#dragons wip

[ink-n-dragons]

Dragons WIP Chapter 1: Sighwel

ayyyyyyy look! the first chapter! prologue is here if you missed that and wanna read it!

taglist: @authorofemotion @accidental-spice @kanerallels @laughingphoenixleader @silverpaintedstars (hope i didnt forget anyone <3)

read under the cut! <3

The plan Amanthi worked out for Scythia and I didn’t work. Not because we got caught, or were too slow, or any of the things you’d expect, but because we had the wrong information for the price of the train and were turned away before we could even leave town. And then I had spent months sulking around the flightless shelter with old men who had never known what it was to be brave, and old women who sat around and told nonsense stories and spoke of hope they would never have, and too-nosy children without a memory of the parents who had abandoned them. I am all of them at once, I suppose: scared and hopeless and alone. The difference is that I’m going to do something about it.

Before Scythia left, she had convinced one of the shelter ladies to sew a leather sheath into the inside of each of my coats, and then she made me promise to keep my knife with me at all times. The lady who’d done the sewing didn’t remember a thing. Sometimes I thought it must be nice to live each day without any knowledge of the one you’d lived yesterday, but then I remember that I have things worth remembering. Now, kneeling on the floor beside one of the numerous flee-filled mattresses in the shelter, I carefully slide a set of small throwing knives into the sheath on the inside of my coat and strap the dagger Amanthi had given me to my thigh. Just the handle stuck up above my pants after I had pulled them on: I could easily unsheathe the knife if I needed too, but otherwise, nobody would know it was there. 

I stuff some food into the pockets of my coat, thankful again for the cold weather. The snow settling outside for the third time in three days, building gradually higher and higher, is an excuse to wear a thick winter coat with deep pockets. I can carry more food and conceal my knives better this way. 

Scythia had gone last autumn, leaving me to find my own way to the Absolved. East Wilten. Brenthew Street. I repeat the names in my head, determined to not forget them. Maybe Scythia can help me get through the testing since she already has. She will know what to do and not do, how to get into the Absolved, how to be important. All I have to do is get there.

Hastily, I slip out of the room where the other flightless are sleeping, my hand ready to unsheathe the dagger at my side. I make it down the hallway to the cellar and round the corner. Yesterday I had oiled the hinges to make sure the trapdoor wouldn’t creak; now the door opened smoothly. Dark as always, and freezing cold this time of year, the hard dirt ground and skittering rats of the cellar greet me as I climb down the ladder. Quietly, I reach up and ease the trapdoor shut and all the light is sucked away from around me. I reach the ground and stand there, shaking. My hands are still grasping the rungs of the ladder. People say that your eyes adjust to the dark, but not if the only thing around you is darkness. I can blink all I want, blink until I pass out, fall asleep and wake up again, live my whole life here, but I won’t be able to see any better than I do now. The darkness makes me dizzy. I can feel the ground beneath me, but who’s to say it’ll be there if I take a step in a different direction? I hate, hate, hate this. Faintly, I start to hear a set of familiar footsteps in the hallway above me. Someone—Hezia—is coming towards the cellar trapdoor and I’ll be found if I don’t hide. Why is she awake? Did she hear me? What did I do wrong?

I reach my hand out to the side shakily and feel along the wall, sliding my feet carefully along the ground. Something rough touches my fingers. I think it’s one of the barrels the wardens keep stockpiled away down here, probably filled with salt or wheat or something equally as important to the flightless living here. Below the first barrel, I can feel a second. There’s a little corner behind the stack of barrels and I crawl into it, the footsteps right above me now. I pull my knees up to my chest as the trapdoor above the ladder opens and light floods in from above. 

The ladder rungs creak under the intruder’s weight, growing slightly louder with each step down. I am frozen between the barrels, afraid to breathe. Hezia and I are close, but a little voice in my head tells me I can’t trust her to keep this secret. She is like a sister to me, at least more than Scythia ever was. Which isn’t saying much. Maybe it’s not even her, I reason with myself. But we have chased each other up and down the hallway above and I have crouched, hiding and snickering, in this same place before, listening to her searching footsteps parade overhead too many times to count. I know what Hezia sounds like when she is looking for me, and we are both aware that she knows exactly how to find me. 

The ladder rungs creak under her weight, even though she is slight and underfed like every other flightless here. I can’t hear her land on the ground, but the creaking of the ladder has stopped. I slide my knife out of its sheath, for the off chance that the intruder is not Hezia. 

Carefully, I pull myself to my feet and creep further into the forest of barrels, straining to hear where Hezia is at the same time. The trapdoor is still open, offering slivers of light here and there between the stacks of barrels. I try my best to stay hidden in the darkness. Not for the first time, I am grateful for the dirt floor muffling my footsteps. I am almost to the tunnel: it’s in the back corner, hidden by the newest barrels, the ones that wouldn’t be used or moved for at least a few years. If Hezia finds me before I make it out, I will have to try convincing her to leave with me. 

I hold my knife at my side pointing forward, the strange black blade absorbing any light that touches it. It’s perfect for this kind of thing: it will not betray my position by reflecting light or making any noise when unsheathing it. I don’t know what kind of material it’s made of, but it is utterly silent. I’ve tested it in too many situations: it does not reflect light, just absorbs it. It does not make sound, instead makes my own movements unnaturally silent when wielding it. It does not draw blood, simply drains its victim of life immediately after breaking the skin. I’ve often wondered if Scythia’s works the same as mine. 

I make it to the corner where the tunnel should be without Hezia—or whoever it is—finding me, but now I have another problem. I can’t move the barrels without making some kind of noise. I can convince her to come with me. But it’s Hezia. I am going to the Absolved, with their Goldenborn and Lleu-worship, with their abnegation of the dark-haired. Hezia, with her black hair and fiery eyes, would never fit. She would not come with me, and the realization is like a rock in my stomach. I don’t know what to do. If she finds me before I can leave, she might not try to stop me. But there’s always a chance that she would tell the wardens, and the wardens would tell the Justices, and the Justices would do Lleu knows what. I’ll just have to move quickly, I think. Push the barrels away and run the whole way to the train. Hezia’s always been faster than me, but maybe my desperation will give me an advantage this time. 

Suddenly, a harsh whisper comes from behind me, “Sighwel!” I turn without thinking, swinging my dark blade with the rest of my body. The point slices lightly—almost gently—across Hezia’s waist and she falls to the ground immediately. Her body thumps slightly on the cold dirt ground. It is suddenly completely silent; I can hear my heart mirroring the sound of her fall: thump thump thump. Hezia laying on the ground. Thump. My knife resting in my palm, neither bloodied nor stained. Thump. Hezia dead. Thump. I will be gone—I need to be gone—when they are sure to find her in the morning. Forcing myself away from Hezia, I push the barrels away from the wall, sobs rocking my body now and dizziness coming in waves. 

The tunnel gapes before me, more darkness before I can get to the Absolved. I almost turn to go into the tunnel, but then I stop. I will undoubtably be judged as a murderer if Hezia is found here and I am discovered to be gone. If I want to avoid unnecessary suspicion, I need to bring Hezia with me into the tunnel. I will carry her half way, then leave her. Not many people know about this tunnel. She should be safe. 

Safe? She’s not safe; she’s dead. But she’s not in danger either. I kneel next to Hezia and loop my arms under her armpits. Lifting her is harder than I thought it’d be. She is malnourished and skeletal from living at the flightless shelter, but so am I. I am in no shape to lift her, but if I don’t get her away from here and hidden, any possibility I have of a future with the Absolved is gone. Somehow, I manage to drag Hezia into the tunnel. I set her down and pull the barrels in the cellar back into place to cover the tunnel, enveloping us in darkness. Lifting Hezia is even harder now that I can’t see where she is, and I only manage to drag her a few feet down the tunnel before I collapse. This will have to be good enough. Nobody is going to look for her down here anyway: Scythia and I are the only people who know of the tunnel’s existence. 

I leave Hezia and stumble through the tunnel, growing more lightheaded the farther I go. The ground starts slanting slightly upwards and I keep pushing forward through the dark. The faint sound of a Corpse bird rings in my ears. I know I’m imagining it: birds do not live underground. But I killed Hezia, so maybe I deserve one. Corpse birds are an omen of misfortune, a symbol of justice for those who have been wronged and death for those who deserve it. I have seen them looming around the flightless shelter before: gathering in clouds over executions and prisons, resting on the shoulders of criminals and murderers, and ever-present in the wake of violence. 

Light is drifting towards me faintly now, a sign that I am almost out of the tunnel. Closer, closer, and then I am out in the snow and wind and sleet. The world is so white and cold that I almost overlook the Corpse bird flying overhead. It spirals gently down to my shoulder, its black claws gripping sharply onto my thick coat. I look at it sadly, examining the silver scales and black eyes. I whisper to it, even though I know it can’t respond. “Little Marwolaeth. It’s just me and you now.” 

[bittybatarts]

i've drawn plane dragon. but what about train dragon.

[caninemotiff]

Feeling the compulsive urge to post about my oc's as if they have an established fanbase and aren't actually from wips I haven't even introduced on tumblr yet

[lovetositinsilence]

the duke’s son

prints available!! here

[matcha-mix]

Dragonstone Baela and Vale Rhaena

[drawnfamiliarfaces]

some random HoMies arts ;3

[phantomswriting]

NaNoWriMo 49K1D Recap day 5

Page 43, the end of the day was near. This page was just a lot of What Ifs and this part is the "nice one" XD

~~

And if we tried a new pattern? Let see what would happen if Bal and Val lived. Let have another look at the fluff. There's always a way to create something new.

An automnal evening as any other. The forest is quivering - hum... no, this beginning is boring. Words are getting harder to write. Time to go back to our hypothesis. Who did we forget? Oh, Basile. Basile. So many options. If only he had be born in another time. That young promising dragon born in the wrong family.

Previous excerpts : 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5

[pickled0ctopus]

[ruushes]

tagged by @ghostwise for wip wednesday and thinking abt Them (':

[green-crocs12]

really lazy quick sketches of luffy and his parents bc i haven’t posted in forever lol (yes i believe in the crocomom theory) i hc luffy actually looks a lot like crocodile so

also i think dragon would have been a good father

[ink-n-dragons]

Dragons WIP: Prologue

heyo besties!! this and all chapters i'll post in the future are first drafts of the WIP i've been working on since november 2021! i'm still trying to think of a placeholder title so for now i'll just refer to it as "Dragons WIP." and all chapters and parts of this WIP will be tagged under that too! lemme know if any of you guys wanna be tagged in future updates (no pressure)! <333

taglist: @laughingphoenixleader

(prologue--from Sighwel's POV--under cut)

Amanthi sat across from us, her crossed arms resting tensely on the tabletop. “Walk me through it again. Explain how you’re going to get to the Absolved.”

Scythia—my twin sister—was perched next to me, her fingers tapping her leg with anticipation under the table, her voice shaky, “In four days, we’ll start packing at midnight, finish in an hour, and leave by two o’clock. We’ll leave the shelter through the cellar tunnel and crawl through the fields till we reach the station.”

“Good. Then what?” Amanthi gestured for me to pick up explaining the next part. Scythia looked to me expectantly.

“Then we board the four o’clock train, sit in the back, and get off at the last stop in East Wilten. We find an alleyway when we get there and Scythia stands guard while I wash my hair dye out,” I gestured to my false brown hair, “So it’s back to its normal white color and Scythia will Shift her hair back to its natural blonde. Then we’ll find Brenthy Street and then the Absolved.”

“Brenthew Street,” Amanthi corrected me. “But otherwise, you got everything right. When you get to the Absolved, they’ll put you through a testing. They do this to filter out the Condemned and preserve the purity of Lleu’s servants. Does that make sense?”

“Yes,” Scythia responded. I echoed her answer with a nod. 

Amanthi studied us for a second, then put her hands over ours, trying to offer a little comfort. “You guys will be better than okay when you get there. You won’t have to worry about the tax and you’ll be chosen by Lleu.” She reached into her satchel and pulled out two knives. Both were the length of my forearm and made of a black material. The blade was smaller near the hilt, then grew wider, then slid into a sharp point at the end, in a sort of deadly. leaf-like shape. Amanthi handed one to each of us. “In case anyone tries to stop you.”

I took mine gingerly. Scythia almost dropped hers. Weapons of any kind were rare on Drakaen, usually limited to the possession of the Absolved. It was inevitable that those who were not Absolved would try to use knives like these for their personal gain, while the Absolved would only use them for Lleu’s sake. Amanthi warned us, “Only use them if you have no other choice. Having them before officially being judged as Absolved could ruin your chances.”

“Then why are you giving them to us?” I asked nervously.

She let the question hang in the air for a second before answering. “Drakaen is dangerous for the flightless, and even more so when those flightless are also not yet Absolved. Having them could also save your lives. You can judge this for yourselves, but I think it’s worth the risk.”

“It is,” Scythia said, her voice and her grip around the hilt of her knife stronger now. “C’mon Sighwel. We have to get back before they notice we’re gone.” She pushed her chair away from the table and stood up abruptly. Looking back at Amanthi, we nodded our thanks and left. She waved sadly at us as we walked out the door and into the night. Just four more days. 

[bittybatarts]

they can totally fly if you throw them hard enough

[syntaxaero]

oh yeah baby you know what time it is!!!!!!

[stevieschrodinger]

Baker Steve/Rock Star Eddie wrong number AU

Part One

Part Two

PART THREE

"It's like a TV show, but on YouTube."

"Right," Steve answers, half listening to Dustin's explanation, "so it, like what, has an air time, or whatever?"

"Yeah, like a series."

"And it's just, what, famous people playing dipshits and dickheads?"

"Steeeeeeeeeeeevvvvveeeeeeeeeeee why are you like this?"

"Dunno," Steve shrugs, trying to read a recipe online. Unfortunately that's resulted in his having to scroll past someones entire fucking life story and he's ready to give up and try and work out the dumb Oreo cake recipe himself, "just lucky, I guess."

Dustin drops his head on the kitchen counter like Steve is the greatest difficulty he's ever going to face.

"So why do you need to be here to watch this?"

"Because we all want to watch it together, the guests are Corroded Coffin, they all like, play, the whole band, it's so cool-"

"Corroded Coffin? Playing your nerd game?" Steve's interest leaks through before he can stop it, "I mean, like, I think I've heard of them?" The last thing he needs is the kids finding out he's been kind of friends kind of flirting kind of maybe wants to date the actual Eddie Munson.

Dustin looks at him skeptically, "yeah...so you-"

"You can all watch it here, it's fine...I'll make cookies."

Dustin's completely distracted by his own success, instantly whipping out his phone to inform the other kids. Steve's pretty sure their group chat is called 'No Steve's allowed' but he hasn't actually found out for sure yet.

Steve does bake cookies. All the kids are gathered around his smart TV, absolutely demolishing them while they wait for this thing to start. It's like, an actual channel, with intros and graphics and stuff, a logo that reads 'Final Roll.'

And there's Eddie and the band, sitting around a table with two dudes who must run the channel. They all have the bits of paper and dice and little figures that Steve's used to seeing when the kids commandeer his dining room table.

There's preemptive ramble, and Steve leans forward a little every time Eddie's in shot. He's relieved all the kids are all sitting in front of him and all glued to the TV, so he can ogle in peace. They do introductions, and then everyone introduces their characters.

"May I introduce Sir Steven, the half elf paladin," behind Eddie Gareth rolls his eyes so hard his whole fucking body moves. Steve can see him and Geoff mouthing something to each other. Steve can only assume it's because Eddie has named his character, presumably, after him, "he has a sworn oath to always protect those weaker than himself."

Steve's heart fucking melts.

Steve's phone is buzzing. He's prepared. He knows Eddie's back in the country, they've been talking for months. Steve's kind of done waiting, and he's ready to press his advantage. He's had this set up for a little while, just waiting for the right moment. He presses play, and then answers the phone.

"Hey Stevie how-...are you listening to Corroded Coffin?"

"Yeah, yeah," Steve turns it down, bomb dropped, trap sprung, advantage played, "the kids absolutely love them, they're trying to get me into them even though they're not exactly my thing."

"Right, ah, right, what do you, uhm, think?"

"Yeah. Still not my thing-"

"Oh."

"But I really like it when the lead guy sings."

"...yeah?"

"Yeah, not the like, shouty growly singing, I can't understand a fucking thing he's saying-" Eddie chuckles, "but like, the parts where he properly sings. I think he has a beautiful voice."

"I ah, well, I mean, I bet the, uhm, shouty bits are hard work, you know. I expect that takes a lot of, you know, practice. Hell on the throat. I imagine, I would guess anyway, I don't actually, like know-"

"No no, yeah, well, maybe he should just sing more then, save those vocal chords, or whatever. I'd like that a lot."

"Yeah?" Steve can practically hear Eddie blushing down the phone. Eddie's so cute when he goes shy.

"Yeah." There's a long beat of silence before Steve goes in for the kill, "the kids are trying to get me to go see them. They're in the states now, apparently. Will be playing a gig in Indie."

"Yeah they are- I mean, I assume they are, most bands, uhm, yeah-" And Steve is hardly holding it together, Eddie is such a bad liar, and he's trying so hard not to lie at all. Steve doesn't know how he;s keeping his tone normal and not letting the whole ass cat out of the bag.

"And the kids are absolutely itching to go, you know? But tickets man, they're all doing every chore they can find to get some extra cash, but tickets are pricey, and for eight of us? Because I'll need someone else to help me chaperone and, you know..."

"I. I might...know a guy. Maybe. Like, because of the band I might...know someone who can get you tickets."

"Seriously? Eddie that would be incredible, the kids will absolutely loose their shit."

"Yeah, ah, is your work email cool?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course of course, man, the kids are going to love you for like, forever."

And maybe I will too, Steve just about manages to keep the words inside.

@steves-yellow-cardigin @melodymeddler @pitrsattabhaadmeinjao

@superduckmilkshake @she-collects-smut @paintsplatteredandimperfect @resident-gay-bitch

[artofcarmen]

Its 7am on a monday and im just thinkin about neutral evil Essek Thelyss ♥

Definitely have some things I want to change, shorten the hair a bit, decide on jewelry, and gauntlets or no? Included a quick doodle of how his cloak/robes would lay over his clothes when closed. Still exploring, but the base ideas are there!

[stealingpotatoes]

Hawke Hawke And The Terrible Horrible No Good Day of Domestic Terrorism (aka the final part of mine and @highladyofdusk's da2 playthrough!!)

(donation doodles! // tip jar)