#writing wyrms

[nonhumanresources]

First Day On The Job

Another commission story incoming! This one was commissioned by @actualhorseprincess. This one was quite fun, since I got to bring in one of my own characters, Rum. Luna's a very chill horse-wolf hybrid, everyone go tell her she's the best princess.

Also, in case you're wondering about the seeming incongruity of the setting, it's on purpose I swear. Picture a modern day city with an alchemist slotted in there and you're on the right track. Also, happy TF Tuesday.

Summary: Luna lands a hotly-contested job with the town's alchemist, Rum, and arrives on her first day for a tour of the lab, entirely unaware of the far more exciting plans Rum has in store for her. Turns out the alchemist has a reputation for a reason, and Luna should have read her NDA more carefully.

What to expect: Dragon TF, some oversized assets (Luna likes it big!), an irresponsible amount of teasing, lots of clothes dismantling, post-TF sensitivity, accent TF to such a cartoonish degree it is frankly unreasonable, and idle mentions of eggs.

Length: 4.2k words.

If you'd rather read this with somewhat easier formatting, here's a link to the same story on Google Drive!

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“...and here is where you’ll work.” Rum tapped the clipboard she was holding against a hard backed chair, sitting in the corner of a cramped room. It was stuffed to the brim with tables and shelves, dusty instruments lining the walls and bins of glassware sitting unattended. There was barely enough room for the golden dragon’s tail to sway without knocking into something. “I apologize for the mess; I’ve yet to find time to properly clean in here, but everything you need to perform your duties should be present.” 

Luna nodded frantically, trying to take the whole room in. She wanted to make a good first impression, so, wisely, during the majority of the tour, she’d left her mouth shut to avoid asking any silly questions. She was dressed to the nines: a leather bodice, laced tight on top of a blue top, sturdy pants, leather boots over her hooves and matching gloves, gleaming hair pulled back into a ponytail. Atop all this she wore a dark blue coat. It was a striking look, she’d thought to herself that morning—something befitting of an alchemist’s apprentice.  The look emphasized her unique body, purple fur and wolfish up top with large, pointed ears, a horse’s tail and charcoal-colored hooves down below. Of course, when she’d shown up, Rum was wearing simple pants, a plain shirt, and a lab coat, which made Luna think that perhaps dressing like a 19th century countess was not her brightest idea, so she was doing her best to make up for it. The woman wasn’t even wearing shoes, for crying out loud.

As always the rest of the story is under the read more. I love comments and questions so don't hesitate to let me know what you think!

Luna really, really wanted this job. Rum, local scientist, alchemist, literal golden dragon and one-woman powerhouse, had recently posted a listing for an apprentice. Luna didn’t know much about alchemy, but she’d thrown her hat into the ring anyway and figured that her 11th grade chemistry could probably carry her through the first week until she got some proper training. After that, it would be smooth sailing—a stable job, fascinating work, and solid pay. With flexible hours, too! The fact that Rum was widely considered one of the most attractive dragons in town and one of the most generous were just two more benefits to add to the pile. Now, after three nail-biting weeks of interviews and waiting, she was finally here, in what was apparently her own office. Sure, the outfit was ridiculous in hindsight, but the sheer amount of anxiety lifted from her shoulders and the excitement of her first day kept her from caring too much. 

“Any questions?” Rum nudged her glasses upwards, then rested her paw on her hip. She positively exuded a casual air; thus far, Luna had never seen her not look at ease. 

“Nope!” Luna responded, shaking her head again. A strand of her dark-blue hair escaped the ponytail, and she tucked it behind her ear, smiling sheepishly. 

Rum raised a brow, looking skeptically over her glasses. “None at all? I can’t have explained it all that thoroughly.” 

Luna’s mind raced. “Oh! U-uh, I mean, there was the, the…” she stammered, thinking back through the hour-long explanation of Rum’s lab and trying to pull anything she could to ask about. 

Fortunately, she was spared as Rum laughed, brushing past her, the edge of her scaly wing brushing against Luna’s feathery ones. “I’m kidding, darling. I could tell you were listening quite intently. I’m sure you’ll have many questions over the next few weeks, and I expect to have an answer for all of them. If not, we’ll have to discover that answer together! For now, though, I have a question for you: would you like something to drink?” 

“Yes, please,” Luna sighed, rubbing the back of her wrist with her other hand. Rum picked up a tray that Luna had barely noticed in the clutter, offering her a small glass filled with a transparent purple liquid. She took it and gulped it down gracelessly as Rum picked up the other, sipping at it. How does she manage to sound so professional even when she’s joking? Luna wondered, quietly clicking her tongue. The drink was delicious; probably some kind of sweetened grape juice, she surmised. 

“I’ve got work elsewhere,” Rum pronounced, setting her glass down with a clink against the tray. “You should get right to it! Familiarize yourself with the new workspace, and all that. If you find yourself looking for something to do, I suggest sorting through some of that glassware and pulling out any that are cracked so I can replace them.” Rum’s wing gestured towards one of the cardboard boxes brimming with various beakers and flasks. 

“Got it. And if I finish that?” Luna asked, careful not to sound like she was begging for instruction. The last thing she wanted to do was make Rum think she was some kind of lapdog. 

“Oh, I don’t expect to be too long,” Rum reassured, pushing open the door on the opposite side from where they’d entered, leading out into a balcony that led down to ground level. “Feel free to relax if I take too long!” With that, she turned, lab coat drifting in the breeze as the door clicked shut just behind her tail. 

Luna let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. Impress the boss: check. Mostly, she thought, glancing down at her overzealous attempt at a uniform. Still, she’d survived the tour and was more than ready to dig her paws into the work. 

Taking Rum’s advice, Luna spent a few minutes wandering the room. It really was small, only about five paces across in either direction. Tables against three walls held scientific instruments that ranged from weight scales to burners to frightening looking things with pincers and knobs; one cabinet held labelled chemicals, and shelves were covered in random bits and bobs. The fourth wall had a fume hood, which as Rum explained it was basically a bench to work on where any gaseous chemicals would be drawn outside instead of breathed in. Useful. The rest of the room contained more tables covered in what was obviously Rum’s assorted storage. The overall aesthetic was not unlike an unkempt garage. 

Still, it was exciting. Luna pictured how it might look in a few weeks: clean tables, bubbling beakers and test tubes, her with lab goggles weighing out pharmaceutical grade chemicals and learning the secrets of alchemy. Sure, the cleaning would suck, but Rum would probably help. Maybe. 

She seemed nice enough to, at least… Luna mused, dragging the box of glassware Rum had indicated over to the one clean desk with her chair. She swept the dust off with a quick swipe of her tail, leaving a small trail of glitter in the air behind, and plunked it down. There was a suspicious crunch from the bottom of the box that made Luna wince. Best to be careful in there, then. She opted not to sit so she’d be able to reach the whole desk and got started. 

The sorting turned out to be quite relaxing. There were two main types of glass in the box—beakers, large cylinders that came in a variety of sizes all marked in milliliters, and flasks, which had more of a triangular shape with a skinny neck. She sorted these by volume; the rest, assorted pieces with odd forms whose purpose she didn’t fully glean, were instead placed at one end of the table and sorted by shape. Anything cracked or chipped went beside those. 

All in all, it was easy, light work. Yet, Luna still felt a crick in her neck that only grew worse as she sorted. Nearly at the bottom of the box, she stepped back, rubbing at it. She must have been leaning too far over the table or something. That was something she’d have to be careful of, if she was gonna be working on these short desks for many hours. Perhaps she should have sat down for this. She idly rolled her neck, trying to work out the kinks she’d inadvertently created. 

With a strange pop-pop-pop like someone drawing a fingernail up a washboard, Luna’s neck suddenly stretched outwards. She yelped, stumbling backwards and grabbing onto a table, eyes rolling as she felt at herself with her other paw. While she rolled it, her neck had somehow loosened up and stretched. Her paw traced its way up the side to where she thought her chin should have been—then up, up, up until it finally connected. There was at least another… ten, twelve inches of neck there, and what’s more, it had an odd, smooth texture. 

Luna tried to keep herself calm. Thirty minutes on the job and she was… doing whatever this was. She couldn’t afford to lose it because her neck decided it wasn’t content with its length, but she also couldn’t afford to panic. She stared down at the ground, and it felt disorienting, the height change making her feel like she was on stilts. It made her already roiling stomach toss even more. 

Help. She should get help, right? Right. That seemed… logical. Maybe she could even fix this before Rum came back and no one would be the wiser. It’s not like whatever was happening was her own fault; maybe she’d picked up stray fumes from one of Rum’s alchemical projects, but it’s not like she’d done it on purpose. The only thing Luna had touched was old glassware! She tried taking a deep breath, but her leather bodice felt extra tight, and so she settled on a shallower one, slowly unlocking her vice grip on the table. She’d grab a piece of glassware and head to the doctor just in case, then return. Easy. 

She didn’t even make it one step from the table. As soon as Luna’s foot connected with the ground, her rounded hoof-boot’s sole was launched off to the side as it was entirely torn from the body of the shoe. Instead of hoof, an enormous purple paw greeted her, white claws bright against the dark surface. Watching this happen proved ill advised; with her new neck at that angle and the paw’s appearance, Luna lost her balance and tumbled forwards. One thought blazed through her panicked mind: protect the glass.

She hit the table with a thunk as her other leg explosively removed its boot, leaving her with two enormous claws. Fortunately, she was able to fall just so; despite a frightening rattle of glass on wood, she had landed directly in between the flasks and beakers, twisted sideways and wings held in tight. One flask fell over and rolled into another with a quiet tink, but that was all. Crisis averted. Luna sighed with relief. 

Of course, she was immediately punished once again for her premature relief as the tightness in her bodice doubled. She gasped, and the sharp intake of air popped the lacing. Her shirt let out a loud, long shrrrriiiiip! as her chest quadrupled in size, bursting forwards in an incredibly uncouth display and utterly ruining her top, barely covering the drastically swollen surface and keeping her semi-decent. It let out an audible glrsh as it bounded forth, shoving her entire carefully-sorted collection of beakers to the floor. It gleamed in the light, and she could see it was covered in scales the same lavender as the rest of her underbelly. Luna winced as every single beaker shattered against the stone. The movement drew her attention to her face. Her normally fluffy, canid snout was shifting, nose hardening into a beak-like structure, light flashing off of it as she twisted. Her unicorn horn seemed to bend backwards, a feeling like mechanical thrumming in her head as it split in two and pulled back over each ear like a more traditional pair of curved horns. The whole experience left her face tingling and sensitive, just like her chest and new paws. 

Unfortunately, she didn’t have much time to enjoy it. The table beneath her cracked, crunched, and gave out, sending her to the floor with the rest of the glassware. Amid the smashing, shattering, clattering din, Luna let out a quiet oof as her chest hit the floor. On the bright side, it turned out to be immensely soft, and the scales it was now covered in were quite durable, any stray shards on the ground that were caught underneath simply pressing into her rack. However, as she slammed down onto her oversized chest, she felt an intense heat shock down her spine like someone had pressed a hand into a deeply pleasurable point (or two, in this case) during a massage. With her paws still planted, that shock slammed into the base of her spine and blossomed there, her pants going the way of her boots and shredding themselves along the seams. She flushed a deep maroon as she felt a breeze flow across her rear end—and that deepend to a plum shade as she realized just how much rear end she suddenly had. It was easily twice the size of her cartoonishly plump chest, and it was up in the air and exposed for all the world to see, the moon mark on her hips stretched across far more real estate than it was supposed to. 

The heat didn’t end there. It pushed into her tail, and the hairs twisted together, nerves growing out from her rump in a line, forming a thick, scaled tail. The glowing blue and silver-studded mane became small, rounded spikes that trailed down her tail and crawled up her spine, between her wings, which had also consolidated into membranes instead of feathers. She did her best to try and do a self assessment, but feeling at her chest and rear only made the scales flash up her arms, turning them sleek and reptilian like the rest of her. 

In only moments, Luna had become a dragon. Not only that, she’d become a dragon of such awesome proportions that she rivalled the biggest women she’d ever seen. Plus she’d just ruined the project her new boss had just asked her to do and an entire piece of furniture in the process. She let out a quiet whine, covering her face with her paws. Her day had been going so well, too. 

Just to top it all off, she felt her stomach groan, going the way of her chest and rear end and swelling outwards. She grunted, cupping a paw against it, and was shocked at what felt like a few large rocks knocking against each other somewhere deep inside. Was that… oh god, she was filling up with eggs, wasn’t she? Would she have to lay them? What if she turned back? How many was she gonna get? Were they—

A voice interrupted her thoughts. “I’d ask how long you plan on moping for, but frankly, I’m enjoying the view. So, take your time!” 

Luna froze. No. There’s no way. She couldn’t have… “Rum?!” 

“That would be me.” The voice came from somewhere behind Luna, where the outside door was. She instinctively tucked her tail downwards, trying to hide at least something of the wide rear end, and that move elicited a laugh. Rum’s voice had the same calm, clear tone, but it was mixed with obvious amusement. Luna’s face burned. 

“I, ah, didn’t realize you’d returned…” she mumbled. Her voice felt strange in her muzzle. It came out like she was speaking through porcelain, each vowel bouncing out sharply rather than smoothed together like usual. She wrinkled her nose at the sound. 

“Frankly, if you had, I’d be more worried at your current posture,” Rum remarked. 

Luna scrambled to her feet. This took quite a bit more effort than usual; she had to plant her paws much farther apart than usual to accomodate for the wide bust, and her legs were entirely different sizes. Not to mention the balance issues caused by having a huge rear end combined with a large dragon tail. Though it was embarrassing, she was glad for the rack and the swollen gut, since it actually balanced her out somewhat. Taking a deep breath, face still colored something like a deep bruise, she turned around to face what she assumed was her soon to be ex-boss. 

Rum sat atop a table, smiling slyly. She spun a glass bottle in one paw, legs crossed. Even now, she seemed so natural. It made Luna’s fumbling about feel all the more obvious. She crossed her arms over her chest, shamefully avoiding Rum’s gaze. 

“Rum, I—”

“Ah.” Rum held up a finger, tapping the bottle she was toying with against the table. Luna snapped her jaw shut. “I don’t want to hear any apologies.” 

Luna nodded, stomach sinking. “I’ll… gather my things, then?” Her voice had some kind of lilt to it, her a’s sounding longer, drawn out. This had to be the record for worst job performance in the history of ever. 

Rum, strangely, shook her head. “Now now. I didn’t say leave, did I?” 

“No,” Luna gulped, a small spark of hope daring to rekindle itself deep in her chest. 

“Exactly. Now, what is the first rule of alchemy, Luna?” Rum slid herself off the table gracefully, picking her way across the floor towards the other dragon. Luna had grown up to match Rum’s height. 

“Uh.” That wasn’t the question she’d expected. “Every… action has an equal and opposite reaction?” Yeah, something was definitely wrong with her voice. It was like she’d spontaneously developed an entirely different vocal pattern. 

“Not quite. Actually, the first rule of alchemy is this. Don’t,” Rum smirked, reaching out and pulling Luna’s jaw open slightly, pressing her clawed thumb against Luna’s tongue, “put anything in your mouth if you don’t know exactly where it came from.” She drew her claw out, leaving Luna’s forked tongue poking out dumbly, waltzing past her into the wreckage. She moved Luna to the side with a light touch to her hip, and Luna instantly understood why people referred to particularly wide hips as shelves. 

Rum settled into Luna’s chair, Luna spinning to face her. She surveyed the mess around her, grinning. “Quite the show, you know.” 

“You’re not… disappointed?” Luna probed, wary. Rum waved a paw. 

“Please. Dear, this is my junk room. Nearly everything in here was going to get thrown away anyway. Frankly, I’m sad you didn’t destroy more things; I’d pay to watch you use those hips on a few more of my tables.” Rum’s eye glinted, and her nearly predatory grin brought to mind the other thing Luna had heard of the dragon: she was an absolute flirt. 

“W-well! I shan’t say I will!” Luna cleared her throat. “I mean, I shan’t… bah. I’ll not be resting on any others.” Why in the world did she sound like that? It was like listening to a fancy butler talk. What part of turning into a dragon made you British? 

Rum only snorted. “Shame. I think we both know you’ve been taught your lesson quite thoroughly, though. Why don’t you pick up your mess and we can call it a day?”

“You don’t plan on punishing me?” Luna asked, still confused. 

“Of course not, dear. You’re far too cute for that.” Rum leaned the chair back, propping her paws up on the edge of the broken table. Those paws, Luna found, were nearly the exact size and shape of her own new pair. That ignited an emotion deep in her gut that she was afraid to explore. It made her stomach grumble, and she let out a small burp of multicolored flames, much to Rum’s amusement. 

“Ah. O-okay.” Luna cringed at her lame response, but it was all she could manage through the haze of emotions. 

Rum waved a paw at the ground. “Your first real job is cleaning up all this. Soon as you’re done, you can head out for the day. Deal?” 

“Um. Deal.” 

“Great. Broom’s over there, dear.” Rum gestured once more, then placed her arms behind her head, staring. Luna did the only thing she could do: she got to work. 

As it turned out, the job really wasn’t too bad, if she ignored her boss’s piercing gaze. Luna swept the glass into piles, using a dustpan on a long handle to pick it up and dump it into a designated waste container she hadn’t noticed before but was obviously placed there intentionally, looking back. She’d knocked over a few other instruments with her tail; those she righted and rearranged slightly. As she swept, she tried a few times to mumble to herself; each and every time, she found that she unconsciously stretched her vowels, ended her words in clipped tones, and it took real effort to say a bit instead of a tad. It was like her whole demeanor had shifted and she was talking like the London elite. At least she’d have time to explore further later. 

Even as she cleaned, Luna grew more used to the excessive sizes. Encumbering at first, she found that she could work around the large chest, albeit with low visibility. She didn’t even mind bumping her hips into tables, though it happened nearly every time she turned. She got better as she moved, though each brush against her enlarged assets still brought significant heat to her scales. In just a few minutes, the only thing left was the table. 

As she leaned over to grab one side of the splintered mess, Rum stood. “I think that’s enough cleaning for now, Luna, dear.” 

Luna looked up, bemused. “You asked me to clean, then tell me not to?” It was a far bolder statement then she should have made, but she was just about at her wit’s end at this point. Oddly, though, Rum seemed to approve of the push-back, wrapping an arm over Luna’s shoulders and walking her towards the doorway. 

“As much as I’d enjoy watching you bend over, I wouldn’t ask a mother with an expecting brood to do such heavy labor!” Rum scoffed, sounding incredulous. Her tail snaked around Luna’s hips, the tip resting atop her belly that had burst straight through her poor ruined bodice. 

“Th-that’s not my fault!” Luna squawked, pointedly shoving the tail away. 

“Mine either!” Rum laughed. “I slipped you a simple draconic alteration potion, darling. The particulars are up to your own biology.” 

“My own…” Luna looked at Rum, confused. 

“Yes, dear, your genes are telling you that had you been born a dragon, you would have made an exceptionally potent broodmother. An oddly English one, at that.” 

“That… that’s preposterous! I mean, I’m simply… simply not built like such a thing!” Luna argued. 

Rum pointedly looked directly down into her exposed cleavage. “I think your body begs to differ.” 

“Then change me back! I can’t work looking like some manner of… of dragon floozy!” Luna shrieked. 

“Actually, if you’ll check the contract you signed, it stipulates quite clearly that I’d be hiring a dragon!” Rum shot back. “Whether or not that dragon is a floozy is optional, though goodness knows it would make her quite entertaining to watch. Yes, I fear you’ll be scaled for the duration of your employment with me.” 

Luna’s mouth dropped open. There’s no way, that can’t be legal. Her mind raced, trying to think of an argument. Arriving at the door, Rum popped it open, then turned Luna towards herself. 

“Listen, Luna. You made the cut here. Don’t blow your chance now; I’d hate to be down such a pretty assistant.” Before Luna could say anything, she reached under her lab coat, pulling out a slip of paper and a coin purse. She reached around Luna’s side and tucked the paper into her waistband, making her shudder from the tips of her membranous wings all the way down her tail. “That’s a to-do list for tonight. I expect it to be completed by morning. And this,” Rum said, hefting the coin bag, “is for you to go buy yourself a few new outfits. Consider it a signing bonus. You’re gonna need it if you want to get anything big enough to cover that dragon ass of yours.” Instead of handing it to Luna, she pulled the drawstring open and dumped the coins straight into her cleavage. The cold metal made her yelp, back arching and causing her shirt to tear even further, boobs threatening total devastation. 

With that, Rum pushed Luna out the door and closed it behind her, calling out “Happy laying!” as she did. The door bumped against her butt as it snapped shut. The cool air made her heated chest steam. Luna stood there, wings flared, tail tip twitching. Never in a million years would she have expected her first day on the job to go like that. And yet, she actually found herself excited to go back. She was even mentally planning out a new outfit she could wear to work tomorrow. I must have given myself brain damage, she thought, astounded. 

Luna was determined to make this job succeed. If that meant living as a cartoonishly busty British dragoness, well… maybe she could live with that. She’d decide after she laid her first clutch, maybe. God, I really am insane, she sighed, surreptitiously bouncing her chest with her paws. Yeah… yeah, she could get used to that. Riding that decision, Luna turned her attention to the nearby market, heading off to buy a new outfit. This was going to be a fun one to relate to her tailor. 

[whumper-cars]

Whumpee is being tortured in front of Caretaker, with Caretaker restrained in the corner of the room. Caretaker knows Whumper wants them to beg them to stop, so out of defiance they don't.

After a while, Caretaker starts to get restless, but they won't cave in. The thing that finally breaks them is when they make eye contact with Whumpee. With that moment, all of Caretaker's walls came crashing down.

Whumpee was looking at Caretaker with an expression between hope and fear. They wanted- no, they needed Caretaker to save them. They were being tortured for god's sake and Caretaker was just sitting there letting it happen.

The moment Caretaker started begging, Whumper paused and smiled at them. "Aww, Caretaker, if you wanted me to stop, you should've just asked!" Then they left the room, leaving Whumpee and Caretaker alone, along with Caretaker's guilt.

Feel free to add onto any of my prompts!

[cephiwyrm]

feliz heladofest i actually drew something for once

[asablehart]

Pit Spawn

Its face, despite the hooked beak, is eerily human: brown flesh gives way to a mane of hair and feathers, which just barely conceal two lobed ears, still decorated with jewels. It bears a lean wolf’s hindlegs no longer, but heavily muscled haunches dusted with fur and long, clawed feet. [...] Distantly, he notices the strange softness of the gestalt’s palms: calloused, not scaled, as if Kholeg’s skin were stretched on the loom of its talons.

[the-emerald-wyrm]

Imagine #9

It was hard to sit and watch now, more than ever, as the humans migrated and spread across the land, consuming what once was wild. What once was flesh, bone, and fire had dimmed, had hardened into stone. Dragons, grotesques, and gargoyles sat on the edges of buildings, perched and watching, always watching. Only those who were eye to eye with the stone, with you, could see a green fire burning, burning still so bright.

There were few options now. Some had taken the shapes of men, but the longer they stayed as such, the dimmer their light grew, paving a way for dragonkin- humans who were past dragons, could feel the fire still, suddenly uncomfortable in these fleshy forms.

You watch from your perch in a cathedral- dead center of the city- and you can see the lost souls of dragons wandering around. Some proudly etch the dragon form into their skin with ink, some embrace the magic of the past, and some… wait. Wait for their time, their flame to come.

[jayinserenity]

So, I did it again and got caught up thinking about some Wyrmclan cats, today's subject being Daisypaw who I have Feelings about and grieving is complicated when you're in his position so @wyrm-clangen pls feel free to let me know if I've totally missed the mark or anything but... yeah. I wrote another drabble.

“C’mooon Daisypaw, I haven’t gotten you sick? Why can’t I go see them???” Daisypaw rolled his eyes above the mask, careful not to let Ivyshine see as he sifted through the herbs in the carrier Ferretlily had given him to bring to the quarantine tunnels. Sparrowlight was wheezing a little as he laughed, and Daisypaw saw Wingpaw, settling into her nest carefully, smile a little at her uncle’s antics. 

“You haven’t gotten me sick because Ferret and I cleanse thoroughly every time we leave this den and we’re both relatively healthy. Raggedspeckle just gave birth and the kits were just born so they can’t fight off illness nearly as well.” He responded, refusing to play in to the older tom’s nonsense, but regretted his shortness a little as he heard Ivyshine flop back into his nest and saw the sickly warrior droop in genuine sadness. “Turtlefreckle will be watching over her, and Icyclaw has been sleeping outside the nursery every night. You focus on getting healthy so you can get back sooner.” Daisypaw sighed as he turned back, nudging the slender black warrior with the hard surface of his mask. He turned away again when Ivyshine’s wet eyes looked up at him, seeming like he was ramping up for another round of dramatics. 

“Don’t worry so much, Ivy, my littermates are watching out for her too!” Wingpaw mewed, her voice was hoarse from her coughing and while she was obviously trying to use her usual energetic nature to reassure, Daisypaw could tell the younger cat was exhausted. He made sure she took the lungwort and feverfew, hoping dosing her more heavily would help her fight off the yellowcough that had managed to sneak up on them. Thank Starclan none of her littermates or denmates had become ill as well. Between her and Sparrowlight, Ivyshine had been mollified, and Daisypaw gave the patients a final check before gathering up their supplies and slipping from the quarantine tunnel. 

He hadn’t been joking about the cleansing, Daisypaw entered the tunnel to the cold underground river with only a little dread. The water was frigid, and clung to his pelt worse than the sap that had gotten stuck in his fur when Rookrise took him to gather pine needles.

Daisypaw carefully ignored the pang of pain that thinking about Mom brought. She’d been looking for more feverfew with Rattail and Willowdew one day and then… none of them had come back. It had been the kits all over again, search parties scoured the territory for them, but no one knew where they’d gone. Daisy had been trying not to think too hard about it, Ferret had told him it wasn’t his fault they weren’t found. That him being on the search patrols probably wouldn’t have changed anything. 

It was easier said than believed. 

Daisypaw shook the water from his pelt, taking off his new clean mask and rinsing the inside before leaving it to dry next to Ferretlily’s own, and padded tiredly back up the tunnel towards the main cavern. The faint light from outside filtering down reassured him he hadn’t lost the entire day in the quarantine tunnel so he set off through the varying burrows searching for his mentor. 

Most of the apprentices were out training, he knew, the mentors had decided to keep everyone as busy as possible. Something about idle paws, Daisypaw didn’t really pay attention. The only one that really mattered was Bluepaw, to be honest. Turtlefreckle had been keeping Bluepaw extra busy, now that his own litter were apprentices, and Daisypaw knew his brother’s mentor was trying to keep his own mind off of the yellowcough outbreak as much as Bluepaw’s. He only saw the new apprentice, Goldpaw or whatever his name was, hanging out with Sunpaw and Midnightpaw. The two younger apprentices had been on dawn patrol that morning, so Daisypaw supposed it made sense that the three were here, talking about something or another over a rabbit and a shrew. Sunpaw gave him a small smile and waved his tail, but Daisypaw… well he couldn’t really bring himself to care as he passed the other young cats. He saw the brown apprentice’s tail flop back down from his periphery before he was into another set of tunnels, following the freshest hint of Ferretlily’s scent under everyone else’s. 

“... can’t keep pushing them this hard. The fact Wingpaw got sick so suddenly makes me wonder if she was too run down to fight the illness off.” He heard his mentor’s voice from the leader’s den, and settled himself to sit outside politely. “I know leaf bare has been harsh, but we can’t afford more of the healthier young cats getting sick.”

“You’re right. I’ll talk with the mentors later, see if we can set a better schedule.” Fiercechasm’s voice then. “Give them some rest time.”

“Thank you. I’ll try and do the same with Daisypaw, I’m worried he’ll run himself ragged.” Daisypaw frowned, flicking an ear in annoyance. Ferret was always fussing. “He’s not taking the time to process anything… sometimes I wish I had an excuse to send him out with the other apprentices, but with Rookrise gone I can’t spare him.” Daisypaw felt that annoyance fade a little at the guilt and tiredness if Ferretlily’s voice. He knew, objectively, he should be sadder than he was. Mom being missing. Mama and Panther dying last moon. But he just… didn’t. 

“Has he talked to Zuva?” Fiercechasm was asking, and that bit of annoyance was back. He didn’t need a mediator, besides, what was Zuva going to do? Bring his moms and sister back? This wasn’t something the old molly could fix like a spat over the last bass on the fresh kill pile. 

“No, and he gets irritated every time I ask.”

“Same with Bluepaw, Turtlefreckle has been trying, but now that Wingpaw is sick… I don’t want them to isolate more.” Daisypaw scoffed. Then realized both voices from the leader’s den had gone quiet. 

“... Daisy, I know you’re out there. Come on, we need to talk.” He sighed, but got to his paws and padded in to the den. Fiercechasm was looking a little uncomfortable, sitting to one side, but Ferret just looked tired. “Eavesdropping?”

“Was looking for you, figured I’d wait till you were done, didn’t really care about the conversation at first.” He muttered as he sat opposite her. Ferretlily didn’t hold the same intimidation factor his mother had, Hornetrise could make a rogue back down with a single look purely based on size alone, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little uncomfortable under Ferretlily’s assessing eye. She always seemed to see right through him. 

“... you know that’s part of why I’m worried, right?” Daisypaw nodded, feeling his ears droop a little without his permission. “I’m not mad at you, Daisy, but this not caring and only being around Bluepaw or me, it’s not healthy.” Daisypaw frowned. What did Ferretlily know? Did she lose both her parents and her only sister over the course of two moons? Daisypaw’s irritation sparked into anger.

“Who says it’s not? You? Fiercechasm? Zuva?” His tone wasn’t kind, and he saw the way Fiercechasm startled.

“Yes, yes, and yes. Daisypaw you aren’t the first cat to lose ones important to them.” Ferretlily started, her own irritation seeping in to his voice, and Daisypaw pinned his ears. 

“So they get to say how I should handle it?”

“No, but you can’t just pretend the rest of the clan doesn’t exist-”

“Are you giving Midnightpaw the same lecture? He’s only really hanging out with Sunpaw and the Heartclan reject-”

“Daisypaw!”

“Enough.” Fiercechasm didn’t snap, didn’t shout, but her voice cut through their argument just the same and Daisypaw felt a little shame at the disappointment in the deputy’s eyes. “Ferretlily, maybe you should go get some air.” The senior healer frowned at the younger cat, but nodded and left nonetheless, leaving Daisypaw with the silent deputy across the leader’s den from him.

“... I’m not going to go play moss ball with the kits and pretend everything is ok.” He muttered after a moment, scowling down and to the side to avoid looking at her.

“I know.”

“And I’m not gonna go cry and pretend it will make it better.”

“Because it won’t.” Daisypaw startled, then, looking up at Fiercechasm and seeing her expression soften. “Pretending everything is ok and wallowing in sadness won’t make it better. But neither will pretending you’re a loner in a camp full of clanmates who love you.” The two of them sat quietly for a bit, only the faint sounds of one of the patrols coming back breaking the heavy silence, before Daisypaw finally heaved a sigh and let his hackles drop.

“I don’t want it to hurt like that again.” He mewed, and it felt a little better to say it, and even better when Fiercechasm nodded in agreement. 

“I know. But holding everyone a taillength away won’t make it hurt any less when you lose one of them. I tried that, and it still hurt just as bad.” Daisypaw watched the deputy as she seemed to stare at something he couldn’t see, and wondered which of their lost clanmates she was remembering. 

“When Plum died, I shut down, didn’t want to be around anyone. Some days I could barely look at Sparrow and Swift knowing that they were all that was left of her, other days I clung to them like they were my last link to life… then Duskpaw was struck on the Thunderpath. And even though I thought I’d given up on opening my heart to the rest of the clan, losing her was like prodding an open wound. Watching Rattail and his kits mourn, then watching them do it all over again when we lost Seed to the twolegs the next moon? I realized that hiding away and pretending I didn’t care wasn’t protecting my heart. It was just hurting the ones I cared about.” Fiercechasm looked back at him, and Daisypaw was surprised to see her smile, even if it was tinged with sadness. “I know how tempting it is to hide away and pretend you don’t care. But there are cats who care about you. I know Swish has been worried, he can take Bluepaw on patrol when Turtle lets him, but you’re hidden away in the quarantine tunnel… Maybe start there?” Daisypaw felt another wave of guilt. He knew their older brother had been hurt too, but he’d assumed since Swishbeam was with Eddymist he wouldn’t care. Knowing that Swish had been trying… a little bit of warmth seeped back into his chest at that. 

“... Thanks Fierce. And sorry for yelling.”

“If you need to yell and be mad, that’s ok Daisypaw, but know that your clanmates are here for you. If you want to be mad or get out of the burrows for a bit to do something that isn’t looking for herbs, just ask.” Daisypaw nodded and gave a weak smile as he slunk out of the den, noting Riftstar standing further from the den in a way that told him the leader had heard, but wanted to give them privacy. He turned a little to give Daisypaw that gentle smile he always did before heading in to talk to Fiercechasm.

“Daisypaw?” He startled a little, looking up at Sunpaw as he approached. Midnightpaw and Goldenpaw were still near the apprentice’s den, but the quiet brown apprentice was looking at him in worry. “I know it’s kind of silly to ask if you’re ok, because I know I’m still not okay about Mom, Heron and Burdock, but… do you want to come sit with us? Goldenpaw was telling us some Heartclan stories, and you always told really good stories when you would watch me in the quarantine tunnel.” Daisypaw blinked, a little surprised, looked between Sunpaw and the other two apprentices watching them before that bit of warmth he’d felt talking to Fiercechasm came back. He didn’t fight the little smile that came to him as he nodded, seeing Sunpaw’s expression light up before they went to join the other two apprentices. He told himself he’d swap stories until Bluepaw got home. But by the time his brother joined them, not only was he in the midst of telling the younger apprentices about the time Ferretlily had started an argument with Agavepelt of Nightingaleclan in the middle of a Gathering that had led to a three-clan screeching match and ended the Gathering early. 

“Good to see you out of the tunnels, Daisy.” Bluepaw mewed, tucking up next to him and giving his own tired smile. Bluepaw didn’t sleep well these days, dreams filling with howls and snarls where Daisypaw’s were haunted by coughing and gasping, but with the rest of the apprentices settling around them, Daisypaw wondered if maybe, just maybe, they’d be okay. It wasn’t okay now, but it might be, someday. 

[whereserpentswalk]

Was there a first time a human killed a dragon? What did they think? Was it bronze or copper that was the first human alchemy to break their scales after thousands of years of weapons shattering against armor? Their horses finally fast enough to charge and doge them, their armors finally thick enough to protect from their venom.

Did the first human to kill a dragon think they would die? Did they attack the creature out of spite only to see blood flow onto the head of their bronze axe? Or was it a plan, had they tested it before? Did the dragon laugh to see a human try to attack them? Or were they killed from behind, not even knowing what humanity was becoming for them? What was the first time a dragon feared a human, when did they first realize something so small was going to kill them?

Did the first dragon slayer even know? Did they know how many people they were freeing? Did they know that their people weren't always going to fear having their treasures stolen, fear having their crops burnt, fear being ruled over by something inhuman?

How long did it take for the dragons to know? They had lived long enough to see humanity grow from apes, and in what must have felt like moments to them, how did they react? When did they first see one of their brothers dead, and realize what killed it? How did they feel moving from castles to caves, as humans sent mercenaries, then legionaries, then knights, then musketeers? What was the last dragon to tyrannize humanity? Who was the last dragon to call himself king?

Who was the first human to ride a dragon? Did the first dragon to be ridden remember when humans were their slaves? Who was the first human to take the power of their oppressors for themself?

Who was the first human to kill an eldrich horror? What did they think? Was it the laser or the bullet that was the first human science to break their distorted bodies after thousands of years of weapons shattering against their paradox. Their planes finally fast enough to swoop and dodge them, their goggles finally thick enough for their visage not to drive them mad.

How many humans will be the first to tell their oppressor, "You are no longer the predator"...

[hall0wedwyrm]

The brokenpickaxe fic ive been working on is done :D

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64649692/chapters/166073419

Ive never posted two chapters at once for a fic and for some reason I was kinda nervous?? but i've done it and its complete!!

I hope my next fic for this series will be related to my Minecraft AU, where i actually get to post about an AU ive had in my back pocket for basically years at this point lol

enjoy!!

[whumpy-wyrms]

i completely forgot about this but the one year anniversary of me creating aspen and silas was last week!! gimme scenarios to draw them in to celebrate (and also try to get me outta this art block)

[clickerflight]

Whump Art Trade

Here we have Dew from @whumpy-wyrms 's story. I hope you like it! Love drawing a sad little character with wings.

@whump-art-exchange

[nonhumanresources]

Author Of Her Own Story

Lil late but hey, this was meant to come out in October so y'know. It hasn't snowed here yet so you get some autumn vibes now instead. Also, this is the first story I'm posting from the commissions I opened up a few months back. More to come! This one was commissioned by @champloon, he's a cool dude! Go check him out!

Summary: Ryan attends the 16th Annual Harvest Renaissance Fair after several year of attempts, clad in the armor of a tinfoil knight and ready to have an incredible time. A disagreement with a vendor leads to a truly unforgettable experience with the patron saint of the harvest.

What to expect: Dragon transformation, TG, apotheosis, macro, forced language change, and some good old fashioned jousting.

Length: 4.5k words.

If you'd prefer to read this story in an easier format, here's a Google Drive link!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ryan’s greaves crunched on gravel as he stepped out of his car, raising one hand to block the noonday sunlight. It gleamed off the vehicle and his armor alike, wreathing him as if in some holy mandate—one that included a Honda, at least. He checked his pockets—wallet, phone, keys—then set off on his knight’s divine journey, into the great unknown. 

Of course, it was only about thirty yards from his parking spot to the ticket booth for the Sixteenth Annual Harvest Renaissance Fair, but it still felt like some kind of mythical journey. After four years of work, inopportune family trips, and a particularly bad cold, he’d finally made it to the premier local late-summer festivity. Ryan had spared no expense on his cosplay; of course, with amateurish skills at the craft, “sparing no expense” meant using four rolls of aluminum foil to construct the vague approximation of a knight’s armor, but it had still come out alright. The foil wrapped around his arms, legs, and torso in large segments, secured to dark clothing, with a wooden sword slung in a sheath on his back and a shield on one arm with a crest he’d copied from an internet search emblazoned across the front. He’d opted for no helmet, leaving his long, brown hair to flutter in the wind. A leather bag was slung over one shoulder, half tucked under armor, less fitting but a necessity for any convention. He’d seen better, but it was difficult to look at him and think anything other than ‘knight,’ so he considered that an accomplishment.

Click on the read more for the rest of the story, as usual. I love comments and questions so don't hesitate to let me know what you think!

Ryan joined the ticket queue behind a witch and some kind of troll, anxiously awaiting his turn. Now that the day was finally here, he could hardly wait. This costume had been half completed at least a year prior, but his failure to attend had killed any motivation. Now, he was determined to make the most of it. The ticket line wait was made even longer by the blazing sun overhead, though fortune was clearly smiling on him this particular day, and the foil armor actually reflected a shocking amount of the heat back out into the sky (and onto those unlucky enough to be standing next to him, not that he could notice). 

“Next!” a voice called out. The witch and troll duo shuffled away, leaving Ryan at the front of the line. He rushed forward and pulled out his phone. He flashed a QR code ticket to the elf sitting within the small ticket booth, who flashed him a practiced, tired smile as soon as it went though, and she stamped the back of his hand with a small pumpkin decal.

“The King welcomes you to the Harvest Fair,” she declared, talking fast. “All the kingdom’s greatest performers are present today, and eagerly await your fawning approval.” The elf glanced behind Ryan and groaned slightly, then pulled out a pamphlet, pointing at different sections of it as she rushed. “Map’s on page one and two, lore is right after that, read through it or talk to an actor and you can get an explanation on this year’s quest to serve the Goddess of the Harvest and whatnot. Vendors and food are inside on the left, performances are at the stage, jousting tourney starts in—” she glanced at her watch, “hour and fifteen, and bathrooms are marked on the map. Knight photoshoot times are listed if you care. Good day and happy harvest. Next!” 

Ryan blinked. That was… some kind of way to treat a guest. He opened his mouth to ask about the quest, but the elf attendant was already waving the people behind him forwards, and he had to shuffle sideways to avoid getting his toes stepped on by a dwarf. 

Well. He wasn’t about to let one rude employee ruin his day. She’s probably just overwhelmed running the booth all by herself, he reasoned. Not an excuse, really, but she had at least given him most of the information he was wondering about. He could always find an actor inside to get the rest if need be. As he walked through the front gate and caught his first glimpse of the fair, his heart swelled again, and he couldn’t stop himself from grinning. Flutey, medieval music floated over crowds who bustled between small, erected wooden castles and shops, while an incredibly colorful crowd meandered through the fair, taking in the sights and smells. Ryan took a deep breath and dove in. 

The swell of people enveloped him immediately. Ryan rubbed shoulders with all manner of mythical beasts, races, and t-shirt wearing regular folk. He had to stumble to the side in order to circumvent a witch pushing a stroller covered in a paper mâché cauldron, then immediately duck sideways to avoid getting cleaved by a large ax that was resting on a barbarian’s shoulders. The whole affair was an utter jumble, but there was something magical about it all. And it’s not just the fairies, Ryan thought to himself, grinning. 

The flow of the crowd had naturally taken him away from the stage, off to the left, towards the smell and sound of sizzling food. Ryan’s eyes went wide seeing a man no more than four feet tall walking away from a small hut with a turkey leg that seemed nearly as tall as he was. He’d eaten before leaving, though, just in case he was tempted to buy overpriced festival food, so he cut sideways through the flowing sidewalks and ended up getting dumped out into the slower moving foot traffic of what seemed to be the vendors’ area. He took a breath and used the opportunity to pull out that small pamphlet he’d received back at the entrance. One side panel listed events, confirming the upcoming jousting match; opening it up to the proper page on the inside, he found a large, illustrated map. He was shocked to find he’d traveled nearly a third of the length of the fair in arriving where he had. Standing on his armored toes and peeking over the top of the crowd, he was able to confirm that the entrance was quite some distance away, now. 

Must be moving faster than I realized, he thought. The vendors’ area, labeled as The Harvest Market, took up a massive chunk of real estate on this side of the festival, which made sense based on how much of a community-built event this was supposed to be. 

Might as well start here. Ryan tucked the pamphlet away and turned, stepping up to the first vendor he saw. 

Various period-agnostic pieces of armor and filed-down weapons sat across tables and custom-built wooden shelves, providing the air of a blacksmith, perched atop a tablecloth likely purchased at a HomeGoods. A basket full of whittled walking sticks sat off to one side. Behind the tables, in the shade provided by a canopy poorly disguised as a storefront, a somewhat mousey man sat and squinted out into the sunlight (not to mention the light reflecting off of Ryan’s armor), dressed in a brownish tunic and coarse pants to give a sort of peasant-y vibe. A small name tag affixed to the tunic read Phil. He stood as Ryan approached and gave a wan smile. 

“Welcome, Sire Knight!” he called, loud enough to be heard over the din. “I’ve wares to sell, should they be of interest to ye of noble ilk. Or nay, is it a quest ye seek?” 

Ryan opened his mouth, then closed it before responding. That was more in character than he’d expected; he had some decent practice with voicework, but being put on the spot with an unpracticed tone was still difficult. “Ah. I seek to… browse. Good sir Phil,” he added hastily. 

Phil nodded. His smile seemed to be propped against the side of his jaw, as if it were leaning on a wall. “Certainly. Rianne’s blessings to you, then, Knight.” 

Ryan let silence fall for a moment, examining a dagger with a leather wrapped hilt. “Uh.” He coughed awkwardly. “If one… were to be seeking a quest, what would that entail?” 

Phil, who had been moving to sit back down in his fold-out camp chair, straightened. “Aha! As the gods will it, so it be done, a Knight hath been sent to help!” 

“Yes,” Ryan said, shuffling from one foot to the other. “And that help is?” 

Phil’s grand presentation deflated slightly. “Why, only the quest of a lifetime? Rianne’s request, an epic journey only the bravest could hope to complete?” When Ryan only gave an apologetic shrug, he let out a disgruntled sigh. “The one on page four of the festival pamphlet and on the website when you scan the QR code on your ticket? That quest?” 

“I got stuck on the map,” Ryan joked half-heartedly. 

Phil groaned and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Okay, well, doth the great knight feel inclined to consult page four of the festival pamphlet to receive his divine request from the goddess of the harvest, or would he prefer to browse some more?” 

“Would you mind giving a condensed version?” Ryan asked, hopeful. That elf at the ticket booth had said to ask an actor, after all. 

Phil threw a longsuffering sigh upwards (which, Ryan thought, seems kinda uncalled for, all things considered). “It really would be much easier if you just read it.” 

“C’mon, I prefer acting anyway!” 

“And I prefer when knights arrive ready to act,” Phil retorted. 

Ryan folded his arms. “Aren’t renaissance fairs all about acting and improvisation?” He was feeling more and more put out by this being his first real interaction, after all the hype. 

“First of all, it’s the Harvest Renaissance Fair,” Phil corrected, holding up a finger, “and second, I’ve had no less than sixteen tinfoil knights come through here with their dashing looks and ask me to read three paragraphs to them, and I’m getting real sick of it.” 

At this point, Phil was looking quite worked up, and it seemed obvious there was no getting through to him. Ryan held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Okay, okay, listen, I—”

“No, you listen,” Phil growled, cutting Ryan off. “I’m clocking out. If you’re so interested in toying with precise narrative structure, then why don’t you try writing it yourself and see how much you like it? As the gods will it! Or god, in this case.” The man snapped his fingers and made a rude gesture in Ryan’s direction. It was his turn to grunt in frustration as Phil turned away after the frankly very confusing comment.

“Would you just wait one—” Ryan stopped himself and sighed. Whatever. It’s just one sourpuss. Don’t let it ruin the day. “Whatever. May your Harvest be merry, Sir Phil.” 

Ryan furrowed his brow. “Excuse me. May the long nights bring light against fell dark.” 

What. The hell. Something was wrong. He’d been trying to give Phil a few strong words, and perhaps an expletive or two, but the words came out… wrong. Obviously, that was not in fact what he’d said, twice. If it happened once he could chalk it up to distraction, but this was concerning. For his part, Phil just waved a dismissive hand from the back of his stall behind a large tote and said ‘bah!’

Ryan’s head felt… tight. Like his mind was pressing up against the inside of his skull, straining against the bone. He bent over, grabbing the edge of the table. With his head hanging low, he was able to watch as the sun flickered across his hands with an almost incandescent blue light, and with a series of small pops, claws erupted from each fingernail, poking into the fabric of the tablecloth. 

Okay. Revision. Something isn’t wrong, something is seriously wrong. Ryan stumbled backwards, yanking his hands up to his face. Of course, embedded in the fabric as they were, the entire tablecloth came with them. With an enormous clatter, the weapons were unceremoniously tossed against each other and to the floor, crashing together all the way. Ryan couldn’t even attempt to help; the tablecloth was already tangling up his arms, hands balled up into the mass.

It must have just gotten caught on my sleeve. The claws had to have been some trick of the light off his armor. Tin foil was reflective, after all. Of course, he couldn’t actually check until this stupid fabric was taken care of. Unfortunately, each flex only swept more and more of it into the action, wrapping him up in layer after layer of fabric. He tossed one corner over a shoulder to keep track of it and somehow it managed to tangle up his whole arm. A series of knots almost cartoonish in their complexity were forming, and he seemed to be at their mercy. Several passersby were starting to stop and gawk, and Ryan could feel himself sweating as he struggled. 

Finally, he hit a sweet spot and felt the fabric start to slide after tossing multiple layers of it over his shoulder. He took full advantage and yanked, the knots unraveling themselves like magic one after the other, hands finally, thankfully, sliding free. Ryan tossed his arms up into the air with a shout of triumph, not even bothering to check and discover that not only were they clawed, they were also blue. This was also the exact moment his chest decided to acquire a new look and promptly exploded outwards.

Ryan stared down in shock. He was used to being able to see his feet; this was distinctly not possible anymore. He found himself tipping forwards, and his arms pinwheeled wildly, trying to step forwards and catch himself. A numb tingling flashed across both legs, and they suddenly erupted into thick blue skin, pants straining. This did nothing to help steady him. He opened his mouth to yell, feeling like he was moving in slow motion, and it opened instead as a muzzle, pushed outwards and fused with his nose into one long snout, the yell emerging as a roar. 

Just before he ate it, there was one final shhhRRRIP! from behind Ryan. He felt more than heard as his tailbone dropped the ‘bone’ suffix and became a full-on tail, the weight counterbalancing him. As if he was on a hinge, he swung back upwards. The tail impacted the ground with a dry smack, and Ryan was left standing stock straight, arms by his side, legs pointed inwards from their failed attempts to save him. With two belated flaps, a pair of wings unfolded from his back. 

Around him, the crowd burst into applause. 

This was so unexpected as to shock Ryan straight out of his stupor. His hands immediately flew to his face, finding a snout, horns poking out from his nose, his cheeks, his head, a pair of whiskers drooping down from either cheek. It only took a cursory glance to determine that the rest of him was similarly lizardlike. His entire knight’s armor had up and vanished; in its place was the tablecloth, tied across his shoulder and draped over his frame like a dress. A belt decorated with hanging jewels cinched it at the waist, and he was barefoot, though there were two large paws rather than actual feet, now. He was covered in vibrant blue scales from head to toe, but the ones across his neck and the front of his body were a hazy golden yellow instead, continuing on down the base of the tail that swayed behind him. He caught a glimpse in a polished shield and saw an unfamiliar reflection of a reptilian face that boasted yellow stripes across the snout, too. 

Okay. Take stock. What can you actually do here? Ryan’s mind raced. She had to get out of there, find somewhere private to figure all this out. A change like this was bad enough; in public, it was one of her worst nightmares. The insane dragon body was the biggest factor, obviously. The new clothing was embarrassingly scant compared to a full suit of armor, but functional. She….

Oh. Wait. Okay, point three: Ryan was now most certainly a girl, and somehow the pronoun reference in her own head had already shifted. Disconcerting to think about directly, but it seemed fine to leave it alone, so she let that one slide for a bit. Not like she could pass as a man right now anyway. 

Last thing: the crowd. She needed a way through. Ryan raised a hand, and the voices all died down to a murmur. She opened her mouth to politely yell at least one expletive and several panicked requests for people to please get out of the way now. 

“Thank you! Thank you!” The raised hand became a wave as a feminine voice cut the silence from deep in her own throat. Ryan swallowed hard. Again. This time, she pictured the words before speaking them. Please get the HELL out of my way. Just eight words. 

“Please, refrain from praising a humble goddess, citizens!” Wrong eight words. Ryan felt himself withering inside. This was out of control. 

Someone stepped forward from the crowd, an elf with a badge that read ‘Nurse,’ looking concerned. “Are you sure you’re okay, Rianne?” 

It’s Ryan, she tried to say. It didn’t work. “Your care lifts an immortal soul,” was what came out instead. “But Her Lady of the Harvest is well. ‘Twas naught but a minor altercation with a disagreeable sword!” Rianne—Ryan—let out a hearty laugh. Inside, she was yelling. She couldn’t stop herself from going along with this. 

Maybe… maybe she had to play along. That made about as much sense as the rest of this. She chose her words carefully this time. “Though… if thou insists, take all pains to assuage your doubts as to my safety,” she said, holding out an arm. That was as far as she managed to push it towards Please give me an x-ray and tell me I’m just in some kind of nightmare bodysuit. 

The elf reached out and grasped her arm confidently. The moment the nurse made contact, though, she froze. Her gaze connected with Ryan’s, and she could tell that the nurse knew that this wasn’t any kind of improv. That was real, bonafide dragon flesh. A strange haze passed over her eyes, and she stepped back before Ryan could do anything. 

“Our Lady Rianne is perfectly healthy!” she declared to a flurry of applause. Ryan tried to reach for her, but she vanished into the crowd, whispering into the ear of some kind of half-demon fellow whose arm she grabbed along the way. There went that lifeline. 

Rianne. That wasn’t a mispronunciation of her name; that was the name of the Goddess of the Harvest that Phil had mentioned. The one who was supposedly giving out quests and making requests of brave adherents, and who ruled over the entire festival, granting blessings of bountiful harvests and community bonding. That was…

Oh, gods, that was her. Ryan had somehow become Rianne, and now she couldn’t stop talking like a goddess. She couldn’t fathom the reasons behind it, but that must have been why she sounded like a bad reenactment of the legend of Saint George. 

The worst part was, that almost certainly meant that she was stuck here. The goddess of the festival couldn’t very well leave. Even if she tried there was probably some kind of contrived method of keeping her put. She was well and truly screwed. 

Although. Although. A thought surfaced that made her flush. This crowd… they were focused on her, yes, but it was positive attention. Clearly the goddess of the fair—one whom they all must assume she was some kind of mascot representing—would be popular, especially among those undertaking her quests. So, if she was so popular… 

…what was keeping her from enjoying the fair like this, anyway?

Okay, listen up. “My dear merrymakers!” Okay, that one was better than her original thought. “Let not one accident cause you grief. It is a day of joy! Please, continue the festivities!” Her mind raced, trying to come up with something she could say that would get interpreted in a favorable way by her new rules. “Worship comes in many forms, and today that form is togetherness. So please, show Her Lady how you can bring this community together first-hand!” 

A last round of cheers, and the crowd began to disperse—all but a loyal sect clamoring for attention. Rianne did a mental fist pump as one stepped forwards, pointing down the row of vendors, towards the stage. Maybe this would be fun after all. 

~~~~~

Tessa the elven nurse dragged her friend, Anthony, through the crowd. Her vision was sharp, the colors bright. By the time she finally stopped, Anthony had gone from laughing and plucking at her grip to worried. He came to a halt and looked down at his shorter friend. 

“What’s wrong?” Anthony asked, the demonic costume creating a humorous contrast to the caring question. 

“Rianne,” Tessa hissed, pointing towards the dragon. What she’d thought was just an actor. 

“Yeah, we get a goddess every year,” Anthony replied. “Is there something wrong? Did she actually get hurt?” 

“No!” Tessa almost wanted to scream. “Dude. Look closer. She’s real.” 

Anthony cocked an eyebrow. “Did you get hurt?” 

“Anthony!” 

“Okay, okay, fine, I’ll look!” He turned away from his friend, who raked a hand through her hair. She felt like her skin was on fire. This was… it was good, actually. Her blood was electric. At first she’d thought it was a fever; now she recognized it for what it was. She was filled with belief.

She watched Anthony’s face. Saw the skepticism melt into shock. “Hooooly shit,” he breathed. 

“This is insane.” 

“I know,” Anthony said, reaching for his phone. “I have got to tell the guys.” 

~~~~~

Rianne had no way of knowing that as she was paraded through the festival grounds, word of her divinity was spreading through the fair, and it was spreading fast. The next hour went by in a blur. She blessed vendors, received offerings, gave a toast, she had officiated a real ass wedding. Her head swam. Her paws buzzed with power. Whatever Phil had been on about was nonsense; ‘writing the narrative’ felt intoxicating. What she really needed, though, was a break. 

Sadly, breaks were not an option, as just then she found herself being introduced to the festival organizer, who was vigorously shaking her paw and bowing their head in supplication. 

“Now, Rianne, could you watch over our most cherished tournament, the Fall Joust?” The organizer flashed a grin full of fake teeth to the crowd. Suck up, she scoffed. Rianne had plans, anyway. Definitely not. 

“Nothing could please me more!” she crooned. Great. Her goddess side had other plans. So it was that she found herself sat on an actual, real-life throne in the center of the covered wooden platform that lined the side of the jousting arena, the organizer on her left, a recently-crowned King Of The Festival on her right, who had earned the title by winning a costume party. It felt small; her horns scratched the ceiling of the room. Had she grown taller? Her scales felt itchy, even in the shade. Something felt… off. A paw brushed the side of her buxom chest, and she had to bite her tongue to keep from making noise. Every part of her body was acting up all at once, and she was not keen on sitting through multiple jousting matches. 

The viral spread of belief had, by this point, reached its tendrils throughout every part of the fair. It wasn’t quite dominant, not yet, but it was approaching a critical point—one strong enough that Rianne was able to detect it. There was a taste in the air that her godly form translated into the ambrosia of belief, and lots of it. 

An announcer droned on from a box somewhere at the end of the field. Conversations continued on either side of her. Rianne heard none of it. She folded her arms over her stomach and tried to keep from hurling as she rubbed against her own sensitive skin. 

“...for their contributions to the fair. And lastly, we have one last guest to thank.” A bit of the announcer’s tone crept through into Rianne’s ears. “The one to whom this festival is dedicated. Our… hm?” Feedback came through the mic as it was suddenly covered due to commotion in the announcer’s booth. When he spoke again, moments later, there was true reverence in his voice. “Our immortal goddess, Lady Rianne of the Harvest! Please, everyone, put your hands together for the first TRUE appearance of the Goddess herself!” 

Oh, God.

Rianne’s body could no longer take it. She fell forwards from her chair, stumbling out into the jousting arena on all fours as she quite literally doubled in size, body stretching to a full fifteen feet long. As waves of shock and understanding rippled through the largest crowd the festival had to offer, the belief in Rianne grew stronger and stronger, and she grew right alongside it. Paws rubbed along scales uncontrollably as she erupted like a glorious, godly volcano, dwarfing first the attendees, then her own previous size, then the arena itself. It was only once she tried to stand, head now poking at least twenty feet above the roof of the covered seating, that she had the presence of mind to yank her (miraculously growing) dress down and snap her legs together to try to keep from flashing the crowd, face turning a brilliant shade of maroon in the process. She managed to only knock over a couple of wooden fence supports as she wobbled out of the arena, one paw tucked between her legs, the other held tight over her chest. 

“B-blessed Harvest!” she cried out, trying to smile and failing to fully remove the flustered expression from her face. She needed out of there fast, and at this size, there was no one able to stop her. “Your grace is EXTREMELY well received! P-please calm your prayers, lest Her Lady expose… f-frighten you all with her godly form! And rest assured she will return, year after year, to ensure Her will be respected and celebrated!” As she spoke, some of the energy crackling across her form was sapped out, and she felt the words cement themselves into reality. She would be back. Rianne’s stomach dropped like a rock. This was going to happen again. Year after year, she’d be back here, transformed into a dragoness once again to celebrate the harvest. She snapped her jaw closed before she could damn herself any more.

The entire festival could see her, now, and they all erupted into raucous applause and cheers. Rianne choked out one final “Happy Harvest!” before turning tail and running, the glimpses of her rear through the slitted dress as purple as the cheeks up above, each softly embedded paw print in the landscape bigger than the last as she dashed off to find a couple buildings to hide herself behind. The only thing that the goddess could think of that embarrassed her more than accidentally flashing a festival of supplicants was that, deep down, she knew that she was excited for next year’s Harvest. 

[whumper-cars]

One I LOVE but never see: Living Battery

Superhero Whumpee being used to power something for the Villain

Nonhuman Whumpee has magical blood that can be used to power machines and having their blood drained

Whumper having multiple magic Whumpees so that once one is fully drained or too tired to produce magic they just move on to the next one

Cyborg/Robot Whumper that leeches off of other cyborgs/robots to gain energy

Alien Whumpee being used to power a spaceship

A tiny Whumpee with electricity powers being put in the battery slot of an electronic appliance so they're a literal battery (this may be inaccurate but idc)

Just thinkin about living batteries

Feel free to add onto any of my prompts!

[incorrecttwsted]

What's Denzel's Signature Spell/Unique Magic? I'm curious.

Denzel's unique magic is 『Bad Beat』

It's a high-risk high-reward type of buffing spell. It increases his own magical abilities for a short time, allowing him to deal more damage. The tradeoff is that once it's used, his energy crashes hard, leaving him fairly vulnerable and tired for an extended period.

A bad beat is a poker term for someone who has a good hand but loses anyway, something that his unique magic embodies. If he uses it, he could be stronger and could win but if he's in a position where he's going to use it he's probably desperate and going to lose anyway.

His unique magic is a sore spot for him. He's fairly insecure over having magic that is, in his mind, worthless and almost a guaranteed loss. He hasn't used it properly since it manifested and there are very few people who actually know he even has unique magic.

[casa-delle-galline]

It’s so funny how I went from not understanding the appeal of ZeLink in BoTW, to absolutely bawling my eyes out about Link and Zelda in ToTK living together and Link buying a dream house which is normally made for couples and families and is way bigger than the Hateno house.

I don’t think I’ve loved ZeLink this much since Spirit Tracks and Skyward Sword.

1. ST ZeLink (ALWAYS, NO QUESTION)

2. SS ZeLink (plus Groose, because it feels wrong to leave him out)

3. ToTK ZeLink

That will be all.

[the-emerald-wyrm]

Imagine #11

To hoard was to live; to eat was to breathe fire; to fly was to be free. These traits made you the dragon that you are right now. The freedom of flight was being lifted on warm updrafts of air, while diving down once the cold became intolerable. The necessity of your flame helped to hunt your food, but also to keep you alive. Your flame was your soul, and when it went out, so did you. Yo live between freedom and necessity you divulge yourself in the act of creating a hoard. A hoard could be anything you had a knack for- gold, jewels, books, stained glass, all this and more. To be a dragon like you, embrace your draconic life.

[jayinserenity]

So, @wyrm-clangen's recent moons have been living rent free in my head, and as the #1 Seedgorse fan I needed to write something about him in all of the recent sadness. So Wyrm, here's that thing I asked for notes for.

Seedgorse woke slowly, he'd finally managed to doze off for a bit once he'd gotten Stemkit to stop fussing and sleep. He was grateful, once again, for their clan's tunnels and the ability to keep everyone warm throughout the harshness of leaf bare. Rainmask and his patrol had come back from the last patrol reporting storm clouds moving in fast. Riftstar had set the healthy warriors to work preparing for a possible blizzard, those who weren't already working on the quarantine tunnel. 

Shifting in his nest slowly, he blinked his eyes open and tried his best to avoid waking the ball of kits curled against him. As he blinked the sleep from his eyes he felt a fond smile blooming on his face as he looked down at his litter. Little Owlkit, his quietest, was snuggled up with Larchkit, her sister's muzzle pressed tight into Owlkit's neck fur while Stemkit had wrapped herself around Larchkit, tucked between his tail and her sister's back. 

Wait

Seedgorse bolted upright, suddenly fully awake, not concerned with how Stemkit woke with an upset mewl and the whole litter was suddenly in an uproar, waking Marcy, Turtlefreckle and several of their kits. But none of that mattered because Where was Timberkit?

“Seedgorse? Honey you look terrified what’s wrong?” Marcy’s voice was still creaky with sleep as she tried to fully come to wakefulness. Turtlefreckle turned from his own litter at her words, and Seedgorse met his gaze and saw a spark of his own fear in them.

“Timberkit isn’t here.” 

“Neither is Pricklekit.” He stood then, brushing his tail over his daughters comfortingly as he moved from their nest. Behind him he heard the older kits fussing.

“Oh stars where are Heron or Burdock!” Marcy bolted out of her nest, her and Nightkits’ voices joining the cacophony but Seedgorse was out of the tunnel then. The commotion had alerted Swiftstream on guard duty.

“Problem?”

“Some of the kits are missing- my daughter is missing-” The younger warrior’s hackles raised and the tom was moving in an instant, bolting into the warriors den to wake the rest of the clan. Within heartbeats Riftstar was in the main den organizing search patrols. Wheatpaw and the other healthy apprentices were already scouring every nook and gap they could find in the tunnels, searching for any hiding spot. Daisypaw, mask in place, was standing at the edge of the quarantine tunnel talking to a harrowed looking Fiercechasm, relaying to the rest of the ill cats to check their tunnel thoroughly. Turtlefreckle and Marcy had the kits gathered, asking them if they’d seen where their sisters had gone, or knew anything. Any possible answer for what could be happening. He couldn’t believe it, he’d only fallen asleep once the whole litter had been sleeping. Timberkit had been sound asleep-

“Seedgorse.” He startled from his… he wasn’t sure what to call it, a daze? Shock? Whatever it was, Riftstar’s voice was gentle, and his eyes held worry as he looked at Seedgorse. “The search patrols are getting ready to go out. Fogtail, Marcy, Fidgetpaw, Icypaw and Rookrise are watching the kits, Fidgetpaw will keep them busy and you know the others would rather die than lose another. Do you want to stay and watch them or-”

“I need to find her.” Riftstar didn’t look surprised, merely nodded solemnly and lead the way to the exit tunnel. Stepping out into the storm that had descended, Seedgorse saw his littermates, Frostprance and Sprucepaw waiting for them and several rapidly disappearing trails of pawprints. Riftstar didn’t need to give the order for the patrol to fan out. They paired up and the pairs stayed withing sight or sound of one another as they started to search. 

Heartbeats turned to minutes, turned to hours as Seedgorse and Riftstar searched. Silent but for an occasional call for any of the missing kits. He could faintly hear Bea and Water doing the same. But with every passing moment the dread wrapping around his heart tightened further and further. The weather was getting worse, the light sprinkle of snow merging with a driving freezing rain as a proper blizzard threatened to envelope the patrol, Star the territory, entirely. 

But the dark had descended on them, Riftstar called a halt, gathering the patrol in a copse of pines near the edge of the Twolegplace. Seedgorse’s entire body was on alert being so close to the creatures again, and he fought every hair on his pelt not to think about his poor little Timberkit being in one of those metal nests. Having those hairless paws on his baby.

“We need to return to camp.” Riftstar’s voice was raw when the patrol finally all gathered, and Seedgorse whipped around on the older tom in fury.

“What?!”

“Seedgorse-” He faintly heard Beaverfleck mew behind him but he was already looming over Riftstar. The elderly leader didn’t rise from where he sat, merely watched as Seedgorse stalked closer.

“Are you suggesting we just, what, go home? Snuggle back up in our warm nests while our kits are out here freezing to death?!” He snarled, feeling the start of tears prickling at the edge of his eyes and trying to harness the rage to avoid the desperate fear trying to overwhelm him. But then Riftstar looked up and met his eyes, and that rage was replaced by surprise at the sheer hopelessness in his leader’s eyes. Since he was a kit Riftstar had always had hope. Even when he spoke of his lost mate, he hadn’t seemed this helpless. 

“Seed, please.” Frostprance’s voice was soft when she broke the silence, he faintly noticed Riftstar turning away, hiding the tears in his own eyes, as he turned back to the rest of the patrol. Beaverfleck’s tears were visible, ready to fall, looking like she couldn’t figure out if she should go to him or not. Waterstep, while not crying like their sister, was visibly devastated, and that same helplessness he saw in Riftstar was reflected in his brother. Frostprance, their sister in all but blood, was sitting, her tail wrapped close around a shivering Sprucepaw, and while she looked calmer than any of them, it wasn’t hard to see past it to the heartbreak. Sprucepaw looked terrified, shivering from the cold as well as the fear as he tucked closer to the warrior. 

“Seed, we won’t find her like this. I’m so sorry.” Frostprance’s words were gentle, but it was the final stone removed from the pile. All of the emotions he’d been trying to mask with rage tumbled through Seedgorse and the tears started to fall. He felt himself start to sob as his siblings, his leader, and Sprucepaw clustered around him. They’d return to camp later, and Seedgorse would have to explain to his remaining daughters that he didn’t know where their sister was, didn’t know if they’d ever see her again. But for this moment, all he could do was lean into his brother, tuck his face into Beaverfleck’s fluffy neck fur, damp with her own tears, and let Frostprance and Riftstar gently groom him as he let the utter and complete devastation wash through him.