#fucked up bird dragon woman

[funkbun]

bird

[cevansbrat0007]

Reflections of A Hunter

Summary: Your Bounty Hunter wonders just how in the hell he ended up in this position, with you wrapped around him.

Warnings: Mature Themes, Soft Smut, Ari Being A Menace, References to Fingering and Oral Sex, Bref Mentions of Nipple Play, Ass Grabbing, Cuddles, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Written for my friend, @curls-and-eyeliner. Part of my Sweet Renegade Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

Just how did he get here?

Ari watches your chest fall as you snuggle deeper into his embrace. Your breaths are steady and even as you continue to dream beside him.

You smell so unbelievably good – a heady mix of black currant and vanilla. 

It was courtesy of the body butter that you’d slathered onto your skin after your shower. If he was being honest, he’d been more than a little jealous when he’d watched you apply it. The way your hands had moved, the care they’d taken to ensure that you didn’t miss an inch of your curves. 

He felt that it should’ve been his job. His duty to worship you like that. Ridiculous or not.

God, how did he get here?

Tonight you’d been confident enough to drop your towel with him in the same room. And although you hadn’t quite been able to look at him while you’d proceeded with the steps of your nightly routine, Ari had never been more proud. 

You were his sweet Bird. His fiery duchess. A little minx all rolled into one irresistible package. Which is why he couldn’t seem to leave you alone. It was a strange feeling. Especially since he was already convinced that you were going to break his heart.

Because for all of Ari’s gruff demeanor, all of his rough and tumble attitude, he was a man who was falling hard and fast for the one woman he knew he had no business hanging around. And yet, he could feel his chest bloom with pride every time you referred to him as being “your Beast”. 

Little did you know just how willing he was to fight for you. If you let him he would slay every dragon, lay waste to every insecurity, every problem that tried to block your path. All you had to do was say the word and he would make sure that no one and nothing ever dimmed your shine ever again.

Christ, how did he get here?

Ari knew he was doomed – that he was done – should you ever realize just how much power you had over him. And in this moment as he held you close enough to bury his face in your curls, he decided that he didn’t care. 

You could absolutely hurt him. Because it was you who held the real sword, the real power, in this so-called entanglement. 

In your sleep you allow yourself to snuggle even deeper into your Bounty Hunter’s warmth, completely unaware of how his big body shudders beneath your touch. Your hand comes to rest on his right pec as you smile, before muttering something soft and unintelligible. 

This man couldn’t help but love the way you talked in your sleep. He was pretty sure that made him a sucker, but he couldn’t bring himself to give a fuck. Not when your nude body was practically wrapped around him. 

“Shh.” Ari murmurs, dropping a comforting kiss upon your forehead. 

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t already dreaming of all the ways he planned to wake you the moment he felt the sun rise. Perhaps he’d start with your breasts, tasting each of your pouting nipples until they were left looking like sweet, ripe berries. 

And then he’d trail his thick fingers down, down between your luscious thighs to awaken your clit. Get you all slippery for him and his already aching cock. God help him if he was treated to your soft, breathy moans while he played with your body.

Or maybe he would gently turn you onto your back before spreading you open and politely feasting on your sweet honey. You were always so wet for him. Especially when he did this thing with his tongue that made your hips buck and writhe like crazy. 

It made him want to drown in you. Right now he couldn't help but fantasize about locking his brawny arms around your waist to hold you still while he ate his fill. He hoped you’d be loud for him. 

Because his dick got impossibly hard whenever you started begging. Thank goodness he was stronger than you – and faster too. Because you were a runner. Yeah, sometimes you could be selfish like that. 

Ari makes a mental note that he still has to teach you how to take your pleasure. Could take days. Weeks. Months. Possibly forever.

Goddamn it all straight to hell. Because how the fuck did he get here?

Because he took a job in a small, podunk town and was stupid enough to fall for the one woman who acted like she wanted nothing to do with him. The one woman who had the nerve to make his heart pump a little faster every time he got too close. 

What a fucking idiot. 

And yet, he can’t stop one of his large, lightly calloused hand from reaching down and palming the curve of your ass. Tonight he was going to pretend that he had some power too, some control over this situationship. That you were his just as much as he was yours. 

His eyes flutter closed as he shifts positions, turning onto his side so that he can drape his much larger form over yours. Sure, you might complain later, but at least this way Ari would know where you were at all times. 

You wouldn’t be able to escape. Run away and leave him behind. At least not while he sorted through his issues tonight. Tomorrow he’d just have to try something else. Who knows? Maybe fucking you into oblivion was the answer.

And while he was certainly open to suggestions, for now he would continue to lay here, inhaling your scent and trailing the path of goosebumps along your heated skin. He needs this. It helps him feel…balanced. 

Well, fuck. Right now, he suddenly knows exactly how he got here. 

Because you decided to trust him with you. And now, like an idiot, he was considering returning the favor. Instead of moving, he simply fixes the pillow beneath your head before closing his eyes and grinning. 

As of now, he was a man who was well and truly fucked. And, for the life of him, he simply could not bring himself to give a damn. 

“Goodnight, Bird.” He rumbles gently, the pads of his fingers tenderly stroking your hip. “And heaven help me when you realize just how bad you got me.”

END

@katymae12344 @identity2212 @hisredheadedgoddess28 @blackhawkfanatic @jamneuromain @queerqueenlynn @pono-pura-vida @daykrisr999 @jamneuromain @ninacutebee16 @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @emerald-writes @gh0stgurl @blogbog710 @sincerelytlh

[kifkay]

I love when magic has an effect on the body & soul of its caster. like!! you don’t get to be a reality-bending demi-god and walk away with no strings attached. there’s always a price.

Bloom’s dragon fire consumes her from the inside, leaving lightning-like tissues of scars along her limbs - be careful, rumbles the Great Dragon from within, don’t let your emotions consume you. Bloom wails from the pain and clutches whoever is in the vicinity - but cannot fully stop it. just prevent it or treat the aftermath.

Musa gets migraines. Stella becomes ill when she doesn’t get her daily dose of sunshine. Aisha’s senses get muddy sometimes, almost as if she’s submerged underwater. Nabu experiences uncontrollable tremors in his arms, when he creates too many of his phantoms. all of those are - yes, horrible to experience but manageable enough for the school (and the Magic community at large) to tell them to just suck it up and weather through.

once you get your enchantix though, you start developing… unique abilities. almost like, in achieving the final fairy form, you became one with your brand of magic.

Bloom starts producing smoke. Like - she snorts at something funny Riven or Sky say, and literal puffs of smoke emerge from her nose. It’s jarring at first (“Bloom Peters, when did you start smoking? do you know that it kills??”) but quickly becomes endearing once they realise it’s not life-threatening in any way (after speed-running through like fifteen Magix apothecaries). Among her other ‘oddities’: too hot to cuddle with (only Stella can stand the high temperature, since she has a resistance to heat), becomes strangely overprotective and a little possessive, her eyes sometimes become a startling orange hue as if she’s embodied by the great dragon himself (it’s just a party trick).

Stella becomes more ethereal. In certain lights, her skin looks translucent - like a mirage weaved with moonlight. Her hair glints in the sun, almost too bright to like at; her touch feels phantom-like. She becomes even more beautiful, but less - human, earth-bound, Stella-esque. A curse and a blessing, that one.

Musa’s hearing gets really fucking good. She has a steadily growing dossier of blackmail on every student in Alfea - simply because shut doors or longer distances are no longer obstacles for her. It’s annoying too, because she can’t exactly turn it off - and now she gets to hear all the things people say about her, behind her. but here’s a consolation - she can influence other creature’s emotions through the melodies she hums! like how in canon, she pacified the bird Roc and brought mirth to the arguing fairies.

Flora gets much sturdier. Her skin harder than bark; her body able to withstand thirst and hunger for much longer than the rest. It’s honestly so intimidating. Here’s this sweet young woman — known to cry for trampled flowers and cut weeds!! — absolutely bodying a sharp ass ice shard that Icy attacked her with. It just — crumbles upon colliding with Flora’s body. insane and frankly so so hot for others to see.

As per the negatives… I like the idea of Flora being able to connect to the memories of nature around her and literally absorb the pain/fear/anguish of whatever she witnessed.

Aisha and Bloom are similar, in a sense that both of them are vessels to primordial divinities of their universe — Bloom is the holder of the Dragon Flame, and Aisha is the child of the Infinite Ocean. therefore, both experience a more extreme transformation than their girl friends. like, Aisha’s dreams are infiltrated by visions of past and future; memories of those who were lost to the Ocean. she dreams of Politea, of Tritanus, of her mer cousins and ancestors, and even those who were not yet born. if Aisha was not so mentally wilful, she might’ve folded under the weight of those prophesies.

Aisha can also breathe under water and her body gets the musculature it needs to be on par with her mer cousins while swimming, because why the fuck not?

Tecna - I frankly have no ideas for and would love to hear suggestions!

[wishful-thinking64]

One Hell of an Unpopular Opinion #02

Note: This opinion is longer than the first one as I'm super passionate about this one compared to last time. Because of that it might come across as a bit of a rant. Side Note Regarding My Previous Post: I came up with a proper acronym for C.H.E.R.U.B. as I plan on using them in my rewrite for HB and what I came up with was the Capable. Habitual. Earnest. Reliable. Upbeat. Bureau. This took me all of two to three minutes to come up with. _______ Adina should've/should be in Hazbin Hotel's series due to how much she fits with the whole, "Heaven is corrupt," idea that the show is going for.

For context, Adina was a character from Viv's Zoophobia days who was featured in the scrapped Angels vs. Demons arc alongside Emily. That's right, much like most of the Hazbin Hotel cast, Adina and Emily were in the same Zoophobia arc too! However, unlike Emily, Adina's character was ultimately scrapped and replaced by Sera (by the way, you're not being clever with that name Viv) who is nowhere near as much of a threat as Adina was.

These three images ALONE already express so much about Adina as a character to the point where you can tell JUST BY LOOKING at them that if anyone were to try and convince this woman that her beliefs are wrong, they would probably either be murdered or tortured immediately. By the way, if that silk ribbon bow that Adina wears wraps around anyone that isn't herself, it not only reveals but forces demons (as seen by beta design Angel Dust) to RE-LIVE their MOST UNPLEASANT AND TRAUMATIC EXPERIENCES. And on top of all of this...

HER TRUE FORM WOULD'VE BEEN THIS GIANT ELDRITCH LOOKING DRAGON CREATURE! VIV, ARE YOU TELLING ME THAT YOU TRADED AN ACTUALLY GOOD VILLAIN WITH A GENUINELY BAD ASS FINAL FORM THAT FOLLOWED THE SHOW DON'T TELL RULE FOR ONCE ALL FOR A STATIC CHARACTER WHO'S FINAL FORM IS BASICALLY JUST A FUCKING BIRD!?!? ... Obviously, the answer to that question is yes. That being said, it will never cease to piss me off how or why the answer to that question is yes. Moving on, I heavily believe that Adina's character could still work incredibly well within Hazbin Hotel and to where you could still keep Sera if you wanted to. Simply, have her be Sera and Emily's mother. That's what I'm doing for my rewrite of Hazbin Hotel. To me it makes sense especially how Adina being Sera's mother would explain why she's so hesitant in stopping Hell's yearly exterminations. Although, that isn't exactly what I plan on doing for my rewrite you, reader, could use it for yours (if you plan/want to rewrite the show that is.) In conclusion, I'll never forgive Viv for replacing Adina with Sera because even if I wasn't a writer that was just a terrible decision to make. Like, you literally had all the material and potential there and you chose to scrap it. But hey, that's Viv for ya. Always scrapping good ideas.

[sinsirellaxx]

Five times the Rogue Prince made you cry

Daemon Targaryen x Reader

Warning: Daemon being Daemon, mentions of dubcon, angst and heartbreak?

Also: Not proofread – as always. Are we even surprised at this point?

The first time he had made you cry; was the second time you had met him. The first time you had met him was at a celebration at the Red Keep, his eyes had been glued to you the moment they had come across you. You weren’t sure what had drawn him to you, because you and everyone else were aware of his preferences – and you were nothing like the ideal woman that he was surely after. What you were sure of, however, was the feeling of discomfort and dread wash over you as his eyes burned into your skin. You had excused yourself early and parted from your friends and family before he had the chance to approach you.

After that, you saw him as he was invading your city, causing havoc and brutally cutting down everyone that came across him. Your wide teary eyes, filled with grief and hatred, had met his wicked ones before you turned around and ran. Ran until your legs burned – begging you to stop and rest. But you couldn’t. The sound of him hot on your tail haunting you and forcing you to push your muscles beyond their limits, scared of what he might do to you if he caught you.

The only thing that saved you that night was you jumping off a cliff and into the deep dark sea – lucky that you hadn’t hit your head on a stone upon breaching through the water surface. Before the Rogue Prince could reach the waters, you had managed to run into the woods and hide.

The second time he had made you cry was in the free city of Braavos. After having escaped that horrible night, you had not returned home to look for any remaining family – in fear of running across the Rogue Prince and having to face the reality of losing your family. Instead, you had traveled to Braavos to start a new life and to find the faceless men, for the world was not kind to helpless girls or women – you needed to learn how to fend for yourself. After weeks of trying to coax your way into the guild you finally made it into it. Moons pass by, before you cross paths with the Rogue Prince again. You don’t see him until he is just a few feet away from you, his hand reaching out towards you, his eyes filled with the same electric excitement as that night. You turned around just in time, stumbling back a few steps when your brain registered his Targaryen features. When you finally realized you turned around and ran, the blonde prince right behind you.

You felt a wave of nausea hit you at the Déjà vu, the situation so ironic that it made you want to laugh. You were thankful that you had spent a good amount of time exploring the city as you maneuvered through narrow alleys, pushing random objects to the floor behind you to slow the prince down.

Why was he here? Had he been searching for you? If so, why?

When you spotted the temple of the Faceless-Men your eyes lit up, but before you could relax the thought of luring a stranger to the guild to the temple would be fatal. You’d be in trouble with the Faceless-Men, and it was never wise to show your hideout to your enemy. Which is why you took a sharp turn, stumbling in the process. Fuck. Fear consumed your body when a hand shot out, grasping the back of your shirt with inhuman strength, pulling you back into the hard chest of your captor. You had lost. His strong arms wrapped around you, caging you in.

“I finally got you, little bird.” He chuckled into your ear, his hot breath fanning over your cheek like dragon fire, leaving a burning sensation in its wake. You had started thrashing around immediately; kicking your legs, pushing your elbow into his sides but nothing seemed to help – his grip was like iron around you. His embrace would be your personal birdcage from then on. The more you seemed to put up a fight, the wider the smirk on his face grew. As impatient as Daemon was, he quickly grew tired of your tantrum, the elbow that had managed to hit him in the face was the last straw. He quickly turned you around before bending down to throw you over his shoulder, his arm wrapping tightly around your thighs. He wouldn’t take any more chances. He would not lose you again. After walking across the whole city, he had stopped in the middle of nowhere. When you heard the screech of his Dragon you felt tears burn behind your eyes. You truly had lost.

When he heaved you up onto the dragon, a lone tear rolled down your cheek. When he climbed up behind you, his arms immediately wrapping around you possessively the rest of your tears followed.

“Let’s go home, riñītsos.”

The third time he had made you cry was shortly after the second time. Instead of King’s Landing he had taken you to Dragonstone, locking you into one of the rooms before disappearing for a few days. The maids had been the only people you had seen over those days. They had washed you, dressed you and fed you, before disappearing again. On the fifth day, the Maids had entered your room in a rush, carrying a beautiful gown into your chambers before ushering you into the bathroom. A weird feeling had spread through your body; the gown looked like a wedding-gown, the feeling of nausea rushed over you, weakening your knees and if you hadn’t been seated in the hot water you would have surely fainted. The urge to throw up had grown worse when you were seated in front of the vanity, the maids working on your hair and applying some kohl and tint onto your trembling lips. Afterwards you were forced into the beautiful gown, the corset was tied tightly, and you had wished for the corset to completely cut of your airstream and suffocate you. But fate wasn’t that kind.

The maids had left you after that, but you hadn’t been left alone for long as the Rogue Prince entered your chambers with a wide grin on his face.

“Gods – you look beautiful, riñītsos. Have you missed me?” He came to stand behind you, his chest touching your back as he pressed his nose into your hair, taking in your scent.

When you had stepped away from him, he tutted his tongue, pulling you towards him again. You had tried your best to avoid looking him in the eyes, but you couldn’t help but look up when you felt the feeling of cold metal on your neck and chest. Your hand flew up to touch the necklace, looking down to see the beautiful ruby gemstones encased by dragon claws. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” He whispered as you examined it silently. “It’s my wedding gift.”

At the word wedding your whole body tensed up again. You had immediately started protesting, your hands frantically trying to unclasp the necklace, but the prince had only chuckled at your pathetic attempt. “No? What do you think will happen, if you start running again, little bird? Do you really think that you can escape me? Escape from Dragonstone?” The silence that had followed was loud, followed by a low, haunting chuckle. He had been right. You couldn’t escape.

That day you had cried in front of the sept as you were bound to the man you feared most in front of his gods. That day you had cried yourself to sleep after he had defiled you – after he had greedily taken everything from you until exhaustion finally took over you.

The fourth time he had made you cry was when Daemon had stormed into your chambers, an unreadable look on his face as he approached you with big steps. You had been scared, your body still sore from the previous night but instead of bending you over as he liked to do most of the nights, he had kneeled in front of you – hugging your body and pressing his face into your stomach.

“My little dragon. Thank you, ābrazȳrys.” He had said, before pressing soft kisses onto your stomach, his hands squeezing your bottom as he took in a deep breath. “The maester informed me you’re with child, little bird.”

His words had made your heart skip a bit, the feeling of anxiety threatening to consume your nerves as your eyes widened in shock. You were pregnant with his child.

“You are mine forever, riñītsos.”

The fifth time you had cried was when you caught him kiss his niece in a dark corridor – the pregnancy hormones had messed with your feelings you had told yourself as you had run back to the safety of the room. You had cried and cried, clutching onto the front of your dress at your heart’s betrayal. You had fallen for your captor. And your captor had cheated on you.

[zapreportsblog]

Yandere Aemon Targaryen ( Jaehaerys 1 son)

❝you and I will rule together❞

✭ pairing : yandere aemon targaryen x reader

✭ fandom : game of thrones

✭ summary : aemon targaryen is a known as the ruthless prince and it’s a wonder to the people how he managed to get with a sweet young women such as (y/n), wherever she goes, he lurks in the background watching her every move.

✭ authors note : yeo I turnt his picture around and now it’s fucking with me 😭

✭ yandere masterlist

In the realm of Westeros, tales of the Targaryens had always been shrouded in mystery and intrigue. Stories of dragons, madness, and power were whispered through the halls of King's Landing. Yet, amidst the legends and blood feuds, one Targaryen stood out in a different way - Prince Aemon Targaryen.

Aemon Targaryen was known throughout the Seven Kingdoms as the Ruthless Prince. His demeanor was cold and calculating, his words sharper than Valyrian steel. His reputation for cunning, ambition, and a ruthless determination to achieve his goals preceded him wherever he went. Many pondered how such a man could ever find solace in the arms of a woman, especially one with a reputation as sweet and gentle as his wife, (Y/N).

(Y/N) was a stark contrast to her husband in every way imaginable. Her smile was a beacon of warmth in a world that seemed perpetually shrouded in shadows. Her kindness and compassion had won the hearts of all who had the privilege of knowing her. But what truly puzzled the court and commoners alike was how Prince Aemon, the feared and obsessed protector of his wife, could ever have found love in the first place.

Their union had been a source of endless fascination, for Aemon had always been notorious for his affairs and dalliances. He had indulged in passionate liaisons with countless women, including his younger niece, before the day he married (Y/N). Yet, as soon as their wedding vows were exchanged, a transformation occurred. Aemon's infidelity ceased, and the relentless pursuit of his desires turned towards his wife.

It was said that he had been obsessed with her long before their marriage, though few dared to speak of it openly. Some whispered that he had been captivated by her ethereal beauty, her radiant kindness, and her unwavering loyalty to him. Others believed that it was something darker, an obsession that consumed him entirely, making him willing to forsake all others for her.

Regardless of the reasons behind their union, one thing was certain: Aemon Targaryen was fiercely protective of his wife, (Y/N). Wherever she went, he was never far behind, though often he remained concealed in the shadows, lurking like a silent sentinel. It was as though he believed himself to be her unseen guardian, sworn to protect her from any harm that might befall her.

The courtiers of King's Landing often gossiped about the strange relationship between the Ruthless Prince and his sweet wife. Some speculated that he kept her locked away in their chambers, a delicate bird in a gilded cage. Others claimed to have witnessed tender moments between the two, glimpses of a love that defied the prince's reputation.

As the tales of Prince Aemon and (Y/N) continued to unfold, it became clear that their union was far more complex and enigmatic than anyone could have imagined. The Ruthless Prince had indeed been tamed, but the reasons behind this transformation remained hidden, buried beneath layers of secrecy, obsession, and the shadows that clung to them both.

The court of King's Landing was always abuzz with rumors and speculation about Prince Aemon and his sweet wife, (Y/N). Some said that their marriage was nothing more than a strategic alliance, a move to solidify power and alliances in the ever-shifting game of thrones. Others believed that there was something deeper, something hidden beneath the surface.

(Y/N) moved gracefully through the courtly affairs, her gentle smile lighting up even the darkest corners of the Red Keep. She was a beloved figure among the nobility and commoners alike, known for her charitable deeds and her ability to bring a sense of calm to the chaos of the capital.

But as beloved as she was, there was always a lingering unease whenever the conversation turned to her husband. Aemon Targaryen was a man of sharp edges and unpredictable moods. His obsession with (Y/N) was undeniable, and it was often the source of hushed whispers among the courtiers.

Whenever she attended social gatherings or events, Aemon's presence was felt, if not seen. He remained hidden in the shadows, a vigilant guardian who watched over his wife with unwavering devotion. Some found his protectiveness endearing, a testament to the depths of his love. Others couldn't help but feel a shiver of discomfort at the way he loomed, unseen but ever-present.

Aemon's transformation from a notorious philanderer to a devoted husband had been abrupt and mysterious. It was as though a switch had been flipped on the day they were wed, and his former pursuits were cast aside. No longer did he entertain the company of other women, no longer did he engage in reckless liaisons that had once been the talk of the court.

The court's intrigue only deepened as time passed. (Y/N) seemed content in her role as the beloved wife of the Ruthless Prince, but there were moments when glimpses of unease flickered in her eyes. Those who were closest to her noticed the subtle changes in her demeanor, the way her laughter sometimes sounded forced, and the hints of sadness that occasionally clouded her bright spirit.

As the court's whispers grew louder, one question remained unanswered: What had driven Aemon Targaryen, the Ruthless Prince, to forsake his past and become the shadowy protector of (Y/N)? What secrets lay beneath the surface of their marriage, and what price had been paid for their union?

The sun hung high in the sky as (Y/N) strolled through the bustling marketplace of King's Landing, her heartlighter than usual. The aroma of exotic spices, the calls of vendors haggling, and the vibrant colors of fabrics and trinkets surrounded her. Despite the lively scene, there was a persistent absence by her side, a shadow that never strayed too far.

"Sweet King," she whispered, her voice gentle as a summer breeze. It was the affectionate nickname she had bestowed upon her husband, Prince Aemon. She paused her steps, glancing over her shoulder towards the concealed figure lurking among the crowds. "Would you come out from the shadows and walk beside me today?"

Aemon hesitated, his silver hair concealed beneath a hood as he observed his wife from afar. He had always been vigilant, his eyes sharp and wary. But at her request, he reluctantly emerged from the shadows, his presence sending ripples of unease through the marketplace.

His tall figure materialized beside (Y/N), and for a moment, the people of King's Landing seemed to hold their breath. The Ruthless Prince, now visible in the daylight, was an imposing sight. But as his wife took his arm, her smile warm and welcoming, some of the tension dissipated.

As they strolled through the market, (Y/N) couldn't help but feel a sense of triumph. Her husband had a reputation as the ultimate protector, a guardian that lurked in the darkness. Yet today, he had yielded to her request, stepping into the light by her side.

Amidst the stalls and vendors, (Y/N) stopped at a jewelry merchant's cart, her eyes sparkling as she admired a delicate necklace adorned with sapphires. She exchanged a few words with the merchant and handed over a few coins, and he, in turn, reached out to give her the purchased item.

Aemon's watchful eyes never left her, even for a moment. He saw the merchant's hand brush against (Y/N)'s as he handed her the necklace, a seemingly innocent gesture of transaction. But to Aemon, it was an intrusion, an unwarranted touch that sent a jolt of anger through him.

Later, in the privacy of their chambers, Aemon summoned the merchant who had dared to touch his wife. The man, trembling with fear, stood before the Ruthless Prince, unaware of the storm that was about to descend upon him.

With a swift, merciless stroke, Aemon ordered the man's hand to be severed, a gruesome punishment for what he had perceived as an act of disrespect towards his beloved (Y/N). The merchant cried out in agony, his life forever altered.

When (Y/N) came to her husband with questions in her eyes, her voice trembling with concern, Aemon held her close, his arms a shield around her. "My perfect little dove," he murmured, his voice soft but filled with an underlying intensity. "I saw that man doing something unspeakable with his hands before he touched you. I couldn't let him near you."

(Y/N) was mildly horrified by the brutality of her husband's response, but she didn't doubt his words. She had always trusted Aemon's judgment, even when his actions seemed extreme. Nestled in his protective embrace, she nodded and whispered, "I know you'll always keep me safe, Sweet King."

The enigmatic shadows that clung to their marriage deepened, and the secrets that bound them together remained hidden from the prying eyes of the court. As they held each other close, Prince Aemon and his sweet wife (Y/N) faced a future filled with uncertainties, their devotion to each other stronger than ever, and their love veiled in mystery.

Late that day, as the moonlight gently cascaded through the curtains, Aemon lay beside his wife, watching her peaceful slumber. He couldn't help but be captivated by the delicate contours of her face, tracing his fingers softly over her features.

Whispering tenderly, he shared his deepest promises, his voice barely audible in the quiet room. "I'll always be there for you, no matter what," he murmured, his words filled with unwavering devotion. "When I am king, you will rule beside me as queen, sharing in the power and responsibilities that come with it."

His heart swelled with affection as he imagined a future where she stood by his side, their love a beacon of strength and unity. "By my side is your rightful place, your birthright," he continued, his hand resting gently on her stomach, envisioning a time when it would be rounded with their heirs.

In that moment, the room seemed to hold an air of anticipation, as if the dreams they shared were on the brink of becoming reality. Aemon's mind raced with thoughts of the legacy they would create together, a dynasty built on love and unity.

As he watched her breathing steady and calm, he felt a surge of gratitude for the woman lying beside him. She was not only his partner in life but also the embodiment of everything he held dear. Her strength, grace, and unwavering support were the foundations upon which his dreams were built.

With a gentle touch, he pressed his lips against her forehead, sealing his promises with a silent vow. In that quiet moment, Aemon knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, he would face them with unwavering determination. For his wife, his love, and the future they would forge together, he would give his all.

As sleep finally began to claim him, Aemon held her close, cherishing the warmth and comfort they found in each other's embrace. The night was filled with whispered dreams and the tender hopes of a future that seemed closer than ever before.

[sexiestpodcastcharacter]

Sexiest Podcast Character — Unscripted Bracket — Round 1

Propaganda

Pickman (Friends at the Table: Sangfielle):

She's a middle aged knight who is also a cowboy if the dragons/horses were evil and/or haunted and/or cursed trains! She went to (evil?) heaven and hated it BUT she was beloved by all the queer artsy women around. When she was a kid she got kidnapped by a train and lived on it for like 15 years before getting out and joining the people who kill trains. She has zero social skills, zero patience, zero charm, but she's SO hot and gruff and no nonsense and she Looms to be supportive

massive goat woman wearing armor made from the bones of a sentient train. kinda person to run a mcdonalds like it's the navy. went to heaven and said "fuck this, actually," invented pointillism and introduced evil fucked up trains to heaven and left. butch icon love of my life

SHE’S A GIANT BUTCH GOAT LADY WHO WEARS KNIGHT ARMOR MADE OF TRAIN PARTS AND HUNTS TRAINS THE WAY KNIGHTS HUNT DRAGONS. SHE’S ALSO A COWBOY. AND HAS A BIG GUN. SHE SPEAKS IN SENTENCES 10 WORDS LONG OR FEWER AND ROLLS HER OWN CIGARETTES.

She's butch, she's a knight, she has a big gun, she once convinced a skeleton to give her his sword

you used multiple fatt examples in your intro, so I assume you already Know

massive butch goat woman with a gun

HOT EMOTIONALLY DISTANT BUTCH GOAT TRAIN-KNIGHT

she's a goat! she's tall! she has a gun but doesn't know what a ranged weapon is! she's so autistic! AND she won my sexiest friends at the table player character tournament, she absolutely deserves to win this one too!!

Pickman is a big butch goat woman who smokes and fights supernatural trains. Self-explanatory

Have you seen her.

Giant butch goat knight who kills trains. The perfect woman.

She s so sexy shes a goat lesbian.please.

ITS PICKMAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

she's a gruff muscular goat woman who hunts trains and wears train armor, she's perfect butch husband/wife material

“Ah, that sexy trains podcast character” “You mean that sexy trans podcast character?” “🐐no🚂”

The Shadow Man ('Til Death Do Us Blart):

The Shadow Man is a conjectured entity found in the gaps of the script of Paul Blart Mall Cop 2 who seemingly exists to torture Paul Blart, Kevin James, the viewer, and particularly the podcast hosts. The closest to a canonical appearance we have is the pianist during the bird fight scene, but the Shadow Man's reach surely extends to every scene and every Blart watching experience.

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

Promise [a dragon!Ezra x f!reader fic]

Read on Ao3

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: Prospect

Pairing: Dragon!Ezra x f!reader (monsterfucker au)

Tags: Human/Monster Romance, Monsterfucking, initial dubcon (sort of a damned if you do damned if you don't deal), dragon fucks reader, Breeding, Oviposition, Stomach Bulge, PIV Sex, Loss of Virginity, Painful Sex, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, dragon!ezra is really good with his tongue, Squirting, All's well that ends well though, seriously I don't know how to warn for this fic guys, dragon biology is weird, DON'T LOOK AT ME! Light Bondage, drugging, pet names, I know I'm forgetting something help.

Summary: You are taken from you village by a dragon, and he has an obscene proposition for you.

Words: 7,446

You should have known to take cover when the birds stopped singing. You should have known when the sun was blocked out by a looming shadow gliding above you. You should have run for the trees, but you didn’t.

You barely hear the whoosh! before you're grabbed, a sharp claw pierces your shoulder and you cry out in pain, and then your legs leave the ground and you find yourself soaring above the ground, your basket dropped and left behind for someone to find, or not. You cry out from pain and fear, and you try to struggle, but the dragon is holding you securely with its feet, and the claw is still poking into your bleeding flesh. There is nothing that you can do.

Beating his wings in mid-air, he bends down, his large head right in front of you, and then he pushes his snout between your legs, and draws a deep breath. You shriek with fear and indignity, but he has already flicked out his long, forked tongue to taste your smell, evidently pleased, and is now flying off.

Knowing where it is he is taking you, your dread still grows when you see the dark castle perched upon the mountain. Seen in the distance on clear days, it has loomed over your village for centuries, out of reach and impossible to access by foot. That's the reason the dragon has survived for so long: no one can touch him. He swoops down a couple of times a year to steal a young woman who is never seen again. You grew up with the stories, saw him in the distance once as a young child, know three girls who were lost to the voracious monster. As you grew older, you heard the elders whisper of the dragon's appetites: he did not eat the girls, but ravaged them, then ate them. The thought was terrifying, not only because you were still unfamiliar with the art of physical love. You knew the mechanics of it, of course, you were a farm girl, after all, but had nothing but the sight of rutting animals to go after. The idea of a man doing the same to you seemed eerie, and a dragon... unfathomable.

Eyes tearing up from fear and wind alike, you start to shake as the dragon rises higher. The wound on your shoulder stings as he pulls you closer to his abdomen, as if to shield you from the cold. His scales are warm and soft, but you barely notice that. The castle comes ever closer, and he starts his descend over the courtyard. He releases you on the old cobbles but as you try to crawl away, he grabs you again, this time with his front paws, whisking you up against him with one arm and carrying you inside.

You have never been in a castle before, but don't pay any attention to the old, dusty decreptitude around you. When the dragon releases you in front of a fireplace which seems to be the size of your entire house, your first thought is to defend yourself against what is coming. You see a fire poker by the long-abandoned fireplace, and reach for it as you scramble to your feet. Brandishing it, you turn around to face the fiend that has stolen you away.

He is large, larger than a workhorse. Scales the colour of dirty sand and olives cover his back, neck, and the outsides of his legs and tail. His belly is a golden tan. His eyes are amber pools of intense staring at you, and above his right eye is a white scar, as if someone once pulled away several scales from his skin, and they never grew back the right colour.

He smells like red hot embers on a cold winter's night and when he hisses at the poker you're brandishing, you catch a whiff of blood and brimstone, but also something sweeter, flower-like. You hold the poker with two hands, ignore the twinge in your shoulder, and prepare yourself to fight to the death which, you are certain, will come very swiftly. Apart from fighting with your brothers when you were a little girl, you have never raised your fist at anyone.

The dragon regards you, his long neck muscles moving as he tilts his head, almost curiously. He starts as if about to lunge at you, and you raise the poker.

"Don't come any closer!"

He sits back, baring his fangs in a smirk.

"You cannot harm me with that poker."

His voice is smooth and smoky, and the fact that he speaks makes you halt. You lower your arms and the poker clatters to the stone floor.

"Please don't eat me," you whisper, a shiver running through you.

He scoffs. "You humans are barely tasty in a famine."

"What do you want from me?"

"I have a proposition for you. Should you not accept it, you can go, but be warned that nobody has made it down from the mountain alive." He seems indifferent with this fact.

"And if I accept?"

An almost sympathetical blink. "I would have to hurt you, but I would also reward you highly. If you survive."

You're afraid to ask, so you wait for the dragon to tell you what it is he needs from you. Your heart is drumming a hard tattoo against your ribs, and your mouth is dry, but you force yourself to meet his amber gaze.

"I need you to breed for me."

Your stomach drops and twists.

"What?" you gulp. Those molten gold eyes bore into you.

"I need you to be my broodmare. Dragons are rare for a reason, procreation is challenging enough for us as it is," he explains, as if you were in any state to understand what he was saying. "When no female dragons are available, we can impregnate human females, and have offspring through them."

"I would... carry b-baby dragons?" you stutter, the thought disturbing. The dragon gestures his head in a clear No.

"You would be an incubator for my eggs."

You must look confused, because he now sits down, and nods for you to do so as well. How your legs haven't buckled under you already, you have no idea. You sit down on the stone floor and pull your knees up in front of your chest, as if that could shield you from the horrendous affair you are being offered.

"When my kind goes for a long time, centuries, without meeting a mate, we change," he explains, voice serpentine with its sharp esses. "Males, such as myself, become capable of producing eggs. But the eggs still need a womb to carry them."

His eyes narrow a little. "You are untouched by man, are you not?"

The fortright question startles you so much that you just blurt out: "Yes."

"Yes," he hisses, now both sounding and looking very pleased. "I could smell your virginity."

"Is that what you did when you took me?" you ask quietly. "Checked to see if I'm a virgin? You can smell that?"

The dragon moves his shoulders as if he were shrugging. It looks eerily human.

"Only a maiden can bear dragon eggs."

You look down at your hands on top of your knees. They're dirty, the nails worn down by labour. You have worked from a very young age. Work is all you will know.

Is this your chance for something more?

"How would you reward me if I do this?" you ask, hardly believing yourself.

"I have throughout my long life procured considerable wealth consisting of gold and previous stones. You can have as much as you can carry, and more. I will personally return you to your village, or to any place you wish."

For someone such as yourself, who comes from nothing and will never amount to anything except someone's wife and the mother of a tribe of children, you could do worse. It's not that you're not scared, no, you're absolutely terrified.

But there's a tiny part of you that's intrigued. Maybe it's the part of you that denied the neighbour's boy a kiss, that spent a little too long hiding in the canopy of a tree when mother called for you to come and help with one chore or another, that takes the long road home from town just so that you can pass by the house of the village witch, the only woman you know who lives a life different from everybody else.

You are terrified, yes, but you agree. If this kills you, at least you will be able to say that you did something out of the ordinary.

"Yes," you say, looking into the dragon's eyes. "I'll do it."

He blinks slowly as he stands up and towers above you. His scales seem to glow as he bares his teeth in a way you cannot interpret.

"Come with me."

You stand up and walk before him in the direction he indicates, through a dark corridor to a staircase. The dragon nods for you to descend the stairs, and you do, until your reach a large, wooden door with rusty iron bolts. The dragon pulls the door open, and you step in.

If the rest of the castle is dark and decrepit, this chamber is luminous with polished gold candelabra, red velvet drapes, thick carpets that swallow your feet as you tread on them. The space is bigger than the biggest of homes back in the village, and sectioned into different areas. In one corner, there is a large, circular depression filled with luscious pillows and beautiful animal hides, and you realize that it must be the pit where the dragon rests. In another corner is a giant bed with a full canopy, all red velvet and golden tassels. You feel dizzy looking at all this wealth, but it's nothing compared to how you feel when you look over to the next section of the room.

There is a large oak table with chains and shackles in all four corners, chains hanging from the roof, a pillory, and a strange kind of chair with stirrups. When you realize what it could be used for, your face drains of colour and you have to sit down in the lush softness of the carpet.

The dragon, unperturbed, seems to expect this reaction. He slithers around the room, more agile than you'd expect considering his size, and stops to look at you.

"The bed is for you. I sleep over there." He nods towards the bolstered pit. "Be aware that I sleep lightly. Should you attempt to flee, I will awaken."

"I won't."

"That is wise. You will, however, want to."

It is not a threat, but a statement of fact. You slowly rise, your legs barely carrying you, and try to put on a brave face.

"Where do you want me?"

The dragon's tongue darts out to lick its lips. "You are eager."

"I want it over and done with."

He snorts out a hissing sound, almost like a chuckle. "It won't be done quickly. It is a process."

You frown, waiting for an explanation. He slowly comes up to you, fixing you with his gaze. Hypnotized, you stand still, even as he stands right in front of you. You don't move a muscle when he dips his head to the apex of your thighs, his tongue darting out to taste your smell. You don't breathe a word when he whisks you up in one clawed paw and takes you to the table. When he tells you to take your dress off, you obey without blinking. You're pliable when he bends you over the table, one huge clawed hand spread out over your upper back.

You only snap out of your passive state when he enters you, his member bursting you open with pain and humiliation. Your fingers claw at the table as you cry out, but you don't try to get away. You have decided to endure, and endure you will, even when the reptilian cock invades your inexperienced body, time and again, until the dragon snarls and you feel a wet heat spread within you.

The dragon takes care of your shoulder wound, treating it with herbs and binding it with cloth. He brings you food. You don't know from where, or how, but he brings you fresh fruit and berries, and the juiciest parts of cooked meat. He brings you cold water to drink, and when you have eaten and drunk, he takes you again. This repeats over what you think are the next few days. You eat, drink, sleep, and the dragon empties his balls in you to prepare you for breeding. He does not have to force you, but his size and lack of elegance does not make it particularly enjoyable for you.

You sleep in the large bed, larger than any bed you have ever seen, softer than the thickest sheep wool, and when you wake up, the dragon is there again, sniffing between your legs. You're naked on your belly, legs open, and you twitch when the long tongue flicks at your slimy folds. A shiver runs through you, but not of fear: this is something new, something unexpected. You have earlier felt a flicker of pleasure at the way the creature's jagged cock dragged through your tight hole, but you have been unable to verbalize it for him.

"Nearly done," the dragon proclaims, his breath hot on your skin. The rich mattress dips behind you when he climbs onto the bed.

"Wait," you gasp, looking back. He stops still and snorts in annoyance.

"Are you dishonouring our agreement?"

"No," you lick your lips nervously, "I just... can you..."

Embarrassment burns on your cheeks as you try to find words that you have never spoken, never thought you would speak to a creature such as the one behind your naked form.

"I think it would be more... en... enjoyable f-for me... if you... do that again?"

The dragon tilts its head as it regards you, eyes narrowing. You can't return his gaze, so you turn your face to the front again.

"With your... tongue," you whisper. "Down there."

He doesn't move, and you regret saying anything.

"Forget about it," you quickly shake your head. "It was nothing. Just forget it."

The mattress moves as the dragon's weight is redistributed, and then you feel his steaming breath against you anew.

"If it will make mating easier for you, I am obliged to make the attempt," he murmurs, before poking his snout against your sex. His tongue lashes out, wet and warm and quick, against your soiled centre, and you feel a titillation grow inside you. When he does it again, pushing his tongue against you and inside you, your breathing grows heavy. His tongue slides more easily than his cock, broad though it is, and its warmth feels comforting and soothing on your stinging walls. When he licks you again, he hits the little nub that you've barely dared to touch yourself, and a jolt of pleasure cuts through you.

"Oh!" Your gasp is filled with a surprised delight, and when you feel his tongue on you again, you push back shamelessly. Your fingers claw at the silk sheets, dirty nails looking so out of place on the expensive fabric, you stare at them in wonder as each lick provides a new sensation for you, a new limit crossed. Your eyes close as you bite down on your lower lip, whining quietly at how good you feel, how strange and adventurous. When the dragon stops, you protest loudly.

"No, please, don't stop, it feels so good!"

He grunts impatiently, but heeds your wish for more, his clawed hands grabbing your thighs and spreading your legs wider for better access to your core. You reward him with a loud moan when his tongue slides inside you again, wiggling and probing, before pulling out to swirl over that nub where the sensations are gathering. The intensity rises for each lick and you have no idea what will happen if he doesn't stop, you only know that you don't want him to stop, he must go on, you must find out.

"Please," you moan into the bedding, "please, more, don't stop, give me more!"

His agile tongue speeds up, saliva and spend mixing with your own juices as your muscles twitch. Your body starts to act in conflict with your brain, pushing and pulling, wanting to escape the barrel of explosives that seems to have caught fire deep inside you while also waiting, wanting for it to tear you apart. When the pleasure comes to a combustion inside you, your dripping cunt throbbing around nothing, you let out a wail that echoes through the chamber.

The dragon stops, sniffing with appreciation at your wetness before he mounts you, his long member piercing you promptly. He ruts into you, a groan emanating from deep within his chest, and you marvel at how different he feels, how good he feels when your cunt is still pulsating from your release. When he spills inside of you, he does so to your cries of approval. His growl lets you know that this was a new experience for him as well, and he enjoyed it.

Your cunt is full of his spend, and he sniffs at you after pulling out.

"Not long now, my breeder," he lets you know, and he sounds satisfied. You hum, gloriously exhausted and wondrous after your climax.

If this is how every time is going to feel like, you don't want it to end.

The dragon leaves you to sleep, and returns with provisions.

"You need your strength," he tells you cryptically, and you choose not to dwell on the meaning of that. When you've eaten, he takes you again, but only after slaking your need for another high.

The chamber lacks windows, so you have no idea what time it is, or how long you have been in the castle. You have rested more in the last day - days? - than you have in your entire life. All you do is sleep in the luxurious bed, eat fresh fruit and rich meat, and spread your legs for the dragon which, now that he has learned how to please you, is nothing but heavenly.

You awaken to a sweet ache between your legs, the thick cream that the creature has spilled inside of you creating a full and sticky sensation. And warm. You feel warmer than you ever have in your life, yet you are not sweating. It's like your insides are becoming to the dragon's eggs what the large canopy bed is to you: a snug, safe place to rest. When you sit up, your cunt oozes with the juice, much in the same way as your monthly bleeding, yet you are not uncomfortable.

The dragon is nowhere to be seen, and you suppose he is procuring provisions, wherever he goes to do so. Slowly, you inch out of the bed, looking around for your dress but not finding it. Instead, your take a sheet and drape it around yourself before slowly making your way around the room, exploring. The table, where he first took you. The pillory, the chair with the stirrups. That one makes you blush, even after what you have experienced so far. If you'd sit in it, and put your feet in the stirrups, anyone standing before you would see right up your -

The heavy door opens, and the dragon slithers in. He stops when he sees you out of bed, his nostrils flaring. You think you detect a whiff of smoke. The scar over his eye seems to shine.

"I was just looking," you tell him hurriedly. "I'm... curious."

"That much is evident," the dragon agrees as he closes the door. He then watches you as you walk over to the table, your hand reaching out to gingerly touch the shackles. You look at him, asking with no words. His amber gaze does not waver.

"Restraining is necessary in the insertion phase."

"Why?"

"Because it hurts."

A chill runs down your spine, and you ask no more. Instead, you run your fingers over the coarse iron of one cuff.

"It is getting to be the time," the dragon adds, and you nod.

"I suppose."

"Is there anything you need? Food? Water?"

You look up, see sympathy flash by in his eyes.

"What is your name?"

He frowns, like he doesn't understand the question, so you repeat it.

"You must have a name?"

"It's... Ezra. My name is Ezra."

"Ezra," you repeat quietly. The two syllables are soft and sharp at the same time. The name fits its bearer.

He emits a low sound, almost like a purr. You raise your brows at him, and he stops.

"I have not heard my name spoken in a very long time," he admits, lowering his head, as if embarrassed. You smile at him then, taken by the sudden show of vulnerability.

"Ezra," you repeat, and slowly make your way across the room to him. Up close, you smell blood on him, and see red splattered over his shiny scales. He must have eaten. You prefer not to think how, or what.

Tentatively, you raise one hand, placing it on his neck. It's warm and surprisingly smooth, with tough muscles moving under the skin. They twitch when you move your hand up his neck. Blinking, he softly meets your gaze before his eyes fall half shut as you caress his head and trail your fingers over the ridges that crowns his head.

Ezra's tongue darts out as he regards you, his pupils dilated. Standing in front of him, the air feels the way it does right before a thunderstorm: thick with crackling energy, buzzing, uneasy to breathe.

Without warning, he picks you up and takes you to the table, where he lays you down and peels you out of the sheet. He then parts your legs, and nudges his head between your thighs, tongue already flicking at your bud, like he's eager to please you. Your low hum of approval quickly rises into a moan when the dragon - Ezra - pushes his tongue inside you, reaching deeper than you ever thought possible. You can feel him touch some internal barrier deep in your belly, and you start to squirm as the pleasure borders on pain. Ezra's long, clawed fingers close around your thighs to keep you in place, and he pushes his snout against you. The ridges on the bridge of his nose and muzzle rub against you in the most delectable way, and you push back in search of the right spot, the one spot that will make you soar. Finding it, you shamelessly reach for his head, taking a firm hold and keeping him in place as you start to grind against him while he fucks your cunt with his tongue. Your climax arrives quickly, strongly, your wail echoing in the chamber. Ezra releases your legs and while you’re still trembling, your head thrown back and your eyes closed, he shackles you to the table. You barely even feel the first cold snap of metal around your wrist, but when both your hands are cuffed, you open your eyes to see him close a cuff around your ankle.

“Is this necessary?” you ask weakly, your heart missing a beat. Ezra’s nostrils flare as he looks down at you.

“You will hurt,” he tells you flatly. “Many before you have tried to escape.”

A shiver runs down your spine. Ezra climbs up on the table, and you see his cock for the first time. You can barely hold back a gasp.

It’s long, much longer than on any farm animal you’ve seen. The tip is almost pointy, and the underside of the entire length is ridged, much like his head is. No wonder it has been difficult to take.

But what really makes you stare is how the tip seems almost dilated, like the opening of an animal ready to give birth. It is only now that you seem to realize that not only will Ezra have to pass over the eggs to you: you will have to accept them into you, and that is certain to not be comfortable.

“Are you ready?” he asks tightly, like he is unsure of his own dedication to the endeavour. You whisper your yes, and he pushes into you.

“It will be a distressing experience for both of us,” he tells you in a low grunt, “and I wish I could promise you that it will be over shortly, but I would be lying. When my kind mate, we stay together for hours.”

You whimper, the chains holding you in place clanking a little as you move your feet. More accustomed to his size by now, you expect him to start fucking you like he has up until now but instead, he pushes further into you, reaching that limit inside you which you feel is the absolute boundary of what you can take.

He pushes pash, the tip entering your womb, and you wail, your thighs trying to draw together, shut him out, prevent him from going any deeper. But your legs are bound, and all you have is Ezra’s large hand on your thigh, stroking slowly as if to comfort you.

“Ezra,” you whimper, “it’s too much.”

“I know, my pet,” he rumbles low, “it hurts me too.”

Something pushes against your cunt, already full of him, and you sob loudly when Ezra jerks his hips, and you feel the unmistakable round form of an egg pass through his cock, lodged inside you. It’s splitting you open, and your press your eyes shut hard in a futile attempt at keeping the tears away.

The egg, roughly the size of that of a chicken, moves slowly, so slowly on its way to your womb. Ezra growls, the smell of sulfur grows stronger, and he presses your thighs down to keep your still when you squirm.

“Please, Ezra,” you plead with him, “make me feel good. Just a little, with your tongue.”

“I am afraid I cannot do that,” he grunts with remorse, “we both need to stay as still as possible for the eggs to safely make it into your womb.”

He lowers his head to your chest, licking around your nipples.

“But I can do something else for you,” he tells you before baring his teeth, and sinking his fangs into your soft breast. You shriek at the pain, panic budding in you as you kick against the restraints.

“You will feel better in a moment, my pet,” he soothes you with little licks around the wound. “My bite is venomous, and you will soon feel less pain.”

“You p-poisoned me?” you gasp, voice weakening already as the venom spreads in your blood.

“I only gave you a small dose to make you relax,” he promises, and then he gets a little blurry. Your eyelids feel heavy, so you let them fall shut as you surrender with a helpless moan, finding some comfort in the fact that the torment on Ezra’s face is just as real as your slowly dulling pain.

When the first egg finally settles into your womb, you’re still flushed and glistening with sweat, despite the anaesthetic. Ezra pulls halfway out, the ridges of his cock scraping at your slick walls, making you keen in sudden pleasure. He ruts into you a couple of times before lodging himself back at your core, and staying there.

You lose track of time and eggs. For each one that Ezra deposits in you, he soothes your stretched cunt with slow drags of his cock, teasing you just enough to keep going. He swirls his tongue around your nipples to alleviate your distress. You feel it as through water: everything is distant and muffled.

He's breathing heavily by the time he passes the last egg into your womb. His breath is hot against your skin, and when he slides out of you, he does so with a rumbled groan. He then sniffs at your swollen opening, tongue flitting at you, making you flinch and moan.

“Ezra…”

“It is done, my good breeder,” he murmurs, and you hear from his dazed words how exhausted he is. You lift your head. The world spins, but you can still see the bulge of your stomach. Blinking, you try to understand what it is you see. It is your stomach, but… it’s huge. You feel heavy, full, mangled. You want to ask Ezra how many eggs there are in you, but your tongue is thick in your mouth. When he releases you from the shackles, you remain where you are, spread-eagled, too dazed to move. He lifts you up and carries you to the bed, where he gently lays you down and covers your body with silk sheets and animal hides before you start feeling chilled. He then retires to his own pit, and you dimly hear him snarl as he collapses into the bedding. Only then do you succumb to darkness and a dreamless, deep sleep.

When you wake up, you are nestled against Ezra’s side, his tail slung protectively around you. The first thing you become aware of is his strongly beating heart, so close to your ears, and then his warmth. Your head is heavy and your body inflamed, and when you roll over onto your back, you become aware of your bulging stomach, and how the weight of its contents are pushing down on your organs.

The gasp that escapes you is filled with alarm, and Ezra is immediately there, awake, sniffing at your belly.

“You are okay,” his hushed voice reassures you. “The eggs are alive. You are alive.”

“Why wouldn’t I be alive?” you ask, unsure if you want to know the answer. Ezra slants his head.

“The previous ones died. Or the eggs died.”

You shudder, then try to sit up, but with a gentle push of his nose, Ezra makes you lie back down.

“You need rest, lots of rest,” he tells you. “I will bring you food and drink.”

“How did I get here?” you want to know. The last thing you remember was falling asleep on the bed. Ezra puffs out a breath, like he doesn’t know what to say.

“You joined me during the night. You came here, lay down next to me, and pulled my arm over you.”

You don’t know what to make of that answer, so you remain quiet. Shortly after, Ezra leaves to procure food for you.

Over the coming days, you are treated like a princess of the tales that your mother told you as a child. You rest, eat, drink, and only get up to go relieve yourself. Ezra carries you to the caverns underneath the castle, where you bathe in ancient hot springs. He fertilizes your womb continuously by fucking you, but does so carefully so as not to disturb the fragile eggs, and he pleasures you with his tongue each time.

Despite the tight, heavy burden in your belly, you have never felt better, been treated better, eaten better. Even with your elevated temperature and slightly dazed condition, you wouldn’t change this for anything else. Ezra dotes on you more than your own mother ever did, and you start to think that it may not just be because you are carrying his eggs. No, the dragon seems to actually like you, enjoy your company, your body. The way he goes out of his way to satisfy you, finding new methods to help you reach the blissful heights of ecstasy, the way he makes sure you are ready before he takes you.

“Ezra?” you ask him one night when you are curled up on your side, tucked against him.

“Yes, my pet?”

“How many are there?”

He knows immediately what you mean.

“Seven.”

You let that sink in for a moment.

“Is that a lot?”

“It is a lot,” he acknowledges. “The average is four.”

“Four?” Your head pops up, and Ezra hisses softly against your sudden movement. You lay your head back down and Ezra is at once at your belly, sniffing and prodding.

“Don’t do that,” you groan. “Stop poking it like that, it’s so uncomfortable. I can feel them move.”

He hisses again; a reprimand at your tone. You know by now that he doesn’t like it when you talk back at him – although you suspect that he secretly enjoys it, the same way he seems to enjoy it when you pull him into your sex. The way he takes you now is also different, less ferocious. He seems to derive pleasure from it, not just fucking you as a means of procreation. Since you were impregnated, you have slept next to him, finding his proximity reassuring. You imagine that he appreciates having you close by, as well, from the way he curls himself protectively around you when you lay down to sleep. He doesn’t seem to want to be away from you for long, always returning with your food as swiftly as possible. He keeps examining you, smelling your sex and your belly, clearly sensing the condition of the eggs, of which you have no perception at all. You simply carry their weight inside you, but you have no idea of how they are doing. Ezra, however, keeps close track.

You wake up from a nap with Ezra’s large head between your legs, sniffing and prodding.

“Ezra…?” you murmur, your heartbeats echoing in your cunt as his touch starts to heat up your core.

“They’re ready,” he tells you, amber eyes glowing as he looks up at you. “I can sense it, they’re all ready.”

You sit up, one hand on the curve of your abdomen as you wait for him to tell you how to proceed. He picks you up, gently, and takes you to the strange chair with the stirrups. The idea of baring yourself for him is no longer awkward: he has already seen all of you, touched you everywhere.

“This should provide you with the most comfort,” he explains as he helps you put your feet up. “It will also help with the passing of the eggs.”

You nod, unsure about what to expect. Ezra’s nostrils flare, he keeps licking his lips, and you realize that he’s nervous. From what you’ve put together, no one has ever reached this point of the reproduction process, so it’s perfectly understandable that he is worried about how it’ll go.

“It’s okay,” you tell him quietly, despite not knowing what’s about to happen. “I’m sure the eggs will be fine.”

His blinks in surprise at your words before sinking his mouth between your legs.

“I want you to feel good, pet.”

You surrender to his tongue, so familiar to you by now. When your body starts to tighten in preparation for your climax, you feel a pressure against the opening of your womb.

“Ezra…!” you keen, getting a growl in return.

“Let it go, pet, just let it go.”

Your pressure culminates with swift strokes of his agile tongue, and the massive compression slips through the tight mouth of your womb, your quivering cunt transporting it through the slick, craving canal. Reaching the final threshold to the outside world, the egg unexpectedly rushes you towards a new crest and is released in a splash of warm fluid. For a second you fear you’ve soiled yourself, but you cannot smell urine, only the warm, mossy fragrance of your own sex. Your legs shake as you draw a deep, trembling breath, and you hear a very pleased murmur from Ezra.

“A perfect egg. Well done, my sweet pet, well done.”

You catch your breath as he takes the egg to his sleeping pit, placing it on a soft hide and covering it with velvet blankets. He returns to you, sniffs at your belly and gives it a soft prod before curling his tongue around your nipples. You feel your blood heating again, the pressure against your core, and you moan Ezra’s name. He nuzzles your neck before licking down your body to your weeping cunt, where he once again start to coax a release, and with that an egg, from you.

Seven times does Ezra bring you to the stars, and when seven eggs are resting securely in his pit, you are annihilated. Your cunt is aching from pleasure and labour, you are swimming in sweat, your voice is lost due to your loud wailing.

You whimper when Ezra finally helps you down from the chair. Your legs buckle under you but you fall softly against the dragon’s strong, safe chest. He scoops you up and brings you to the hot springs under the castle. He brings you cold water to drink as you bathe and clean yourself, then takes you back to the chamber where he lets you sleep.

Once again, you wake up disoriented, and drag yourself to the pit where Ezra has curled up around his eggs.

Your eggs.

He grunts when you nestle in between his arms, but licks your cheek and resettles. Lulled back to sleep by the sound of his slowly beating heart, your last thought is of how you never want to leave.

It is clear to you that Ezra’s concerns have shifted from you to the seven eggs. He fusses over them like he did over you, and while he’s not dismissive of you, you know that the time has come for you to be returned to your village.

“When will they hatch?” you ask Ezra as you watch him re-swaddle the eggs.

“A decade from now.”

“Oh.” You’re more surprised than you perhaps should be, given what you have learned about dragons. “So it’ll be a while before someone comes down from this castle and calls me mother.”

He chuckles, a strange sound to come from him. You sit at the edge of his sleeping pit, hands folded in your lap, your old, threadbare dress feeling unfamiliar and uncomfortable after the time you’ve spent naked. Your cunt throbs in a distant memory of pleasure when you look at the dragon.

“Well…” you sigh, “I guess it’s time for me to leave.”

“I will take you to my treasure chamber,” Ezra immediately offers. “You can pick out whatever you want, however much you want.”

“I don’t… I don’t need treasure. What am I to do with treasures?”

He frowns, climbing out of the pit and sitting next to you.

“Are not treasures coveted by humans as much as by dragons?”

“Yes, but…” You bite your lower lip, your eyes fixed on the eggs. They’re the colour of wet sand, splashed with gold. They’re beautiful, and you find yourself hoping that they will make it. Ten years is a long time.

Ezra snorts, and you smell smoke. He seems agitated with you, so you stand up.

“I will take my reward and go back to my village,” you tell him stoically, knowing that there is no other way for this to end.

He brings you two chests of gold coins and jewels, and looking at them you know that the riches before you is enough to keep your entire village in comfort for the next hundred years. The thought is comforting, but you still mourn your departure.

“You are not happy,” Ezra notes. You blush a little, hoping he won’t think you ungrateful.

“I guess I’ve enjoyed myself here,” you confess quietly. “It has been… curious.”

“Would you do it again?” he asks you, and the answer is an easy one.

“Yes.”

“What if… you were to return next year?”

You lift your chin och look questioningly at him.

“My kind can lay eggs every year,” he elaborates. “If I should need a breeder next year… would you come?”

“I would.”

“There is a condition.”

“Name it.” Your heart is beating faster at the prospect of returning, and you are ready to do anything for the opportunity.

“Human semen will ruin a womb for dragon eggs. You must not give yourself to a man,” Ezra states, his tail twitching. “If you stay untouched by man, I will come for you next year.”

“As if any man’s cock would be able to satisfy me now,” you laugh, the idea as preposterous to you now as incubating dragon eggs in your womb was before you came here. Ezra’s lips curl up in a smile.

“You found great satisfaction in my cock, I gather.”

“And your tongue,” you blurt out, averting your eyes as you blush. Ezra lowers his head and pushes at your shoulder.

“Would you permit me to bestow upon you another parting gift?” he murmurs, his tail sliding over your leg. You swallow tightly, and nod.

“Then remove your dress.”

He takes you to bed, where he takes his time to satisfy you with his mouth. No longer driven by the need to breed, he instead revels in your moans and praises, listens in your gasps and pleads, denies you the release you crave, chuckles low in his chest when you curse his name, then attacks you anew with his tongue, lapping at your hungry cunt until you’re writhing and wailing in pleasure. As soon as you have caught your breath, you surprise him by reaching for his cock. Slowly, you pass your hand over the ridges of it, marvelling the heft of it and how your hand cannot reach around it. Ezra hisses low, like a purr, then growls when you kiss the tip of his cock.

“Pet…”

You look up, suddenly unsure of yourself.

“Is this wrong?”

He grunts, a ripple running through his scales. “Nobody has ever done that to me.”

“Does it feel good?”

“Yes.”

“Then I will do it again.”

You take the tip of his cock into your mouth and try to imitate what he did to you with his tongue. Ezra growls again, his tail slithers around you, his claws pierce the mattress underneath you. The salty, rocky taste of him grows strong as you take both your hands to your help, moving them along his jagged length as you twist your tongue over the flared head. Ezra twitches and claws at the sheets that rip with sharp cries. His hisses grow short and laboured, the taste of him grows overwhelming, but you don’t stop until he pushes you away.

“I… appreciate your efforts,” he wheezes, his cock twitching as you stroke it with a wicked smile on your face. “I would, however, prefer to let my cock know your tight cunt one last time before we part ways.”

“I would, too,” you agree softly, and let go of his cock before you turn around and get up on all fours. In one thrust, he drives in his whole length, then settles into a slow drag that tickles your cunt in just the righ way. His hot breath is on your neck and when you twist your head back, his warm tongue passes over your face. You part your lips and he slips his tongue inside. You taste pepper and moss, and you choke on your own moans when he pushes his tongue into your mouth. His forelegs are crowding you on either side of your arms, his cock is filling you, and when he raises his head again, his breathing is heavy.

“Harder,” you ask breathlessly, chin dripping with his saliva and yours. “Harder, more, please, Ezra.”

He obeys you with a growl, sliding his tail between your legs and pushing you down on it. As he ruts into you faster, your bud grinds against the scaly skin of his tail, sending sparks of fierce pleasure along your spine. You cry out his name, clawing at the sheets in the same way he is, pant your Yes! Yes! Yes! until you shudder all over, your cunt gushing in heavenly spasms. Ezra roars so loudly that your shoulders instinctively shoot up towards your ears. Your bones tremble with the low bass of it, and your cunt fills with his hot, sticky seed.

He licks you clean after, teasing your sensitive folds with that tongue that you’ve come to love.

“Are you not terribly lonely here?” you ask, drowsy after your release. Ezra’s tongue trails a wet path from your cunt to your breast.

“I will be now.”

“I could stay?”

“This is no place for you.”

You reach out a hand and caress his cheek.

“But you’ll come for me in a year?”

He blinks softly. “I promise.”

[crow-aeris]

The Moon's Virus: Lycanthropy

Many people claim to be capable of remaining calm under duress, to reason and think logically out of every situation and every possible bind, but most who say so are dirty fucking liars.

Jason can only watch in horror, nausea rising in his throat as he watches a woman scream for help, a blood curdling note that pierced the air as his fiery wings remained dormant. He wasn't allowed to help- hell, he wasn't allowed within 10 feet of an infected victim in case they lunged. As a human, like Barbara, Jason was required to stay inside at all times, armed with silver and wolfsbane. Dick, too, was benched because despite the aurae blood that whispered through the first robin's veins, Tim and Bruce weren't sure of whether or not it would be enough to save Dick from being turned into a werewolf.

-----

Gasps rose around them as the sky darkened, the air falling quiet as the birds fell into the dark-induced slumber.

Tim and Damian, with their eyes far more sensitive than Jason's, wore custom-enchanted sunglasses. Jason wasn't sure about how or what it did other than block out more sun, but that was besides the point.

But just before they could see the totality through, there was sound of screaming and bones cracking. Almost instantly, the crowd around them burst into chaos, with people stampeding and running over each other as a hulking wolf tore through the crowd.

"TIM!" Jason shouted as the Fox was driven away from him and Damian by the panicking people.

"Jason, we must go!" Damian hissed, grabbing the human's wrist and beginning to drag him away. Despite the dragon's small size, he was able to easy pull Jason along despite his thrashing and panicking, "Timothy is capable, and will not allow harm to befall him! You, if you've somehow forgotten, are human!"

"I-"

Seemingly fed up with Jason's resistance, Damian hissed and opened a Doorway before shoving the human through.

=====

This is an insight on my new fic up on ao3, and if any of y'all are interested, you can read the first chapter here

[insanitybl00m]

Tales From Under The Wisteria Tree Chapter 6 - The Tailor

Philza stayed awake. His brain was still shot with adrenaline. His brain was screaming danger danger danger. 

“Deep breaths,” he whispered. Missa was safe and that was all he cared about. Right now all he needed was for Missa to get sleep and he could rest tomorrow night.

The late hours of the night stretched into the early hours of the morning. Eventually, the sun rose above the horizon.

“Missa. We’re ok.”

“Good, now you can get some sleep,” Missa murmured, trying to grab at Phil to pull him into the mess of bedrolls and half-burnt cloaks.

“No silly. We need to get to the village. You need new clothes and I’m fine.”

“But it’s early~” Missa whined. He blinked open his eyes and gave Phil the most pathetic puppy-dog eyes possible. 

They really did need to leave. It wasn’t safe to stay in one spot for too long. 

“What would convince you to get up wisteria.” The nickname felt soft on the top of his tongue. 

“Wings.”

“What?”

“Your wings are soft, I want to hug them.” 

“And you promise you’ll get up?”

“Promise.” Phil sighed and extended his wings. Missa did the same thing he did yesterday when he first saw them and ran his hands over them, as if he was testing they were real, before resting his head against them. 

“Why do you like my wings so much?”

“They’re soft. And warm. And cozy.”

“Yeah, but they’re just wings.”

“They’re like angel wings.”

Waking up and getting to hug Phil’s wings was probably the best feeling ever. Missa would never get over how soft they were. 

“Ok, that’s enough of that,” Philza said with an awkward laugh.

“Fine. I keep my promises.” Missa slowly got up. He brushed his fingers through his hair. Burnt pieces of hair touched his hand. 

“Did the dragon fry my hair?” He asked.

Philza squinted at his hair. “It doesn’t look like it.”

“Feel it, idiot!” Missa grabbed Phil’s hand and placed it in his hair. 

“Oh. Yeah, the tips are singed.”

“No mames.”

“You still got the dagger?”

“I put it in my bag. Why?”

“It's the best thing to cut hair that we’ve got.”

“No. There’s no way you’re cutting my hair with a literal knife.”

“It’s either that or hair that’s burnt.”

Missa sighed. “Fine. Don’t you dare fuck up my hair.”

Phil laughed as he moved to grab the dagger from Missa’s bag. “You trust me to save your life but not to cut your hair.”

“Nope, don’t trust you with my hair.”

Another laugh. “Liar.”

“Just cut my hair bird boy.” Phil did, carefully cutting off burnt hair.

“Can I even it out, like, making it all normal.”

“Yeah.” And so he did, hair kept falling and Missa’s long hair became much more mullet-like. 

“All done?”

“Yep.”

Missa grabbed his bag. “All ready to go?”

“You realize that you can’t just leave the hair lying around. You do realize that locks of hair are a part of fae courting rituals right?”

“They’re what?”

“Have you read the entry on fae?”

“Not yet…”

“When you get the chance you should.”

“So where is the hair going to go?”

“I’ll keep it here,” Phil held up a small bag. “If that’s ok with you of course.”

“Sure.” Phil took the hair and put it in the small cloth bag.

Phil had to tuck his wings under his shirt, which was much more uncomfortable than hiding them under a cloak. But Missa was still clinging onto the shreds of his cloak, not that it would do much anyway.

The pair made their way back to the village in a few hours, getting a few weird stares probably due to the state of their clothes.

“Do you know the way to a tailor?” Missa asked a young woman who looked them both up and down before answering.

“Uh, yeah. Left at the fountain in the town square. A big sign that says ‘Roier’s Woven Wonders’.”

“Roier’s place! Oh, I’ve met him before, he’s a great tailor, C’mon Wisteria.” Phil tugged on Missa’s arm and they took off towards the town square. 

“Who’s Roier?”

“You’ll see!”

“This better be good,” Missa grumbled.

“Trust me you’ll love him.”

When they stopped outside the shop Missa had to admit that the dark brick stood out against the rest of the shops. It was decorated nicely.

“Oi Roier!” Phil yelled as he entered the shop.

“Felipe? Felipe Craft? No mames!” A tall, wiry man appeared from seemingly nowhere and tackled Phil in a hug.

“Hey mate, long time no see!”

“Who’s this?” Roier said, finally looking at Missa.

“Oh, this is Missa.”

“I thought we weren’t using names with strangers?” Missa asked, confused.

“Roier isn’t Fae.”

“Fuckin cursed by them,” Roier said. “But that’s not what you two are here for. You need clothes.”

“How did you– Oh right our clothes are ruined,” Missa said. 

“Dragon?” Roier asked Phil, who sighed before responding.

“Unfortunately.”

“You came to the right place then. Set up a shop since you last saw me. Putting my skills to good use.”

“I see that, how’s Cellbit?”

“Good, he’s with Bagi.”

Missa was left confused as the conversation drifted towards things he had no part in. 

Phil mentioning his name is what clued him in that he should start listing “–Missa and I need clothes made of spider silk.”

“You do realize that you want six outfits made out of spider silk. That would take me months to make enough string for that.”

“What’s spider silk?” Missa interjected.

“The highest quality silk in the world,” Roier explained.

“Why do we need spider silk clothes?”

“Temporary precaution in case we get stuck in the Underdark,” Phil explained.

“Get stuck where?” Missa asked.

“Underdark is the realm of nightmare creatures,” Roier explained.

“It’s only a precaution. It will keep us warm enough in the underdark but it will also help at night too.”

“The most spider silk I can spare is for your cloaks and a basic set of clothes for each of you.”

“And you have normal cloth right?” Phil asked. 

“Ay Felipe,” Roier turned to Missa. “Can you believe him? Your husband is trying to rob me of everything I’m worth.”

“Husband?” Missa asked.

“Wait Phil–” Roier started.

“Last time we met I told Roier I was done traveling until I found someone to share my adventures with. He must have assumed that meant a husband, right Roier?”

Phil shot Roier a pointed glance.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry about the assumption. I’ll need measurements for each of you. Once I have those I should only be an hour.”

“An hour?” Missa asked.

“Speedy hands,” Roier said with a flourish. “Phil, you first.”

“What the hell was that bullshit? Not your husband? I could smell the bond on him from a mile away. You gave him fae food?”

“Roier you don’t understand–”

“You think I don’t understand how fae work?” He pulled up his sleeve revealing a sigil branded onto his arm. Phil winced and looked away. “I’m eternally bonded to one. I know the signs.”

“He gets to choose.”

“But to all fae you meet, they will see the two of you as partners.”

Phil felt his cheeks go warm. “Yes.”

“So, what’s next?”

“I court him the human way. If he rejects me then I break the bond.”

“That sucks dude, human courting is weird.”

“Weirder than exchanging names, eating food, and gifting locks of hair?”

Roier laughed. “I know your clan is weird about the idea of ‘kidnapping’, which by the way isn’t kidnapping.”

“It is–”

“Don’t care, anyway look at him, he’s literally clinging onto the cloak you gave him.”

“He’s cold.”

“That shred of fabric ain’t warming him up but keep believing that if you want.”

“He knows about my wings,” Phil said his brain had lost its filter. 

“Oh?”

“He didn’t run away screaming.”

“You want me to design some slits for your wings in the back of your clothes? That way they can still be covered by the cloak but more comfortable than normal stuff.”

“That would be great, you have no idea how many shirts I’ve ruined by making slits for them.”

“I’ve already got the measurements from the last time you visited, you should be good. I just needed to get you to fess up about your crush on your little human.”

“Shut up.” Phil paused. “Can I ask you for a favor though?”

“Always, you’ve only saved my life like twice.”

“Add some green designs into Missa’s clothes for me.”

Roier muttered curses under his breath. “You think I’d learn to not blindly accept deals with fae.”

“He should be ready to take your measurements now,” Phil said after leaving the backroom.

“Thanks,” Missa said.

“Close the curtain behind you.”

“Okay?” Roier took off his jacket and revealed a… second set of arms?

“Fastest sewer in the world.” He said, flexing his arms.

“I bet. How did you…”

“I was cursed by a fae. Became an arachnid. Basically a giant spider beast. When I got turned back I was left with these. Curse residuals. Nothing can get rid of them. I’m also eternally bound to the fae who cursed me.”

“Bound?”

“This thing on my arm: it’s the mark of my curse.”

“Oh wait, spider beast. Spider silk!”

“Yep, now let me get your measurements.” Roier took his measurements surprisingly quickly. His extra set of arms really did make him a better tailor. “Done, now you can go wait outside with Felipe.”

“Ok.”

Phil was sitting down on a bench, he was writing a new entry in his journal of the fae creatures.

“What’s that one about?”

“Fae curses, specifically ones that transfigure humans.”

“Like Roier?”

“Yeah…” He let out a yawn.

“I told you that you need sleep.”

“I’ll be fine.” Another yawn.

Missa took the journal out of his hands. “You’re sleeping, you need a break.” He sat down next to Phil.

“Where?” Missa sighed and moved so that he could be a comfortable pillow. When Phil rested his head on Missa’s shoulder he felt Phil relax a little bit. “Thank you.”

“I’ll read that entry on Fae you were talking about.”

“M’kay.”

Fae (General)

Also known as Faery, Fairy, tricksters, Elven folk, or Magical beings.

Most Fae fall under a different classification, such as changelings for example. 

This is an overview of most Fae. Separate classifications will be separate entries.

Fae are tricksters. At the end of the day, they put themselves and their clan above all else.

Clans are a sense of family. Although there are many clans most specialize in certain areas.

For example, the king’s clan specializes in trickery, maintaining balance, and helping other fae.

His ‘children’ (faelings in his clan) are helpful but they tend to follow their father’s more mischievous tendencies.

Clans can be quite small with a singular head of the clan or they can be quite large with up to five heads per clan.

Fae are immortal. With few exceptions to this, most Underdark creatures can kill fae. Venom, dark sabers, etc. Fae born in the Underdark are truly immortal, but a fae born in the Underdark is very rare considering how dangerous that realm is for Fae. They look very different from normal fae.

Most Fae have wings. Butterfly wings, Dragonfly wings, or any other type of insect wings are common. Bird wings are rarer. And the rarest are dragon wings. Dragon wings are exclusive to Underdark fae and Dragonborn fae. 

Fae and Humans

Fae are known for their unique relationship with humans. 

Fae food, gifting names, and giving locks of hair are way to bond yourself to a fae. 

-Fae food can send you to fairyland but it can also bond you to the person who grew/made the food.

-gifting names. Don’t share your name with a stranger . However, if a fae gives you their name and you give yours in exchange it can be seen as an act of courting.

-Locks of hair are special. They must be willingly given and often used when negotiating a deal with a fae.

Fae food that sends a human to fairyland must be given. Not sold. If anything is given in exchange for fae food it nulls the ability for it to transport humans.

Fae partners are often called “beloveds”. Beloveds are immune to aging. They will not die of old age however they can still die by any other means.

Fae Courting

The strength of the bond goes as follows, from weakest to strongest. Names exchanged, food given, hair exchanged.

Often the hair that is exchanged is used in a ceremony called handfasting. Ribbons meant to represent the couple are braided together along with the hair that was exchanged. It is used to represent commitment to each other. Hands are bound together using this braided rope. 

This ceremony officially declares that a human is now a beloved. Most fae do not consider this ceremony a requirement to consider themselves partners.

Certain clans have rules about the courting of humans. These clans may specify that the human must be in full agreement of the bond before they are able to travel to fairyland. Some exceptions to this can be made but these clans strictly forbid the capture of humans for servitude.

To these clans humans are special. They may be more overprotective around other fae and more “claiming” may be involved. Claiming means different things to different clans but most bonded have a significant mark. A tattoo, a charm, a necklace; something to remind other fae around that the human is theirs.

Missa sighed. His brain was overwhelmed with information. He felt the emerald still in his pocket from earlier. He carefully took it out, careful not to disturb Philza who was still fast asleep on his shoulder.

The gem was almost like a teardrop. However, it still had jagged edges like it had only been smoothed partially. It would make a perfect necklace. He reached into his bag and fished out his pocket knife, he probably should have asked Phil to cut his hair with this rather than a dagger.

He angled the knife and started to carve out a small hole towards the tip of the teardrop, just thick enough to slip a small piece of cord through. He carefully untied a string of his bag and threaded it through the tiny hole, making the gem hang from the center. While he was tying a knot, one of those adjustable ones, Roier stepped out of the backroom.

“All done!”

“Has it really been an hour?”

“Yep. How’s the sleepy head?”

“Well, he’s asleep.”

“You should make sure the measurements are accurate.” Roier handed him the stack of clothes. “Everything should fit but make sure to try on both the spider silk and the normal outfits. The material could fit differently.”

“Okay.” Missa carefully stood up, only moving Phil a tiny bit. It didn’t really matter though, Phil was fast asleep.

He went into the back room and changed into the outfit made of spider silk. Roier was right, it was warm. It also fits perfectly. Roier really did know how to make clothes. He then tried on the normal clothes next. They weren’t as soft as the spider silk but they were much more breathable.

Missa looked at himself in the mirror. The pants were black and the shirt was a deep blue. The sleeves had green designs and they resembled flowers, if Missa squinted he could also see hearts and feathers incorporated into the design. He also admired the cloak which was made of spider silk. It had a similar design as the sleeves, but the green slowly blended into the rich purple of the cloak.

“Is this good?” Missa asked, stepping out of the back room.

“Much better.”

Missa looked towards Phil. “He’s still asleep huh?”

“I can wake him up!” Roier offered, eager to annoy his friend. 

“No, don't! He barely slept last night.”

“Then do you want to come upstairs? I’m sure Cellbit left some tea lying around somewhere before he left.”

“That would be great.”

Missa noticed the necklace he left on top of his bag. He tucked it into his pocket before he followed Roier up a small set of stairs towards the back of the shop.

“Pepito! We have guests!” 

“Apa Roier!” A small boy yelled before grabbing onto Roier’s leg.

“AY!” Roier picked up the boy, “Pepito, Pepito, Pepitooooo! Did Apa Cellbit leave some tea in the kitchen?”

“Mhm, and some cocoa powder! Can I have some?”

“What’s the magic word?”

“Please?”

Missa was suddenly struck with an overwhelming amount of homesickness for Chayanne. 

“Alright I’ll boil us some water, go draw Pepito, I’ll call you when yours is ready.”

“Thanks apa!” The boy bounded off for another room down the corridor. 

“Sorry about him.”

“No, no, don’t be. My son is the same way.”

“You have a son?” The two made their way into the kitchen. 

“Yeah, he’s seven. Had my friend watch over him so that he’d be safe.”

“Pepito is four, a bundle of energy, but he tends to put it into his drawings.”

“Chayanne is the same way.” Missa laughed. “Except he uses his energy to try and fight his friends with wooden swords. Nearly gave me a heart attack the first time I saw him fighting.”

Missa smiled at the fond memory. His son was roughly the same age as Pepito when Missa caught him making a wooden sword. He smiled and said “Look, papa! Now I’m like you!” Missa nearly cried that day.

The sound of boiling water distracted him from his memories. “Shit.” Roier quickly poured the water into three mugs. He was adding tea to two and cocoa powder to another. 

“Pepito cocoa!”

The three sat down at the table, Pepito’s legs swinging back and forth. “Hello Mr.”

“Hi pepito.”

“What’s your name?”

“Missa.”

“Great! Apa, Mr. Missa has very pretty clothes. Did you make them?”

“I did Pepito, why?”

“I want you to make me pretty clothes!”

“Pepito, I already made you plenty of clothes.”

“But I want flowy ones like Mr. Missa’s.” The four-year-old pouted. 

Roier let out a laugh. “I’ll make you flowy ones.”

“Yay!” Pepito went back to drawing on the blank paper with crayons.

“What’s that?” Roier pointed at the cord falling out of Missa’s pocket.

“Oh. Nothing special.” He took it out of his pocket and put it on the table.

“Who’s it for?”

“Who said it was for anybody?” Missa sputtered.

“You just don’t strike me as the type of guy to wear jeweled necklaces.”

Missa paused, he should not be asking Roier if— “Does Phil like these types of necklaces?” He was done for.

Roier’s grin turned sharklike. “I bet he’d love it. But you should use a different material for the cord.”

“Like what?”

“Let me go grab some.” Roier stood up and headed into the hallway.

What was Missa going to do while he waited? Pepito was distracted drawing. Roier had left. Tea. He’d drink his tea. 

“Got some!” Roier came back into the room with a handful of ribbon. “Purple and green ribbon. You should braid them together, it’ll go with the clothes I made him.”

“Oh. Okay.” Missa took the ribbon from Roier and braided the ribbon together. It looked rather pretty when he was done with it.

“Now you can take that plain cord out and replace it with this! Much more personal don’t you think?” 

“Yeah.” Missa admired the necklace. It did look a lot better this way. 

Phil blinked his eyes open. Did he really fall asleep? Missa was right, he really was tired. “Missa?”

He looked to his left. No Missa.

“Missa?” He said, this time a bit louder.

“He’s upstairs with me Felipe!” Roier called. 

Phil noticed the stack of clothes on the table in front of him. He had to check on Missa first. 

The first thing he noticed was the necklace on the table, then Pepito, and then the designs on Missa’s clothes. Then the wicked grin on Roier’s face. That mother fucker.

“Hi, Pepito. How are you, buddy?”

“Hi Tio Philza, I’m good.”

“I left your clothes on the table downstairs,” Roier said. 

“Oh yeah, I noticed that.”

“They’re really comfortable,” Missa said. “You should change.”

“Oh ok.” Phil instantly walked downstairs and changed into normal clothes. Missa could ask him to do anything and he’d instantly do it. 

The clothes looked like Missa’s. Roier even added similar detailing on the sleeves, except his was purple and the main color of the shirt was a deep emerald green.

The slits in the back fit his wings perfectly. He grabbed his cloak but he decided not to put it over his wings. He would give them a moment to stretch. 

When he came back upstairs he noticed Missa’s trailing eyes staring at his wings. “So uh, what’s happening guys?”

“Nothing much,” Roier said. “Waiting for you to wake up and then Missa showed me something he was working on.”

“Roier!” Missa shouted, pulling the necklace off the table.

“Show him it!” Roier urged. Phil pretended like he didn't see it. 

“Fine, I will.” He pulled out the necklace and handed it to Phil. “It’s for you. I got the emerald from the dragon’s hoard. Roier gave me the ribbon.” Missa was hiding his face from Phil. 

“You’re welcome,” Roier said before standing up and grabbing Pepito. “I’m going to put him down for a nap then we can discuss payment.”

Phil still hadn’t said anything about the necklace. When he took a peak at Phil he wasn’t standing across from him. “Can you put it on, I can’t quite reach.” Missa nodded and tied it, face still hot. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

“No problem.” He stuttered as Roier came back into the room.

“Alright, Pepito is asleep. Now Phil, spider string outfits are going to cost you. The rest are free but I can’t give out premium outfits for free.”

“15 gold.”

Roier barked out a laugh. “Are you insane? I charge that much for a normal shirt. 100. Each.”

Phil scowled. “150.”

“I’m giving you a deal on 100 each, the lowest I’ll do is 175 for the two of them.”

“Fine. My bag is downstairs.” They all headed downstairs and Phil pulled the money out of his bag. “175. As you asked.” Phil threw his cloak on, careful to hide his wings. “See you around again mate.” 

“Hope you two have fun on your little adventure,” Roier said with a wave. 

“It was nice meeting you, Roier,” Missa said as he also put his cloak on, mirroring Philza.

“Bye, mate,” Phil said before they left the shop. 

“Three hours until sundown. We should have enough time to get out of the area and set up camp.”

“Why do we need to leave so soon?”

“Just a precaution. The scent should be thrown off by the change of clothes and the amount of people around us in that village but I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

“Ok.”

About an hour or two later the sky was turning almost pink. “This should be good right?”

“Yeah, I spotted a river nearby too.”

“I’ll set up the bedrolls if you want to get a bucket of water for the fire.” Phil nodded, set down his bag, and left for the river with a bucket in hand. 

Missa rolled out the bedrolls, and gathered some firewood, before sitting on his bedroll to take off his cloak. He put it down next to him as Phil got back.

“Wow you got firewood and everything, that’s great!”

“Mhm.” Missa scratched at his hair, despite all the burnt pieces being cut off he could feel some ash still clinging to the roots of his hair.

“What’s wrong Wisteria?”

“Nothing.”

“You seem uncomfortable, is there anything you need?”

Missa sighed. “My hair feels a little dirty but it’s fine I swear.” 

“I could help you wash it, we’ve got the water anyway.” 

“Isn’t that for the fire?”

“It’s warm enough out tonight. We should be fine without one.”

“How would you even wash my hair? I don’t have any shampoo or anything, I've been using stuff from the inns.”

“I’ve got my own shampoo, don’t worry about how I’ve got it all taken care of. If you want me to, I will.”

Missa considered it. He did trust Phil. He did want his hair cleaned. But was this too much? This was a lot. But Phil offered. He didn’t have to do that. He probably wouldn’t have offered it if it had been an inconvenience for him.

“Fine.” 

Missa had agreed to let him wash his hair. His brain was yelling thousands of things at him but he had to drown them out. He needed his shampoo and brushes, so he grabbed them from his bags. He wanted Missa to be comfortable. 

“Over here should be good.” Missa followed Phil and sat down next to him. “The water is going to be a little cold but I’ll do my best to avoid getting the water in your eyes. Can you lean back a little?”

“Yeah.” Phil splashed some water until he could lather on the shampoo. “You know I used to do this with my son, especially when he was younger. He’d complain that I washed his hair better so I should just do it for him.”

“Yeah?” Phil started to scrub at Missa’s scalp. It was a calming feeling, knowing Missa trusted him this much. Not only to allow him to wash his hair but to share stories about his son.

“He loves to be babied sometimes. He puts on this strong facade but at the end of the day when it’s just me and him he just clings to me like he’s little again.”

“That’s really sweet.”

“He has this huge bedroom, it’s honestly bigger than mine. But for years he would crawl into my bed in the middle of the night. Eventually, I just started putting him to bed in my bed then I’d clean up the house a little and head back to bed. Now his bedroom is basically just a huge playroom.” Philza leaned Missa’s head back so he could rinse off the shampoo. “I miss him a lot.”

“I bet. He sounds like he’s your whole world.”

“He is.”

“You mind if we go back to the bedrolls, I left a small towel in my bag and your hair kind of needs to be dried a bit more before I can brush it.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I already have my brushes out,” Phil said as he helped Missa up. 

The two made their way over to the bedrolls and Phil dried Missa’s hair.

“Are you sure? My hair always tangles because of how long it is.”

“Believe me, I’m sure Wisteria.” Phil touched the emerald that hung at his neck.

“Do you mind if I tell you more stories about my son, it feels good to talk about him.”

“Of course, I love hearing them.”

Missa laughed, before launching into a tale about the time his son got stuck in a toy bin. Philza just listened as he brushed through the knots that had somehow formed in Missa’s hair.

“Do you mind if I tie your hair up? Like half of it, so it stays out of your face while you’re sleeping. I always hate it when my hair is in my face.”

“Do whatever, I’m getting a bit tired though.” Phil reached into his bag and found a bit of purple and green ribbon in there. Roier must have slipped it in there while he wasn’t looking. He took a bit of the green ribbon and used it to tie up Missa’s hair. He then took a small section of hair from behind Missa’s ear and braided it. Slowly whispering the words of a charm he had used so many times before on his kids' hair. 

Protect this one I love.

Protect them from the kiss of death.

Save them with the love I have woven,

And let them stay with me for a little longer.

The charm set with a green shimmer. It wouldn’t unravel unless there had actually been a brush with death. 

“Ok done.”

“Thanks, Cuervo.”

“I’m glad I was able to help.” Missa turned to face him with a soft smile on his face. 

“I’m going to get some rest, you should too.”

“Ok, goodnight Wisteria,” Phil said as he packed the extra supplies in his bag before lying down.

“Goodnight,” Missa murmured. He was already half asleep.

[al9ayf]

ᥫ᭡ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐫 | trafalgar law x f!reader

✧ chapter 1 :: winged shadow

｡˚ summary: dragon queen reader decides to ally with trafalgar law and monkey d. luffy after the defeat of doflamingo, but you find yourself falling in love with the captain of the heart pirates.

(reader is "loosely" based off khaleesi from got)

law might be a little ooc just a litttleeeeeee

｡˚ word count: 3.4k

throughout all of the summer, the skies were blue—clear, blue skies. always shining, always hot. but today it was grey. so grey that the grass appeared to have no color. nothing had any color. it was all drained. even your face had been drained of all color. trees were drained of their vibrant greens, and birds of different colors all became dark and solemn. it felt empty—as if the earth was dying.

the funeral pyre burned with dragon fire as you stared into it with nothing but sadness in your eyes. you stared into nothingness, straight into that blazing fire. it crackled and spat bits of flame around. it was the only sound you paid attention to. yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to cry. you stood there with your hands intertwined, not moving one bit. this was your mourning. you were to not be disturbed until you made the first move.

after a violent battle between your husband and an enemy, he suffered an almost fatal attack to the heart. but in the final blow, he killed his attacker and later on suffered the consequences of the attacker's hit. and while he was dying you were giving birth. in the end, you lost both your husband and newborn on the same day. all forty thousand of his men stuck by you. you were their sole salvation.

finally, you turned around with tears welling in your eyes and a face that only showed mixed feelings. your trusted advisor and handmaiden, eira, walked up next to you and grabbed one of your hands. she was younger than you, a girl at the age of only eleven. she squeezed it tight which almost caused you to let loose of your tears and fall to the ground. eira noticed your slight change in demeanor and only came up closer to you to try and comfort you. as she comforted you, one of the men from the group came up to you; the commander of the warriors, lexer. you looked up at him, right into his dark eyes. he bent down in front of you on one knee, still looking right into your eyes.

“we will follow you until we no longer walk this earth,” he said in his thick accented voice. “there is no other leader we wish to follow. you belong on the throne, not your brother. you must take it. you are the true queen…”

he bowed his head, and so did every other man and woman that followed. you felt eira let go of your hand, and when you turned your head to look at her, she too was bending the knee to you. everybody was. your white gown blew in the wind (white being the traditional color for funerals in your culture), its cape flying in all different directions as you heard one of your dragons land behind you. it screeched loudly, almost as if it was agreeing with what your army said. you only managed to shut your eyes and allow tears to roll down your cheeks. they were right and you knew it. your brother, the king aenys, was “mad”. he was vile. you knew you were the only person who could take him down. so, you decided to do it. to take the throne and become the queen.

you were only fifteen.

—

four years have passed since that day. after you usurped your brother and executed him by burning him alive, your reign has been one of the best in the history of your family. you conquered even more islands and kingdoms than you could have ever imagined. you were one of the strongest people in the new world since you conquered and controlled a third of it. and your family history with the emperors of the sea only backed you up even more. you have strong allies, strong armies, strong terrains, and dragons. you were not to be fucked with. you were not to be betrayed.

you arrived in sabaody archipelago a few moments ago. they were holding an auction to sell slaves. for a while now, you wanted to stop it. they were to be freed not sold. and finally, you decided to do it. but it was the wrong timing. most, if not all, supernovas were present. they were fighting marines while the celestial dragons walked with their slaves chained behind them. you and your army hid well where nobody could see you. you turned to the commander of your queen’s guard, saxan. lexer stood beside him with his armor and helmet on. dragon wings on the helmet and the sigil of your house banner right in the middle of it. you looked at the army behind them after eyeing what they both were wearing.

“my warriors!” you yelled in your mother tongue, aegrean. “slay the masters, slay the marines, slay every man and woman who hold chains, but harm no child. strike the chains off every slave you see!”

you turned back to look at the two, giving them one last glance before walking away. you were in a remote area of the archipelago where nobody was in due to the chaos. it was perfect for hiding and planning an attack. you walked up to one of your dragons, drago. he was the one you rode ever since you were big enough to even ride a dragon. your two other dragons glaurung and morgul, his brother and sister, were already seeking your attention as they brought their noses up to you. you caressed the sides of it before getting on drago. he ran a few ways before setting off to fly. you grabbed on tight to the saddle and allowed yourself to be calmed by the strong winds.

dragons were faster than humans, so you arrived at the auction house in a matter of minutes. the screeching of your dragons caught the attention of the marines, supernovas, and other folk. when you were close enough to be able to see them right where you wanted them, you let out the word “nār” which meant fire in your mother tongue. drago fired down on them first and then along came the other two. you heard the screaming of everybody, including one of the supernovas especially. when drago flew over them to get to the auction house, you managed to get a closer look at the three. monkey d. luffy, eustass kid, and trafalgar law. the captain of the straw hats was of course the one screaming loudly and excitedly at the sight of dragons raining hellfire onto the marines. you scrunched your nose in annoyance and turned away. you disliked the supernovas.

drago flew over to the auction house and landed on top of it. you were now behind the pirate captains. drago screeched loudly and jumped down onto the ground, breaking the auction house with a whip of its tail. your army came running towards the auction house with their weapons and artillery.

“free the slaves! slay the masters! i shall burn all of this down!” you yelled in aegrean. your dragon screeched even louder as if he was ordering them as well. you looked up at the sky to see the other two dragons continuing to burn the rest of the marines. they would soon leave to burn their ships. there was going to be no means of escape for them. drago turned and looked at the three supernovas in front of him. he growled and yelled as he ran up to them. you watched their faces as drago snarled at them. kid and law seemed a bit freaked out, but luffy only screamed as stars erupted in his eyes.

“she has dragons!” he yelled. “she saved us with them! that is so cool!”

you looked down at him with a blank expression. he was annoying you because he ran around all excited yelling praises about your child. kid smacked him across the head and yelled at him for being annoying. “we didn’t need no saving, she was just getting rid of the remainders for us!”

“it didn’t seem like that!” luffy yelled back.

you turned your head to the third one. law had the faintest smirk spread across his lips as he looked from your dragon up to you. you locked eyes. golden eyes, slightly tanned skin, and dark hair. you admitted to yourself that he was handsome, but he was a pirate, nonetheless. not a warlord of the sea, not an emperor, just a supernova. he was below you. but something about him made you want to know more about him. but you resisted your urges and turned to look away from him.

“your majesty!” yelled saxan. he came up next to you which caught you off guard. you looked at him instead and allowed him to continue speaking.

“all slaves from the auction house have been freed,” he said. “no more warriors are left in there. it is empty—“

“good,” you cut him off and drago quickly turned around to burn it down. and once it was of no more, he ran past the supernovas and took off once again. you looked behind you to see the area one more time. all that was left was the fire. you looked away and continued to fly off into the horizon. there were more slaves to free. you had arrived later than you hoped, so, of course, a few were sold and were now walking with whoever. you needed to find them. you looked around to see anybody, but the streets were empty. there was nobody here. why wasn’t there anybody? you furrowed your eyebrows in distress. it was quiet too, too quiet.

then you heard it.

the sound of something whipping through the air and a bright light. drago cried out in pain as he suddenly started to fall from the sky. you groaned as you tried to keep a hold of him. and as you fell from the sky, you saw a pacifista come from the shadows. your eyes only widened in fear as it kept its hand extended to your child. drago was smart enough though, and amid his pain, he flew to a safer place and landed. you jumped off of him and ran to his side. whatever the pacifista did it didn’t harm him badly. all he needed was time to rest, and he was in too much pain to fly. your poor baby.

tears welled in your eyes as you rubbed your dragon's side, trying to comfort him and calm him down. the sound of his cries pained your ears but you had to stop yourself from crying. he needed your support.

“rest, my child,” you whispered in aegrean. “we will heal you when you can fly again.” but he only cried in pain even more.

that’s when you heard the stomping. you turned around to face the pacifista right as it stopped a few meters in front of you. your breathing became heavier and faster as it raised its hand. but drago whipped his head around and opened its mouth to breathe fire. right before he could though, a blue sphere surrounded you, the pacifista, and drago. next thing you knew the pacifista was cut in two, and it fell over dead. drago started to snarl at whoever was behind the goddamn cyborg.

law walked around it, revealing himself to you. you locked eyes again and he started walking up to you. you straightened your back and walked a couple of feet in front of your dragon. “hold it!” you yelled in the common tongue.

law stopped and stood right when you yelled. you looked him up and down, still breathing heavily from the encounter. “another step and he will turn you to ash,” you said. you turned around to calm drago down, and once he laid his head back down on the ground, you turned back to face the pirate captain.

“i must thank you for saving us,” you said. law walked right up to you and stood only a few inches away at this point. he was tall and had a good build.

“you got the marines off my ass and my crew’s,” he said. “i don’t want to be indebted to somebody, let alone you.”

you looked him up and down, then back into his eyes. “your debt is repaid then, so i don’t know why you’re still standing here.”

“your… dragon,” he pointed his sword at him. you narrowed your eyes at him. “i can help him.”

“you only want to help him so i can be indebted to you this time,” you said, stepping closer to him.

“maybe, maybe not. but a mother’s child is in pain…”

“how am i supposed to trust you?“

“you’re not.”

law moved past you and dropped his sword on the ground. he walked up to the wound with you following behind him. hesitantly, he placed both of his hands by the wound before turning his head to look at you. he saw the worry on your face.

“this won’t hurt him, right?” you asked, your voice almost breaking. law shook his head “no” and you then let him take over. you didn’t know how but assumed it was his devil fruit power, but in seconds drago’s wound started to heal. once law stepped away from him you let out a deep breath.

“thank you,” you said.

“i’m intrigued by dragons,” he said, going to grab his sword. “do not think of this as a debt to be repaid. i’ve always wanted to touch a dragon.”

you smiled, but once he turned around to look at you, you dropped it. you didn’t say anything else as you climbed back onto drago and took off. he screeched, and in return so did his siblings. you left the archipelago with the kindness of law in mind. you wouldn’t forget it.

—

two years have gone by since that ordeal. you forgot about it in all honesty, but sometimes when you are with drago your eyes go over to the small scar that was left behind by that pacifista. you think of the kindness once more and never again. until one day when your hand, eddard, came up to you to tell you that trafalgar law has docked at the port and wanted to meet with you. he was a warlord now and was more feared. what he wanted to speak about, you would never guess. you then think back to drago and wonder if his words were a lie.

you sat on your throne, patiently waiting for him. your eyes darted around the room in boredom. dragon carvings on the wall, dragon statues, large candle holders down the sides of the room, and small steps up to your throne in front of you. the skylight allowed the sun to shine through, but it never reached your feet. eira stood next to you but down the steps some, and so did eddard. a few of your soldiers and warriors were also in the room. you were very much protected.

when the doors to the throne room opened, trafalgar came walking in. by the looks of it, he seemed stronger. you wondered if his personality had changed or not. he stopped, and behind him followed a polar bear with an orange boiler suit. you almost raised an eyebrow but stopped yourself.

“you stand in the presence of queen y/n l/n. conqueror of the new world. queen of the new world. protector of the new world. the first dragon queen…” said eira

he only nodded his head and turned to look at the polar bear. he didn’t say anything. eira looked back at you with concern in her eyes. you gave her a look that she only understood, and decided to introduce him to you since he was uninterested in doing it himself. “this is trafalgar law. captain of the heart pirates. warlord of the sea. his bounty is at four-hundred forty million berries.”

“we’ve met before,” you said with a smile. “i hope the seas weren’t too rough.” you cupped your hands over your lap.

“the seas are never rough when you’re traveling by submarine,” he said. you only nodded.

“then what brings you to my kingdom?”

“an alliance.”

“alliance?” you questioned, raising a brow. “whatever for?”

“dressrosa is one of your kingdoms, is it not? doflamingo took control of it when your brother was still king. we both have a mutual hatred for the man and i think it would be best if we were to be allies in taking him down.”

eddard walked up the steps to get to you. you lingered your gaze from law and then to your hand right when he reached you. he gave his back to the pirate and pursed his lips at you. “your majesty, trafalgar has a long history with doflamingo. it would be best to let him take doflamingo down on his own. a reminder that kaidou—“

you cut him off. “i’m no fool, pirate,” you said, raising your voice. “there is more to this than what meets the eye. what is it that you truly want?”

law smirked. “i could never lie to a queen,” he said, taking a few steps toward you. your warriors moved forward though, causing him to stop. you raised your hand. “it’s alright,” you said in aegrean. they moved back and law walked up the first few steps but didn’t dare come closer to you.

“my main goal is to defeat kaidou,” he said.

you scoffed. “then you may leave this kingdom and my seas. when the time comes, i will fight doflamingo with my army and dragons. i will take back control over my kingdom by myself. but if you wish to get that out of the way for me on your own, then go ahead.”

“you cannot fight doflamingo on your own. you need my help.”

“i do not need the help of a pirate. you’re the one who needs my help,” you glared at him. “i will not betray an emperor of the sea. i don’t want any involvement in this plan.”

“kaidou is no ally of yours,” said law angrily. “an emperor of the sea, yes. but when the time comes, he will not hesitate to betray you and kill you. his only allies are pirates that would love to help him rebel against you.”

“and why do you think so?” you snapped.

“isn’t it obvious? you sit on the throne and control most of the new world. you have three dragons and two of the most powerful armies at your side. you are one of the most powerful people in the new world, and you ask why kaidou wouldn’t take the opportunity to kill you?” he asked. “once you are dead, he will only gain more power by eliminating a threat. he will take your throne.”

eddard moved away from you as you slowly got up from the throne. you were angry. you walked down to him but stayed two or three steps away from him. you wanted that leverage. you wanted to show him that there would never be a time when you would be defeated. you wanted your stance to intimidate him, but it only left you cowering under his piercing eyes.

“when the time comes, you will know when i have made a decision,” you said. he was going to speak up but you continued speaking. “because i will either burn you or burn my ally.”

you took one more step down to get at a leveled height with him. “but if you are wrong, trafalgar, you will be my enemy until you are no longer breathing.”

you eyed him and then turned around to sit back down on your throne. law looked at the window behind you, the gigantic triangular-shaped window, and saw as one of your dragons flew by. he will have you as an ally. and with one more look at you and your people, law turned around and beckoned for his crew mate to follow him out of the throne room, leaving you all alone to think about what he said.

you leaned toward where eddard was standing and called for him. he bent down next to you and leaned his ear close to your mouth. “keep an eye on him. i want updates on whatever he is doing. let me know immediately if what he says is true.”

eddard only nodded before leaving the throne room. and you continued sitting there playing with your old wedding band that now sat on your right ring finger. what would your husband have done? and what would your brother have done?

ch. 2 !

[werewolfcave]

Erza Headcanons:

Transfem Butch Dyke, She/Her + Ze/Hir pronouns

Starts out canon on the thinner side but post canon she is fat just like her mom. She's about 5'10", likely would have been 6'2" if not for childhood malnourishment. She's definitely fucking jacked, but it's hidden a bit under the fat.

Married to Jellal and Mirajane, and eventually lives with them.

She is also dating Lucy, and is rather enamored by her. A very knight and princess type relationship.

She has a huge soft spot for pretty women and for a while she had an accidental reputation for being a womanizer (she didn't mean to be she just was weak in the knees and awkwardly flirting with girls).

She has Autism, ADHD, and OCD. Her love of sugar is largely in part due to her ADHD.

She's half dragon from her mother's side and this results in horns and slightly pointed ears.

Due to being the child of a dragon and developing mostly in the womb of a dragon (she was likely frozen in time during the first trimester and meaning Irene carried out what is likely the second and third trimester while physically a dragon, yet enchanted to appear human) she is not at risk of dangerous dragonization. If she were to ever transform into a dragon she would have free ability to fully transform back to her human form without the repercussions Irene experienced.

She is Mixed Māori-European, specifically Māori from her mother's side, and German on her father's side.

Her large armor, blade, and clothes collection is her pride and joy, and often when she's feeling unwell she will get something to add to her collection. It's like those people that feel sad and go order something from Etsy.

Her hair is EXTREMELY important to her, partially due to it was the first thing she had control over after fleeing the Tower. Cut it at your own peril.

She can figure out the ingredients of a meal by taste and texture alone.

She is blind in one eye, her glass eye has no magical properties other than mimicking the movement of the other eye.

Has a slight limp post GMG due to overuse and heavy injury. It worsens post her fight with Irene as the bone viciously rebroke. By the time she's in her 50s she ends up needing to use a cane.

She has 4 birds in flight tattooed right below her collar bone, one for each member of Team Natsu.

Additionally she eventually gets two swallows tattooed on her back, one on each shoulder blade. They are a symbol of how far she has traveled by boat (each swallow represents about 5,000 nautical miles, and due to her sailing to and from Tenrou multiple times, sailing to Alakitasia and Guiltina both of which are entire other continents, sailing to Galuna, and likely much other quests that have required sailing that happen off screen or post-100YQ, I think it's safe to say she has sailed far). She was encouraged to get them by the pirates she befriended during the Galuna Island arc, who she still keeps in contact with.

[mattslolita]

i actually cannot understand why this anon, being a mixed race woman, as a problem with WOC representation, me as a mixed raced woman myself and a latina, im happy to see the representation here.

this fandom DO NOT respect or represent WOC enough.

as a mixed raced woman, she should understand how fucking difficult it is for us, growing up and always being told that we are “not white enough” or that we are “not black enough” is a fucking struggle too, not to talk about actual black people in general who have to work harder than a white person to have the same opportunities or jobs as they do.

if it’s “ridiculous” then why does almost every fanfiction that doesn’t specify race have always the same, white stereotypical characteristics for the reader? white people get everything and anything, but the moment a WOC gets something slightly similar it’s fucking “ridiculous”?

let’s talk about the hate WOC received for being casted in movies or shows instead of a white girl.

halle in little mermaid.

zendaya as mj in spider-man.

taylor russell in bones and all.

nico parker as astrid in how to train your dragon.

leah sava jeffries as annabeth chase in PJO.

avantika for a FANCAST as rapunzel.

francesca as juliette.

rachel zegler as lucy gray bird in TBOSAS (for not being “white nor black enough”).

and many, many more.

every month people will chose a white guy to hype up and a woc to bring down.

so yes, the woc representation is fucking important.

and YOU CLEARED THE ENTIRE FUCKING HOUSE DOWN.

[colormepurplex2]

On Wings of Mist & Memories | Shadowsword

↳  DragonRider!Jungkook x FieldScribe!f.Reader ⤜ Enemies to Lovers, Exiled Royalty, High Fantasy ⤜ Rating: MA | angst ⤜ WC: 7,937 ⚠️ Crass language, combat/violence, sword fighting, minor character deaths, talk of war, mild torture for information (punching), brief nudity (nonsexual, mostly), sexual references and feelings

Next Chapter⇾ ◅ Back to series masterlist

Glossary Mave - dragon rider who can wield magic, tethered to the soul of their dragon when they bond (death for both if one dies) Psion - infinite memory/recall Reaver - a dragon that can wield magic, tethered to the soul of the rider they bond (death for both if one dies) Noks - infantry soldiers, humanoids who can enter berserk/rage mode Rider - regular dragon rider, no magic, uses bows or scouts Brute - riderless dragon, usually wild and very dangerous Wielder - magic user, no dragon needed Signis - the designated/specific type of power someone wields

“General Marvick!” a harried voice, muffled by the wind and snow, shouts from outside the tethered tent flaps.

The large, formidable form sitting at the head of the war table throws a murderous glare toward the canvas-covered entryway. “Bulwark, let him in,” General Marvick growls before resuming assessing the map stretched over the table.

The Nok lieutenant by the door—Bulwark—snatches at the short length of the tassel used to secure the tent flap against the harsh winds coming off the mountain. As soon as the tie loosens, the large swath of canvas covering the command tent's entrance billows inward, bringing with it a sharp gust of biting wind and a messenger bundled in snow-covered furs.

“General,” the messenger says, bringing an arm up to cross over his chest in salute. “I bring a missive from the Crown.”

General Marvick glances at you before nodding toward the messenger. You push up from your small camp stool placed a few feet from the edge of the table. A place close enough to hear the words spoken around the war table but far enough so you don’t get in the way.

The messenger glares at you as you approach them. You hold out an expectant hand, meeting that sneer with a steady gaze. The messenger clearly knows who—what—you are, and just as most people, he already has a preconceived opinion on it; a hatred that extends back thousands of years, an ingrained fear of what you represent.

“If you don’t mind,” you politely urge.

The distance between you and the snow-covered man increases as he takes a few steps back to try and skirt around you. “General Marvick, this is a missive directly from the Crown. I’m to place it in your hand and your hand alone.”

Silence falls in the tent after his rushed proclamation. The creak of General Marvick’s chair sounds a moment before you feel a large presence filling the space immediately to your side. In the many years you’ve been in service to the general, you still find yourself in awe at the sheer amount of muscle and brawn contained within the lightly bronzed, leather flight armor.

“Her hand is my hand. Give her the parchment before I run you through with my sword, boy!” General Marvick growls, looming over the now trembling messenger. The folded missive is thrust into your still-waiting palm. “Now, get the fuck out of my sight!”

The messenger’s retreating footsteps are swallowed by the snow as he scrambles to leave. Bulwark quickly secures the tent flap back into place, sealing out the blustering wind.

“Fuckin’ Golden Birds,” grumbles Colonel Rit Goris, second in command, from his spot to the left of General Marvick’s empty seat. “Always think that because they’re direct messengers from the Crown, they somehow hold a higher status than the gods damned War General.”

General Marvick swings your way, glancing at the letter. “Read it, then report.”

You nod, watching as the general settles back at the table. General Poli Marvick is the only woman you’ve ever seen serve in such a position. Sure, there are plenty of non-males within the varying military wings, but never one in such a high position as War General—commander of all.

You were scared when you were first assigned to General Marvick’s service. Just laying eyes on the mountain of a woman made you a bit weak in the knees, larger than most men you’ve seen. A permanent scowl mares her angular face. A jagged scar bisects her right eyebrow and slashes in a stark line across her cheek to the corner of her severe mouth. If her hair weren’t shorn so close to her scalp, she would be sporting wheat-colored curls. Her glacial eyes are unnerving, such a bright blue that they’re almost white, and they miss nothing.

You resume your seat, perching on the small camp stool and tucking your ankles under it. The cloak around your shoulders sways, covering your arms as you lean forward a bit. Your uniform is simple, fur-lined leather pants and a thick wool tunic, all in muted colors to blend in with the mountainous environment you’re in.

Being stationed at Fort Orit—the furthest northern garrison in the Gilded Ranges, the large mountain rift that divides the Kingdom of Bolas—means there is a constant drift of snow coming down, and the air outside is cold enough to split skin if you’re not careful. The light leather and linen clothes you’d typically wear have been tucked away in a trundle under your camp cot ever since you arrived at Fort Orit with General Marvick almost a year ago.

War has ravaged Bolas for nearly ten summers. It’s almost like that’s all you’ve ever known, having been barely into your teen years when the kingdom seemed to implode in on itself. From everything you’ve been taught—everything you believe you know—blame is laid at the feet of the last son of the Crown; the heir that wanted power before it was his to claim by rights. The texts and scrolls filling the war archives talk of a malevolent son who tried to murder his parents in their sleep. He’s been fighting to steal the kingdom and the throne ever since.

Focusing on the letter in your hands, you take a slow breath and focus on how it feels. The parchment is smooth and high-quality, denoting a communication from the Crown. Warmth spreads over your chest, trickling between your breasts with a familiar caress as you seek the inner well of your power. You direct the heat and probe at the letter, feeling for any blemishes that might indicate sinister intentions beyond the golden wax seal.

Nothing stands out as you continue to assess the parchment. Satisfied you won’t get immediately hexed or explode, you slide your thumb under the fold by the seal and pop the wax. You watch as the golden wax, imprinted with the dragon signet of the Crown, pulls away from the paper, and you delicately smooth out the trifold sheet, all while keeping a tight hold on that warmth in your chest in case something lies in wait within the scrawled ink.

Your eyes rove the page, consuming the words and filing them away into your infinite space of recall. That space—it’s why you’re here, why you’re feared…but also why you’re valued above all else. The words are typical of what you’ve come to expect in General Marvick’s service, a meeting to discuss military affairs. 

As if sensing your impending disruption, the chatter at the table subsides with a raised hand from Marvick, her wintry eyes sliding your way. You give her a barely perceptible nod before standing and folding the paper back up, pinching it between your fingers as your hands automatically slide to rest on the small of your back. Your shoulders roll back, and your chin rises slightly as you recite the words of the missive verbatim.

“A summons for a redirect…today? Noon?” Goris asks once you’re finished, his silver-flecked bushy mustache quivering with the flurry of irritated words. “Hours before we’re set to advance the forward lines?” 

General Marvick turns to take in the faces around the table, meeting all their eyes as they digest your words and Goris’ remark. They’re all leaders of some kind, designated to different quadrants across the whole of the flight wings. Below Goris in command are Majors Elis Niharmer and Hern Ta. You’re familiar with the men, as they’ve frequented the command tent more than the lesser two leaders, Captains Ulgrin Krut and Moojin Lee.

“If that is what the Crown wants, then so be it.” General Marvick’s words might be in subservience to the summons, but you can tell by the tautness of her shoulders that she’s not happy in the slightest with the request. Noon is when the lines are meant to be marshaled for forward advancement down the mountain before winter sets in and freezes out the entire fort. The first winter storm has been slowly gaining momentum on the peaks, adding to the existing snowdrop.

When General Marvick took over this post a year ago, she realized that the casualty ledgers recorded almost as many deaths by cold than by rebel hands. She immediately put in a directive that would see the entire garrison safely below the winter deathline of the mountain before the season changed.

There is a smaller garrison, Fort Supret, further south, and one valley back that is to be where the outpost settles until the season rolls over again. It’s not nearly as defensible as the ruins of Fort Orit, nor is it advantageous in keeping an eye on the Andos Forest—the gnarled and dark-looking wood the rebels find refuge in when they’re not trying to break the Front Wing’s lines.

Captain Krut, a rotund man with a glaring bald spot, shrugs his meaty shoulders. “I sent a few Maves and Riders ahead yesterday. They can handle the forward orders for the Eastern line. As long as this summons doesn’t last more than a fortnight, all should be well on my end.”

“Ta, Niharmer, Lee?” General Marvick asks of the three remaining men around the table.

Major Lee nods toward Krut. “The same as Ulgrin. I sent ahead two Maves and three Riders. They should be able to get things rolling if I am needed elsewhere.” Krut grumbles at Lee’s use of his first name. The man is quite prickly about being reminded he’s named for his treasonous father. The senior Ulgrin Krut was part of the rebellion uprising that led to the war currently being waged across the Gilded Ranges—the war that has brought you and all these war leaders together here.

“Well, I would hope I could sit this one out,” Major Niharmer grunts, his chain armor straining around his substantial, scarred bulk. Dark scars criss-cross over the backs of his hands and along his neck and cheeks, the ebony skin puckered in some places and divoted in others. He’s seen more battles than all of them combined, except for Marvick. The only reason he doesn’t hold her or Goris’ higher position is because he refuses to take on more responsibility. “A few detachments suffered greatly last month along my western line. I think I’d be better suited riding out with reinforcements than meeting with the Crown. Even with the Maves and Riders I also sent out last night, I’d feel better going myself.”

Major Ta quirks a smile, his filed teeth glinting in the mana globes suspending over the table. His teeth have always put you on edge. Word has it, he files them nightly to keep them sharp and enjoys using them as much as his sword in battle. “If I didn’t know any better, Elis, I might think you rather hated wearing anything other than your armor with as much as you avoid taking it off in favor of dinner finery.”

Niharmer cuts a glare toward Ta, his austere eyes flicking over the other man. “Better than the fancy silks you cover yourself in,” he mutters. “Damned fool, slide right off your mount.”

“Gentlemen, please,” General Marvick cuts in. “I’ll have your answer now, Ta.”

Major Ta shifts in his seat, the silk of his trousers hissing over the hardwood of the chair. You’ve never seen him wear anything besides silk, even against the frigid temperatures outside. He wears nothing more than a silken doublet and trousers with supple leather boots. You know he’s a Mave, as are the others seated at the table, but unlike the others, you’ve never been granted the knowledge of what his Signis, the power the Maves wield, is. You speculate it’s what keeps him from needing a coat, though.

“None of my company have ridden out yet,” he admits, glancing around at the others to see if they react to that confession. Goris’ muscles flex in his forearms, but that’s the only indication that any of them disapprove of Ta’s seeming lack of forethought. “Much like Elis, I’d prefer to accompany my forward line. We lost more than a dozen Noks during the last push from the rebels. I need to be there before we move again.”

Marvick clears her throat, glancing down at the war map on the table. It indicates the losses, so she’s well aware that some of the front lines are weakening with every push from the enemy. “Very well. Niharmer, Ta, you’ll return to your forces. Lee, I want you to ride out with Ta. Provide him with any reinforcements you can spare since your garrison is the closest. Expect a farflight Rider within the week for any updates this summons from the Crown provides. In the meantime, I’ll send word to the capitol, requesting an advance on the next rush of support. We’re set to receive a dozen new squads at the end of the month. We’ll see if that can be expedited.”

“Very well, General,” the three men murmur as they salute and then excuse themselves from the table. Bulwark loosens the ties on the tent, letting the canvas flap in the wind as the men leave.

“Goris, Krut, you’ll be accompanying me. Meet me at the flight deck in one hour's time. You’re dismissed.”

“General,” Goris and Krut say, tilting their chins and crossing an arm over their chests toward Marvick before disappearing beyond Bulwark, still holding the tent flap.

Marvick stands from the table, her eyes sweeping over the map one last time. “Igno,” she whispers. The sweet scent of vanilla soaks the air within the tent as General Marvick’s magic blooms. The miniature figurines that represent squad and garrison locations shimmer before disappearing completely. Where they go, you’re not sure. You’ve never mustered the courage to ask her about her Signis in depth. All you know is she can make anything smaller than the Gilded Ranges without a heartbeat vanish and reappear as and where she wills it.

“You’ll be attending with me,” she says to you as she turns for the open door. “Be ready to fly.” She stops at the tent entrance, her gaze locking on the man wrestling with the flap against the wind. “Call in the Bearers, Lieutenant Bulwark. I expect to see the command tents erected at Fort Supret by the time I return in one week’s time.”

Left to your own devices for the next hour, you know you need to ready your tent for transport and change into your flight garb. Moving past Bulwark, you give him a slight nod before trudging into the knee-deep snow surrounding the tent. Cold seeps through your thick leather boots quickly, the fur lining doing little to thwart the chill kissing your toes.

The tent you use is next to General Marvick’s, which has already begun being dismantled by a hustle of Bearers. They’re efficient, even with the heavy snow. You know they train in these mountains before joining whichever garrison they’re assigned, ensuring they’re as good as possible in the sometimes 10-foot snowdrifts.

You tug at the flap to your tent, kicking away the snow collected in front of it. “Fucking shit,” you curse as a chunk of snow slides off your tent and catches you in the shoulder, sending a blitz of snow straight down the collar of your tunic. 

The cacophony of camp noise muffles behind the thick canvas of your tent once you’re inside. You’re not sure you’ll ever get used to just how loud it is here. Despite the mountain's utter stillness and quiet air, the tens of thousands of combat-ready bodies filling all the crooks and valleys between peaks make it feel more like you’re stuck in the middle of a great city instead.

Though, you suppose Fort Orit is a city all its own. There is no proper “fort” to speak of, just old crumbling ruins that help keep the worst of the wind out. You can’t imagine what it would be like to go patrol beyond the broken masonry. Thankfully, you should never have to find out. The summons is set to take place in the furthest western turret of the fort, the only one still intact after thousands of years of weathering the cold and snow.

From what you’ve heard, Fort Orit used to be one of the greatest mountain garrisons, but it was nearly destroyed when the rebellion first launched. Until a year ago, the rebel forces had claimed it as their forwardmost outpost. Thanks to General Marvick, though, the rebels have been pushed far beyond the Barren Wake and into the Andos Forrest at the base of the mountains.

As long as the Gilded Ranges remain under the control of the Crown, the rebels are considered to be ‘losing’. Considering what you learned in that war meeting, though, you’re not sure how much losing they’re doing. Several places along the front lines have been devastated over the last few months, more so in the previous few weeks.

It used to be that most of the pushing to overthrow the Crown’s forces took place at Fort Orit, hence why that’s where General Marvick was stationed. You hate to admire the enemy forces, but it seems they’ve wised up and altered their tactics, acting more like a real army than a band of rebels. But that line of thinking can only spell trouble for you if anyone finds out. They are power-hungry rebels, chaotic and disorganized, nothing more—according to everything you’ve been taught.

🖤🖤🖤

Less than an hour later, your tent is with the Bearers, and you’re waiting on the flight deck—a large outcropping of sheer rock—for General Marvick. Goris and Krut are locked in a private conversation a few dozen feet away. The flight deck is clear of snow, thanks to the rock being enchanted with a warming spell to keep the ice from accumulating and impacting launches.

The creak of leather draws your attention to the swayback stairs cut into the rock face that leads to the deck. General Marvick comes into view, her flight goggles already down over her eyes. You’ve learned they help in the air and on the ground against the stinging wind. Your own goggles sit firmly across your face, the clear lenses only occasionally catching an errant snowflake.

“Let’s go, gentlemen,” General Marvick calls to Goris and Krut, who snap apart, startled by her sudden command. They both salute her and fish under the neck bindings of their flight uniforms for tiny bone whistles. The cries from the whistles are imperceptible to human ears, but the sudden thrum of concussed air coming from over the lip of the flight deck lets you know they work.

You glance at General Marvick as she’s tucking her own whistle back under her uniform. She gestures for you to move behind her, which you obey. A moment later, your breath wheezes from your lungs as three hulking figures rocket over the ledge and land with ground-shaking thumps. You’re not sure you’ll ever get used to seeing them—dragons.

They tower over you. The largest, General Marvick’s red dragon, Lowren, is three times taller than she is as he settles back on his haunches, wild barbed tail flicking restlessly behind him. The other two, Krut’s brown named Erle and Goris’ green called Ripley, are slightly smaller but no less fierce looking. Their thick membrane wings flex as they naturally accommodate the wind ripping across the flight deck.

Strapped to each dragon by adamantine supports crossing their chests are flight saddles. Most dragon saddles seat a single rider, but General Marvick special ordered a dual-seat saddle so you can accompany her without the need of a horse, which is ‘slow and dull’ according to her.

She once had to wait nearly a fortnight for you to arrive at a war brief simply because the horse and caravan you were riding with traveled far slower than Lowren. Ever since, you’ve had the pleasure of riding in the small extra seat crafted behind hers.

“Shouldn’t be more than an hour’s ride,” Goris calls, shielding his eyes with a hand as he gazes up into the swirling sky to judge the weather. “Wind’s against us, but it doesn’t look like anything worse than usual coming in from the east. Plenty of time to wait for the portal to the capitol to form.”

General Marvick nods. “Mount up. Let’s get this over with.” She launches herself up, grappling with the pommel and reigns of the saddle until she’s settled in her seat. Then, she extends a hand down to you. You are grateful for Lowren; he lowers himself until his scaled belly scuffs the hard stone, and you only have to jump about a foot to grab onto Marvick’s hand to be hoisted up.

The first time you met Lowren, you could barely breathe as his green eyes flicked over you, assessing whether or not you were worthy of being astride him. After several moments where you thought your heart might explode, he finally huffed a warm puff of air into your face and then nudged the center of your chest with his snout—approval.

Lowren straightens, and the now familiar sinking in your belly as he prepares to launch skyward is comforting. You’ve never felt more powerful than when sitting on the back of Lowren. Even if you’re not the one in control of the reigns, the sheer mass and energy of the creature under you is enough.

You’re aware that General Marvick and Lowren can communicate without words. During your years of training as a field scribe, you learned enough about Reavers—dragons like Lowren who can wield magic and have a soul-deep bond with their rider—and Maves—those magic-wielding riders. The bond allows telepathic communication, something you’ve envied from the moment you learned it. Being who—what—you are, you can’t help but feel some sort of kinship because of that.

You can feel the tight coiling of Lowren’s flight muscles a second before his wings snap out and scoop the air, rocketing into the sky. There is a full grin on your face, even as the wind tears at your exposed skin. You can’t help it. Before frost can nip at your cheeks further, you hastily pull up your wool neck scarf to cover everything exposed beneath your flight goggles. 

At the peak of the flight, the clouds clear enough that you catch a glimpse of the Andos Forest. It’s hard to believe it’s filled with tens of thousands of rebels, apparently led by the rebel prince himself. You’ve never seen him, or at least you don’t think you have. Marvick tries to keep you as far away from the fighting as possible. But, you have witnessed a few skirmishes and raids, even with her vigilance.

The shudder that runs through you has little to do with the cold and everything to do with the fact you’re sure you saw a large dark shadow move within the trees before your view is obscured by clouds again. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but if it wasn’t…there’s only one thing in that forest that would be that big, and you’d rather not think about that right now.

The western turret of the fort comes into view, the stone crenulations on top jutting into the sky like an open maw lined in teeth. The side of the turret has been opened, exposing the belly of the main room, making it big enough to accommodate the bulk of the dragons as they land. They still snap at each other as they vie for space. Elre snorts a puff of smoke at Ripley when she gets too close but sidesteps completely when Lowren bares his teeth at him.

“Right on time,” Goris announces as Lowren brings you and Marvick between Elre and Ripley. A soft glow forms across the room, indicating the start of a large portal being opened. The summons said to be here at noon and await an outlet from the capitol to bring Marvick and her attendees to the barracks courtyard back at the palace. You all dismount, as it’s easier to go through a portal not on the back of a beast. One false move and you could injure yourself on the pulse of the portal itself.

You pull your cloak tighter, trying to keep the cold from digging too deep while being exposed like this so high up in the turret. You’ve seen hundreds of portals opened. Once the bluish glow begins to form, it should only take a few breaths before it’s opened. But, for some reason, the blue light is only pulsing, not extending into a gateway.

Marvick shifts on her feet beside you, the clink of her chainmail seems too loud in your ears as nerves prick along your spine. Something’s wrong. You look at the other two, gauging their reactions. Goris glares at the blue glow like he could will it to open with his sour look. Krut’s focus isn’t on the blue light. Instead, he’s staring skyward, a tilted smirk on his lips.

Your eyes sweep up, following his gaze. The sky swirls overhead, clouds scuttling across the dim beams of sunlight that manage to penetrate the wintry haze around the mountain. Your chin tilts up, the neck scarf sliding below your nose as you try to see whatever it is that has his attention.

You’re about to bring it to Marvick’s attention when a silhouette appears against a murky beam of pitiful sunlight—fear claws at your throat, silencing the scream that wants so badly to escape. Lashing out with a hand, you clamp it around the bulge of Marvick’s forearm, shoving up as hard as possible. Her head whips to the side before snapping up with your silent plea.

It all happens so quickly. The blue glow disappears, and a vast black form drops from the sky with a piercing screech, a dragon’s cry louder than any you’ve ever heard. The turret shudders under your feet before it begins to crumble as the dragon slams down, separating your party from their own dragons. You pitch forward, knocked off balance by the sudden sway and slope of the floor. 

“Run!” General Marvick bellows at you before drawing her sword. You catch sight of Krut and Goris also brandishing their own weapons. The bulk of the dragon blots out most of the light from the open side of the turret, obscuring your view of the rider on its back. All you can see is an iron-clad leg tucked behind the massive wing of the beast. The dragon is monstrous, with sable scales glinting like wet tar. Golden eyes sit above a vicious row of snarling teeth as it snaps its jaws in the air and roars again.

“Shadowsword!” Goris snarls, keying you into who the rider is upon the dragon’s back. You’ve only heard that name whispered on currents of fear, breathed into tales of nightmares; Shadowsword—the military commander of the rebel army and one of the strongest Maves to ever draw breath.

Your feet skitter over the stone floor as you try to keep your balance and escape through the archway exit of the turret and into the stairwell leading down. Two more ground-shaking thumps hit the turret, and hope surges in your chest, thinking that two of the other dragons are trying to assist. You spin, backpedaling toward the exit, hoping to confirm. But, you nearly lose your footing as shock barrels through you. 

Two dragons are ripping at the edge of the opening to the turret, but neither of them are dragons you recognize. One is a snarling burnt orange dragon with a large crown of red spikes jutting from behind its eyes, and the other is pearly grey with pinkish wings. They rip at the stones, trying to bring the walls down.

Ear-piercing dragon screams rend the air before you catch a glimpse of green, brown, and red flashing beyond the bodies crowding the turret. The floor shudders so hard it clacks your teeth together and weakens your knees. You hit the ground, sliding on your hands a few feet in the opposite direction from the exit.

“Go, you fool girl!” Goris yells, appearing in front of you just in time to parry a lashing dragon tail coming right at you. The scale appendage rebounds off the steel of his weapon, and you can tell it sends pain radiating up his arms from the cry he lets out. Goris launches forward, but a sweeping wing knocks him off his feet.

A primal wail echoes from somewhere outside the turret, and then a solid thump hits the floor beside you, drawing your attention before you can think better of it. Krut’s unseeing green eyes stare at you, his neck bent at an unnatural angle. You scream, scrambling backward on your ass to get away from his body, which you now realize is missing everything from the waist down.

You never see him dismount, much less circuit the room so he’s behind you. But you knock into his solid legs all the same. Your face snaps up, instinctively seeking out what’s halted your progress toward the exit, only to stare up into the most menacing brown eyes you’ve ever seen—Shadowsword. A golden helmet covers the rest of the face, but you don’t need to see it to know he looks like a reaper coming to ferry your soul into the After.

“You will not!” roars Marvick as she bodily rams into the man, shoving him several feet away from you. He’s not even drawn his sword yet, until now. The ringing of steel sliding free rings above the cacophony of dragon screams and crumbling stone.

Before you can continue your scuttle toward the exit, the man—Shadowsword—lunges toward Marvick in a fury of whirling metal. She immediately goes on the defense as she meets him blow for blow. Her grunts of frustration and strain hit your ears as he backs her right into a wall with his advancement.

Shadows begin to coalesce around the room, bringing with them the distinct scent of clove, growing and pulsing as they fill all available space. “I’ve waited so long for this,” a deep, snarling voice proclaims as Marvick is forced to her knees, her sword held up to keep the other blade from cleaving into her shoulder.

“You’re a disgrace! I’d never betray the King!” Marvick grunts, shoving hard against his blade to send him back a step. She switches to press her attack, straightening to her full height and changing her stance in a fluid motion. His sword meets hers, sparks flying as they clash over and over.

A draconic roar shatters the air, and Shadowsword snarls in response. He shakes his head. “You should have listened to me. It didn’t have to be like this!” he bellows before the crunch of metal tangles with the wet shriek that pours from Marvick an instant before her body flops to the side, splattering a coppery tang of fluid all over you.

Your breaths are coming in shallow pants, and you can’t seem to move no matter how much you will your legs and arms to do so. Belatedly, you glance down, seeing the thick tendrils of shadow encasing your limbs. You blink up at the room, realizing the space's sudden lack of motion and fury.

“P-poli,” you whimper, choking back a sob. The strongest person you’ve ever met…decimated so quickly by this monster they call Shadowsword. Who is now so casually looking around the small space, even as the floor shifts further and more stones rain down from the walls. The only dragon remaining on the turret is his, the large black one with the golden eyes.

You try to swallow the panic bubbling in your throat. You’ve been trained for this very moment. The small blade tucked into the top of your boot calls your name. If you could only move your right hand a few inches, you could grasp it and do as you’ve always been instructed to when faced with such a situation. But, the shadows holding your arm refuse to budge no matter how hard you strain.

“A scribe, guessing by your garb,” the man who just destroyed everything says, calm in a way like he’s discussing the weather. “I guess between you and Goris, it’ll have to do. Hopefully, this wasn’t a waste.” He gives General Marvick’s body one last glance before stomping over, scooping you up, and throwing you over his shoulder. 

You scream, emptying your lungs repeatedly as you struggle against the dark bands still holding you. Getting to the blade in your boot is paramount. He can’t take you. Rule number one for what you are—never be taken alive. Your fingers manage to graze the top of your boot just as you’re tossed onto the back of the giant dragon. The shadows keep your hands and feet bound, but you’re able to scrunch up, getting your fingers into the top of your boot. Triumph has a manic grin spreading across your face as the knife slides free, and you pinch it between your fingers.

“NO!” you scream as the tiny blade is plucked from your fingers.

“As if you could stick me with that tiny thing,” the man grumbles as he settles into the saddle seat, promptly dragging you face down across his lap and adding a thicker band of shadows across your back. There is no sense in trying to correct him that the blade was, in truth, meant for you. “Don’t squirm too much, unless you want to fall. We have a long flight and I might forget to maintain my shadows.” His tone says he could probably care less. You open your mouth to tot off some snarky reply when a thickness shoves between your lips, filling your mouth until you can only elicit muffled noises. “Enough screaming. I prefer flying in silence.”

Your stomach somersaults as the dragon beneath you launches into the sky. Your adrenaline wanes and nausea rolls in a moment later, sucking you in deep. Your eyes flutter behind your goggles as your consciousness ebbs. The last thing you see are twin spots of orange and grey ahead of you before it all fades to nothing.

🖤🖤🖤

You awake to meaty thwacks and pained grunts. Blinking slowly, the first thing you see are splatters of dark red covering the ground in front of you. The heavy, coppery tang of blood in the air makes your stomach knot. You throw your head to the side, dry heaving as your body protests. You can’t lean far, your body forcibly held in place by familiar shadows.

The room spins as you shake your head to try and dispel the double vision clouding your eyes. Your chest squeezes, your stomach threatening to heave again. The sickening crunch of bone draws your head up, your eyes finally focusing.

A pitiful whimper slips out as you watch Shadowsword rear back to throw another punch. Goris is tied to a tent pole, much the way you now realize you are, shadows banded around his chest and his arms, legs sprawled in front of him. His feet jerk, leaving ruts in the dirt as that fist meets his face in another brutal attack.

“Please!” you cry. “Please, stop!”

Those menacing brown eyes cut your way, his bloody fist suspended in the air, ready for the next hit. Goris groans, frothy red bubbling past his lips to dribble down his chin. You’re not sure how long he’s been enduring the assault, but it doesn’t look like he can take much more.

“I’ll stop when he gives me what I want,” Shadowsword informs you.

When he shifts his weight to throw the next punch, you can’t help crying out again. “You’re going to kill him!” That hand remains lofted in the air, the muscles along his arm visibly shaking with the effort to hold back. “If you kill him, you won’t get what you want. Please. Don’t.” 

Shadowsword chuckles, letting out an airy breath. “I can’t say you’re wrong about that.” He crouches down in front of Goris, gripping his chin and turning his face from side to side. “You still with us, Rit?”

Goris coughs, spewing little drops of blood to rain down onto his leathers. “Fuck. You. Bastard. Where’s Ripley?”

“Bastard? Now, now, we both know I very much do have a father, unfortunately.” Shadowsword grimaces, releasing Goris’ chin to stand up. “As for your precious Ripley, she’s somewhere safe, behind shields, so don’t even think to try connecting with her to use your Signis. You’ll only cause yourself pain.”

The sigh of relief you let out when he steps away from Goris’ bloody form turns into a gasp when Shadowsword moves toward you. “Please,” you plead, cowering the best you can with the restraints. “Just kill me quickly, or let me go.”

He clearly ignores you. “You know, I’ve been trying to come up with a good reason why Marvick would choose to bring her field scribe to a war meeting when the Crown would have provided all the scribes needed.”

“Don’t you touch her,” Goris snarls, the words sounding wet as he coughs up another wave of blood.

Shadowsword’s brows rise in surprise. “Why would you care what I do to a scribe, Rit? I’ve never known you to care what happens to a common woman. You’ve trampled your fair amount of flowers.” He drops to one knee beside your sprawled legs. Warm wetness smears along your jaw as he caresses your face with the backs of his fingers. “Though, she is quite lovely. Perhaps you’ve taken a liking to how she warms your blankets. Is that it, Rit? Finally found some pussy you want to keep, and now you’re scared I will ruin your pretty little songbird?”

You shudder and jerk away from his touch. “What is it that you want?”

“I want what Krut promised me.”

“Krut?” you ask, dumbfounded. The memory of him standing in the turret, looking up at the sky with a smirk on his face, surfaces in your mind. “It can’t be. He wouldn’t betray—”

“That’s dragonshit. You and I both know he would,” Goris interrupts, grumbling at you from across the tent. As much as you don’t want to believe it, you know Ulgrin Krut was always more like his father than just in name. “So, tell me, Shadowsword,” he says, directing his attention from you to the man still crouched beside you, “what did that yellowbelly promise you?” He hocks a glob of bloody phlegm onto the ground, grimacing.

Shadowsword tsks softly. The gold of his helmet glints wickedly in the mage lights above as he tilts his head as if he’s just thought of something clever. “Why, Rit, old pal, have you grown addled in your old age? I told you what I want—what he promised me.”

The familiarity at which Shadowsword seems to keep referring to Goris has the hairs on the back of your neck prickling. They interact like they know one another as more than enemies across the battlefield. Dread fills your belly, sitting heavy like a chunk of glacier ice.

“I can’t give you what I don’t have.” You’d think Goris would be better at controlling his tells, but the brief flicker of his eyes to you might as well be a giant red signal.

Shadowsword looks between the two of you. “No, you can’t…but you seem to think she might.” He nods toward you. “Don’t you?”

Goris balks. “A simple field scribe? Nonsense.”

A dark chuckle fills the air. “Just as shitty at lying as you’ve always been, Rit. Truly something I’ve always admired about you. So honorable. Too bad it’s about to get this sweet little songbird into a lot of trouble.”

“I’ll tell you everything I can,” Goris offers, his voice hard as steel. “I know things that can help you. Just leave the girl be. She’s innocent and doesn’t deserve anything you’d do to her.”

Even though all you can see are his eyes, you know he’s far more interested in what Goris is trying to hide from him than what he’s now offering. “No, friend, I don’t think I will leave her alone. In fact,” he says, reaching around his back and pulling free the small blade he plucked from your fingers before, “I think I’ll have as much fun with her as I want.”

You press as far back against the pole you’re secured to as possible. If he was intent on just ending your life, you might not be so scared, but you know there’s so much more to it simply because he’s now suspicious.

“Shadowsword!” Goris barks. It does nothing to stop the blade from pressing against your neck.

“What are you hiding? There’s no way you’re just a simple scribe. It’s not adding up,” he mutters as if to himself. You flinch at the slightest prick of pain under your chin. “You bleed like a scribe.” He leans forward, inhaling the air in front of you deeply. “I don’t smell the stink of dragon magic on you.” The blunt side of the knife presses into the skin of your throat as he trails it down, over your scarf, and to the top of your wool tunic. “I wonder,” he whispers before quickly flicking the knife over and snicking through the ties holding your top together.

“Leave her alone, you disgraceful fuck! Come punch me some more if you need to terrorize someone.” Goris spouts off brazen attempts to draw Shadowsword’s attention. But, he might as well be nothing more than a buzzing fly.

“Please stop!” You struggle against the shadow bindings, frantic to get away from him before he—too late.

The front of your tunic falls open, revealing your true nature to him. He lets out a low whistle. “Oh, pretty bird, look at that.”

He’s leaning in so close you can see your reflection in the depths of his eyes. The light blue runes etched into your skin catch the overhead lights and shimmer like the ocean at midday. The whorls and points zig-zag across your chest, just under your collar bones, and spread down the valley between your breasts to flare out across the expanse of your ribcage.

You’ve never been ashamed of what you are. The issue is with everyone else. They think you’ll steal all their secrets, tell the world…but that’s not how it works, and they’d know that if they ever truly cared to find out.

But he’s not looking at you the way most people do. No, there’s something different about how his eyes rove over your chest. You don’t care about the nudity. The pebbling of your nipples and chills that pop up along your exposed skin has little to do with the blatant perusal of your skin.

It’s the hunger you see plain in his face that ignites a flare of warring feelings inside your chest and belly. You shouldn’t like how he looks at you, but it makes you feel powerful, potent because he’s not afraid. If anything, he’s enamored.

“Fucking hells,” Goris sighs, resigned.

“Fucking hells is right, Rit. Seems Ulgrin forgot to mention Poli was keeping a sweet little gem in her pocket. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, though. Poli was ever the strategist.”

Shadowsword straightens to his full height, towering over you. He flicks the blunt edge of the blade under the flap of your tunic, affording you some modesty by covering you back up. The laces are ruined, but once the glittering blue runes are hidden, you seem to snap out of your reverent spell. Embarrassment floods your face, heating you from within.

“Now you’ve had your fun. What is it that you want?” you reiterate your earlier question that he never fully answered.

Your knife is slid back into a small sheath lost amongst the gold plates of his armor. “That’s simple, my little bird—or should I say, my little gem. Yes, that seems more fitting with those beautiful marks on your chest.” He chuckles. “To think, all this time, all I needed to end this farce of a war was to get my hands on General Marvick’s personal Psion.”

“Go fuck yourself,” you spit. “I’ll never give you anything.”

He does that head tilt again like he’s assessing you deeper than surface level. Like, somehow, he can see inside you. “That’s where you’re wrong. You’re going to change the tides for me, little gem. I’ll know everything inside that head of yours before the mountain thaws and the flowers begin to bloom—that, I promise you.”

“You’re a fool if you believe that. Empty promises.” You hope he can see the determination and resolve in your eyes. Despite your earlier vulnerability and odd lapse in judgment as he laid you bare, you won’t give up your secrets easily. Being a Psion has both haunted you and given you tremendous power in life. The ability to remember everything you’ve ever heard, seen, or read…it’s no wonder most people fear you. You have enough information and knowledge to bring kingdoms to their knees…which, you realize, is something Shadowsword is counting on. “I’d never betray the King,” you state, repeating General Poli Marvick’s last words.

The man shifts his weight from foot to foot, the tent silent except for the crunch of dirt under his considerable form. The creak of his armor echoes in the small space as he brings his hands up and unclips his helmet before pulling it off. You stifle a gasp.

Shadowsword is so named because he’s described as a sword of the shadows. You thought it was simply because of his Signis being shadow manipulation. But, now you’re thinking it might have more to do with his inky black hair and angular face that seems to hug and kiss the shadows cast by the overhead lights. He’s breathtaking, and you can’t decide if it’s in a good way.

“My father? The King? Do you mean the king who has been deceiving his entire kingdom? The same king who kills—“

“Blasphemy!” Goris’ roar interrupts whatever Shadowsword is about to say. “Say it, and I’ll stick you through with your own sword, you lying, rebellious bastard!”

Those calculating eyes snap from you to Goris. “Idle threats, and we both know it, Rit. You couldn’t hurt a fly being trussed up like that. This isn’t our first time doing this dance, friend, do us both a favor and give it a rest,” he snarks, a smirk curling his full lips.

“Wait,” you whisper, his words finally registering. “Your father?” You knew the exiled prince led the rebel army, but you’d also heard Shadowsword was just his muscle, his attack dog. You wonder how many people know the truth, that they’re the same man.

You glance at Goris, and the resigned look on his face tells you that he, at least, knew the truth. Are you the only person that didn’t know? Confusion threatens to overwhelm you because if you got that wrong, what other falsities are filed away in that sacred space in your mind? But Shadowsword—Prince Jeon—draws your attention before the wave of panic can fully suck you in.

“I guess it seems there are things even you don’t know, little gem.” That reality cuts deep, slicing right to your marrow. “Tomorrow, the real fun begins. I suggest you both try to get some sleep. You’re going to need it.”

And with that, he strides out of the tent in a flash of gold armor and shadows, taking your confidence and self-assurance with him. Whereas a moment ago, his eyes made you feel so potent—you now feel entirely and utterly…powerless.

Next Chapter⇾ ◅ Back to series masterlist

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[fumikomiyasaki]

I totally forgot I had an Au on Discord I haven't shared here which was just a fun scenario in my head:

In the Land of Hina named after the first Woman who build up this Country Three lords Maintained it peace with different mindset... however a Fourth.. Lady Rachel wanted to mark this country more brutal and force more countries under her reign... yet she was refuted and cast out as a Lord.. Years past and Lord Henry received the Message of Villages being ravaged and Conquered, He discussed things with Lord Beelby and Lord Osyron. who agreed to get ready for war... The Himawari Unit was led by General Carol, the Akarui Unit by Lord Beelby himself who couldn't just sit and watch while the country was attacked... and the Kokoro Unit Led by Osyron under General Lennox... Three Armies ready to work together and defend their country Opposed to Lord Rachel and her General Yasuno... working together with Lord Eiji and Lord Lydia... under the banner of the Land of Crimson... Two Countries at war.. one Seeking peace... one trying to take over the continent

Lord Henry and General Carol: Provide peace and Safety for anyone. Make sure war is stopped as quickly as possible

Lord Beelby: Make sure Villagers are seized back with Minimum damage or harm to Citizens

Lord Osyron and General Lennox: Keep Information led to them and keep the Finances stable in war for a good rebuilding

Lord Rachel and General Yasuno: Yasuno is here to claim Carol as Wife by making the situation harder for her and bringing her in a situation where she is forced to while Rachel wants to get back at Tyler and show she can hold the world in her palms

Lord Lydia: refuse Society standards, let everyone do whatever the fuck they want without rules and show Osyron he shouldn't underestimate her

Lord Eiji and General Slice: Ransack any material and Money they can to rebuild a beautiful land on a blood stained battlefield

Mythical beasts: -Guardian Creatures… usually dragons, Foxes, Tanukis, Birds and many others… They exist in any variety but usually have the blessing of transforming into humans and mixing among them… -Beasts are not to only way to obtain magic but they are the primary magic source of it. Fighting with humans in war before some started fearing them and their powers -Most have their human disguise highly under control but need to at times rest a day in their original form to regain their powers -if they wanna share their true identity with a human… often they show a light vision of symbols of thejr heritage around them like horns, Feathers or claws -Even If many look upon Magic as only something to use… some shrines worship the beasts and their culture with masks

Mythical Beasts: Osyron,Lydia,Alioth, Beelby, Lennox, Agni, Tenera, Gabrielle, Tesadelle, Vanessa, April, Julian, Emma, Rachel

Magic wielders: Odel, Fuan, Ione, Damon, Eleafy, Zyan, Gregory

But also take some random alliances with which kingdom:

Land of Hina: Brid, Lyla, Camilla, Bolt, Eve, Naomi, Louis, Kaeru, Barry, Fabio. Francine, Fennec, Flynn, Rubina, Peko, Emma, Tyler, Media, Mythra, Kome, Emil, Paula, Sylva,

working for the Army: Leroy, Mellow, Yuzuha, Pamela, Kayne, Eikichi,

Henry with General Carols Unit: Zariyah, Nanoya,

Beelbys Unit: Odel, Bengal, Mark, Sindren, Feena, Quora, Jin-lou,

Osyron with General Lennox Unit: Kumo, Cactus, Aiden,

Neutral: Agni, Damon, Serena, Jax,

Land of Crimson: Phobetor, Meyra, Grey, Erena, Joel, Soren, Dorothy, Tesadelle, Andrew, Tenera, Dragiselle, Taron, Tiam, Ame, Yurina, Vanessa, Macie, Brenda, April,

Rachel with General Yasunos Unit: Ione. Kuze, Eleafy, Zyan,

Eijis with General Slice Unit: Bianca, Gilly, Gregory, Ronnie, Julian,

Lydia with General Sanerias Unit Fuan, Izar, Elvira, Gabrielle, Inessa,

---

Basically its an Au mostly about Samurais, war and a journey.

I tried my best to keep the outfits fitting and well its more a silly non serious idea. Anyways.

Also a picrew of the General

[humanaaa]

I AM GONNA TALK ABOUT MY BRAZILIANS ISEKAI AU

All the brazilians are murdered, and they are isekai'd!

Cellbit: follows the "you get isekai'd and go to a fantasy world as yourself trope"! He wakes up in the fae kingdom, some chaotic faes put him in jail as a prank, and he is saved by the "chef" of the royal castle, Roier. Roier definitely isnt the fae price pretending to be the chef. Roier really wants to run away from the kingdom, especially as the whole kingdom is under lock down! No faes can get in and no faes can get out! It sucks.Roier also wishes he could see his son again, as he thinks Jaiden found him after Bobby was kidnapped.

When they do run away they make a living of travelling the whole world, selling food and searching for Bobby and Jaiden, it's nice.

Bagi: following the "reborn as a random npc that was supposed to die" trope, she wakes up drowning in a river and discovers she is a noblewoman from the demon kingdom. She pretends her almost death made her lose her memories, and for that she is forced to work in the demon king castle, who says they will help her to get her memories back (lying). She ends up meeting Iron Mouse, who tell her she is the actual Queen of the Demons, but her crown was stolen! Bagi and Mouse start ploting so Mouse can become queen again.

Later, they get help from Tina, a woman who also works in the castle, making tea, but she really wants to be a fashion designer! But the clothes the workers use wear so fucking ugly and she will kill the Demon King with her own hands for forcing her to wear that.

Pac: vaguely following the "Villain Are Destined to Die" plot idea. He is reborn as the villain of the story, wakes up in the pirate kingdom and is saved by a janitor called Fit. When he wakes up, he can't talk: a bunch of options appear on his vision, each saying a different thing for him to do/talk and he must select one of them so he can do something. Later, he discovers he can disable it, and that he and Mike are linked now, and they both banter while Mike tries to find him.

He also sees a heart above everyone's head, showing a percentage, he believes it's how much they like him, this surely wont bring any problems!

Mike: following the "reborn as an animal trope"! He wakes up as a magma cube (and also meets Slime here, they are brothers: were made by the same lab), and can hear Pac's thoughts, they discover they can talk to each other with their minds, and Mike goes through a journey so he can find him. He accidentally meets the Godness of Creation and becames a half human - half magma cube!

Forever: follows the "reborn the Hero of the story" trope! He wakes up and is forced to go to the Island Where Dragons Live, because, apparently, "a dragon is the one bringing all the problems of this world, and the hero must slay it". But. Forever doesnt want to kill a dragon what the fuck.

While trying to find a way out of the island, he finds an dragon egg, who hatches while he was holding it, he names the dragon baby Richarlyson, and he is a father now! But the dragons know he is the hero who is supposed to kill them, now he needs to figure out how dragons work so he can raise his child, find a way out and try to not get killed, fun!

Felps: Following the "Preferential Treatment for The Possessed Person" plot line, he wakes up, he can talk to the god who created this world and the voices who are watching it (you guys :D), he has whole skill thing he can upgrade with money! He can read the story! He can get very op items! But he is mostly making a square, and having fun, the world is supposed to end soon he knows that but, where is the fun in being overpowered :( He also acidentally creates a religion out of himself, oops!

Bonus:

Jaiden:

Following the "reborn as a bird plotline"! If i had a nickel for everytime i read a reincarnation story where the mc is reborn as a bird i would've 4 nickels, what isnt a lot but its curious it happened 4 times. Anyways, she first woke up in the fae kingdom, she and Roier adopt a dragon kid! They name him Bobby, until he was kidnapped one day, she went after him, and the lockdown happened so Roier couldnt leave. She is working with the federation, who says they will help to her to find Bobby!

The last time Roier heard of Jaiden was when he got a letter from her saying he didnt need to search for them because she found Bobby. But she never wrote this letter. Weird! right?