#dragonweek2017

[nixie-deangel]

Summary:

It was Barry’s fault, and Len would argue any who tried to disagree with him. He wouldn’t have started hoarding the young hero, if said young hero hadn’t looked so..so delicious in different shades of blue.

Day Six, Leonard Snart.

@superlotdragonweek

[robininthelabyrinth]

Coldwave Fic Prompt: Mick teaches dragon!Len to fly via the tried-and-true method of throwing him off a skyscraper.

Sorry this one is so short, but I’ll post another dragon fic today to make up for it :D

Ao3 link

-

“I’m serious,” Len says.

“You’re not serious,” Mick says.

“No, really, I’m –”

“Insane.”

“I am not. How else will I learn?” Len says, like he’s being reasonable or something.

“Jump off yourself,” Mick suggests.

“I can’t,” Len says. “That’s the problem: I’m scared of heights. Because of that, I can’t fly. I want to fly. Therefore, the obvious solution –”

“Is for me to throw you off a skyscraper?”

“Yes, exactly!” Len says.

“No.”

“But –”

“Consent, Lenny. I said no.”

Len pouts.

Mick crosses his arms.

“Maybe if it were something smaller first?” Len suggests.

Mick eyes him warily.

Len beams at him.

“…what were you thinking?”

(two days later)

“Barry,” Cisco says. “I’m getting reports that Heatwave and Captain Cold have been sighted on top of the neighborhood jungle gym. Heatwave appears to be tossing Cold off of it.”

“You know what,” Barry says, after a long moment. “I’m not even going to do anything with that.”

“But –”

“No, Cisco. Let them be weirdos if that’s what they want.”

(two weeks later)

“Barry,” Cisco says.

“No,” Barry says.

“Captain Cold just sprouted wings and flew away, Barry.”

“No,” Barry says.

“But Barry –”

“No.”

“Just saying that isn’t going to make it not have happened.”

“I’m going to pretend that it will,” Barry says.

“Seconded,” Caitlin says weakly.

“Actually, he has very pretty wings,” Iris says.

“No, Iris!” Joe exclaims.

[augustheart]

very belated day two/three for @superlotdragonweek! i chose the prompts “holiday/flight” and squished them together. 

“Happy hatchday!” Wally purred, nuzzling Jesse’s ear. She ducked away from him with a small squeak of indignation as he accidentally (or not-so-accidentally) sent a small static shock into her. Jesse tried to shove him away with a push of her wings, making him purr in amusement and duck away, tail curling up. “Now you’re finally old enough that Harry can’t say no when you tell him you want to go out flying on your own.”

Jesse huffed. “I’ve been going out without his permission for years and you know it, Wally.” She looked around. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Armory.” Wally’s eyes gleamed. “They’ve got a present for you there.”

Jesse stiffened, eyes widening as she took in the cocky grin on Wally’s face and the way that his chest was puffed up. “You mean they-”

“Yup.” Wally flicked his tail happily. “And you didn’t hear it from me-but there’s someone in town who’s looking for a dragon. A rider.”

She pounced on him, rolling him under her and pinning him down to the ground. His wings thumped uselessly against her, gentle enough not to hurt but hard enough to almost buffet her off. They were both members of the same species-multiple wings and stripe-like markings set them apart from the rest of their flight, along with Barry, Jay, Jesse’s father Harry (although his second pair of wings was more like fins than anything), and Eliza.

Jesse’s long tail flicked back and forth against the grass as she bent down to press her muzzle to Wally’s nose. “And how is your rider?”

Wally churred in amusement. “He’s fine. Waiting for us back at the armory. C’mon, let’s go.” He launched Jesse off with a powerful (and carefully controlled) kick of his hind legs, rising to his feet and launching himself into the air with a ripple of wings. Jesse followed, the two of them spiralling higher and higher into the sky. “Race you!”

The two of them took off, swooping and diving around each other as each one struggled to stay in the lead. Wally held it up until the last minute, when he sharply angled his wings upward and let Jesse fall in ahead of him. She landed with a thump and turned on him. “That’s cheating! You went easy on me!”

“It’s your hatchday.” Wally puffed up his chest. “Besides, we already know that I’m always going to be faster than you. ‘S why I’m a racer and you’re not.”

Jesse mock growled. “Why you-”

“Ahem.”

Jesse squeaked a little and looked at her dad, wings drooping a little like a hatchling that had just been caught sneaking out for the first time. Harry flicked his charcoal grey tail, the arrowhead tip shining like it had been polished. It probably had been-his rider, Tess, was famously attentive. At least compared to Harry himself, who wouldn’t notice if he was covered in mud from horns to tail.

“Sorry, dad,” Jesse huffed, before brightening a little. “Wally said there was a rider looking for a dragon.”

“There is,” Harry huffed. “Not my first choice, but-”

“It doesn’t matter whose choice it is,” Jay said mildly, tail wrapped around his paws. Joan, his rider and his lifelong companion, stroked his wings and nodded in agreement.

“It’s a bond. Who knows if it’ll actually take or not.” She winked at Jesse. “But I have a feeling it’s going to. None of us were expecting Wally’s rider, were we?” Wally bristled a little and Joan laughed. “Don’t worry, I still love her almost as much as you do.”

Jesse bounced a little, looking up at the tall walls of the armoury. “Where’s the rest of the flight?”

“Inside. I think Cisco’s getting you your present. And Barry and Iris are off bringing in your potential rider.” Jay’s ears twitched a little. “Cisco worked on it all week. Barry had to practically force him to sleep.”

Jesse bounced on the pads of her paws. She knew what it was, or at least the basics of it-every dragon in their flight got armor on their 20th hatchday. It had been made by a certain family for generations, at least until the massacre that had happened only a few years before Jesse was born. Now Cisco had stepped up to take on the duty, and he was damn good at it, too.

As if he knew she had been thinking about him, Cisco bounced out of the armory, tail curled happily and chest puffed out. He purred when he saw Jesse. “C’mon. I wanna show you your gift.”

She shivered in anticipation and followed him. Harry followed immediately behind her, ever protective of his only hatchling. Wally followed after him, making annoyed grumbling sounds at Harry’s dour attitude until the older dragon’s bladed tail whacked him lightly across the nose. Not enough to actually hurt, but enough to let him know that he would have to be quieter about his complaints in the future.

Cisco flared his wings as they reached the center of the armory where he worked. The bioluminescent stripes on the bottoms of his wings lit up brightly, sending ghostly shadows onto the walls as his partners, a human named Curtis and a human named Jax, helped him tug a large (clearly enchanted) set of armor down off of the table and onto the floor. Curtis beamed at her, and Jesse smiled back. She’d always liked how Cisco treated humans who weren’t riders. With respect.

“We practically made this from scratch,” Jax explained. There were bags under his eyes, but there was also a huge smile on his face and the tips of his fingers were smoking. “It’s cloth and magic, there’s nothing metal about it-it’s just like Barry’s armor, only there’s another enchantment woven into it that makes it a little more fireproof.”

It was yellow and red, although mostly red, and as Jesse nosed it she could feel the sparks of magic still settling into the seams. She looked up at Cisco from her place on the floor (and when had she decided to lie down?) with wide delighted eyes. “How do I put it on?”

As Cisco helped her, Jesse couldn’t stop herself from bouncing in place with excitement. Jax rapped her muzzle with his knuckles. “Stay still, or it’s going to fall off. Do you have any idea how many times Ronnie has had to come in needing repairs for his armor because he couldn’t stay still while putting it on?”

Jesse reluctantly stopped bouncing, so excited she could hardly breathe as Cisco muttered a spell and flicked his tail, settling the last pieces of the armor in place. He moved back, eyeing the armor appreciatively but still critically. “It might need a few adjustments.” He pushed the lever that was used to open the roof of the armory, making the doors on the roof whir and hum as they shifted open. “Well, why don’t you test it out?”

Jesse swallowed. The first flight with your armor was ceremonial, it was an experience-old legends said that the armor was a living thing. Even if Jesse knew better than to listen to fairy stories like that… It still sent shivers up her wings. She crouched down, bracing her tail against the floor as she tensed her wings. Wally moved as if he was going to take flight with her, until Jax set a foot down on his friend’s wing. “Don’t. I know Iris flew with you, but that was different.”

“How was it different?” Wally asked, blinking down at Jax.

Jax grinned. “Nobody can tell Iris what not to do. And besides-that was when there were still skirmishes on the border. She’ll be fine-”

He was cut off by a whoosh of air as Jesse launched herself into the air, whooping in delight as the magic added extra power to her wings. Jax smiled even wider at the jealous expression on Wally’s face. “Don’t worry, you’re still faster. It’s just a little charm to keep flight steadier and more sustained-I’m adding it to your armor as soon as we get the chance.”

Jesse spiraled above the clouds, gulping in the thin air and laughing as she did a barrel roll, wings snapping out as she drifted to a standstill. But only for a moment before she was plunging back to earth, shrieking with joy at the feeling of wind under her wings and tousling through her mane. Jesse’s bladed tail snapped downwards along with her wings as she climbed back up again through the air, wings finding an updraft that she rested on for a moment.

The armor seemed to hum, vibrating along with Jesse as she took deep breaths. This was exhilarating. She could easily see why Barry and Jay rarely took their armor off. It was an incredible feeling.

Cocking her head, Jesse could see the distant red figure that must’ve been Barry (who else could it have been?) flying toward the armory. With her sharp eyes, Jesse could see a small figure clinging to his back. Behind him, Iris’s deep purple scales flashed in the sunlight. Which meant that the person on Barry’s back must’ve been her potential future rider.

Taking a deep breath, Jesse tilted her wings, flying in their direction.

[wreathedinscales]

Day 4

This is a post-Oculus fix-it. WITH DRAGONS. And gay.

Moon Unblessed

[superlotdragonweek]

Daily Suggestions: Day 1

WE HAVE ARRIVED!

Alrighty-dighty everybody! Since there are no set prompts for the week, I’m going to put up about 3-5 suggestions for each day! There is absolutely no pressure. You can take these or leave them! Also, if you wanted to use a suggestion on a different day, feel free to do so!

1. Tournament Start this week off with a BANG! Show off those dragons in a head-to-head competition! Are there stakes? Bets? What kind of events? Maybe you could take this and go with just one—i.e., Race, Battle Royale, Scavenger Hunt, etc.

2. First Meeting Could be between Dragon/Rider, Dragon/Dragon, whatever you can come up with. How do they meet? Does the Rider have a Rider’s Mark/do they get one when they meet their dragon? Do the dragons meet peacefully or in blood?

3. Hoard What do these dragons hoard? You could do an introductory thing or just mention it in passing as part of the world-building. How does the hoard reflect the dragon? Is it tangible or something like how many victories they’ve had?

[cardinalstar]

Dragon Week - Day 1

I did it - I finished part one of my AU for Dragon Week!  It’s a little more out-there than my usual stuff, so I hope people like it!  I’ll be posting dragon designs as they become relevant, because there are gonna be a LOT of dragons in this AU.  

Read on AO3

Barry had long since accepted that he couldn’t control the weather.  If he could, it would remain a balmy sixty-five degrees in Central City for at least seven months out of the year.  It would also definitely not be raining on the date of the STAR Labs particle accelerator launch, because that was just bad luck.  

Being able to control traffic, though?  That was a luxurious fantasy.  Arriving late to work was bad enough, but arriving late on a day when he was supposed to present an important set of case files to Captain Singh?  That was just the icing on the cake.  

Barry stepped into the lab, pausing a moment to take a cursory glance around the room.  To his relief, Julian wasn’t here yet - the other CSI had said something yesterday about coming in late, so if he’d still managed to make it here before Barry, he would have been insufferable.  

Besides, being alone in the office had its perks.  

Barry set his messenger bag down on his desk and closed his eyes, reaching for the part of his awareness where his Tether was connected.  Telastra, he thought into the quiet space.   Are you there?  

His dragon’s response was immediate, lacking the drowsy sluggishness that was usually present in the early mornings.  Barry sensed a brief undercurrent of warm regard, tinged with exasperation, before Telastra slipped from her side of liminal space and out into the physical world.  

Barry leaned back against the desk and waited until he felt Telastra’s full attention on him before speaking again.  His dragon was fond of stretching when she stepped out into reality; apparently her dimension didn’t adhere to the same physical norms as far as gravity went, which seemed feasible enough to Barry.  He sometimes heard other dragontethers complain about their companions’ stretching and grooming rituals, but by this point he’d learned that the best way to avoid tripping over an invisible dragon was simply to stay put until Telastra had finished working the kinks out of her limbs.  

You were late to work again, Telastra chided, and Barry felt a puff of warm breath on his hand.   That’s the second time this week.  It’s only Thursday, Barry.  

“That means it’s almost the end of the week,” Barry rebutted.  He preferred speaking out loud to Telastra when he could; most people weren’t bothered by it, especially when he and Telastra were out walking on the streets, but it could be a bit on-the-nose in the office.  Julian in particular tended to get his back up about it, which had always annoyed Barry, since Julian was a dragontether too, but what could you do?  He reached out a hand, palm facing outward, and Telastra obligingly bumped her nose into it.  “Are you hungry yet?  Or is this gonna be a hoarding day?”

Hoarding.  You ran so many tests yesterday that I couldn’t eat another bite even if I wanted to, the dragon said wryly.   Why are there so many packed together?  

“Singh has finally decided that we’ve done enough research on whether your diet affects test results,” Barry decided, scratching along Telastra’s brow ridges.  “Spoiler alert - it does not.  He’s decided he wants us to help work through some of the evidence backlog.”  

He sensed a flicker of incomprehension from his dragon and offered up the relevant memories of his discussion with Captain Singh; Telastra sifted through them rapidly before retreating from his headspace.   A good cause indeed, she declared, moving away from Barry’s hand.   I hope the captain is aware that I am not actually causing the tests to run any faster?  

“I was able to explain.  I promise I do realize you’re just eating the elapsed time,” Barry said, moving over to the lab bench and trusting that his dragon would follow without accidentally tripping him, “but to the casual observer, it just looks like we can run a two-hour test in four minutes.”

That is a large stack of manila folders, Telastra commented dryly.   It is double the size of our usual stack.  The captain is expecting us to run all of these tests today, I assume.  

“The hazards of being too good at your job,” Barry said, rolling his eyes fondly as he began preparing the first sample.  

Telastra could crack as many jokes as she wanted to, but she and Barry really had gotten lucky.  Dragons preyed on a wide variety of metaphysical abstractions - Barry had heard of dragons that ate love, honor, truth, compassion, generosity, even things as obscure as chivalry - but seldom did the diet of a dragontether’s partner prove as easy to integrate into everyday life as Telastra’s had.  Time, as an abstraction, was relatively difficult for a dragon to eat.  It was something that humankind cared a great deal about, so there was plenty of energy available - the more of humanity’s collective consciousness that was dedicated to an abstraction, the more energy existed for dragons to consume.  On the other hand, humans tended to leech most of the surrounding time energy from the air as they hurried from one place to another - free time was always in short supply.  

Feeding Telastra had been challenging when they had first bonded.  Barry had been eleven, fresh off the death of his parents, when they had met, and neither of them had really been prepared.  Children were rarely approached by dragons - numerous studies had indicated that most dragons approached humans who were in their late teenage years, and for a while Joe hadn’t even believed that Barry had tethered himself to a dragon.  

For a while, Barry had been terrified that his baby dragon would starve to death, especially since she refused to steal any time energy from him, even when she needed food desperately.  And god, was Telastra stubborn - she hadn’t even been willing to eat the time that Barry spent asleep, in spite of the fact that he’d offered it to her multiple times.  After a harrowing period of trial and error, Barry and Telastra had managed to find a few relatively safe methods of extracting enough time energy to keep her fed.  Candles were a favorite - Barry could light a candle, and Telastra could eat the time it took for the candle’s wick to burn through.  They’d completely burned through one of Joe’s nice holiday candles, but the experiment had given Telastra a good forty hours’ worth of time energy in the span of ten minutes.  

Things had been smoother from then on.  Candles had gotten them through high school, and college had given them plenty of opportunities to experiment.  Dragons almost never ate the same abstraction, so even the other dragontethers at Barry’s university had rarely, if ever, met a time-eating dragon.  Once, on a dare, Telastra had tried to flash-ferment grape juice and brewer’s yeast into wine - the resulting sludge had smelled so toxic that Barry had been forced to tell the RA that he’d been playing with his high school chemistry set.  They hadn’t tried that again.  

The evidence backlog at the CCPD was considerable, and it was several hours before Barry felt like he and Telastra had really begun to make a dent in it.  “Let’s take a break,” Barry said at around one in the afternoon, collapsing into a swivel chair.  “I need some lunch, and your hoard is probably piled high.”  

There is plenty of excess, Telastra said, her mental ‘voice’ taking on the slightly smug tone that it did when she was talking about the size of her personal energy stockpile.   I can share some tonight if you want it, she offered.   You have several books on your nightstand that you still have not finished.  I can help you speed-read through them.  

“I have trouble retaining stuff when you do that,” Barry sighed.  “I do need to decide what I’m making to take for dinner at Joe’s house, though - can you help me read the cookbooks?”

I can do that.   Telastra rested her head on Barry’s knee, and he smiled.  

They finished checking in the evidence with an hour to spare, leaving Barry plenty of time to make it to the particle accelerator launch.  

Naturally, he’d been late again.  He’d gotten off the bus just in time to see the doors of STAR Labs swinging shut - “No more standing room,” they’d told him - and he’d been forced to wait in the rain until one of the new cops, a detective named Eddie Thawne, had been able to come by and take him back to the station.

I wish I could have helped, Telastra sighed in Barry’s mind once they arrived at the police station; the passenger seat of the squad car had been far too small for her.  

“I know it doesn’t work like that,” Barry said, touching the dragon’s neck automatically.  “But thanks anyway.  We can watch the news in the lab though, so it’s not like we’ll miss the whole thing.”  

They’d only be missing Harrison Wells’ speech, after all.  Seriously, he had a time-hoarding dragon and he’d still managed to be late!  

He pulled the swivel chair over to the monitor, stepping over the puddle of water that had formed in the middle of the lab - not that it made much of a difference, he reflected with a grimace, since his shoes were soaked through anyway.  He switched on the screen, and the monitor immediately displayed the CCPN video feed, which was focused - as it had been all day - on coverage of the particle accelerator.  “I’m Linda Park,” said the reporter, “and I’m live outside STAR Labs despite the inclement weather, which is only going to get worse...”  

So they’ve switched on the accelerator? Telastra said, and Barry nodded.   The storm really is nasty - you wouldn’t be able to see anything even if you were watching from STAR Labs.  

Barry grinned.  “Ideally there wouldn’t be anything to see,” he said.  “The actual accelerator is underground - if we could see it working, there would be a big problem.”  

But I think there is a problem.  Why is there a klaxon blasting on the news?  

“What?”  Barry’s eyes widened, and he turned back to the broadcast.  There was something wrong with the accelerator - STAR Labs was being evacuated.  Barry thought about the crowd of people who had been packed inside, and reflected that it was a good thing he’d been late to the party after all.  

Naturally, at that precise moment, the power went out.  

Then, outside the window, the horizon was lit up by a column of gold light.  “Telastra, I think the particle accelerator just exploded,” said Barry numbly.  “Holy shit it just exploded.”

We need to get out of the lab, his dragon said.   There’s too many windows - let’s go back downstairs -

“You’re right, you’re right,” Barry muttered, backing away from the window as the expanding bubble of gold light rolled across the building.  “I just have to close the storm shutters - the skylight is letting rain in - ”

No, we need to go now! Telastra insisted, actually grabbing his shirtsleeve in her teeth and pulling on him.  Barry’s jaw dropped in astonishment.   I don’t like this!  

Barry drew in a deep breath to argue, and then felt the hair rise on the back of his neck, and on his head, and on his arms -

Barry, move! his dragon cried - and then a bolt of lightning shattered the skylight, arced down the metal chains, and slammed straight into Barry.    

Through the searing pain, Barry thought he saw a pair of panicked yellow eyes fixed directly on his own.  

Then he was hurled backwards, and everything went black.

[nixie-deangel]

Summary:

Barry tried not to be fascinated by the man in red, who walked within his territory. He tried, no matter what his clan mates wanted to say.

But....but he simply couldn’t help the way his eyes lingered, followed as the man made the same trek from the small village to the lone cottage every day.

Day Seven, Barry Allen.

@superlotdragonweek

[nixie-deangel]

Day One, Iris West.

@superlotdragonweek

[nixie-deangel]

Day Three: Lisa Snart.

@superlotdragonweek

[nixie-deangel]

Day Two: Mick Rory.

@superlotdragonweek

[nixie-deangel]

Day Four: Laurel Lance.

@superlotdragonweek

[nixie-deangel]

Day Five, Sara Lance.

@superlotdragonweek

[robininthelabyrinth]

Please, Please could you do a fic with ColdWave as dragons and adopting the rouges as eggs?? I'm dying for this AU and hatchling!Axel.

I saw this prompt and went “sure, but I’ll wait till dragon week to post it”, so I hope you don’t mind the delay, anon!

Ao3 link

—

“Mick,” Lisa says.

Mick ignores her.

He knows why she’s here and he’s not going to listen.

“Miiiiick.”

No. Absolutely not.

“Mickey Mouse…”

Mick turns with a snarl.

Lisa beams at him, flicking her golden tail at him in a calming sort of way.

“I don’t care,” he says, preempting her. “I don’t, I don’t, I don’t.”

“He’s your mate,” Lisa says.

“He’s just getting broody,” Mick says dismissively.

“Yes,” Lisa says. “He is. Literally. That’s why you need to go back and talk to him about this.”

Mick sighs. “You really think he wants to have eggs with me?” he asks doubtfully.

“He’s certainly not planning on having them with anyone else,” Lisa points out.

“We had a giant fight and didn’t talk to each other for a decade,” Mick points out in return. “That’s not a good basis for eggs, you know? Going from that to wanting eggs is a bit weird - and he wasn’t all too sure he wanted them before.”

That had been one of the things they’d fought over: Mick wanting a big family, and Len being convinced he’d be an awful parent despite obvious signs to the contrary (i.e., Lisa).

“It made him realize he did,” Lisa says. “Now stop moping about the fact that your mate doesn’t want to have eggs with you when he obviously does and go talk to him about it.”

Mick grumbles – he hates it when Lisa’s right – and takes wing.

Len is lying down by the lake, idly stirring up fish with his tail.

Normally, Len in a horizontal position of any variety could only be described as lounging, but Len’s…drooping. His back is slumped rather than pointedly slouched, his snout is firmly in the mud, he is the positive picture of desolation, and worst, Mick can tell that the entire effect is totally unintentional for once in Len’s melodramatic life.

Mick groans to himself and lands.

It’s one thing to fight with your mate when he’s being a drama queen; it’s another thing entirely when he seems to be actually upset about it.

“Lenny –” he starts.

“If you don’t want ‘em, I can get rid of ‘em,” Len says abruptly.

Mick is rendered speechless. “But…” he says hesitantly. “But Lenny, you love those eggs, and they’re not even hatched yet.”

“I’ll step on ‘em,” Len says, even though his snout goes even deeper into the mud, muffling his words. “Or give ‘em to someone else, maybe. Just say the word.”

“Why would you do that?” Mick asks, bewildered.

“Because you don’t want ‘em, and I don’t want to be without you,” Len says crossly. “Ain’t it obvious?”

Mick sighs – he hates it when Lisa’s right, it makes her unbearably smug for years at a time – and drops down beside his mate. “I didn’t mean it that way,” he says coaxingly, drawing a wing over Len’s long, lithe body. “I just thought – it was so sudden, the eggs. I thought you wanted the eggs more than you wanted me.”

“I didn’t know there’d be eggs there,” Len mutters. “It wasn’t intentional or anything. They were just – there, you know? The first one, anyway. And then I felt bad ‘cause it needed company so I went hunting and there was another one, and after that there was another, and one I stole from another dragon’s nest ‘cause they weren’t caring for it properly, and the little tiny one that was in the explosion…”

“You collected us a fine brood,” Mick assures him.

“Us?” Len says hopefully, snout lifting up a little.

“Us,” Mick confirms. “Now let’s go hatch us some eggs.”

With two of them, getting the eggs to the right state for hatching is a breeze.

The eldest egg-first to find, first to hatch-is a mirror-skin, which explains why Len could find it just lying around – its parent probably forgot the second after it dropped the egg. That species has something of a reputation of having brains as empty as the mirrors that compose their skin, unless raised differently; they’d have to keep a close eye on him, make sure he didn’t get all heartless and forget his family. “Skk,” he hisses, just out of the shell and already antsy. “Skkkdd!”

Then he falls flat on his face.

“We’re calling him Scudder,” Len declares.

“I dunno, I feel like that was more of a skud-splat sound,” Mick says, and laughs when Len nudges him.

Their thunder-flyer hatches shortly thereafter, an egg Len found down in the valley, damaged by a long fall, far from the mountains it was supposed to be in; it turns out to be a dual egg, Mark and Clyde Mardon, but only one hatchling climbs out. They bury Clyde and comfort Mark, and Scudder wraps himself around his new brother in sympathy. It’s not the same as an egg-mate – nothing ever is – but Len and Mick promise that it’ll be something. A family.

Lisa is delighted when Shawna hatches, a shadow-sneak to compliment Lisa’s sun-skin, and also because they finally have another girl in the nest.

Roscoe, a spinning-devil, is the next one born, and he sidles up to Scudder’s side immediately. Mick sees trouble coming a long way away from those two.

The cuckoo – the egg Len stole from another’s nest – is a shrieker. A deaf shrieker, no less; that explains (but does not even remotely justify) why the biological parents were being bitchy enough about him for Len to think stealing an egg out of another dragon’s nest was a good idea. Well, Mick and Len don’t care; they like Hartley just the way he is.

And the last one –

Mick had high hopes for the last one. It was found at the site of an explosion, after all, a human factory blown all to bits. One of the ones that make what the humans call fireworks. And yet, the egg survived, human and explosion both.

Maybe it’s another firedrake like him. That’d be nice, even if Len would bitch about being outnumbered when it comes to picking vacation destinations (there’s a reason they live in the temperate climes, and it’s about 90% due to Mick’s precious ice-drake and him never agreeing on the temperature…)

The egg cracks and out crawls –

The single most colorful dragon Mick has ever seen.

“It’s a jester-jack,” Len breathes. “I didn’t even know there were any of those left, other than Jesse, and he’s ancient.”

“This might be one of Jesse’s eggs, originally,” Mick says, a little worried, but already enthused. Sure, it’s not another fire-drake, but jester-jacks love things that go boom – between his big brother Mardon’s thunder, Hartley’s shrieks, and Mick’s flames, they should be able to keep him quite happy, their littlest one.

Len gently wraps a wing around the jester-jack. “What’s your name?” he asks. “Huh?”

The hatchling shivers.

“Axel,” Mick decides. It’d been the name of the factory which exploded around him. “We’ll call you Axel.”

The hatchling blinks up at them warily.

“I’ll get you something that explodes, huh?” Mick offers.

“Mick, already?” Len says disapprovingly.

“He’s a jester-jack.”

“He’s a newborn!”

“I’d like that,” the jester-jack – Axel – whispers. Then he smiles, two rows of tiny little pearl-white fangs making Len melt even if he doesn’t show it. “I think it’ll be fun.”

“You think that’s going to be fun, just you wait. You’re going to love Len’s heists,” Mick says.

Suddenly a half-dozen hatchlings are sitting straight up and looking at Len. “Heists?” they chorus.

“You had to tell them, Mick,” Len says, rolling his eyes, but he’s puffed up a little in pride.

“Len’s the finest dragon-thief in all the land,” Mick tells them. “And he’s going to raise all of you to be his crew. How’s that sound?”

“Good,” Mardon says, first in line. “Good!” Scudder chimes in, and Roscoe is nodding along. “Yes, good!” Hartley and Shawna chorus.

“I like it,” Axel says. “Tell us more!”

Len sighs dramatically. “You’re not going to be able to use it yet,” he warns. “But let’s begin…lesson one: the art of greed –”

[robininthelabyrinth]

Dragon week 3 - Seeing Eye Human

Dragon week 3 - Coldwave - Seeing Eye Human

For @oneiriad, who requested it

Ao3 Link

-

“Sir, are you sure you want that one?” the parole merchant says doubtfully.

“Yes, yes, I’m quite sure,” Len says. “He’s the one.”

“But sir,” the merchant says, his voice taking on the sugary, condescending tone they always did when they noticed how Len’s eyes were white and blue all the way through. Like his reason was impaired just because he was blind now. Fuck them. “I don’t think he’s entirely the right fit for the use you’ll have of him-”

“And what use is that?” Len drawls.

“I – that is –” the merchant coughs.

They both know why he’s here, but dragons are supposed to be invulnerable. That’s how they were born out of the eggs of the sky, and that’s how they were supposed to remain. To speak of another dragon being anything less than whole and hearty and able was just unthinkable, no matter how many dragons pretend they're not limping, risking permanent damage just to avoid being seen with a brace. No matter how many dragons wear corrective lenses while claiming it was just a fashionable fad. No matter how many dragons can't seem to get themselves out of their hoards for weeks on end, their friends helping them where they can, but no official support or funding whatsoever.

Fucking ableism.

The merchant keeps coughing like Len’s going to change the subject, but Len just arches his scaly eyebrows and waits.

“I just thought,” the merchant eventually says, “that a human trained in, ah, seeing-eye techniques might be a…better fit…?”

Len runs the edge of his sensitive tail along the paperwork he’s been given, the words pressed down into the tablet - his claws are too sharp for paperwork, especially braille. Lucky for him, he picks up new languages fast. “Says here he’s got 20/20 vision,” Len says. “And he’s human; they can listen to commands.”

“Yes, but…his record for disobedience…”

“Every human’s a good human at heart,” Len says piously, in his best middle-suburbia hoard-mother voice. “They just need a good master.”

“But…”

“I’m afraid,” Len says, “that I simply don’t see what’s wrong with him.”

The human in the slave-cage in front of them snorts.

Glad one of them has a sense of humor, 'cause it's definitely not the merchant.

“He threw a rock at you,” the merchant finally wails.

“And he hit a target the size of a small human house,” Len says. “Bravo. I’m not paying a single extra penny for it.”

“Pay extra?”

“Or did you mean to offer me a discount?” Len says sweetly.

“I – that is – ah – but sir, he’s a labor human. They’re not really meant for – domestic tasks.”

“Of course they are, if the domestic tasks are active enough. You wouldn’t have been planning on making a quick buck with him at the black-market tournaments, were you?” Len asks archly. “That’s illegal, you know.”

(Skies forbid.)

The merchant practically falls over himself assuring Len that that’s not the case, though they both know perfectly well that the reason a labor human was shoved so far off to the side of the pens and not hawked to high heaven was because he wasn’t actually meant to be sold.

Coincidentally, Len hates the black-market tournaments with a passion.

The merchant ends up signing the human over in exchange for Len’s credit card. It’s still expensive as fuck, but then again, all humans are.

Len wraps his tail around his new human’s waist. “Human,” he says, squeezing a little warningly. “Lead me to the exit. I think I’m done here.”

The human obligingly walks forward.

Len lets him lead for a few minutes then scoops him up and puts the human on his back. “Hold on, will you?” Len says. “And tell me if I’m about to crash into anything.”

“What’s the rush?” the human asks.

“Well,” Len says, “any minute now, the slave-keeper behind us is going to realize that the credit card I gave him was a fake and call the guards, so I’d really prefer to get out of here before that happens.”

The human sniggers. “Dead straight, nothing there,” he reports.

Len lowers his head and charges.

The human yells out suggestions once in a while, and good ones, too – they get out of the market in under ten minutes, and then Len’s wings are out and open and they’re in the air.

“Holy fuck why are we flying?!” the human growls, latching onto Len’s back with fingers dug in to the point of pain.

“I thought humans liked flying,” Len says.

“Well I don’t,” his human says firmly. “Now get me down already or I’ll vomit on your back.”

“You do that and you have to clean it off,” Len says, making a face. “At any rate, we have to fly to get to my lair. Get over yourself.”

The human makes pointed gagging noises.

“I’ll go up higher and glide, how about that,” Len relents. “Should be better for your stomach.”

The human grumbles, but it does seem to help when Len’s gliding instead of beating his wings.

“So you’re a crook,” he eventually says.

“You’re surprised?”

“Didn’t know dragons went in for that.”

Len snorts. “All species that develop for long enough to create rules go in for breaking them. It’s nature. Your record wasn’t too clean either, if I recall.”

“How’d you think I ended up in the pens?” the guy says. Len couldn’t see him rolling his eyes, but he could hear it in his tone. “Humanity loves to claim that we don't do slavery any more, we’ve just reinstated 'personal service' instead of prison-work, like that isn't actually slavery. Say, as to another thing dragons supposedly don’t go in for –”

Len braces himself for a comment about his eyes.

“– ain’t it a taboo to let a human ride you?”

“Supposedly,” Len says, oddly pleased by the human’s discretion. “And yet everyone in a rush tends to toss things onto their back; it’s just how dragons work. Humans are no expectation.”

“Makes sense.”

“No comment on my eyes?”

“Figured whatever did it must have made a pretty big boom,” the guy says wistfully. The files had said ‘pyromaniac’; looks like they weren’t exaggerating.

“It did,” Len says. “Blue flame.”

He remembers it vividly. It’s probably the last thing he’ll ever see, unless Lisa’s quest for a miracle cure with that little pack of humans at STAR Labs works out.

No matter. He's not going to let a thing like this stop him.

“What were you doing around blue flame?” the human asks. “Enough of it to blind a dragon – I didn’t even know you could get that much of it in one spot.”

Len smirks. “Oh, you’d be surprised,” he drawls. “I’m something of a collector of it, you see. Just so happen that the last batch I went for was booby-trapped.”

Oh, and Rip Hunter and his stupid band of so-called Time Masters were going to pay for that, too, as soon as Len gets his bearings back. He doesn't need eyes to be the best draconic thief in Central City; all he needs is his brain and a little help.

The human hums a little, understanding entirely. “And you need a strong human if you’re gonna keep collecting,” he says. “One that ain’t afraid to throw rocks at dragons. That’s why you took me.”

“Got it in one,” Len says cheerfully. “But I’ll offer you very good terms for your eventual release: every job you pull with me will be a tenth off your freed-price.”

“Ten jobs, huh?”

“Ten jobs, or however long it takes to get to your price in work-months, yes.”

“Sign me up,” the human says.

“I’d need your name for that.”

“Mick Rory. Your name isn’t really Eobard Thawne, is it?”

“Hell no,” Len says. “That’s just the guy whose credit I lifted. Nasty pompous son of a bitch; I make a point of stealing from him whenever possible.”

“Stupid name,” Mick opines.

“Agreed,” Len says. “I’m Leonard Snart.”

“Not much better,” Mick says.

Len snorts. “I don’t disagree. So what do you say, human? Partners?”

“Partners with a dragon, huh?” Mick says. “That’s a pretty fancy place for a jailbird like me to aspire to.”

“Stick with me,” Len says, grinning big and broad and utterly unable to resist, “and you’ll never go hungry again.”

“Give me fire,” Mick says, “and I’ll even forget that you quoted Disney at me.”

“Deal.”

[robininthelabyrinth]

Dragon Week 5 (coldwave) - the Pest pt 2

For @oneiriad, who wanted more of the Pest story, here's The Pest part 2, the interquel or whatever they're called when they're not before or after

Will presumably only make sense if you read The Pest pt 1 here (tumblr) or here (ao3)

Ao3 link

-

When Rip Hunter came for Heatwave, he came for a master thief.

One of the best of all time, some said. The heists he pulled were clever – almost fiendishly brilliant – and perfectly executed: timing, planning, contingencies built on contingencies, everything. They were even stylish. And then his turn towards supervillainy was nothing short of impressive in itself: to continue to operate as a thief in Central City when faced with the full might and speed of the Flash, to broker a deal with him in order to continue operations and then to maneuver that deal into a band of meta-humans who considered themselves indebted to him..! Nothing short of brilliant.

Despite the man’s somewhat unusual personal eccentricities – he was well-known to history as a pyromaniac, thus the nickname ‘Heatwave’ despite his possession of both hot and cold guns, and of course his habit of taking his pet dragon (only in Central…) with him everywhere he went was very nearly as well known – Rip was certain that Mick Rory would be a valuable addition to his team of Legends.

He wasn’t expecting him to be quite so…thuggish.

“Ouch!” Rip yelps, pulling his foot up onto his chair and glaring at the big, fat dragon that had stepped on his food while lumbering over to eat some of the food Rory had left for him. What an ungainly brute! He couldn’t understand why Rory kept it around. Someone capable of such excellent twists of timing surely had no need for a creature that spent half its days lazing around in a ungainly pile on the floor, thrashing its tail from side to side.

Honestly, Rip would swear that creature had a tendency to step on him in particular, especially when he was contemplating Rory’s many deficiencies.

Hmm. Well, at least it was well-trained.

Perhaps Mr. Palmer was correct in his suggestion that the creature served as some sort of therapy animal.

It couldn't possibly be of any real use.

--------------------------------------------------------

"Who thinks -" a voice starts, then abruptly cuts off. Ray freezes where he's sitting flat on his butt in a closet. That wasn't his fault: he was heading towards the dagger when Mick's stupid dragon had headbutted him.

Suddenly, the voice is laughing. "Well, well," Savage says - 'cause that is definitely Savage, oh crap - "it seems that we have a Central City dragon, well outside of its regular haunts. What rich man thought you a prize, my sweet?"

Ray peeks out the closet door. Savage is kneeling down before the dragon, holding out a piece of meat, which the dragon takes and swallows. He has a nasty looking knife in his other hand. A knife meant for Ray.

Gulp.

The dragon purrs.

It sounds like a motorcycle engine without a proper muffler.

"Sir?" another voice says from the door.

"Cancel the alarm," Savage says, standing. "It seems was only our, ah, ‘little’ friend here. Come along, yes - come - there is food this way -"

The dragon - traitor! - waddles off after Savage, apparently quite happy to be lured to the dark side by the suggestion of food, even if it was evil food.

Though if it hadn't pushed him into the closet, Ray might've gotten caught.

Probably some good training on Mick's part; some instinct to hide humans if guards were coming. Dragons were like pigeons, right? You could train pigeons.

At least now Ray has a clear line of sight on the dagger.

Though he doesn't know how to explain to Mick that he'd lost his companion dragon, and to Savage of all people...

Turns out he doesn't have to, since the dragon comes back by the time Ray undoes the system guarding the dagger. It's draped in gold chains, the little tart. Savage has horribly gaudy taste.

The dragon tries to push him away from the box, but a simple swat on the nose takes care of that. Ray's almost done, he can't be distracted by a dragon being weirdly twitchy -

A cage drops down around them both.

The dragon lightly bonks its head against the base of the pedestal, almost like it's frustrated. Then it turns its beady little eyes on Ray.

Ray gulps.

Mick had said the dragon was totally safe. Then why did Ray feel fundamentally unsafe right now..?

Dragons are like pigeons, right? Giant, scaly pigeons.

With, uh, very long teeth...long, toxic teeth…

Ray has never been so happy to be threatened by a villain before in his life. Thanks, Savage!

-------------------------------------------------------------

The dragon is blisteringly mad, Jax thinks.

Sure, it's just a dumb animal, but it clearly didn't appreciate Mick having tossed the box with the thermal core to it and telling it to run.

Well, 'run' might not be the word - dragons primarily waddled - but they did have wings and it had been able to climb up the wall, thermal core box in mouth, before any of the Russians could get to him. Bullet-proof scales were helpful that way.

Still.

Jax kneels down by the dragon.

"We'll get him back," he tells it. "Doesn't matter what Rip says; Sara's got a plan. We've got this."

The dragon growls, but turns and rubs it's head on Jax's knee.

"Man, I haven't played with one of you since I was a kid," Jax says wistfully. He remembered climbing all over one; they were quite nice, really, as long as you weren’t malicious. And there wasn’t any strict cut-off point where they stopped seeing you as a kid: as long as you were nice and cheerful, they didn’t mind you at all.

"I just wish there was something I could do," Jax says.

The dragon - Mick called him Len, and sometimes Lenny, which was a bit of a weird name for a dragon, but then again dragons didn't usually have names at all - turns and closes his jaws lightly around Jax's wrist. It's nowhere near enough pressure to hurt, but Jax is Central City, born and bred: he freezes.

First rule of playing with dragons: they mean you no harm, and if you don't move, they won't do anything.

The dragon tugs lightly at Jax's wrist.

"Careful there," Jax says. "I'm breakable. Please remember that."

The dragon huffs a little, and hacks up a puff of smoke. It's barely warm enough to heat Jax's arm, even though the dragon hasn't released him.

Jax can't help but grin. "Yeah, I'm the one who's normally on fire," he says. "Can't without Stein - whoa, careful now!" he adds, because the dragon has gone back to teething on him. "If you bite me -"

He pauses.

"Hold up," he says. "Stein told me about a thing once. You bit me, he gets bit too - and they used it to pass messages!"

The dragon releases him.

"Lenny, you're a genius," Jax says, and scratches its chin before dashing off to tell the others.

As he passes through the door, he sees the dragon yawn and curl up for a nap. Must've worn itself out, worrying about Mick.

Dragons were so cute.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

The pirates weren't anticipating a bear-size bullet-proof-scale-covered lump of blubber with sharp, toxic teeth and the ability to breath fire and ice.

They certainly weren't anticipating one coming out of the vents.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I found Jax," Mick reports.

"Is he still a bird creature?" Kendra asks.

"Yep."

"...are you okay?"

"Yep."

"What did you do to him?"

"Nothing.”

“Mick…”

“Lenny's sitting on him, s'all. Maybe the kid’s a little flatter now, not gonna lie..."

Kendra snickers despite herself.

"I'm going after Savage," she says.

"Take Haircut," Mick advises.

"You think I can't manage on my own either?" she asks, annoyed.

"That's dumber than I usually am," Mick says. "I don't work alone either, and I'm pretty damn good at managing by myself. That ain’t why you get yourself a partner."

"You don't?" Kendra asks, frowning. Mick always kept back to himself, though he was slowly warming up to the rest of the group. "Who do you usually work with?"

"Lenny, of course."

Kendra covers her smile. "Ah, yes," she says as solemnly as she can. "Of course. A very valuable partner to have at your back."

"Now you're getting the picture," Mick says approvingly.

"It's not quite the same thing..."

"Haircut's more like a puppy than Len is," Mick says. Kendra has to nod a little at that, even though she's still smiling; still, she's glad Mick's delusions of companionship haven't gone quite so far. "Besides, even a puppy can be useful."

"Oh?"

"Well," Mick says. "Between me and Lenny, which one of us do you think's sitting on Jax right now?"

"With you, Mick," Kendra says, now grinning outright, "I'd say it's even odds."

Mick barks a laugh.

Kendra decides that maybe it won't hurt to take Ray as back-up.

They still don’t get the dagger, but on the bright side, they manage to get back to the ship before the Time Masters’ thugs steal it away.

Imagine if they hadn’t – they might’ve been stuck in the past!

--------------------------------------------------------------------

The dragon yawns ostentatiously by Stein's side.

Every single one of the cowboys in the tavern avert their eyes, like they want to be elsewhere.

They'd initially come around mockingly at Stein's "pet", which Mick had insisted he take with him - assuming perhaps that he was some sort of dancing bear.

To be entirely honest, Stein hadn't particularly disagreed, though he stiffly objected when they tried to make the dragon perform. This was Mr. Rory's therapy animal, after all, however unusual the species chosen; he could just imagine Clarissa's reaction he explained that it had survived supervillains and pirates but had gotten injured when it was supposedly entrusted to his care.

Then the dragon had spat out what could only be described as a hairball of ice into the gun (and hand) of the man who tried to shoot Stein, and suddenly everyone seemed to be thinking better of screwing with him.

"You're not that bad," Stein whispers to the dragon, and sneaks him some scraps from the table.

Mr. Rory had done an excellent job of training it, really.

At any rate, Stein certainly felt safer with it by its side while the others went to deal with the bandit gang.

While he...

"I don't suppose you have any views on using future medicine to save that poor boy's life," Stein says waspishly to the dragon.

The dragon just purrs unhelpfully.

"Well, I'm going to get it from the ship," Stein says. "Are you coming?"

The dragon got up on its feet, which given its bulk was no small feat.

Stein chose to take its willingness to obey as approval.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

The dragon waddled through the door and went straight for Sara, catching her boot with his teeth and tugging.

Sara hadn't really had that much interactions with the dragon - she liked Mick well enough, even if his tendency to refer to the dragon by a human name and act like he answered questions was weird; she couldn't imagine ever doing that to any of the rats or eponymous small birds that littered Starling - but she smirks down at it regardless.

It tugs again, almost desperately.

It probably wanted something.

Where was Mick, anyway?

Oh, right, on the mission to rescue his “past self” from the Pilgrim. What a bizarre idea.

"What's wrong, Lenny?" she jokes. "Mickey's fallen down a well?"

The dragon releases her boot and looks up at her.

If she didn't know better, she'd say it was glaring.

She grins, about to make another joke when –

"No, you moron, Hunter's gonna get him shot," it says. "Now get off your ass and help him."

"Holy crap you can talk!"

The dragon bares its teeth at her.

"Which I will wonder about later because right now I'm going to help Mick," Sara says hastily.

It just watches her run off the ship with narrow eyes.

After she helps save Mick, and after that Mick helps save her own past self, and one thing after another, it's only at the Refuge that she finally gets a minute to confront him about his apparently talking dragon.

“Yeah, so?” he says.

“Why didn’t you mention it?” she hisses. That dragon was everyone on the Waverider - god only knows how much it knew about all of them -

“No point,” he says. “You ever see that old WB short they used to put in front of movies? The one with the dancing frog?”

“The…you mean ‘One Froggy Evening’?”

“S’that what it’s called?”

“The one with the frog that dances and sings when it’s alone with its owner, yeah, but when it’s in public it –” Her eyes go wide. “Oooooh.”

“Yeah,” Mick says, shaking his head. “Just like that. Lenny’s a bit of a dick.”

“I can appreciate that in a guy,” Sara says. “Or, uh, dragon. As the case may be.”

Mick just shrugs.

“You’re not worried about the Pilgrim going after him, are you?” she asks, a little anxiously. Now that she knew it was sentient, well, it made a lot of the more amusing incidents on board the Waverider look a lot less like silly pet accidents and a lot more like the workings of a brilliant, mischievous mind.

“Nah,” Mick says. “Dragons’ scales apparently repel everything, even time.”

“What does that mean?”

“I have no idea,” Mick confesses. “Lenny refused to explain, when I asked.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Oculus explosion…is.

There’s no other way to describe it. Mick couldn’t let Haircut sacrifice himself, he just couldn’t, and he knows that makes him a sentimental idiot, but he had to do it. He barely even thought about it.

He did spare a thought to hope that Jax and Sara would take care of Lenny. They were Lenny’s favorites on board.

But yeah, he did it, and he did it without thinking, and he guess that makes him a hero now.

He’s had a lot of time to think about it.

Sort of.

When the explosion happened, the Oculus – or whatever the Oculus was keeping in check – just gushed forth, and time went a little bit wonky after that.

The Oculus explosion is.

Literally.

As in, it’s the present moment.

Just, you know, forever.

There was a while there where Mick focused on the body horror of it all – his body trapped in a single moment, heart stopped between one beat and the next, and his mind still alive and ticking just as well as ever. His fingers are frozen on the Oculus device, the fire of the explosion surrounds him without ever reaching him – he was at the epicenter of the explosion, so he was the first one hit, frozen a second before he burned.

The Time Masters weren’t so lucky.

They’re going to burn forever.

Well deserved, in Mick's view.

He’s still stuck here, though. Kinda sucks.

At least he has a lot of pretty fire to look at and a brain that rather enjoys doing nothing but that, because he’s pretty sure incipient insanity is the next logical step here.

Mick’s only a few steps down that road when Lenny shows up.

At first he thinks that it’s a sign of him going nuts, imagining a big, fat, waddling dragon plunking along the entranceway to the Oculus chamber, ducking under the frozen flames with a sour look that only Lenny could ever do quite right on his face.

Mick would ask him what the hell, but he can’t move his mouth.

He’s still about 90-95% sure it’s a hallucination when Lenny gets right up close to him and pins his boot with his teeth.

Mick feels that.

Still can’t say “ouch” but he thinks it.

Then he thinks “what the hell”, followed shortly by “wait this is real?!” and “how the hell did you even get here you little fink.”

Len tugs.

Mick’s leg doesn’t move.

Len grows, then tugs again.

Mick’s foot jerks a little, right under Len’s mouth, but nowhere else.

Len licks Mick’s boot, mouthing at it all over, then tries to tug again.

This time, Mick’s foot moves.

Mick’s torn between jubilant ecstatic joy at the thought of a rescue and the realization that his very near-term future involved a lot of dragon drool.

It does.

“Was that necessary?” Mick complains once Len’s gotten the majority of his body down on the ground and has spent an unnecessarily long time licking at his face.

“Dragons aren’t really immune to time, just our scales are,” Len says. “Some small ground-up part of that gets into our saliva. Your alternatives are that I eat you or kill myself and drape my scales around you.”

“…lick away.”

“I thought you’d say that,” Len says. “Now hold still, if it dries, you’ll just get frozen again.”

Mick grumbles.

It takes what feels like but definitely isn’t forever to get out of the Oculus chamber.

“Now what?” Mick asks, looking around the frozen destruction of the Vanishing Point. The further out from the Oculus, the longer it took for things to freeze, so the aftereffects of the gigantic bomb are definitely in the air. He might be the only person ever to get a slow-motion showing of what a nuclear bomb explosion looks like from the inside of the epicenter.

“Now we go home,” Len says, waddling pointedly away.

“You know I can’t breathe in space, right?” Mick inquires, trailing after him. “And neither can you, as far as I know.”

“There’s a time pocket,” Len says. “It’s a bit small – you’ll have to crawl – but you’d better be damn pleased with it. I had to shed my whole winter coat to make it.”

“Poor Lenny,” Mick says, seeing where the shed dragon scales started to make a path that eventually led to what could only be described as a small burrow hole in existence. Like what you’d expect from a rabbit or a mole, except, you know, in spacetime. “I didn’t know you guys were a burrowing species.”

“It’s vestigial.”

“Lucky for me it’s not that vestigial.”

They crawl out into…

“This is my apartment, Lenny,” Mick says.

“I thought you’d appreciate a touch of home,” Len sniffs.

“This is my first apartment, Lenny,” Mick says, crossing his arms. “The very first one.”

Lenny looks shifty.

“Exactly what were you doing when we first met?”

“Nothing! Lounging! You know how dragons like to do that!”

“Sell that to someone who doesn’t know you,” Mick says. “Well?”

“What makes you think I was doing something?!”

“The fact that this is clearly a burrow you’ve used before,” Mick says, and waits.

Len crumbles like his favorite type of coffee cake.

“…I was stealing forks off of the Titanic.”

“Of course you were,” Mick sighs. “Why?”

“They were pointy. I dunno, I had a sudden craving.”

“Dragons,” Mick says, and goes to take a shower.

[robininthelabyrinth]

If you don't already have plans for the rest of dragonweek, could I request a sequel for seeing eye human where mick is kidnapped by eobard as revenge and Len has to rescue him?

As it happens, I do not in fact have any more plans for the rest of the week, so here you go! :)

Will only make sense if you've read part 1 here (tumblr) or here (ao3)

ao3 link

—————————————

It’s a very good thing that Len knows the flight path to STAR Labs by heart, because he flies it now, alone and at top speed.

“I need your prototype,” he says abruptly, bursting into the Accelerator lab through the dragon entrance.

“Uh, dude, rude much?” Cisco says. “No hello?”

Cisco was Lisa’s beloved, and so he did not fear Len.

That is a mistake.

Len bares his teeth and mantles his wings, full-on threat display, and he might not be able to see the picture he makes anymore but he can feel the slick layer of mud and drying blood that sticks to his scales, and no one ever found him less than terrifying before his blindness.

Cisco’s frightened gasp of air indicates he hasn’t lost his touch.

“I need,” he says levelly, albeit through a mouth full of sharp points, “your prototype.”

“It’s not ready yet!” Cisco says, and shrieks when Len swings his snout towards him threateningly. “It’s not, man, I swear!”

“Lenny, what’s crawled up your ass?” Lisa says, poking her head in from one of the other rooms and hurrying over to hover over her human protectively.

“He took from me,” Len rages, though his voice stays as cold as ever. Colder. “He took from me, and I need to make him pay.”

“That seems a bit hypocritical,” Barry says, jogging out to the main room, Caitlin shortly behind him.

“I’m going to take your prototype,” Len says, “only because I need it for what I’m going to do.”

“And what’s that?” Barry asks.

“I’m gonna murder him.”

“You can’t!” Caitlin exclaims.

“Watch me,” Len says, huffing through his nostrils. He can feel the fire licking at the back of his throat. “I’ll even make it legal and challenge him first, but one way or another, I’m gonna have his throat in my claws -”

“Len, you steal so many other people’s stuff, it seems a bit much for you to be this upset,” Cisco says.

“And we can’t let you take the prototype if you’re going to murder someone,” Barry adds.

“Especially over a theft,” Caitlin says. “I thought dragons didn’t care much about property that isn’t their hoard?”

“Len,” Lisa says, ignoring the humans. “Len, where’s Mick? Why isn’t he with you?”

“Because he took him from me!”

“He stole Mick?” Cisco says indignantly, sympathies changing in the flash that was the laboratory’s mascot. “That’s just wrong, man. You can’t take…people’s people. Just no taking people at all, really.”

“We still can’t let Len go murder a person,” Barry objects, but it’s a bit weaker.

“It’s not a person,” Len says. “It’s Eobard Thawne.”

“On second thought, let’s go a-murdering.”

“Barry!” Caitlin exclaims.

“He deserves it and you know it,” Barry says. “He’s deserved it for a long time. Cisco, the prototype?”

Cisco digs out a pair of goggles large enough to wrap around even Len’s head. “They’re not ready,” he warns. “You won’t get your vision back, and it may even make things worse in the long run, especially if you’re not careful putting them on and taking them off again. They tap into your nervous system.”

“We’re talking serious damage here,” Caitlin adds, looking worried. “You put these on, you may never be able to see again.”

“But I’ll see while they’re on?” Len asks.

“For the short term, yes,” Catilin says.

“Good enough for me,” Len says grimly. “Let’s get to it.”

—————————————————————————

“You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into,” Mick observes, settling himself in for a wait. “Also, seriously, a cage hanging from the ceiling? How medieval are you?”

“I know exactly what I’ve gotten myself ‘into’, as you put it,” Eobard says crisply. “Mr. Snart has stolen from me one too many times, but until now he has not be sufficient attached to any given item in his collection to consider it a hoard-item, something worth keeping. Not until you.”

“I thought you dragons respected each others’ hoards?” Mick asks, not without curiosity. “Len’s always real good about keeping his hands off other dragons’ personal stuff when we break into their caves. It’s all the rest we take.”

“Mr. Snart’s sentimentality does him credit, I’m sure,” Eobard says. “Hoards are irrelevant in the modern age. Utility is what’s important.”

“Huh,” Mick says.

Eobard turns and squints at the human. “That sounded remarkably thoughtful for a human such as yourself, not that I find many examples of true ingenuity in the mammalian species. What is it that you think you’ve understood?”

“You don’t got a hoard at all, do you,” Mick says, not bothering to make it a question. “You don’t feel the connection that a dragon ought to have to it.”

“How I feel is irrelevant,” Eobard says, but the spines along his spine stiffen.

“You’re a sociopath,” Mick concludes. “Human or dragon, it’s all the same. You can’t or won’t form connections to the outside world, and you’re inclined to destroy it, too.”

“As I said,” Eobard says, his voice hovering just above a snarl. “Irrelevant. Mr. Snart has fixated on you, for some reason, and there is no doubt that he will come charging in here to rescue you. With his physical impairment, defeating him will be of no moment.”

“You shouldn’t underestimate Len like that.”

“You should be less concerned about your master,” Eobard says, “and more concerned about yourself. Once Mr. Snart’s heart has beat its last, ownership of your contract immediately transfers to me as the rightful victor.”

His smile is filled with terrible, jagged teeth and his eyes with terrible, jagged ideas.

“I don’t particularly like humans,” he says, “but I can think of some uses for them.”

He turns away.

“Lenny,” Mick murmurs to himself, “for once, I really hope you keep your cool.”

———————————————————————————

“What on earth are you wearing?” Eobard exclaims.

Len snorts. “A fashion statement,” he says bitingly. “Vision corrective goggles, what do you think, you moron? That I’d be so upset that I’d run in here blind?”

“In the middle of a goddamn fight, Lenny?” Mick’s voice floats down. “You really can’t resist, can you?”

Len flicks his eyes upwards, identifying the hovering lump of heat-signature and the cold-signature lines of the metal around him. The goggles don’t actually restore his sight, working instead by accessing the optic nerves to put him on the infrared spectrum, but it works well enough for what he needs it for.

And what he needs it for is distraction.

As he expects, when he speaks the Words of Challenge, Eobard leaps straight for his face, claws out, teeth bared, aiming straight for the goggles.

Eobard is older, bigger; his breed is more known for power than Len’s, and he’s damned fast, too. But goggles make for a small, tricky target, and Len’s able to get in some serious hits – a leg, an elbow – before Eobard finally brings his claws down on the goggles, shattering them.

Something in Len’s brain goes abruptly and dazzlingly white in pain for just a second as the connection is snapped off abruptly.

That was probably his optic nerve frying.

Len hopes not, but, well, he knew what he was getting into.

He snakes out of Eobard’s grip.

“I think,��� Eobard says, his bulk heaving with the need to breath deep after the effort, but his voice filled with satisfaction, “that the match is mine. If you lay your neck at my feet and beg for mercy, I may spare you.”

May being the key word.

Barry Allen’s mother begged, for the sake of her son, which she had stolen back from Eobard’s laboratory of horrors, the trespass justification enough for a Challenge, and Eobard crushed her beneath his feet anyways, an ignoble battle – a Challenge against a human, of all things; unknown before then and outlawed since.

“Yeah,” Len says, and he’s barely winded: Eobard’s been doing all the heavy lifting of this fight so far, focusing as he did on the goggles. The assumption that once the thing that brings him back to the standard is gone, he’s helpless, is as irritating as ever, but for once, it’s quite useful. “I don’t think so. Mick?”

“I got you,” Mick says, his voice warm and strong.

Len attacks.

Mick shouts out suggestions and Len follows them, the two of them working together seamlessly, months of practice kicking in, their mutual trust in their partnership flawless.

Len doesn’t need his eyes, as long as he has Mick.

It’s not long before Eobard is hacking up blood, his wing bent wrong, his blood splattering the floor, and the softer scales of his neck beneath Len’s claws.

“Mercy,” he rasps, glaring up at Len. He’s still not scared: he’s annoyed. Like this was one of his horrific experiments, twisted creations and genetic monstrosities, attempts to graft together draconic abilities and human ingenuity, one of the ones that didn’t go quite as he hoped. One of the ones that he thinks: better to discard now, cut the losses, and try again another time. Rely upon the laws and conventions of dragonkind to win himself another day to plan another way to hurt.

But Len’s no fool, and he’s no hero, either.

“Barry Allen sends his best wishes,” he says instead, and Eobard’s eyes go wide in understanding just a half-second before Len strikes.

—————————————————————-

“I can’t believe he’s gone,” Barry says, sounding a little dazed.

“He never stood a chance against our Lenny,” Mick says happily, patting Barry on the shoulder.

Barry smiles at him. “It’s nice to meet you,” he says. “Sorry I didn’t say it earlier.”

“Nah, you had other things to worry about,” Mick says dismissively.

“Still, thanks. I’ve been wanting to meet you ever since Lisa started talking about you – Len doesn’t like anybody, and then there’s you. He loves you.”

“I wouldn’t say it quite like that,” Mick objects, flushing a little.

“I would,” Barry says firmly. “Do you…?��

Mick rubs the back of his head awkwardly. “Okay, yeah,” he says. “It’s mutual. No need to make a big deal out of it or anything.”

“Lisa’s going to make a big deal about it,” Barry says, shaking his head. “As soon as she stops beating Len up after Caitlin lets him out of his check-up.”

“Even if his eyes are shot for good, I’ll take care of him,” Mick says firmly.

“They’re not,” Caitlin calls, coming out of the medical bay with Cisco and pointedly ignoring the sounds of feisty draconic play-wrestling happening behind her. “He hurt them, yes, and he’s going to need quite some time to heal up before we can even think of making him a new set of goggles, but I think the risk of permanent damage is low.”

“Good,” Mick says. “Need to protect that beautiful brain of his. God knows Lenny isn’t going to do it.”

Barry snorts. “Too true,” he says, grinning. “Want some help with that? Can’t be easy, keeping him out of trouble.”

Mick studies Barry thoughtfully. “I don’t know,” he says. “How do you feel about stealing…?”