#Dragon writes

[dragon-kazansky]

Bridgerton shade of blue

Benedict Bridgerton x Female Reader

Benedict bumps into you, quite literally, at a ball while trying to escape his mother's attempts to find him a partner. You decide to humour him with a dance, not realising just how entwined you would become with him. It seems the universe will find every excuse to push you and Benedict together, no matter how much you fight it.

♡♡♡

Season One

Chapter One - Mr Bridgerton

Chapter Two - Empty drawing rooms

Chapter Three - Becoming acquainted

Chapter Four - Roots for friendship

Chapter Five - Diamonds

Chapter Six - Splendid

Chapter Seven - The prince

Chapter Eight - Sparkling diamond

Chapter Nine - Late night scandals

Chapter Ten - Duel at dawn

Chapter Eleven - Ruse to ruse

Chapter Twelve - Beautiful day for a wedding

Chapter Thirteen - Passionate

Chapter Fourteen - Scandals in abundance

Chapter Fifteen - Rhythm of our hearts

Chapter Sixteen - Entanglement

Chapter Seventeen - End of the season

♡♡♡

Season Two

The tag list is full! I'm sorry! I've reached the capacity!

[a-lonely-dragon]

Strike! - Chapter 1

Montgomery Gator x F!Reader

Working at the Mega Pizzaplex was a sweaty, sticky, eardrum-exploding nightmare, but you just had to stick with it until you heard back from literally any other job. It couldn't be too long now, what was the worst that could happen?

AO3 Link

Navigation: Chapter 2

You're taking in the traffic hazard of a shirt when the thought occurs. It isn’t the first time, God no, but this time around it strikes you as a real, genuine consideration. The council had gathered, spoken, and all came to the same conclusion.

You should quit.

Enough was enough, right?

The job market isn’t fantastic at the moment, yeah, but there had to be something better than being yanked around by Fazbear Entertainment. They had their millions of STAFF bots and plenty of desperate people ready to fill in your position.

And yet, you still hesitated. Lifting the new button-up from the bed, you throw it on before you can second-guess yourself and grimace at your reflection in the vanity mirror. You’re entirely swallowed by the riot of colors. Somehow, the material feels scratchier than the last one. Bright lime green, vibrant purple short sleeves and a smattering of yellow spots. You’d only just gotten used to the Bonnie Bowl’s ugly uniform, even grew fond of it in a weird way, and now here you were, transferred to the attraction of the same animatronic that had taken your favorite’s place, sporting his colors.

Chewing your lip, you threw a glance at the alarm clock on your night stand. It wasn’t long before you’d need to leave if you wanted to make it on time for your crash course in manning the golf course. If it was anything like the bowling alley, it’d involve a lot of running around, herding sugar-rushed children, and being berated by slews of cranky adults. Only this time, there’d be no cheery blue rabbit to break up the tedium. 

You sigh, and begin to toss around your bed’s blankets, searching for your phone. 

There was no use dwelling on it, what was done was done and, hey, maybe it was a good thing. No more scrambling for an answer when a kid asked Where’s Bonnie? No more digging pizza and cake out of the gutters or discovering new molds in the rental shoes. Most importantly, you wouldn’t have to see Bonnie’s face plastered everywhere, wouldn’t have to feel that bitter sting like you’d lost a friend out of nowhere. 

No, you thought, finally recovering your phone. I’ll just be digging pizza and cake out of golf hazards and have to deal with the animatronic that hates everyone.

But, checking your bank account, and thinking about the upcoming rent, you force aside the mess of feelings. God knows how hard it was to find a new job in this town, the reason you’d jumped to take a position at the Mega Pizzaplex in the first place, despite its less than stellar reputation. 

So lime green button up it was. Collecting your Fazwatch from its charger, you toss a couple of spare clothes into your bag and make for the door.

---

Freddy Fazbear’s Mega Pizzaplex is located at the very edge of city limits, which makes sense considering its theme park-esque size. The parking lot alone is twice the size of your apartment complex. You pull into employee parking at the far corner of the lot, and complete your step count before you even make it to the doors. Gotta leave the most convenient spots open to the guests, after all. Your first manager had been fired for parking in lot E instead of F, actually. Horrible guy, always smelled like onions.

You pause at the front doors, fingers tightening around your backpack straps. Despite the fact that you’ve been draining your life away here for the past few months, your stomach is in knots akin to your first day. You can turn around right now. Go home. You shake your head to clear away the feeling. It was just for a while longer, you reason, and force yourself to step inside. You’ll start putting in resumes elsewhere as soon as you’re back home. 

Inside is a familiar cacophony of lights, generic jazz, and boards advertising all of the fun you’d surely have within the walls of the Pizzaplex.

Scanning your employee ID at the front gates, you glance around the lobby curiously, trying to spot any familiar faces among the rest of the staff trudging along to their own designated areas of the ‘plex. You can’t help but wonder if your coworkers had survived the downsizing of the bowling alley, but you didn’t recognize any of the people shuffling along. Though, considering how you weren’t able to leave the bowling alley during your shifts and hardly ever felt compelled to explore when you weren’t on the clock, it wasn’t the strangest thing. 

The lobby of Monty’s Gator Golf is entirely devoid of human life as you power walk through it. You flash your badge at the STAFF bot manning the elevator, who waves a hand and monotones, “Welcome back to work, valued employee,” before the doors slide open behind it.

You suffer through a prerecorded line from Montgomery Gator as you descend, and afterwards a few seconds of Glamrock music. It feels like forever when the elevator finally opens with a cheery ding and deposits you into the jungle, where you’re immediately hit with a new cacophony of noise. Bass music bumps through the speakers and periodic hisses come from somewhere within the space. Your new manager, Rodney, is waiting for you as soon as you exit. He isn’t subjected to the same horrendous uniform as you, dressed in a simple button-up and slacks, but he sports a garish spotted tie and, above his nametag, a Monty Gator enamel pin flashes.  He glances up from his Fazwatch, and you’re immediately nervous at how unimpressed he looks. The managers around the Pizzaplex were . . . not well liked, to say the least. While you could sympathize with how stressful their jobs must be, juggling customer complaints, major attraction malfunctions, and so on, more often than not, they were strict as hell and quick to terminate employees at the drop of a hat.

Plastic retail smile sliding into place, you approach. “Hello, nice to meet you. I’m–”

“Welcome to Gator Golf,” Rodney says flatly, pulling a tablet from his pocket and tapping at the screen. “Let’s get going, you’ve already studied the map of the golf course, I hope? Security has more important things to worry about than finding lost girls.”

Jackass. You bite down your irritation and nod. How hard can it be to navigate a mini golf course?

“Good. I’ll walk you through your tasks today, but from tomorrow on you’ll be on your own. You’re not a new hire, so I don’t expect you’ll need babysitting.” He turns on his heel and begins walking, voice just loud enough for you to make out over the ambient noise. “You’ll receive a list at the start of each shift, and you’re expected to complete all tasks before you clock out. Anything left undone will be sent to me to review. If you need to work overtime to complete these tasks, you need to message me first.”

As you trail after Rodney, nodding along to his instructions even though he doesn’t look your way the entire time,  you take in what will essentially become your second home until you can find a new job. Much like its reptilian mascot, it’s very in-your-face. The lights are dim and hidden fog machines churn out puffs of white that hang over the water hazards, further obscuring the plastic foliage that hangs from the ceiling and crawls up the walls and pillars throughout the course. Neon lights run along the railings, meant to guide patrons through the courses, with a sign designating each hole. 

Compared to the open floor plan of Bonnie Bowl, this area felt much more enclosed. The curving pathways that skirt around the course’s main turf wind to and fro, with large fronds and near life-size trees further blocking line of sight. 

As you crane your neck to admire the tiny yellow bulbs scattered throughout the foliage, you can just make out parts of a catwalk peeking from the darkness. There’s an upper half to the attraction, you remember reading about it in the email. The Hurricane Hole-in-One where patrons could ride around in carts that zip above the course and try to hit targets, spilling a massive bucket full of plastic balls into a pit below. It sounded more like a waterpark themed ride to you, but who were you to say where giant buckets could or couldn’t be? 

“Most of your tasks will keep you here on the ground,” Rodney says, noticing your attention drifting upwards. “Guests aren’t allowed on the catwalks and maintenance takes care of the ride when necessary.”

You let out a silent sigh of relief when he turns back around. Heights didn’t scare you, per se, but you weren’t sure you wanted to test Fazbear Entertainment’s ability to keep suspended walkways up to code.

As you trudge on, you find that the noise is truly endless in this attraction, especially with the damned alligator heads constantly hissing as they pop across the course, wiggling and taunting you. Those were going to get real old, real fast. You almost ask Rodney if they had to be on constantly, but think better of it. He probably wouldn’t appreciate you interrupting his explanation of how often you’re supposed to check the rivers for lost items (at least monthly). You cast a wary look at the dark water. It smells stagnant, with a hint of chlorine and an undercurrent of pizza. You’ll have to bring your rubber gloves from home, just in case you aren’t out of here before having to suffer plunging into those depths.

As the two of you make it to the far side of the room, Rodney motions towards a red door half-hidden by hanging leaves. “You can go through here to get to the backroom. It’s where you’ll find the cleaning supplies and most of our inventory. The rest is kept in storage below, I’ll show you the way after the Pizzaplex closes, but you can find directions at the end of your Monty Golf Employee pamphlet.”

You have a feeling you’ll be referring to your map often for the first few weeks, but otherwise your duties don’t seem to be that much different from your time at Bonnie Bowl. Fielding questions and demands and complaints, directing the staff bots when messes and spills inevitably happened or having to clean them up yourself when those state-of-the-art machines couldn’t get somewhere. All of that on top of basic restocking, reshelving, and inventory for the gift shop, and confiscating Faz Cams when necessary, apparently.

“Any and all Faz Cams you collect can be brought back to the security office at the end of your shift.” He leads you to a different door and, through that, into the blandest hallway you’ve seen in this entire building. Beige tile walls and linoleum floors, not a poster or product placement in sight. Honestly, the cold and clinical feeling it gave you was almost eerie.

The security office is thankfully nearby, and with a swipe of his ID, the door sweeps open with a heavy clank, and beyond it is a sudden return to the Fazbear decorating scheme. Checkerboard floors and mascot faces plastered everywhere, and sitting before a massive screen displaying a multitude of tinier screens, you finally see another human being other than Rodney. The security guard startles a bit at your sudden appearance, letting out a hiss as coffee splashes over the rim of the paper cup in his hands. You wince in sympathy as he snatches a wad of napkins from the desk and dabs at his pant leg furiously.

Rodney grunts, but you can’t tell if it’s apologetic or not. “Guard, newbie. Newbie, guard.” 

“Nathan, it’s Nathan,” the guard says, setting his cup aside and quickly getting to his feet to offer you a hand in greeting. You take it and give him your name in return. “Nice to meet you, I’m usually the one on shift here.” He looks nice enough, if a little nervous. A mess of brown curls escapes from beneath his security cap, and when he smiles a dimple appears at the corner of his lips. 

“You know how to contact security already through the watch, right?” Rodney asks, his nose once again buried in his tablet. “Great. Then let’s go, you need to help open the course.” You barely get the affirmative out before he’s leaving the room, and you throw a hasty goodbye to Nathan, who gives you a pitying look, before scrambling out after him.

By the end of your first shift, you can’t wait to be left to the wolves. Having Rodney hover over you throughout every single task was driving you up the wall. He doesn’t help with any of the jobs, just . . . watches. You have no idea what he’s doing on his tablet, but you’re convinced he’s taking notes or already filling out your employee report. Periodically, guests stop you to ask for directions, where certain animatronics are at the time, or, in one man’s case, to notify you that he’d somehow launched his golf club into one of the trees and needed a new one. Rodney piped up every now and then, but it was clear this was a test run for you. There was no doubt that if he didn’t find your work adequate today, you might find yourself cut from the Pizzaplex sooner than you planned.

The manager over in Bonnie Bowl, Pam, hadn’t been much better during your first month, but she’d delegated your training to one of your co-workers. You suppose it makes some sense, you’ve been working here for a bit already and if you’re going to be going around mostly on your own it stands to reason the manager would want to know you aren’t entirely incompetent. But every raise of his brow and grunt makes your gut twist with nerves.

A wave of relief washes over you as you check off the final task on your Fazwatch, just a couple of minutes before you’re supposed to clock out, but Rodney clears his throat and you immediately tense once again. You turn to Rodney expectantly. You did good today, you know you did, but that didn’t matter. What matters is this old guy’s opinion.

He glances back at the now empty golf course, scanning the area as if he’s searching for something out of place. You bite the inside of your cheek, cold sweat clinging to your upper lip. Honestly, you can’t figure out if you’re worrying about being fired right away, and thus being a failure, or being deemed competent enough to return to this place tomorrow. Then, finally, he turns to you. “A decent start. I expect you know the policy for clocking in?”

“No more than two minutes before or after my shift without prior approval,” you recite. No getting a head start on work for you.

“Good. I’ll send you a review of your performance today. I believe in constant self-improvement and genuine hard work here.”

God, he was one of those bosses, huh? “Understood.”

---

With a yawn, you shrug on your jacket and sling your bag over your shoulder, novelty keychains clattering against each other. The locker room smells of sweat and someone’s forgotten lunch, but you’ve been in here enough that you’re getting used to it. It’s all but deserted by now with only a few stragglers like yourself shuffling about, with the exception of a single woman two lockers down from you. The security guard.

She looks wide awake, if not a bit grim-faced, as she tugs her blonde ponytail through the back of her black cap. A flashlight hangs at her belt along with a pronged baton the length of her thigh. You have to withhold a shudder at the sight of it. How many volts did it take to incapacitate an animatronic? It was only a precaution, you’d been assured the first time you’d seen your manager brandish it proudly, since all of the bots and animatronics were programmed to the teeth with the sole purpose of protecting their charges and wouldn’t in a million years be capable of harming a human–and yet.

Your job wasn’t all sunshine and roses, sure, but at least you weren’t the night guard. The thought of those creepy STAFF bots skittering about in the dark sends a chill up your spine.

“Cute magnet.”

You give a start at Vanessa’s comment, a small flush of heat crawling up your cheeks as you follow her gaze. The inside of your locker is pretty sparse, apart from a few sticky notes and some cheap round magnet clips to hold reminders, but near the top is a Glamrock Bonnie magnet, smiling cheekily and winking. “Ah, thanks,” you say, more than a little surprised that she’s spoken to you. From what little you’ve seen of her, she doesn’t go out of her way to talk to anyone first. 

She doesn’t come closer, but tilts her head a bit, still admiring it. “They don’t sell those anymore, right?”

You frown a bit and nod. “Got it a couple months ago.” 

Vanessa sighs. ���It’s a shame they got rid of him, I always liked rabbits.” 

“Me too,” you say, and the conversation dies there. After an awkwardly silent second where it becomes clear neither of you have anything to bring it back to life, you shut your locker and Vanessa blinks, and maybe it’s just the shitty lighting, but the dark circles beneath her eyes seem heavier than before. “Well, uh, have a good shift.”

Vanessa’s lips quirk, a shadow of a smile lightening her features. She lifts a single hand in a lazy wave. “Thanks. See you around.”

[spodimusarts]

Turtle from WOF staying up late writing. Been wanting to draw this guy again and finally got around to it.

Also I joined a art club about a month and a half ago so I’ll post some drawings I made for a charity event that’s happening soon.

[dragondrafts]

aahh hello! was really excited to find another heartsteel blog <3

ive come with a more angsty topic if you're comfy w it!

reader spending time trying to get aphelios out of his shell after finding out he'll lose his voice- (and possibly a part of after it all happens, procedure and such- taking care of him)

thank you! ^^

Hiiii thank you for the request, and I'm super happy to find fellow heartsteel fans!! I wasn't entirely clear on the prompt (and this ended up more fluffy than angsty until the end asgjhkgdh) but I hope you like this regardless ❤️

HEARTSTEEL Aphelios x Reader

♡ Prompt: Comfort and encouragement before (and a little bit of after) vocal chord surgery ♡ TW: none ♡ Gender-neutral reader

Aphelios was always a quiet, thoughtful person by nature- but learning that he may lose his voice, his central form of artistic expression, was devastating to his self-confidence, pushing him into a depressive self isolation lasting weeks

It was heartbreaking to see the brightness of his gentle face drained, the sparkle in his eyes turned from mischief to fear... so you were determined to help him through this

Phel could be very stubborn and moody, hiding himself under blankets and pillows and absolutely refusing to come out. But with lots of patience and the promise of chocolate you could coax him out

You started with inviting his sister Alune to sleepovers. Aphelios wouldn't be forced to leave the house, or his room if he didn't want to, but his sister was very good at bringing a smile or soft laugh out of him, even for just a little while

You also began to take him out on walks through the neighborhood. You pointed out the songs of native birds, shared a fresh orange carefully snatched off someone's tree, or often times just walked side by side in comfortable silence

One time, some days before the procedure, the two of you found yourselves in a grassy park to relax. Aphelios sat criss-cross with his back against a tree and you laid your head in his lap while he played music on low volume through a portable speaker

For just a moment, he forgot about his worries, his anxieties, his grief, and began to sing along softly to the music while slowly combing his fingers through your hair

You closed your eyes and listened quietly, leaving him room to have this intimate moment with his voice- what could be one of the last

As the song ended, Phel came back into the present and blinked, both flustered at his vulnerability and sad that this personal vessel of self expression would soon be gone, maybe forever- but gazing at your kind, relaxed face, he realized he could get through anything, as long as he had you by his side

Post-procedure:

Despite Aphelios' initial protest, you and Alune spoiled the hell out of him every moment after he woke up from the procedure

His bed was all set up with the softest pillows and blankets, all his favorite snacks and plenty of water next to the bed within arm's reach, and TV hooked up to every streaming service you could think of

Doctor's orders were to not speak at all for the first few days, so a notepad and pen were provided, and if he needed anything he could text Alune or your phone to get your attention

You gave him space to process things whenever he asked, but whenever you got the chance, you were by his side in bed, keeping him company, telling him about all the latest news, or cuddling and watching movies together

There were a few moments when you would be holding Phel in your arms, and you felt him shake subtly- he was stifling sobs into your shoulder

You laid there in silence, rubbing his back, being his rock while he grasped his fear and sadness

He would never admit it, but Aphelios would always be grateful for these moments you spent with him at his lowest

[sisinasawa]

Side/main character additions for my book Anastasius!

Hello everyone! I’m running something for my book that I’m sure you’ll enjoy! I’m writing a book titled Anastasius which is Greek for Renewal. But I was thinking of a fun way to raise money for the book and a fun way to interact with potential readers! So I was thinking, if I give the characters who will be in my book, perhaps there could be a fundraiser for this! It will be $10 USD per character and there is no limit to how many characters you’d like! I’ll post the sheet for each character and you can pick and choose which tribe you’d like create your own character! If you have anymore questions I’ll be happy to answer! I take payments through PayPal as it’s the only thing I understand how to use!

Creatures of Renewal:

As written by Wyvern Scholars

Amphiptere:

Amphipteres generally were said to have light-colored feathers like a sunrise, a serpentine body, bat-like wings with feathers covering most of the forearm and often greenish in coloration, and a long tail much like a wyvern's tail. Others are described as covered in feathers with a spiked tail, bird-like wings, and a beak-like snout.

These small dragons are known to go after smaller prey like rodents and birds, as their habitatsavanna's heat, leavingrests. However, large colonies have been known to live in constructed settlements. Still, any knowledge of a leader has yet to be discovered. It has been rumored that the Amphiptere changes leaders when either the current one dies or willingly gives up the position of tribal leader.

Habitat: Forests, Jungles, or the forested remnants of human cities.

Arctic Dragon:

These giant, wooly dragons stand five feet taller than the most significant polar bears; their powerful muscles and jet-black skin under their blueish-white fur dominate most northern regions. Human settlements are where they prowl, waiting for humans hidden in these desolate territories for the perfect time to strike. These areas are far too cold for most dragons. Still, the Arctic dragon has adapted to survive in these brutal conditions. However, females only move southwards when their young are ready to be born. Once the younglings are old enough to walk short distances independently, the mother and cub begin trekking back toward the tundra.

Diet: These dragons hunt down various arctic prey, ranging from the smallest Arctic hares to the giant whales. Anything these dragons can get their talons on is food to them. Although young Arctic dragons do not have the speed or endurance their parents have, they rely on their parents to bring them back something they can eat.

Coatyl:

The most noticeable feature of Coatyls is the feathered wings. These wings comprise a humerus connected to a radius and an ulna connected to metacarpals. The wings of a Coatyl allow it to fly, which is the primary method of locomotion. In unbonded Coatyls, the scapulars and front feathers are dark green, the covert feathers are light yellow or tan, and the primary and secondary flight feathers are red.

Coatyls have pressurized sacs in the back of the mouth of a highly volatile and slightly acidic chemical known as coatalic acid. When threatened, muscles surrounding these sacs contract, pushing the coatalic acid out of small holes in the mouth and spraying it. When it comes into contact with air, coatalic acid undergoes a chemical reaction that causes it to ignite and become highly adhesive, sticking to whatever it lands on.

Diet: Coatyls primarily prey on small rodents like mice or rats. Coatyls cannot bite or tear their food to pieces, so they instead swallow their prey whole. They can do this as the upper and lower jaws of a Coatyl are not rigidly attached and have multiple joints, allowing them to open their mouths wide enough to swallow prey whole. While digesting food, Coatyls will typically avoid trying to fly and will instead travel along the ground.

Habitat: These dragons are usually found in the same territories as the Amphiptere. However, these Coatyls have been seen further south in the rainforests due to being more of a tropical species. Their size makes them easy prey for larger animals if they are not careful.

Dragon:

The Western European kind, with four legs, two wings, and (usually) fiery breath. Depending on how the work classifies things, these may be the only ones called "dragons." Otherwise, they're typically called authentic, Western, or European dragons. The Western dragon tends to be massive and heavy, with sharp claws and bat-like wings. They are usually with reptile features but may also have fur or feathers. Sometimes dark colored but always shiny. Some have forked tongues, others crests, fringes, or some other adornment. It always has the ability to spew forth blazing fire and fumes.

In the West, dragons live in caves or mountain dwellers and predators. Cave dweller dragons stay in the coldness of the dark most of the time. The caves, filled with fire and water, are easily guarded and located close to towns, where food is convenient. Mountain predators live in cave-riddled mountains that provide an invincible tower and protection.

Diet: Western dragons tend to be considered carnivores. They like meat, flesh, and blood as their primary food source and are too fussy about the source. Sheep, cows, oxen, lions, elephants, or even humans, anything of a reasonable size and with warm blood and flesh to feast on, are their primary food sources. However, dragons haven’t shown a preference for the age or gender of humans. One interesting thing to note is that although they eat the flesh, they have a particular taste for blood. Sometimes, when in need of a quick burst of energy, they will only drink the blood of their prey and leave the flesh. This is seen as barbaric by most other species of dragons. Still, with western dragons being the second largest species, we tend not to mess with them and their dietary habits.

Drake: The drake is a dragon with four limbs, much like a lizard, although usually far more significant in size than the average lizard. A potent example of a drake in the natural world is the Komodo Dragon, a large species of minotaur lizard in Indonesia. These creatures have low-slung bodies, like crocodiles and alligators, with bellies across the ground. However, due to their natural habitat and human greed, wild drakes have been increasingly difficult to get notes from and other scholars to talk with. Drakes who are found are highly hostile and not open much to talking, but with enough food and gold, these dragons could easily talk your ear off.

Diet: These family-oriented dragons hunt together in packs; their size and numbers are easily strong enough to take down small herds of water buffalo, wildebeests, elk, and moose.

Feydragons: These dragons are about the size of a cat, each having an iridescent coat of scales that reflected all colors of the rainbow, predominantly reflecting one particular color, which changed with age. They had a long, prehensile tail and platinum-colored, butterfly-like wings.

Like true dragons, faerie dragons grew stronger with age but matured much more quickly and lived shorter lives. Because their predominant scale hue ran the colors of the rainbow over their lifetime, their color directly indicated their age and power. The scales of a young hatchling were almost always red, and those of a fully mature dragon (over 50 years old) were violet. Most dragons leave these small ones alone because it is not worth expending calories to catch these little critters. But these small dragons are known across the globe for their beautiful woven tapestries and the symphonies they create with their wings.

Diet: Their diet mainly consists of small bugs caught in the air, from trees and bushes, and off the ground. They also fed on fruits, berries, nectar, and butterflies, which they ate to get the color and look of their wings.

Sea Orc: A Sea Orc has no arms or legs. It sports fins on the top portion and every few meters across its body, including one long fin that runs from the bottom of its head to its tail. A Sea Orc has little in the way of bones; it slithers through the waters like a snake. This assists the Sea Orc in attacking its prey.

Sea Orc eggs cannot be fertilized in deep water, and smaller Sea Orcs cannot survive the pressure. Adult Sea Orcs have to head to shallower waters to mate. It is believed that the Sea Orc typically goes to warmer climates for mating.

Female Sea Orcs lay their eggs at the shoreline, close enough to the surface to be safe from the environmental killers but far enough from the water line that the parents can still protect their offspring. The eggs will grow for several months and will be born after size months.

Diet: These massive beasts eat mostly fish and aquatic life, anything they can catch; on rare occasions, they will eat a dragon, but that only happens when a rowdy juvenile dragon decides to go after a Sea Orcs calf.

Wyvern: The Wyvern is about the same size as the Arctic dragon, though in weight, they are closer to their brother, the Drake. The Wyvern is a two-legged dragon with two wings. They are believed to be faster than the more enormous Dragon. Their head is large and round, and they have a more petite mouth than most dragons. The body is thick but with a soft underbelly. The tail of the Wyvern is the most deadly. It is long serpentlike with a large mass at the end. They can also have a load of spikes within the ball or a significant spike at the top. The Wyvern uses this ball as its primary weapon, capable of smashing through most creatures, including other dragon's scales.

For its size, the Wyvern holds a large amount of weight. Most of this weight is within its thick scales. Anyone who has fought a Wyvern will inform you that getting through their body is next to impossible. The scales overlap several times, and underneath them is a thin net of tissue that absorbs impact and is resistant to being cut.

Diet: Moose, Elk, and Caribou are everyday staples of a wyvern diet, although anything that moves fits the wyvern needs as they have to eat at least 400 pounds of food every three days.

Humans: Not much is left from humans after they destroyed themselves; greed took out most of them, and the explosions hurt the rest. Humans have flocked to their caves deep in the ground. Most dragons leave humans alone, but humans have tried to take back their world a few times, but us dragons have quickly stamped out those little uprisings. Although some dragons keep humans as pets, their crafty little grabbers are relatively good at crafting the little things they need. Some dragons keep them for wealth status, and others just eat them for a rare treat.

Prey animals: Not much needs to be said here; anything a dragon can catch and eat is a prey animal.

[jeandejard3n]

Fire and Wind

[writerdragon]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Kamen Rider Wizard Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Inamori Mayu, Souma Haruto, Nitou Kousuke Series: Part 1 of Flock Together Summary:

In which the White Wizard's protégés discuss his teaching methods, or lack thereof.

I think Mayu should’ve been brought back way earlier, and that they’d have some stuff to talk about. Such as:

"Mmm. He grabbed me too, once. I was knocked out in a fight, and I came to in a weird pedestal room."

"The pedestal room! That's where we trained most of the time."

"Haah? I hope you didn't have to sleep there. Does it have a bathroom?"

"It doesn't!”

[dragonartist56]

A little sneaky peeky into the next chapter because I enjoy amusing myself with my own writing

(for any of my readers seeing this I’m so sorry it’s been a stupid amount of time since I updated I know, it’s almost done tho!)

[spacedragonstar]

The places abandoned and strange are those of Nowhere. The desert stretching endlessly towards the horizon, uncharted and unknown, is no-man's-land and the winding, creeping forest is located nowhere at all. The mysterious lifes here in the grand and the small. Sometimes Nowhere just means Everywhere as whispers sound trough abandoned, lonely, hidden places.

There is a path trough the places of Nowhere, winding and treacherous and those who follow are among the lost. Foxes move trough the brush, the air wavering in their wake and great mirages that devour entire forests wander in the sand. Lights sparkle in the swamp, guiding flames to welcome the dead and iridescent wings hide teeth filled maws on the trees. Something white gallops trough a clearing, the graceful creature vanishing as quick as it came and a cat's laughter glides trough the trees on feathered wings.

There is a court, hidden by its king. It's people are the stags of impossible paleness, those whose illusions make the real seem wrong, the roamers and wanderers lost forever. It's general is a mighty beast of the free, white and dead-horned and it's scribe is midnight black raven feathered and thousand cat-tongued.

There is a king, great and terrible and strange. Their shape is ever shifting, man and girl and impossible thing. Their head is crowned in feather fur and antlers, their feet hooves and claws and wings. But always their eyes glimmer with gold and the forgotten call them theirs.

[dragonwishes]

Hey everybody, just a reminder that I do a lot of fic and I love sharing! Here's some examples of my work, please feel free to comment or check.

Worm fic, based entirely around "chasing people is sexy", where Taylor attempts to flee from Dragon and Defiant post-Arcadia.

Barriss/Ahsoka fics that just. Ignore how she became Sith. It's fine.

Aloy character study.

My series, about JJBA, but gayer and with less dying. Anything from Jotaro/Kakyoin in P4, Kakyoin/bullying Rohan, and Avdol reverse pranking the Gangstars to the long-term project Take the Stars Home, about Giorno being invited to a Joestar family reunion.

What if the assassins mostly lived and Ghiaccio competed as a speed skater in the Olympics?

It is what it is.

My completed Jane Crocker/The Midnight Crew fic (she is part of the Felt, there's a whole Thing.)

My Finished mystery story about post-canon Homestuck, but something has Gone Wrong. A fix-it. And a mystery. And everything else, all at once. This is probably the best thing I've ever written. I'm so proud of it.

I take requests and commissions! I hope someone enjoys something I've written recently xxx

[dragon-kazansky]

Bridgerton shade of blue

Benedict Bridgerton x Female reader

Benedict bumps into you, quite literally, at a ball while trying to escape his mother's attempts to find him a partner. You decide to humour him with a dance, not realising just how entwined you would become with him. It seems the universe will find every excuse to push you and Benedict together, no matter how much you fight it.

{Masterlist}

{Next Chapter}

Season one

Chapter One - Mr Bridgerton

♡♡♡

A day late. No matter. At least you would be in London for the season, though you wouldn't be able to debut properly, much like the other ladies of the season.

It mattered not to you. You would rather keep to yourself than be shown off to the Queen in a satin gown, announcing to the ton you were eligible.

If you were to find a husband, it would be on your own terms. You swore by that. You would play the game much like all the others, but without shouting about it and making a statement.

Yes, you intended to marry. Perhaps not this year, but soon enough. It had been something you had thought about a great deal over the winter. Still, you'll see what the ton has to offer this year.

Though you were not there, you had received word that a Miss Daphne Bridgerton had been called a diamond of the first water by Last Whistledown in her gossip column.

Everyone was talking about it.

Bridgerton was a name you had heard but not quite familiar with on any personal terms. They were known for being beautiful. Handsome sons and beautiful daughters. Dowager Violet Bridgerton was very proud of her children, even when they vexed her sometimes.

But that was all you knew. It did not surprise you that her daughter would have the eyes of the ton on her. She would find herself a wonderful match, surely.

You sit at your vanity table and watch the reflection of your dear mother in the mirror as she enters the room. She saunters in and places your gown delicately on the bed. She then turns so elegantly toward you and smiles, coming to stand beside you. Her hand settles on your shoulder.

"You will look beautiful, dear."

You only smile softly and look at your reflection. You have no intention of standing out at all. You would go in, make yourself acquainted, and perhaps dance with a few friendly faces.

Within the hour, you were dressed and decorated with pretty jewels and accessories. Your mother owned a fine collection of jewellery, some of the few things she still had from the old house. Since the passing of your father, your belongings had shrunk as you moved around the country.

"Thank you, Mama." You touch the necklace with your gloved fingers gently, admiring the way it glittered in the light.

Before you knew it, you were on your way to the ball. Lady Danbury, a well-known figure in the ton, was hosting. Apparently, it was going to be quite the night. Your mother was most excited to see you dance tonight.

That is, should anyone take a liking to dancing with you.

The ballroom was well lit and full of colourful gowns and sparkly necks. Fans fluttered softly, barely brushing the chins of the beautiful ladies present. Gentleman circled the room looking for a partner to either dance or converse with.

You mother gave your arm a squeeze as she smiled, looking around the room.

"You shall find a man in this room, I am certain of it."

"Mother..." You sigh. You knew you weren't getting any younger, but you still had time to find someone for yourself. You did not want to feel the pressure of society weighing down on you because you were looking for someone suitable.

Love matches were rare, and you doubted you would ever be so lucky to have such a connection with someone. Your mother had not been in love with your father when they married, nor up until his death.

Love was rare indeed.

You scan the room, watching people dance, other converse, some take a turn around the room. There was much activity. All debutantes were here looking for a match.

"That young gentleman over there, I believe that's Colin Bridgerton. Mrs Brooks told me of that family in quite some detail." Your mother says. "Handsome, is he not?"

You hum softly as you continue looking about the room. A young woman in a bright yellow gown seems to be watching Colin Bridgerton with interest.

People star to turn toward the entrance. You move your head in the same direction to find three beautiful people entering the room.

"Ah, that there is Anthony Bridgerton, the eldest of eight. On his arm, I believe that is Daphne Bridgerton, and that's their mother, Violet Bridgerton." Your mother harpers on.

There is no denying the beauty that family holds. Each one is utterly perfect. They all look so like, yet differ in the most wonderful ways. You wonder what it would be like to have so many siblings, or any at all, for that matter.

"Isn't she beautiful?"

"Yes," you agree. Daphne was quite the sight. "She shall have no issue finding a husband, I am certain."

Your mother squeezes your arm. "Nor shall you."

You find it less likely than Daphne, but you will humour your mother for her own sake.

One such young man approaches Daphne, but after a short conversation with her brother, he scampers. You wonder what was said to leave a man looking so dejected. Surely she hadn't rejected him so easily. You begin to wonder if Daphne will have any ease at all.

You watch Anthony escort his sister around the room and decide you might do the same. No one was particularly paying you any mind anyway. You free yourself from your mother's hold and begins to drifting away from her side. She watches you go, sighing softly.

You stroll slowly along the sidelines, eyes fluttering from one couple to the next. A large group was already dancing. Everyone looked so dignified and elegant.

Not a single person was sparing you a glance. You almost expected as much. It was hard to stand out in a room full of such lovely people. You continued to watch other dance as you strolled.

With Daphne in Anthony's care, Violet Bridgerton felt she needed to take this chance to push one of her other sons in the direction of some of the fine ladies.

Colin was already out dancing.

Benedict was in her line of sight.

With a smile on her face, she began to approach her second eldest son. Benedict had been talking to Lady Danbury. However, when he caught sight of his mother coming over, he panicked. He bid a quick and barely audible farewell and hurried off into the crowds.

Violet came to stop beside Lady Danbury, knowing full well she wasn't going to chase her son down. The two ladies chuckled softly.

Not knowing his mother had decided to just let him go, Benedict fled further into the room. He was determined to put space between himself and his mother. He was so busy checking behind him, be wasn't paying attention to anyone in front of him.

It happened quite suddenly.

Benedict collided with someone. He moved so quickly, grabbing onto the other person and spinning them around to slow down his momentum and prevent them from falling over. He looked down and found himself looking into a pretty pair of eyes.

"I am sorry." You say, looking up at him. It clicks instantly that he's a Bridgerton. He looks like his brothers.

"No, no. Allow me to apologise. I wasn't looking," he says.

Benedict takes a moment to realise his hands are settled on your upper arms. He drops them instantly and takes a step back. No one seemed to take much notice, but he spotted a couple of people turning his way. People always notice his family.

You look at him silently for a moment. You feel awkward, not knowing what else to say.

"Well, good night," you curtsy and try to walk away, but he stops you rather quickly.

"Wait."

You turn back to him.

"Dance with me?" He asks suddenly. He can see his mother amongst the other faces in the crowd. She's looking for him, he is certain of it.

"Oh, um. Very well." You're caught off guard by his sudden invitation.

You take his hand and allow him to guide you to where the others are dancing. You get into position and begin. Benedict doesn't say anything for a while. He is keeping his gaze locked on the crowd. You break the silence between you by giving him your name. Benedict snaps out of his daze and looks at you.

"Oh, right. Yes. I'm Benedict. Bridgerton. Benedict Bridgerton." He gives a little smile.

"I've seen your other siblings here tonight."

"Yes. My sister is debuting." His eyes flicker back up to the crowd. Violet has spotted him she looks ecstatic. Benedict wonders if that's better or worse.

"She's breathtaking."

He looks at you again. "Yes. I suppose she is."

You get the idea that he isn't much in the mood for talking, and you keep quiet for the rest of the dance. When the music comes to a close, you curtsy, and he bows. The next piece begins to play.

"Well, thank you," you say softly.

Benedict snaps back into focus and looks at you. He takes your dance card and writes his name on it before excusing himself. You watch him go and sigh. You look at the card and see his neat penmanship.

"Benedict Bridgerton. Who would have thought." You mutter to yourself.

You leave the floor.

Your mother comes over quickly and snakes her arm around yours again. She looks delighted.

"You danced with a Bridgerton! That will certainly gain some attention for you." She sounded far too happy for your liking.

"Yes, I suppose it might."

As she begins to yap on in your ear, you turn in time to see Anthony and Daphne speaking to their mother. After a moment, they leave the ball altogether.

You wished you could do the same.

♡♡♡

@callmemana - @lilscast - @imgondeletedis - @benedictbridgertonss - @clownsdiehard - @wxnterwidow333

@sillynilly27 -

[a-lonely-dragon]

Strike! - Chapter 2

Montgomery Gator x F!Reader

CW: mentions of gross food and a small amount of blood

AO3

Navigation: Chapter 1

The following week passes much like molasses, with each day a new slog of navigating the course and its back hallways while trying to keep up with Rodney’s demands and hellish lists.

At the very least, you’re grateful you haven’t come face to face with one Montgomery Gator. While you find it strange that the attraction’s mascot doesn’t seem to have many scheduled appearances, you can’t help but feel relief that you haven’t had to navigate those turbulent waters just yet.

Instead, you’re able to fully focus on your oh-so-important tasks to keep the mini golf course running smoothly. Or, well, running at the very least.

The man-made stream gurgles along beside you, the partially submerged alligator heads lunging up to hiss and grumble and spray you with tepid water (you do your best to keep your mouth firmly shut).

 Kneeling on the rough carpet, skimmer in hand, you swipe at the stream’s surface, earning three neon golf balls and a chunky, waterlogged fried slice of pizza, the worst prizes to a terrible carnival game. The golf balls go into a plastic tub, clanking against dozens of others. The pizza crumbles in your gloved hands as you scrape it out of the netting and you gag at the revolting stench of rotting fish that punches you straight in the face. Anchovies. Of course, you think. It isn’t the first time you’ve dredged up nasty pizza in this building, but boy do you never get used to the smell.

It lingers even after you’ve tossed it into the garbage bag behind you, and a line Bonnie loved to use comes to mind.

“You look like you want to give someone a pizza your mind!”

Your lips twitch despite yourself, but the amusement is fleeting in the face of the monumental task ahead of you. Rodney wanted the entire course cleaned tonight, and so here you were, scooping mounds of discarded food, merch, and equipment from every nook and cranny, inch by painful inch.

For once, you found yourself grateful for the dead-eyed STAFF bots pattering about. They bumble about like dutiful worker bees, vacuuming, sweeping, mopping, and wiping down the surfaces they could reach. At least that only left dealing with all the garbage, water hazards, and sand traps were left to lucky, lucky you. Rodney had dipped not long after you arrived for your shift, claiming an important meeting had come up and you would be fine on your own for a while, right?

“I’ll be back to help you after the meeting,” Rodney had claimed about four hours ago.

You hadn’t held your breath, thankfully.

Sweat collects against your back as you work, the fabric of your shirt sticking uncomfortably to your skin as you work. You’re starting to slow down a bit, but you’re putting off your break until the middle of your shift. It was easier to make it through the rest of the hours that way.

And, despite your sour first impression, the Gator Golf course did hold a certain charm when it wasn’t overrun with screaming kids and parents. If you closed your eyes and plugged your nose, you might be able to pretend you were somewhere else entirely. On vacation in a bayou, maybe, dozing off as fireflies dance over the water like stars. It was actually kind of cool, all of the little designs here and there that gave the eyes a feast no matter where you look.

You catch another armful of golf balls, a Chica plush with its face details peeling from the water damage, and a novelty Roxy-talkie before you decide you move on. As you gather your tools and trash bag, an ominous groan from above stops you in your tracks.

You pause, craning your neck and straining to hear past the thumping bass and robotic noise, hoping you weren’t about to meet the catwalks in a violent and sudden way. If you stare up long enough, you can just barely make out the crisscrossing platforms above.

A heavy minute passes, in which STAFF bots roll past either unaware or uncaring of possible disasters when there’s work to be done, but when no more sounds out of the ordinary meet your ears, you shake off your worry and make for the next section of the course. Unless the ceiling actually comes down, there wouldn’t be any excuse for slacking off.

Shuffling alongside the meandering path, a flickering just above eye level catches your attention, hidden among the foliage draped over the stream.

You squint, trying to parse through the lights and fog, but it isn’t until you’re right next to a small wooden bridge that you’re able to see it fully. Just an abandoned Monty balloon, its string tangled in the vines, its grinning face swaying in the current of air being blasted from somewhere overhead. You set down everything except the pool skimmer and purse your lips, tilting your head this way and that, trying to figure out the best way to reach it.

Stepping onto the bridge, you grip the wooden railing and give it a shake. It wobbles a tiny bit, but it seems sturdy enough so you extend the pool skimmer to its longest length.

You stretch over the railing, two hands gripping the pool skimmer tightly as you bat at Monty’s shimmery snout. It bumps back and forth, mocking. With a huff, you press farther forward, the wood biting into your stomach as you swat at the vines that hold tight to the balloon’s string like a child. If you could just loosen it—

There’s a telltale creak that you don’t even have a second to register before the steadying weight of the railing gives way and your body follows, stomach swooping as you plunge forward. A yelp escapes your lips as you pinwheel your arms, the skimmer slipping from your grip as you desperately try and grab something, only managing to scrape the back of your hand against a sharp edge. You barely register a heavy whump somewhere off to your right and then you’re wrenched back by your collar like a kitten held by its scruff, and you flail a bit in protest by instinct, before being unceremoniously dropped back onto solid ground, where you land painfully on your ass.

Gasping, you press a hand to your chest as your heart tries to slow back down, but that notion is quickly recanted as you realize who had saved you from a soggy and miserable rest of the night.

Montgomery fucking Gator. The very same animatronic that’d taken Bonnie’s place.

The ambient lights give Monty a strange, otherworldly glow as he looms over you. Your gaze snags on the rows of fangs jutting from his jaws, each tooth as long as your finger, and it takes a concentrated effort to look away from them. Red optics flash from behind Bonnie’s star-shaped shades, scanning over you—and you’re suddenly aware of how the mouse must feel when faced with the cat. His silhouette is gargoyle-like, and it’s an effort to breathe normally until he leans back.

The gator stands as tall as the rest of his bandmates, but like Freddy is on the wider, bulkier side. His crimson mohawk is in slight disarray, as if it hadn’t been maintained in a while. His purple shoulder pads, which should look ridiculous, just add to his angular, intimidating appearance.

You scramble back to your feet, anxiety skyrocketing as Monty’s optics track you with a predator’s intent.

His jaw parts, and his voice comes out blanketed in irritation. “Can’t you read signs, lady?”

He points a claw over to a painted sign that reads, Please don’t lean on the railings! Your mouth pops open to defend yourself, a flush of embarrassment at the fact that no, you actually hadn’t noticed that sign the entire time you’d been here. You swallow, unable to unglue your tongue from the roof of your mouth as you stare up at this behemoth of an animatronic.

“Well?”

You cross your arms and swallow down the trepidation clogging your throat. He was just an animatronic, and despite the amount of spikes and sharp bits attached to him, he couldn’t hurt a fly. But even as you tell yourself that, you remember the pronged batons that security carries around regularly and withhold a shudder.

“I was just—” You wince as your voice cracks and turn your head to focus back on the balloon still hovering just out of reach, but the weight of Monty’s attention is as heavy as a weighted blanket. “I was trying to get that.”

Monty arches a brow over his—Bonnie’s—sunglasses and follows your gaze.

With a huff, Monty snaps out a hand, his height allowing him to snatch the string at the very base of the balloon, and with a sharp snap that shakes the plastic plants and sends a few leaves spiraling down to the sluggish water below, he pulls it free. You flinch as he shoves his fist towards you, that silly, grinning balloon bouncing to and fro.

You reach out to take it, palms sweating, only to freeze as his head jerks down and his optics zero in on your hand. Panic bubbles up in your chest and you recoil, attention pulled back to those deadly teeth.

“You’re hurt,” he says sharply.

Flexing your hand, you eye the bloodied scratch that runs across the back with a twist of your lips. It didn’t look deep, but it did sting like hell. A few specks of wood dot the wound. “It’s, uh, fine. Sorry.”

He stares at you, narrowing his eyes and setting his free hand on his hip. “You’re bleeding. There’s a first aid station nearby, c’mon.”

You stare at him blankly. Montgomery was not helpful. According to Rodney, he was a “million-dollar pain in the ass” who skipped out on scheduled practices and parties more often than not. And yet, here he was, ordering you to get fixed up after saving you from an impromptu dip in Fazbear-infected waters. He certainly didn’t sound happy about it, his programming likely forcing him to insist on taking care of an injury, but this whole situation was just weird.

“Hey!” he snaps after taking a few steps and you still haven’t moved. “What’s the hold up?”

You cradle your stinging hand and stammer out, “The, uh, the balloon—I should—"

He blinks at it, as if he’d forgotten he was still holding it. Then, quicker than you can think, he grips the balloon and punctures his own face with such swiftness and efficiency that it makes you squeak, a sound that’s swallowed by the loud POP. His eyes flicker towards you, but he doesn’t speak, only tosses the deflated husk into the nearest trash can. “Good? Now, let’s go.”

Unable to dredge up any excuses, you take a slow breath and then trail after him. The quicker you get to the first aid station, the sooner you can get back to work and be out of Monty’s synthetic hair.

As you walk, keeping a few feet behind, a question nags at you.

Where the fuck did he come from?

You would’ve heard him approach long before you saw him, the animatronics couldn’t be quiet if they tried thanks to the heavy endoskeleton beneath their casings, and you sure as hell hadn’t seen him anywhere while you cleaned. Goosebumps run up your arms at the thought of him hiding, watching, somehow being so close yet you hadn’t had a clue—

He leads you to Gator Grub where a STAFF bot blocks the door, wet floor bots in a ring around it as it mops. The bot lifts its head as Monty approaches but doesn’t react as he shoulders past it. As you go to step through, however, it beeps and shoos you back with its arms, pointing at the wet floor bots.

A growl reverberates from Monty’s chest and he uses his arm to shove the STAFF bot aside, throwing you an impatient look. The STAFF bot’s beeps become more insistent as you step over the streaks of dirty soap on the floor, and Monty gnashes his teeth, grumbling, “I’m right here you stupid hunk of—quit hollerin’!”

You watch the interaction with an uneasy frown, letting out a small sigh of relief when Monty finally lets the bot go and lopes in after you. You skitter back a couple steps as he fills the space normally meant for humans and STAFF bots.

Through a side door, you find yourself back in the hallway where the security office is. Was Nathan on duty tonight? He’d said most days it’d be him, so maybe not, but regardless you can’t help but hope maybe Nathan would just happen to step out of the office and save you from this forced escort farther into the back rooms.

The door remains firmly shut as you pass by, ignoring your pleading eyes to please please open.

“Quit draggin’ your feet, would ya?” Monty snaps over his shoulder.

You grit your teeth and bite back a retort, not wanting to annoy him further, but if he kept ordering you around like a child . . .

Finally, at the end of the hall there’s a room with a mess of pipes and a large control panel that you assume is for the stage set up in the course. Steam sprays from various corners of the room and one of the hanging lights lets out a shower of sparks every so often. Tucked between to massive pipes is a first aid station the size of a small changing room, complete with a red curtain that screeches as Monty yanks it to the side. He looks expectantly at you.

The inside of the station consists of a single plastic chair with Monty plastered on the seat and a slim red box sitting on a shelf beside what appear to be old cans of paint and a candy bar. You have to squeeze past Monty to get in the station, and you’re beginning to think he thrives off your discomfort because there’s no way he can’t read your body language, he was programmed to interact with kids, for God’s sake.

Popping open the kit, you paw through a few half-empty tubes of various ointments and gels until you find some packaged gauze. Band-aids would’ve been easier to deal with, but it appears that the contents were first come first serve, so you’ll just have to make do.

It’s a nerve-wracking process, bandaging up your hand while Monty waits. What should take only a few seconds feels like it takes an age, your hands unsteady as you weave the gauze around your palm. Every time you peek from the corner of your eye, he’s just watching. Not saying a goddamn word. Was this some kind of hazing? Were you overreacting? Sweat drips down your back and the air feels too warm and thick around you. Your stomach starts to churn. His optics follow your hand’s movements, and then, just as you tie off the gauze with a small knot, he grunts.

“That ain’t gonna hold.”

You jolt, head whipping up at his comment and back down to the gauze. You flex your hand experimentally, and sure enough it feels loose already. But you can’t stand being in this claustrophobic back room with the gator for one more second, so you find your courage to say, “It’ll do for now. I have a job to do.”

For a moment, you fear he’s going to insist on redoing it himself—you can’t imagine those clawed hands being gentle about it—but with a huff that’s all too human, he turns and heads for the door at the opposite side of the room and pushes it open, green ambient light washing through the gloom.

It’s all you can do not to sprint out of there, murmuring a small thanks to Monty for holding the door, and step back onto the course near hole 12. Instantly it feels easier to breathe, and you wipe sweat from your forehead with your uninjured hand. Checking your watch, you find only a few minutes have actually passed.

Monty’s heavy footfalls start behind you, and you whirl around on instinct, but he passes you without a second glance, free from his obligation. “Try not to break anything else in my course,” he says, and stalks off through the passageway.

Fuck it, you’re taking your break now.

[dragonhoardsbookz]

I'm trying to find my motivation to write again

[the-dragon-hearted]

Y'all ever have a moment where you're writing a demon slayer fanfiction? And Tengen fucking Uzui hijacks your brain so you black out? And when you wake up, you've written 7,000 words of Tengen backstory headcannons for him and his wives?

Yeah. So chapter 35 of As Things Should Be is about to have so much Tengen lore. And I'm not even sorry about it -

[sisinasawa]

Anastasius cover B! (New)

Anastasius cover A (old)

Dragons have ruled the lands for the last forty thousand years; ever since they scorched the grounds with Renewal, humans have rarely shown their faces. Dragons rule the world and have been working to erase the damage humans have done to the planet. Old travelways have been destroyed, buildings toppled and burned to the ground, and statues melted down and taken by dragons for their hoards. But trouble is stirring in the mist; several high-power Dragons, Wyverns, and Drakes have gone missing. Five of these mighty beasts had vanished without a trace from their caves, and it's up to a group of young dragons from different species, to figure out what happened before it's too late.

QuickTalon is a young male, Drake, from the hot Savanna. He is known well for his speed, strength and vast medical knowledge. Still, when his family receives a worrying message from tribal leaders and scholars worldwide, dragons of all types, including his grandmother, have gone missing. So, he sets off on a journey to discover what has caused the disappearance of five important dragons across the globe. Along the way, he gathers information about who had taken these important dragons but can’t get them back alone. He needs help to find a team of dragons who will help him rescue those who have gone missing. But will they make it in time? What if he is too late?

[victusinveritas]