was doing just fine, thanks." Jason snarls. He shoots at someone sneaking behind Nightwing, hitting them in the shoulder. "And I especially don't need help from you."

"Aw, you make it sound like you don't like me." Jason can see his smirk in his peripherals.

"That's cause I don't, Dickhead." It's Jason's turn to smirk as he sees that condescending smile fall slightly. It's only for a moment, before a Nightwing Smile (TM) reappears, but Jason saw it nonetheless.

They spend the rest of the fight in silence, quickly taking out the rest of the goons. Jason doesn't comment on Nightwing's brutality after their small conversation, just as Nightwing doesn't comment on the fact that Jason's not using rubber bullets.

Soon all the men are down for the count, and Jason grapples to the roof of a nearby building. Sure, he didn't use rubber bullets, but at least he didn't kill the fuckers. Instead, he waits for the police to show up, like a good little Bat.

He hears the sound of someone grappling beside him and holds in a groan of frustration. "Go the fuck away. The issue is solved now, though I didn't need your help to begin with. So you can get your ass out of here before I shoot it instead."

"Jay-"

"No names in the field, asshole."

Nightwing sighs. "Hood. I just want to make sure you're okay."

"I'm dandy. Never been better." Jason sees the reflection of red and blue lights on the alley walls, and knows that's his cue to leave. He pulls out his grapple and turns towards Nightwing for one final remark. "Besides, don't you have better brothers to fuss over?"

Jason chuckles humorlessly to himself at the sound of choking as he grapples away.

~~~

Dick tracks him down to his safehouse later that night. Jason doesn't hear him come through the window over the sound of his shower, but stepping out of the bathroom he knows something is off. He tightens the towel around his waist, allowing the one used to dry his hair to rest on his shoulders.

Grabbing the gun he keeps behind the mirror, Jason tiptoes down the hallway. Most of the apartment is open floor, with only the bedroom and bathroom hidden behind doors. He can see right away that whatever's wrong isn't in the main room. Jason continues towards his bedroom, where the door is firmly shut. He knows he left it cracked before his shower.

He bursts through the door and points his gun inside. Even after identifying the person sitting on the foot of his bed just a few feet away, he doesn't lower his gun.

"What the fuck, Dick?"

"Is that any way to greet your older brother?" Dick replies cheekily.

Jason scowls.

"Fuck off. You lost your right to call yourself that long before I died. Don't think just cause I'm playin' nice with you Bats that I'm part of your fuckin' family."

"Of course you're part of the family, Jay!"

"Ya sure don't fucking act like it." Jason lowers his gun, but doesn't put it away.

Dick looks stricken, and Jason can't help his satisfaction at having put that look on his face. 'Bout time Old Dickie faced the consequences of his actions.

"Wha-what do you mean? Did I do something to make you feel unwelcome?"

Jason doesn't stop the loud disbelieving scoff that escapes his throat.

"'Did I do something to make you feel unwelcome?' You tell me, Dick." Jason places his gun down on the table by the door and starts stalking his way closer to Dick.

"Did being used as a outlet for your anger as a kid make me feel unwelcome?"

A step.

"Did coming back to see that I've been replaced as both Robin and a brother make me feel unwanted."

Another.

"Did seeing how easily Demon Brat integrated into the family despite all he's done make me feel as if you weren't even trying with me?"

A step, and a finger shoved into the now-in-reach chest.

"How could watching you be a better brother to them then you ever were to me possibly make me feel like I was never actually your brother?"

With each step, each barbed remark, Dick's face falls more and more until he looks close to tears. Serves him fucking right.

"Jay…"

"Get out."

"Wh-what?"

Jason moves his hand so that his finger is now pointing towards the window.

"Get. The Fuck. Out. Before I make you."

"Jason-"

"Fucking hell Dick, you have no right to be here in the first place. So fucking leave already." Jason's pretty sure he's yelling at this point, but he doesn't care as anger fills his veins. Dick stands up so that they're chest to chest at the foot of the bed.

"If you let me talk-"

"Oh no you don't. You're not talking circles around me. Actions speak louder than words, Dickhead. And your actions are fucking screaming that you don't want me. And I don't want you here either." Jason can see Dick's own anger flaring as he keeps getting cut off. Golden boy fucking deserves it.

"Ja-"

"You don't want me, you never have. And I don't want to be a part of your perfect fucking family anywa-"

"Dammit Jay, I want you too much!" Dick roars. Jason's eyes widen, and his shock leaves him defenseless for just a moment. Dick uses it to his advantage.

Wrapping a leg around one of Jason's, Dick twists around and shoves him onto the bed. Not giving any time to recover, Dick pins his arms down and uses a knee to push Jason's bare shoulder blades into the mattress.

"What the fuck? Get off of me!"

"Not until you actually fucking listen." Dick must be getting real pissed if he's cursing. Fucking good.

"Listen to what?" Jason spits out into the sheets under him. "Listen to you spin your lies and make yourself out to be the good guy, like you always do? The victim of mean old Jason, who's always the bad guy. Seriously, Dick. At least make your lies believable. What the fuck does 'I want you too much' even mean?"

Dick's responds by pushing his knee harder into Jason's shoulder blades, causing his face to push further into the mattress.

Jason groans in pain, muffled only slightly by the sheets in his mouth.

"Maybe if you stop fucking interrupting me and listen, I'll explain."

"Fuck you."

"In this position, it'd be the other way around don't you think?"

The comment is not what he expected, and Jason is left speechless.

"Huh. Well that's one way to shut you up. I'll have to keep that in mind" Dick chuckles darkly, leaning down to almost whisper the words into Jason's ear. Shit he's really pissed. Jason's earlier satisfaction slowly fades as he realizes the position he's in, pinned down with no chance of escape. Who knows what Dick will do now?

"Now, are you going to let me speak, or am I going to have to gag you as well?"

Jason growls, but lets him continue. Dick leans away from his ear.

"Good. To start, you're absolutely right. I took some of my anger at Bruce out on you. That was wrong of me, Jay, and for that I'm sorry. But!" Dick cuts off the response Jason tries to get out. "It's not because I hated you, or didn't think of you as my brother. In fact, it's the opposite."

"Robin was mine. My name, my outfit, my legacy. In my head, that meant that as Robin, you were mine." Jason makes a noise but Dick ignores him. "I'm a possessive man, Jason. I keep what I consider mine close to me, and don't let go. And that scared me. Here's this kid that Bruce took in and gave Robin, and I wanted to take him, keep him all for myself."

"So instead, I pushed you away. Kept you at arms length. Didn't let you get close enough for me to nab. And in the end, you died. And I thought, if I didn't push you away, could I have prevented that?"

"Don't get a complex about it, Dickhead. None of that was your fault." Jason grumbles out as Dick takes a breath.

"A little late for that now." Jason scoffs as Dick goes on. "I fucked up, pushing you away. I know that. So when Tim forced his way into our lives as Robin, I promised to do better. Robin was still mine, but I learned to turn my possessiveness into protectiveness. Probably coddled Tim too much, and Damian after him."

"So why ain't you mother-henning me like you do them, huh?" Jason snarks. Dick pushes harder for a moment.

"If you shut up and stop interrupting, I can finish explaining. When you returned, Jay, I was ecstatic. The one I pushed away came back and I could do better! I wanted to protect you this time. Except. I wasn't able to stop being so possessive of you. You were my first Robin. You were mine. You are mine. And Jason?" Here, Dick leans closer once more to whisper into Jason's ear. "I don't like when my things avoid me."

A shiver runs down Jason's spine at the chilling tone. What�� the actual fuck.

"Every time you turn away from me? Push me aside? Refuse my help? That possessive part of me flares up just a little bit more. And tonight was the last straw. I've already lost you once, Jay. I'm going to do my damnedest to make sure I don't lose you again."

Every word out of Dick's mouth tickles Jason's ear, his lips just barely brushing his earlobe as he talks. His breath is warm. Really, his whole body is warm. Jason's body is slowly warming up in response.

Jason hates how all of this is making him feel. He wants to fight it all; to thrash and bite and scream and tell Dick he doesn't belong to anybody. That anyone who tries to claim otherwise is gonna get a bullet straight through their fucking head. But his body's decided without his input that he needs to stay right here, with this man pinning him down so securely. Unconsciously, Jason relaxes into the feeling of belonging it brings him, despite his brain being a constant scream of what the fuck.

The only sound in the room is their breathing, heavy and labored from their yelling. Jason knows he should respond, but what is he supposed to say? What the fuck is anyone supposed to do in this situation.

Jason decides to do what he does best and responds with anger, despite his relaxing body language suggesting otherswise. "So what, Dickface? Ya gonna keep me here forever? Force me to be your perfect little brother, caged away where nothing can hurt me?"

"Oh God no, Jay. That would be just as bad as letting you die again." Jason's faux anger immediately fades to shock, and it must show in his body language because Dick sighs. He takes the weight off of his knee and lets go of Jason's arms. For a moment, Jason thinks he's gonna let him up. That thought is crushed, along with the rest of Jason's body, as Dick flops on top of him.

Shit, if Jason thought Dick was warm before, it's nothing compared to the feeling of Dick completely covering Jason's bare back.

Jason tries to ignore it as he prompts Dick to continue. "So…?"

"So, I don't know, Jay. I've been trying to answer that same exact question since the moment we fucking met. You're mine, but what does that mean? I don't want you to be unhappy. I really don't. And I know stiffling you would do that. But… I don't want you to fly away from me for good either. I just…" Jason feels something warm and wet hit the back of his neck and he realizes with a start that Dick is crying. Dick shoves his face in Jason's hair to try and hide it. "I want you so bad. But I don't know how I want you. I'll take whatever you give me at this point though. Just.. please. Don't push me away anymore ."

Jason sighs quietly as Dick continues to hide his tears in Jason's neck. He reaches one of his arms back to thread his fingers soothingly through Dick's hair in response. He waits until Dick's cries trail off before speaking.

"Dick, let me up." He feels Dick wrap his arms tightly around him in protest. "I promise I'm not gonna leave. I just think this is a conversation I should be having with you, not my mattress."

Dick chuckles wetly as he rolls off Jason, the mattress bouncing slightly as he falls beside him. Jason has to hold back a whine at the chill that hits his back as soon as Dick moves. He turns to face Dick, taking the time to look over his red eyes and disheveled hair. He sighs again.

"C'mere." Jason grumbles, holding his arms open. A teary smile appears on Dick's face before he moves closer, shoving his face into the front of Jason's neck and wrapping his arms tightly around his waist once more. Jason wraps his own arms around Dick, albeit not as tightly. He places his chin on top of Dick's hair.

"So what now?" Jason breaks the silence after a while.

"I already said, I don't-"

"Yeah yeah, you don't know, haven't since we met, yadda yadda." Jason runs his fingers through Dick's hair to dissuade a response. "But that was before, when you decided that me 'belonging to you' meant I had no say in whatever the fuck you did. But now I know what you're thinking. And yeah, I know I can't stop your possessiveness if I wanted to. But I can at least help you figure things out. We'll figure it out together."

"Together." Dick's whisper into his neck causes another shiver to go down his spine. Jason responds by hugging him tighter to his chest.

End notes: Me: man I really want to write angry and possessive Dick fucking Jason after pinning him onto a bed

Dick: gets emotional and starts crying

Me: Oh shit, what the hell, geezus christ, what the fuck am i suppose to do now

If y'all want a smuty second part, let me know and I'll see what I can do. Feel free to let me know if there's any mistakes in the comments.

Come talk to me elsewhere

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[originalwinnerfanfish]

Hey I am the same guy as Dat-lil-shark who has been commenting on all of your Tfp wings of fire arts. I am asking through this blog because it’s my main and tumblr won’t let me switch blog for asks. Anyways I LOVE EVERYTHING YOU HAD WITH IT. ITS A WONDERFUL AU!! Please

Allow me to cook some headcanons of my own for this AU. I’ve been having an autism crisis with it all afternoon.

The dragons and the scavengers (humans) did not live on the same continent and were not aware of each other’s existence until the war broke out, and the dragons dried all the resources on their continent, so they fly away until they found the human continent, still full of resources. In the prehistorical time, the animus dragons in this world put their power inside this world’s version of the Matrix, before all lived in loneliness and let their bloodline die. So there would not be any animus magic born for the unworthy, only those that were chosen by the Matrix.

Shockwave received his animus magic through unnatural means (my guess is through injecting himself with blood from past animus dragons, or through tempting with ancient taboo animus objects. (Potentially half of his face rotting away was a side effect of this)).

Optimus restrain from using his animus magic unless absolutely necessary because he had potentially conceived a grave mistake with it in the past, and potentially, in some way, a mistake that lead to this war. Or he was simply afraid of loosing his soul and hurting those around them. Or potentially. Potentially, the animus magic within the Matrix was not infinite and when it was passed to Optimus, there were only limited amount left, and he got to save them.

Back in the days half breed dragons were very much frowned upon, and because of so, before being chosen by the Matrix, Orion was very much abused. And because of so, Megatronus help him out and protect him and that’s how they became friends. That was also why Optimus not adopted so half breeds, because he was one of them.

Now, Decepticons were also not tolerant of half breed dragons partly because of old traditions, and partly because Megatron was always reminded of Orion when around them.

Ratchet is also an alchemist, and so is Rafael.

Ratchet collects a lot of herbs and rare animals to create his potions with, which Bulkhead always loved to steal and eat when he’s not watching (he got his tail bitten).

And the humans were only in the medieval era.

The Jasper in this version is located near the sea instead (both allows the Jasper Trio to be the first who met the dragons, who came from the sea, and allowed all the Seawings and half Seawings of the Autobots to be comfortable.) and potentially on an island or a half island which still kept them somewhat isolated and remote form the rest of the human continent.

Despite so, Miko was one of the jungle people, and was a traveler who came from afar, hence her bravery and desire for adventures. Since she had been fighting snakes and jaguars all her life she thought fighting the dragons would be the same (it’s not).

Miko loved to use Bulkhead’s entire back as a slide. She also always cling onto his tail when he went for missions so she could sneak away with him.

Arcee disguises herself as a shark and every time Jack was going to hang out with her, he lied to June that he was just gonna chase the shark away from the fish they were farming.

Jack was involved in a few boating races against Vince, and when they did, Arcee was swimming below Jack’s boat, pushing him forward while making it seem he’s just boating faster. Wheeljack always accidentally burn everything around him and was NOT sorry.

The autobot dragons tried to disguise as normal animals to the best of their abilities (crocodiles, shark, lions, etc)

Dark energon also worked similar to the Othermind, and Megatron was so addicted to its fruit that it’s now the only thing he eats.

Silus skinned Breakdown after his death and drooped his scales over a machine dragon that he created. He also claimed that he was the one who took down this dragon and now his townspeople praised him as the Dragon Slayer.

During Operation Bumblebee, M.E.C.H. had clipped the tip of Bumblebee’s wings to study, leaving him unable to fly (and later it healed naturally) and later they did the same to Starscream.

And this was inspired from your design and not the original plot:

Predaking the Skywing suffered from poor sleep and health due to his constant negative mood string from what happened with his race (which lead to dark eye circle and dull scales.)

that is it

hope you like it

I had a lot more head canon but a lot of them were commented down in your post anyways

I just love you AU SO SO SOOO MUCH!!

I might drop in more later

See ya!

GOOD LORD, THESE ARE INCREDIBLY COOL IDEAS!!!!!!

I really like that you focused on the human characters of this AU!

The fact that Jasper located on the coast is a simple and at the same time ingenious move, since it would really solve many problems such as dragons base and variants of humans vehicles!

For example, humans could transport materials and huge mechanisms on ships that were escorted under and above the water by autobots (as in the "Convoy" episode), so the dragons will remain invisible

The idea of boat racing is generally brilliant, as is the detail that Arcie helped Jack while pretending to be a shark (this is not noticeable on the art, but according to my idea, her tail is really very similar to a shark))

I also really interesting about what type of role will play Agent Fowler in this version. Given the medieval setting, he could either be a local count or a knight of one of the lords, somehow having a connection with the king and following his orders to keep the "beasts" away from people

June could also be a local healer in this AU and sell medicinal herbs and infusions (and send her son for ingredients). She might be a great help to autobots, telling Retchet about the plants of the new continent and their effects on organism, which would help him create new medicines. She might even have helped Retchet find a cure for the Othermind infection (while saving Raphael life after Megs attack)

I also really like the detail that Shockwave wasn't born with animus power, but acquired it, and now it's destroying his body. It's even tragic to some extent (especially for Soundwave). But it also works very cool to reveal the character. Perhaps, like Stonemover, he preferred to pay for the use of magic not by destroying his mind, but by destroying his body (idk, this is just so true for him)

So, again, thank you very very VERY much for all of these theorys!

I'm already whant to make many of them a part of this AU canon!

[cozzzynook]

Medieval Soundrod Au Anon back again with part 3! {TW: Some Angst}

Hot Rod limped back towards the den a trail of magenta energon followed behind him. The hunting trip didn't go well and he ended up getting ambushed by some predacon hunters. Tired, sore and wanting nothing more than make sure his mate and sparkling were safe the red predacon continues limping until his vision goes blurry and dark.

A soft gentle touch to his helm stirred Roddy awake. Blinking away the static he was greeted by the worried look of Megatron who was holding a first-aid kit. "Ah good you're still with us Hot Rod, For a moment I was concerned you wouldn't make it...how are you feeling old friend?" The grey mech carefully placed the kit aside helping Roddy sit up before handing some medical grade.

"Sore and tired mostly...W-where's Soundwave and my sparkling? Are they safe?!" Roddy snipped as he tried to haul himself out of berth before grunting as pain shot up his spine forcing the mech back into the berth. Megatron sighed tucking the red mech back in before nodding towards the door, a few minutes passed before a squawking blue and gold predacon sparkling flapping their wings runs up to greet their wounded carrier. Hot Rod carefully scouped them up giving a low chuff as he held them closely. "I'm okay...Carrier is okay" He whispered softly as he gently petted their little helm.

Its late into the night and Roddy is struggling to rest despite having both his partner and sparkling by his side. Soundwave had returned just a few hours before with his sword stained with energon before he collapsed into recharge at Hot Rod's berth keeping his promise to avenge him. With a sigh he stared out of the window gazing at the stars wondering what he should do, if he stays in the village the risk grew higher of being found out as his sparkling grew antsy ready for their first flight. Leaving sounded like the safest option, but he didn't want to tear Soundwave away from his family or home as it was simply too dangerous for a normal mech to be in the wilderness.

The early morning sun began to rise as Hot Rod took flight carrying his sparkling carefully in his talons, he blinked back tears knowing he was doing this for the sake of his sparkling and mate. Before leaving Roddy had left behind a note and one of his golden feathers so that Soundwave could remember him, hours pass before Roddy sees the familiar ancient ruins of his old home.

After quietly landing close by he quietly hushes his sparkling before he begins stalking towards the ruins. A familiar scent catches his attention allowing him to trot closer until he spots familiar red and blues. Optimus has a shocked look his face before he rushed forwards smelling the faint scent of energon on Hot Rod. "Hot Rod? what happened!? where have you been all this time? I was so worried about you!" Optimus carefully checked Roddy over until he catches the scent of a bittie. Optimus gave a low scolding growl before nudging Roddy and his sparkling towards his nest. "You could have said something about having a sparkling...I would have helped you raise them." He grumbled as he helped Hot Rod to the nest before checking over his grandbittie.

{Bonus} It was long into winter and no luck had been found. Soundwave sighed as he trekked through the deep snow with a troch in one servo while holding the collar of his coat with the other. Finally finding a small cave he entered and quickly started a fire before sitting to rest. For a long moment the blue mech started into the fire remembering the bright hues and smile of his partner. Rummaging through his pockets he pulled out the single golden feather, staring at it for a moment Soundwave then bows his helm giving it a single light kiss before whispering "My love...be safe...I'm coming, I promise"

{Don't worry this isn't the end I plan on making one finale part! Hope you enjoyed :D}

Dmkckakfjkwkff AHHHHHHHH I LOVE THIS!!!!!

Roddy you caring dummy, don’t leave soundwave!

Poor Optimus he was so worried about his baby and now he has a grandbitty to worry about too.

Poor soundwave 😭 he has to trek the lands and ruins for his love and bitty! Hot rod owes him kisses, cuddles and another sparkling for the trouble. Hehe hehe 😉

[sketalya]

psst! hey kid! I heard you like countryhumans!

I remember back when I was active in the fandom (it's still kind of a guilty pleasure fandom) I had a few things that happened to the Philippines and co:

-when Philippines is standing up right, he's Philippines, when he's upside down, he's Martial. there was this incorrect quote I wrote where he's doing cartwheels and shouting "I am Philippines! I am martial! I am Philippines! I am Martial!"

-America once injured his eye and had a cotton pad over it. Philippines wouldn't stop calling him "cotton eyed Joe"

nobody knows where he came from, or where he went.

-Indonesia has a giant fish tank at his house.

-there was this incident where the south east Asia gang showed up to the meeting building early to find a guy in a janitor's outfit and a box van trying to get into the building, they asked what he was doing, and the guy said that their boss had ordered some new chairs and he came to take the old chairs. so they decided to help him out by not only unlocking the doors for him, but also helped him load all of the chairs into his van.

Come to find out, ASEAN never ordered any new chairs, they just helped a guy steal all of their chairs.

-Cambodia lost both of her legs to a landmine and relies on the gang to carry her around.

-same year as the chair incident, at summer boot camp (which is just a glorified summer camp for Country humans) Indonesia and Vietnam got sick and tired of eating camp food and decided to go out and gather their own food.

it was a disaster, when they came back, Vietnam's arm was covered in bee stings and honey, and Indonesia somehow was able to catch a fish, but he had no way of cleaning it, or cooking it, so they just threw the fish back into the water and never complained about camp food ever again.

-same year, while discussing on how to get back on ASEAN's good graces after falling for the classic Bavarian fire drill routine with the chairs, Philippines flew off the swing set and accidentally took out ASEAN

-that was also the same year a squirrel broke into the male European countries' cabin, and sat on Italy's chest. and Italy freaked out thinking it was a rat resulting in every single country in that cabin to freak out because all European countries minus Poland and Iceland, are terrified of rats.

(Poland wasn't there because he and Hungary and Czech packed up their horses, and took an annual road trip that included horse back riding, and taking part in a medieval festival where Poland dresses up as a Winged Hussar, and Hungary goes as a Hungarian Hussar as well)

Yoo...That was a lot of headcanons and they all sounds interesting 👀✨✨✨

And the fact that you also made headcanons for countryhumans outside of ASEAN is very cool....So far I have only focused on Sea countries, especially Maphilvietindo TwT

Where in the AU I'm working on, their story focuses on their lives in a special school for nations (Which of course is not a regular school, it has a fantasy and mystery genre, and the school has some crazy things going on around it)...So yeah, it's like a school AU where the countries are the students while international organizations like ASEAN, UN, EU, NATO, and others are the teachers lol

And besides Maphilvietindo, I also made some headcanons for other Sea countries...Like Singapore who is secretly a gamer, Cambodia and Thailand who have a sibling rivalry, Brunei being the sanest person in the group, and other 😂

I made a little headcanon for other countries... Like Romania being a vampire and being friends with Bulgaria being a vampire hunter, and some other crazy headcanons

(I think this is my first time yapping about CH on my TTTE blog lol...But it's really nice talking about this TwT💖)

[skyclan-funny-name-squad]

Expansion on that human fae au idea

• Fae take on traits of something that they connect to, like an object or element; before then they are changelings which are kind of like the nymphs (in an insect sense), a bit opalescent skin wise (very shiny) with basically useless wings that can either become fully functioning later in life or fall off if seen as “unnecessary” in adulthood. Because Rusty spends his youth in the very human clans, he becomes very humanoid, almost to a point where he nearly blends in, outside of the red of his hair which is unnaturally bright, and his eyes which are an unsettlingly pretty forest green.

• Changelings change overtime, but are no longer considered changelings when their wings either fall off or change. If they lose their wings beforehand, you can tell when the marks of where they used to be vanish, or, they grow new ones.

• fae reside in the otherworld, and they can come in and out through gateways like fairy circles or other peculiar natural formations. The clans will rarely fully obstruct these gateways out of fear of their wrath (taking people away), but they do try to stay away from them.

• Humans and fae in stories come from the same kind of place — the difference is their bodies, fae bodies change to reflect the soul, while human bodies are difficult to change and greatly fragile. To the clans, stories have twisted fae into distorted humans — trading their mortal flesh for an undying form with the other, but in exchange they lose their “freedom”, aka, the ability to freely walk the earth. Whom they traded this freedom with is among plenty of heated discussions as the clans don’t fully understand anything on the fae side of the supernatural — though they’d be akin to Gods in their eyes. Fae alternatively believe humans left their fae bodies long ago to wander the earth.

• Because humans and fae are intrinsically connected, StarClan spirits are a lot more like fae than one would think. Due to the lack of a body, aspects of their souls will change the physical appearance of the deceased in the afterlife, and leaders and medicine cats while living also undergo alterations as the power of the human spirit alters them physically. The dead can also bless objects occasionally.

• Examples of the above; Bluestar’s hair turns blue literally, and even as she ages no white hairs grow from her head — when she dies, her hair turns white as her spirit leaves her body. Cinderpelt after becoming a full medicine cat is gifted with a blessed cane made from the bark of a willow tree, the cane in times of danger turns into a spear (This is medieval esc in my head, think dnd), she also gains this lingering scent of ashes on her and an odd immunity to fire, as it dances on her skin, but does not harm her. The gifts/blessings vary in power ofc.

• Fae generally can have multiple forms naturally, but for whatever reason when raised/live long enough among human folk they lose this ability somewhat, only able to change small aspects of themselves (ex; Firestars hair can turn into actual flames in moments of high emotion)

• Fae aging is a bit weird. Fae ages coincide with humans, with the exception of “growing old”, similarly to crocodiles they don’t experience how we age and don’t necessarily slow down or weaken with time. Fae actually just get stronger the older they become. That doesn’t mean fae won’t take on the forms of elderly humans, mostly just that it’s mainly an aesthetic preference.

• Fae can’t (easily) die in the other world, but they can 100% be killed on earth. They’re especially weak to certain metals.

• The clans have their unique opinions on how to deal with fae. WindClan is actually somewhat friendly with the fae, which gives them a bad reputation amongst the clans. ThunderClan is extremely superstitious when it comes to them — heavily avoiding any landmarks they suspect as fairy gates and occasionally trying to ward them off. RiverClan is curious, but similarly to ThunderClan very wary of them, often avoiding them completely if they can help it. ShadowClan is the only clan that still currently created weapons to slay fae, which is seen as extremely dangerous if not begging to be killed. Old SkyClan openly obstructed fairy gates — while new skyclan ofc has fae warriors in their midst.

• Fae still definitely take children from the clans and switch them with their own a la changeling mythos. The clan law of not harming children extends to changelings, though, so physically they’re often fine, though often socially ostracized. The excuse of kits with disabilities being changelings is often used by cats to excuse social ostracism even if the disability is gained after birth, two examples of this being Crookedstar and Deadfoot. Sometimes the changeling accusation comes towards anyone that strays from clan norms, including adults.

• people who run off with fae don’t become become fae, but fae do easily except humans as their own and humans in the otherworld do change ever so slightly to become a teensy bit more magical.

• Half fae are often more destructive than normal fae due to a lack of control over their abilities when young. While changelings aren’t that powerful when compared to normal fae, and depending on the age can be considered helpless — changelings have a little bit more control over their own bodies as magic is inherently apart of them. Half fae do not naturally carry said disposition to their magic and often don’t even realize they are using magic. Half changelings are extremely accident prone and often seen as a greater danger due to their unpredictability. Half changelings cannot control what traits they take on or how “human” they remain.

It's still absolutely incredible to me how far my concept of "lmao kittypet fae" have taken off, you all are putting so much thought into this its genuinely so cool to see!

[xamaxenta]

its my birthday! Not that anything is different lol but if you have any thoughts on MAS I would love it. (I still don't feel like an adult lol)

Awa hAPPY BIRTHDAY ANON! 🎉🎉🎉

Have a wonderful day, even if it doesnt feel like anything is different adulthood creeps up and decapitates you with a shovel, but, honestly as long as you know how to behave in a professional setting versus private who says you have to grow up?

My dumbass hasnt and i plan on being a weebaas neet until the day i die

Anyway MAS thoughts on anons birthday i was pondering the charts

Thought about another oh yes another God au 😭😂 but this time theyre all separate gods from different? I guess faiths or parts of the world but they can interact I guess bc as long as they have followers why not? Theyre powerful, have those that believe so they crosspaths at the divine convention the deity summit the place where most godkind flaunt their best traits to prove a point

Marco is quite old, ancient even, hes’s feathers and talons and hand forged metal and carries the scent of the crispest breeze and medicinal herbs

Sabo is more medieval, he’s a champion, built by mankind to hoist the flag of their hopes and dreams, hes freedom, if the wings sprouting from his back mean anything at all tall black raven wings hes judgement too, golden hair and the balance of mortality measuring ones worth in the split of his body because hes destruction and mercy

Ace is the most modern of the three, a real marvel born of blood and iron, hes not sure what his purpose is just yet because the one that made him was said to have died at his birth, but he knows he has faith because their prayer fuels his fire, hes the suns rays with dawn bright hair that flickers and flutters around his face like perpetual wind, hes confidence inspiring and the incarnation of doing what the heart desires

Anyway god gay time obviously

[cuddlecave]

New anon back again, with an AU idea this time…hopefully this’ll still be fun!

Hear me out—a fantasy/medieval au. Reluctant knight Gordn in his HEV suit orange armor has been kind of voluntold to defend the town in which he lives and works from various minor threats, with the occasional assistance of a super-strong warrior, a fire mage, and a man with a surprisingly powerful dog. (And the village potions master, perhaps)

When a massive deep blue dragon comes to nest in a mountain near the town, of course it’s Gordn who’s told to go take care of it before it “inevitably” comes to burn down the place and/or rob it of all its riches. So Gordn, feeling extremely wary, goes up to the top of the mountain…and is promptly startled by a vaguely annoyed dragon who would very much like to be Left Alone, Please And Thank You.

A fight ensues, and while Gordn is doing some damage to this dragon (it’s Benb. We all know this), he’s very visibly attacking despite being afraid, and also talking a lot at Ben, which nobody else has done before. So, Benb figures that Gordn might actually be willing to listen to him—which most humans aren’t—and decides that he has a great way to keep this human from hurting him anymore while he tries to think of how to explain that he doesn’t actually want to menace the nearby town.

He grabs Gordn in his mouth, tears the sword from his hand with a claw, and then gulps the small human right down. Not into his stomach, of course, but into a special pouch that dragons have for holding prey and keeping it alive for digesting later. (Benb’s not planning to eat Gordn at all, but he doesn’t know that…)

Gordn, as is to be expected, immediately panics and apologizes and starts begging to be let out. Benb, who’s feeling a little bit annoyed by the slashes to his wings (do you know how long those take to heal, man?), decides not to talk right away and just goes about settling down to patch himself up.

Unfortunately, by the the time he realizes that maybe Gordn’s *really* panicking, it’s too late, and now he’s got a human who’s just passed out from hyperventilating.

Congratulations, Benny boy, you’ve got some explaining to do when he wakes up!

(Also, Benb absolutely still talks like a gamer bro. This is a constant in every universe.)

P.S.: I just stumbled upon the “BM fleshpit” idea today and oh my goodness that’s SUCH a cool concept aaaaaa-

ooooooh i like me that idea. i'm picturing dragon benbl looking like a more classic-style dragon version of the big squid dragon version i designed for the leviathan au. and i'm also picturing gordn's armor as having, like bronze-orange designs on the mainly silver armor. maybe there's a couple sneaky lil lamda symbols in the designs too, hee hee.

also maybe tommy is like, a druid. his Powerful Dog is his main familiar or something.

also also YES i love the BM fleshpit <3 in the hlvoreai server, it's been expanded some with there being a point in time in which benbl rises up out of the ground (he's no where NEAR the size of the actual mystery flesh pit, just about as big as BM itself) leaving behind a big crater where there once was a dubiously ethical research facility. and then he eventually ends up becoming a wandering tourist attraction once it becomes clear to everyone that this big monster-thing is completely non-hostile/threatening. they call him the "Great North American Titan", or GNAT for short (which i'm amused by since 'gnat' usually refers to something VERY tiny, heh heh)

also the sci-team all live inside him at this point more or less. he's a mobile apartment complex! and the skeletons are weird lil symbiots called "calcimites" that look like a human skeleton at first glance but when you get a better look at them you clearly see "oh that is a fucked up human-shaped bug-thing"

also figured that fleshpit benbl has some ability to like, morph some of his flesh around a calcimite and then brainjack it to use as an extra mini-body. he make it convincingly human enough to walk around human towns and stuff with the team when they go on supply runs/want to get out for some sunshine and grass-touching

(this also makes it easier to kiss his comparitively tiny boyfriend :)c )

[prue84]

National Treasure instagram: Dragon photobombing

Fandom: BBC’s Merlin (post-canon, modern magic) AU AU: National Treasure Series: National Treasure instagram — [ Reblogs > Likes | No AI involved ] —

Have you thought your children were the most stressful creatures on Earth? You never tried to be dad to a dragon.

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It didn't take Aithusa, the albino dragonling good omen for Albion's future, much time outside of her egg before deciding that Arthur is just a different race of dragons - no scales, no wings, no fire, and ignorant in dragon language, but definitely still a dragon. After all, he's named Pendragon, so it means he is a dragon, right? And, since Arthur named himself "Chief of dragons" and she is the "Light of the Sun" that will bring forth a new age for dragons, it comes without saying that he's her father. Right right? The Aithusa-logic is flawless. So this knee-high to a grasshopper dragonling has the power to impose her own vision on the mighty Once and Future King, forcing him to accept that he's meant to be the dragon daddy of an annoying creature that is a ferret software running on dragon hardware (well, Arthur isn't that much well versed in technology, but he saw a similar use of computer terms to describe foxes and thought it applied for Aithusa as well). The legendary warking has begrudgingly submitted himself to the responsibility of raising the dragonling as his own, but the task at times feels more draining that leading a war against the Saxons: the dragonling has too much energy for her own good! Merlin had some errands to take care to, and left (dragon)dad and dragon daughter alone at the castle. This is what he found when he returned home.

More about the AU under the cut. (More fanworks from this AU at the links above)

———————————————————————————————

About the AU It’s the 21th century and the existence of magic has been widely known since Guinevere, the last queen of Camelot, lifted the ban and had made Merlin her own advisor. With the centuries the myth of the Once and Future King has grown unchecked: Arthur Pendragon belongs to the category of the great people of history who the most have influenced the world, with the only difference that he will one day return. Magic, for a number of circumstances never verified (possibly a mix of abuse and industrialization), seems like having been drained, leaving only the passive one: charms applied to old houses or objects still works, but new charms cannot be cast and are ineffective. Immortality is a rare gift unavailable to most, but few people belonging to the world Before The Drain still live, the oldest of them born in the Late Renaissance age. Merlin, former wizard and oldest man of the world as the only one alive since the Middle Ages, is considered the world’s grumpy uncle, that one parent who is a font of knowledge and tells funny stories about an otherwise serious topic like History but isn’t willing to sit down and socialize with the youngsters (which means basically anyone, to him). Told to be always traveling, he imparts his knowledge almost exclusively through his blog, “Merlin’s Cave”. Unknown to all, though, Merlin has also a second identity under which he lives an almost ordinary life: Gaius de Bois, young professor of Medieval History at the University of Avalon, down-to-heart person, a professor much loved by his students, and, especially “nephew” of the Great Merlin. Arthur Pendragon emerges from the secluded Lake of Avalon and his return is made official by Merlin with a post on his Instagram, a photo about the two halves of a broken coin (with Merlin’s and Arthur’s profile) reunited. Arthur leads a quiet life, residing in Merlin’s cottage on the shores of the lake, with his grumpy (not-so) former servant to protect him from meddlers and fanatics. To preserve and allocate the necessary resources to restore a conducive environment for him and his needs of Middle Ages man, he is given the title of National Treasure that grants him a monthly revenue, total coverage of expenditures and funds to restore the castle of Camelot – castle that Merlin has preserved by magically miniaturizing it and placing it in a snow-less globe. Merlin, through his social media and website, shares with the world the chronicles of how his king is adjusting to the modern times. Arthur is initially followed by paps and generally by the curiosity of the people: it’s just Merlin’s angry presence (and an endless stream of ordinances) that shelters Arthur from the frenzy although soon it becomes an ordinary sight to see the king going around wearing his armor and sunglasses. When Camelot is restored, it gets the status of Principality within the United Kingdom, a kind of enclave named New Camelot on which Arthur is granted absolute power: initially a city-state enclosed within the strong walls of the citadel, it grows when further lands and pastures are assigned to the principality to assure Camelot’s self-sufficiency. Life in New Camelot, per Arthur’s choice, doesn’t reflect the innovations happened after the king’s death, and the citadel will become a haven for people who wish to live a simpler life or simply unplug a bit from the modern times. With time Arthur will fully embrace the perks of modernity, thanks to Merlin (and his money) who spoils him, and he’ll even get a driving license (against Merlin’s will). But that’s another story for another time.

———————————————————————————————

Notes Manip started in 2020. For some reason it was held back. I don't remember why. Also, I was stuck with the text for the post. Which might be the reason of the whole holding back thing. The most challenging part of this was to fit my signature.

Originally, the post was meant to feature only one picture. The decision of making three was made in late August, when I wrapped up the Instagram portion of the project and decided that I didn't like how the full picture (now #2) looked.

Tec stuffs (aka Behind The Manip) Instagram graphic made all by-hand, with much moving/copy/pasting and, especially, a wearying research to find out which font the website used. No template site. Since I created my own template, it won't reflect any future changes the platform might make (I have no intention of modify my template).

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Crossposted Livejournal: prue84.livejournal.com/98953.html Dreamwidth: prue84.dreamwidth.org/90241.html Deviantart: deviantart.com/prue84/art/Dragon-photobombing-instagram-981846867 (instagram post), deviantart.com/prue84/art/Dragon-photobombing-981846885 (photo 1), deviantart.com/prue84/art/Dragon-photobombing-photo-2-981846913 (photo 2), deviantart.com/prue84/art/Dragon-photobombing-photo-3-981846924 (photo 3)

[steele-soulmate]

Tattooed Wings, CHAPTER 503, Peter Steele & OFC, Soulmate AU

SUMMARY: Mary Claire Bradley meets her soulmate- literally- the famous Peter Steele of metal group Type O Negative. But will obstacles including trauma, stalkers, and toxic family members get in the way of their life?

WARNING: mentions of child rape (nothing graphic) PTSD, milk kink, soft smut, grinding, assault, fingering, hand jobs, blow jobs, 69, P in V sex, blood, noncon rape, violence, death, vandalism, graffiti, attempted kidnapping, break-ins, wild animal attacks, terrorist attack (sabotage) consensual impregnation, bareback, impregnation kink, creampies, terrorist attacks (shootings) hit and run pedestrian accident, precipitous labor, neonatal death

WORDS: 1124

“Was that Priscilla White?” Isabelle asked me once I’ve settled down and was eating breakfast. “She and I went to high school together.”

“Did you really now?” Peter asked her as he wrapped his arm around my waist as I ate a forkful of scrambled eggies.

“Yeah,” she shrugged as she nibbled at a piece of bacon. “She was a thug and a bully who enjoyed sleeping around with whoever she saw fit- students, teachers, even parents alike.”

“Geezies,” I muttered as I finished my plate and leaned backwards into my husband’s chest. I suddenly felt exhausted and just wanted to sleep for a few hours.

“And she would always talk about how she was going to marry a rich guy and never need to work a day in her life ever again,” she continued speaking as the girls cleared off the table and started to rinse the plates off before setting into the dishwasher. “She worked at McDonalds and made absolutely everyone’s life hell.”

Peter hurphed as he stood with me nestled in his arms. Baby Tommy toddled after the two of us, clearly wanting cuddle time with his mommy as Daisy followed after him, Mittens and Primrose riding on her back. I watched, amazed and amused, as Baby Tommy carefully crawled up the stairs, holding his little dollie in his mouth as he pattered after Peter and I,

PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT

“Wait wait!” he called out at he came up the last step, crawling forward a few feet before standing and bounding after my husband, who had stopped to check and make certain that one Thomas Joseph Ratajczyk wouldn’t need any help.

“Baby Tommy, you know that you aren’t supposed to come up the stairs on your own!” my husband chided our son as he tucked me into bed.

“But I a bi’ boi!” he declared, scrambling to get up into the bed with me, Daisy coming up behind him and using her head to help him up. “I two and a bi’ boi!”

I smiled sleepily at him as Peter went over to build a fire in the fireplace, taking to a knee after he settled wood in and striking a match.

I squeaked lazily as I rolled over, dragging my son with me as he tugged the blanket up over the both of us for additional warmth.

I looked down at Baby Tommy and promptly broke out into a happy smile at the adorably chubby little man, pressed up against my chest and looking utterly happy with himself.

“Of course he’s happy my woman- he’s surrounded by boobies,” Peter chuckled, getting onto his side of the massively sized bed, sitting up and leaning up against her headboard and cross his ankles as he picked up a book on medieval art history that he had swiped from my study.

“Shut up!” I laughed. “He truly is his father’s son. My love, why do men like boobs so much?”

“Because boobs were our first bottles,” he chuckled, bending down to press a sweet, whiskery kiss to my temple. “Do you want me to read to you and Baby Tommy?”

“Yes daddy, yes yes yes!” piped in Baby Tommy, who was gazing at my motherly swells with amazement and love in his hazel blue eyes. “Read!”

“Sweetheart?” he checked in with me as he opened to the first chapter.

“You heard your son,” I smirked, snugging myself in tighter to his side. “Now READ.”

~xoXox~

When I woke up next, it was midafternoon, and Peter was putting away neatly folded laundry, humming a sweet song as he puttered about.

“Hey there now, my woman,” he greeted me affectionately, coming out of the giant walk in closet with a collapsible laundry basket folded up under his arm. “Isabelle and the girls cleaned the downstairs and Elizabeth did laundry for the entire family.”

“Baby Tommy?” I meeped out exhaustedly, rolling onto my other side as I woke up slowly.

“Him and his dollie are helping the girls downstairs,” he chuckled. “Cutest thing ever.”

“Ah.” I tossed the blanket off of my legs and rolled out of bed. “Can I blow your cock, please daddy?”

“Just one quick round, alright sweetheart?” he ordered me gruffly, stepping in front of me and placing his hands onto my shoulders to steady himself as I unbuckled and unzipped his jeans. I began salivating when his massive thirteen inch length jumped from his trousers and stood at full attention.

“Release the kraken!” I cackled, seizing hold of his cock and pressing my heady lips to his mushroom shaped cockhead. “We ready now, Captain Nemo?”

“Jesus…” he chuckled before howling when I practically inhale him whole. “FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK…”

“Mrmph?” I hummed as I pressed my nose into the thick forest of silver gray hairs that grew at the base of his manhood.

“Fuck… fuck… fuck… fuck… fuck… fuck… fuck… fuck…” he chanted, stilling with a loud moan as his manly essence flooded my throat. “FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK…”

He gently pulled out of me, falling to his knees so that he could smile at my hazy eyes expression.

“I love you.” KISS “I love you.” KISS “I love you.” KISS “I love you.” KISS “I love you.” KISS “I love you.” KISS “I love you.” KISS “I love you.” KISS I giggled, feeling like I was drunk as he pressed sweet little kisses to my face, wiping his trickling cum from the corner of my mouth. “I love you, amazing blueberry of my heart.”

I love you, daddy silver fox. Eleven days left until we can try for Ratajczyk baby number two.

“Jesus fuck-”

TAGLISTS ARE OPEN/ ASK BOX IS OPEN/ REQUESTS ARE OPEN/ PLOT BUNNIES ARE WELCOMED

If you liked this, then please consider buying me a coffee HERE (http://ko-fi.com/A0A4A4UD) It only costs $3!!!

PETER STEELE TAGLIST

@rock-a-noodle

@ch3rry-c01a

TAGS

#Real person fiction (RPF)

#Tattooed Wings

#Peter Thomas Ratajczyk

#Type O Negative

#Vanessa Rose Pickings/ little girl

#Special needs baby

#Aria Bradley

#Evie Bradley

#Deaf

#American Sign Language (ASL)

#Elizabeth Ratajczyk

#Alopecia

#Thomas Joseph Ratajczyk/ Baby Tommy

#Autism

#Katie Ratajczyk

#Down’s Syndrome

#Baby Violet Marie

#Neonatal death

#Matching tattoos soulmate AU

[northescere]

@vvalllerie @icara-mack you guys wanted to see this!!

harpies here are basically just people with bird wings

most harpies also have elemental-related abilities, though a very small minority lacks them and are hence looked down upon (I know what you’re thinking. “EWWW what is this ELEMENTAL ABILITIES CRAP that is SOOOO OVERUSED and CLICHE” well. I am putting a finger on your lips and Shushing you. I have been suffering from writer’s block and this is the best thing I have come up with in six months so let me have my moment)

idk I guess it’s just your basic (non-chemistry related) elements. Air, water, earth and fire. Idk I mean light could be an element too but I’m still thinking about it

Air wielders are probably generally seen as higher and more important in society, like a dominant race or something (yk since birds fly and stuff or whatever)

out of all these elements, fire wielders are basically extinct because they were slowly rooted out of society due to the belief that they were destructive, volatile and dangerous

oh yeah the harpies here are based off of real birds.

still wondering whether I should make it like a modern harpy au or give it like a whole fantasy world medieval kind of theme

Tendou is either going to be like a bearded vulture (vultures being a general bad omen / representative of death, kind of somewhat aligned with the concept of tendou being regarded as a monster and having people fear him in canon idk it feels right to me) or like idk some kind of red bird species. Open to suggestions. Also he’s a fire wielder from a long line of air wielders and probably has been suppressing his powers

Wakatoshi is probably going to be a white bellied sea eagle for the sake of canon parallels (also those birds are HUGE have you SEEN them) or a shoebill (big and scary looking but they’re actually gentle). Water elemental or earth elemental, something related to plants because I’m a farmer wakatoshi truther

a whole thing where wakatoshi tries to get tendou to accept himself as he is. some philosophy about how all elements are both beneficial and dangerous, and even if fire comes with a higher risk than the others that doesn’t mean its only purpose is destruction. destruction is necessary for life to continue on and thrive. from ashes grow strong plants and good harvests. 

idk if I’m going to write this or draw this but it will definitely be living in my head somewhere among the general chaos for a very very very long time

other things I randomly thought of:

hinata would probably be like a rufous hummingbird and a light wielder (if i decide to include light as an element). Or maybe he could be powerless. (canon parallel to how he lacks height in VB and hence is at like some kind of natural disadvantage or whatever it’s called)

kageyama the peregrine falcon and water wielder

seagull air / weather wielder hoshiumi. Reference to thunderbirds? Idk hoshiumi probably wouldn’t even be plot-central if I ever write this he’s just neat

does anyone wanna hear me yap about my idea for an ushiten harpies au. like not exactly harpies as in the same as greek mythology but like. bird people