#like they’re so much to them hunting this thing

[phntxm]

Love Languages hcs n/sfw

} real world, the nsfw part is VERY short y-y characters; mr. gap & mr. scarletella

My beloved aka Mr. Gap

he’s annoying and cute (canon)

likes to surprise you but acts nonchalant about it

no worries about danger in an alley—he always keeps an eye on you, and no one would dare touch you (he scares them away first)

the dev said it’d be funny to make players say something like, "what do you mean you’re kind when you’ve caused so many game overs?" when he helps you and calls himself good/kind.

yeah, he’s silly like that (luv him)

his love languages are gift-giving, quality time, and physical touch

gift-giving: as much as he loves receiving things from you, he loves giving things to you too

quality time: he can appear anywhere, anytime. sometimes, he’ll only spend a short time with you before leaving to prank someone, but at the end of the day, he’ll always come back to you—often in surprising ways (like appearing under your bed or blanket)

physical touch: the moment he reached his arms out to hug the mc, I was screaming—he’s so cute! I thought he’d be the type to dislike being touched, but he reached out first, so yeah

Mr. Scarletella

most of the main characters are born as ghosts, and since they’re born from people’s beliefs (similar to Rise of the Guardians), if people don’t believe in them, they can’t be seen

at first, I headcanoned him as asexual since he’s more of a phenomenon than a person, but this is a romantic horror game, so...

he learns about love by watching human lovers, but he’s still bad at it, and his love is twisted, so his actions aren’t exactly normal

in Japan, it’s common for guys to be shy and for girls to confess their feelings first

the scene where he says "me like you" follows a moment where we give him a gift and he says, "you like me" this can be interpreted as us confessing love to him first

the word "together" (一緒に), if I’m not wrong, can imply romantic feelings. Saying you’re going to do something together can lead someone to think you have feelings for them

physical touch: he imitates what he thinks humans consider romantic—holding hands, staying close to each other, etc.

words of affirmation: honestly, the only thing you’d probably need to say to him is to tell him to stfu already

acts of service & gift-giving: he lures someone with his illusions to lead them to his territory, just so you can hunt them down. he also helps you cover the evidence if needed and offers human prey as a gift for you

quality time: bros been spending his time stalking you since the very beginning

nsfw;

Mr. Gap

dacryphilia

if you being stressed and cry, he'd be worries, but on the bed is other thingggg broo

TEASES A LOT

like both verbally and physically with your body

orgasm denial, he enjoys keeping you on edge

likes to appear at the edge of your bed at night, crawling from your toes up to your body

appear under your blanket to fingering u

bro MIGHT just be really good at fingering

Mr. Scarletella

somnophilia

I think mr. crawling would be into this too but the different is, mr.crawling he lets you know and ensures you both consent, on other hand, mr. scarletella just does it cuz he wants

role play master-servant but he's the servant

into spanking and bl00d play too but he's M not S

[qyuubu]

more homicipher human au hcs for the other characters (the ones in the hospital w human! mr. crawling)

mr. silvair

he’s a research assistant at a very low-key, borderline abandoned hospital. he likes doing crazy experiments during his downtime, so he didn’t want to study at a top-class hospital with high demands.

he wears a lab coat and tinted safety goggles at all times, hiding and protecting his eyes.

he’s not a paranormal enthusiast like mr. scarletella, but he does keep up with the news. he’s personally very fascinated at the increase of dead bodies around the area. helps with his research.

he’d love to get a hold of a real monster one day. not for any noble reason like handing them over to authorities, but to experiment on them.

lo and behold, one of the patients in the hospital, mr. crawling, brings in someone who looks suspiciously like the serial killer wanted by the police at the moment. how exciting.

mr. chopped

a cheerful patient from the hospital. he’s paralyzed from the neck down due to a series of incidents. he’s only alive due to the results of mr. silvair’s unethical medical technology.

while he’s a little insecure about needing help from mr. silvair and other medical staff, he remains pretty positive about his situation.

since he can’t move much, he’s very particular with the things he can do to himself, like getting a haircut. it makes him feel a lot better.

enthusiastic about the mc’s arrival. if you help assist him, like feeding him or even combing his hair. he’ll be eternally grateful.

he especially enjoys it when he’s being wheeled around on his special wheelchair. he’s also pretty well versed around the area, so he can tell you where things are if mr. crawling isn’t already helping.

mr. stitch

he actually works at the hospital. but because that hospital literally has no standards, he gets away with doing stupid stuff like pranking the patients and sneaking in funny toys to kill his boredom.

he looks like a patient despite actually being a staff member bc he’s gotten several skin grafts through the years. what can i say? he’s a reckless guy.

he often bothers mr. crawling, but mr. stitch thinks they’re friends.

he’s actually quite lonely. a lot of his old friends in school shunned him because his pranks went too far. he just wants to make people laugh…

so when the monster!mc enjoys his pranks, he tries his best to come up with crazier ones to get her to laugh some more.

he thinks she’s really fun and believes he found a like-minded spirit in her.

but when he does pull the crazy bus prank on her, mr. crawling goes ballistic. mr. crawling wasn’t all that bothered by mr. stitch up until he decided to mess with the mc.

the incident leaves him with the need for another skin graft. this time, courtesy of mr. silvair.

other human au hcs for more context:

[jasvtsc]

dean winchester x angel!reader — family feud.

warnings! mentions of drugs, violence, abuse, bad parenting, neglect, john winchester, mary winchester, implied prostitution, fem!reader

word count! 1.5k

you didn’t hate.

sure, you disliked some things more than the others. but hate? that was a strong word.

however, when it came to john and mary winchester?

you fucking despised these two to the point it made you want to hurl.

and that’s a lot, coming from an angel. leaves some space to think about things, y’know?

anyway.

john and mary ‘the worst parents of the century’ winchester.

you could write the whole bible on their parental mistakes and how they both neglected their children, basically scarring them with lifelong traumas—especially dean.

of course, you didn’t want to belittle sam and his trauma, since he got the fair share of john’s bullshit himself. but dean was the one who had to step up and be both a father and a mother while only being a kid. and that’s not fair—for both of them.

dean was the one starving himself, so sammy had food, since john forgot about his kids or took too long on some hunt. he was the one who earned money in ways that were more shameful than one could’ve imagined. he was the one getting roofied and…

yeah, you were livid.

and you didn’t even get that from the brothers themselves. before coming to earth you got a solid debrief of what you were getting into. and that meant knowing about the shit they went through from a to z. that was probably the main reason why you were so nice to them instead of acting like a complete jackass like most of your feathery siblings.

you had compassion that some of them massively lacked. you were the literal example of an angel supposed to help humanity and heal troubled souls. you were the epitome of purity and goodness.

but to older winchesters? yeah, you were a little bitch.

ever since they came back to life—a family thing apparently—trying to redeem their mistakes and be this happy and loving family, there wouldn’t be a minute without you sending daggers with your glare or scoffing at every word that left their mouths.

not only did they break the rules of the living and undead (sam and dean didn’t count), but they acted as if they didn’t do anything wrong. as if they could make up for their mistakes. well, too fucking late for that.

you simply couldn’t watch them together nor could you understand why they forgave them so easily. why did dean forgive them. you were baffled, but for the first time, you didn’t feel like asking questions.

no, you were having too much pent-up anger that you began slowly turning into castiel. not that it was bad, but considering your usually bubbly and happy personality now so doom and stern? yeah, it was concerning. especially for dean.

but when he tried to confront you, you brushed it off and disappeared. just like cas. and you were disappearing more often, without telling anyone and god knows where. and dean began to think what had he done to upset you to the point where you couldn’t even stand being in the same room as he was. cause he was always ready to blame himself first.

he sighed, sitting in the library, sipping a beer while mindlessly staring at the wall. he was debating whether to start praying so you’d come, but then his father entered the room, startling him out of his thoughts. john put a hand on his shoulder, making him jump up in his seat and visibly tense up—a response that a true soldier should have. what a fucking bullshit, just another trauma response.

“come on, son. stop brooding over that angel. you know how they are. they don’t give a shit. we’re just humans for them. toys they can play with and then dispose of as soon as we’re old and cranky and without much use. they’re immortal. they’re getting bored quickly,” john sighed with a small chuckle, patting his son’s shoulder, which only made him flinch more.

“you don’t know her. she’s not like that,” dean muttered, rubbing his chin. you weren’t like that…right?

of course you weren’t. why did he even think that? you were his whole world, and he pretty much thought that he was yours. you weren’t like other angels—you were actually angelic and pure and all the other schmancy shit. but yeah, no, you weren’t like that, and his dad was fucking wrong.

“she’s an angel. a supernatural creature. that says enough. they shouldn’t be here anyway. their place is up there where they can be all high and mighty with those pretentious stares.”

“she’s not like that,” dean said more sternly this time, his voice strong and leaving no place for a discussion. you were his little birdie, and he wouldn’t let anyone badmouth you. not even his own father.

“you’re defending her now?” john scoffed in amusement, looking at his son in disbelief. “you’ve gotten soft,” he hummed.

“and? is it so bad now? i’m sorry to disappoint you. again,” dean stood up, ready to leave, when his father grabbed his arm and looked at him with those eyes that dean knew too well—those eyes that meant he was about to get his ass beat.

“don’t be a brat now. show your father some respect. i don’t think i taught you to run your mouth—" dean swallowed thickly, preparing himself to get a blow to his face or at least try to dodge it, perhaps.

however, before john could finish, suddenly his hand on dean’s arm was yanked away and painfully bent backwards as if it was going to break any moment, the angel blade pressed dangerously to an artery in his throat.

“touch him again and i’ll make sure to drag your ass to hell myself, you fucking deadbeat,” you hissed with so much venom and hatred in your voice that it honestly made dean speechless.

you had the deadliest expression dean had ever seen on your face. he felt goosebumps on the back of his neck, suddenly feeling as if he was frozen in place. to be honest, you looked pretty scary and intimidating for such a small and inconspicuous creature.

“oh, look who’s back from heaven,” john chuckled darkly, clearly pissed off by your presence. “tell her to back off,” he almost growled while shifting his eyes from you back to his son.

dean stood still. honestly? he didn’t want to help. he wanted to let you do your thing. he wanted you to protect him.

but it was his father. and he felt that he couldn’t just let him be treated by you like that.

“birdie, come on. drop it,” he sighed, coming closer and wrapping his arms around you, gently pulling you back. he knew you wouldn’t protest, and you knew that as well—you’d never hurt dean or even try to do something that would possibly hurt him. you’d probably cut your own wings off if he got even the smallest bruise because of you. “relax, okay. don’t do anything stupid, birdie,” he rubbed your arm, trying to calm you down.

with a huff, you turned around and looked at dean. “i don’t like him. and i don’t like your mother. these people are weird and had hurt you and i don’t trust them,” you hissed, keeping your voice a whisper so john wouldn’t hear as he tried to scramble himself up from the floor.

“birdie, they’re my parents. i—” but he cut off and raised his brow. “how do you even know what happened? i never tol—”

“angel stuff. doesn’t matter. i just don’t like it when you’re hurt and upset and feeling sad. and these two make you upset, sad and hurt!“ you tried to resonate. “i just want you to be happy. i can’t give you your childhood back nor i can undid every awful thing that happened to you. but i can try my best to make it better and give you what you missed out on. if you want to feel childish for a minute, we can do that together. i’m already considered to be one apparently,” you huffed with a small eye-roll.

and dean was speechless. he looked at you in disbelief, and all the other feelings that he couldn’t quite name. he felt his heart squeeze painfully in his chest, tears gathering up in his eyes. he tried to say something, to think of something, when john’s mocking chuckle echoed through the walls.

“are you kidding me? crying? what kind of soldier—” before he got a chance to finish, you sent him on the floor with a solid sucker punch to his face. john groaned and blinked hazily before losing consciousness.

you shook your hand with a small huff and then looked at wide-eyed dean.

“i’m not going to apologize for that,” you said in that direct and indifferent tone, pointing at john’s unresponsive body.

dean just blinked and then looked at you, his expression slowly softening. he smiled at you and pulled you closer.

“honestly? i don’t want you to. thanks birdie,” he hummed and kissed your temple, letting his lips stay on your skin for a moment, while you leaned into his invitingly warm touch. “i love you so much, my little angel.”

“i love you, too, deano.”

god, he was so glad to have you.

a/n: i’ll drop the drabble tomorrow cause i didn’t think i’d finish this shot faster lol😭

༄♡ tags: @frosttbitessam @beausling @deanswidow @titsout4nicholas @a1ecmcdowell @aileenunfiltered @figthoughts @fitxgrld @angelicp0etry @hrtsoldierboy @deansbite @artyandink @10ava01 @abellmunsonmovie

[delumineight]

i’m in tears 4000 reblogs… this is tumblr i would be so embarrassed of that i don’t even tell anyone in real life that i use this app. that aside im gonna skip that second paragraph because everything else is going to answer that. i’m assuming you’ve been here a while so i know changing your opinion won’t work too well, but you’re looking at this all so one dimensionally.

first off, that happens in year six. there is no “year seven.” and i am glad that you’re bringing up hermione’s faults because usually it’s all about ron! i just don’t think you’re familiar with Being In Love and to be honest i don’t care if hermione beats up on ron. he doesn’t either!!! am i supposed to hate women hit men? no. why would i? that’s praxis. when hermione jokes about it in the next book, he laughs. and if she did it then, he definitely would have deserved it if we’re going to be honest. ron probably likes her for any of the following and perhaps more: she is funny believe it or not, her vindication, the fact that she rides so hard for him and harry, how she cares about him, how she’s kind enough to want to kill some random chickens for them on the horcrux hunt, how insanely passionate she is about everything, and probably so much more that i don’t care to list or think of.

when harry’s away they could be doing anything. hogwarts is a big school. they canonically go to the library a few times, play wizards chess as you’ve mentioned, and do some homework/studying (much to ron’s dismay, i’ll admit). the book is told from harry’s perspective. we aren’t supposed to know what ron and hermione are doing 24/7 and that’s part of it all. this is where you use something called your imagination. they’re prefects together. which means that they spent hours walking around the school alone together. probably just chatting about whatever or even in silence, which can sometimes be so much more intimate than a chat.

ron’s opinion on house-elves doesn’t just change randomly throughout deathly hallows. the two elves in this book are insanely important to the plot, defeating voldemort, and the trio’s survival if you’ve forgot. kreature tells them about the locket and the story of how it originally was removed from the cave. dobby dies for them and saves hermione from being raped by greyback. the reason for the kiss is so big because it does in fact show that ron is growing up and changing, because they are children for the entire series minus a few months during deathly hallows.

and are you serious about this one? why didn’t they tell harry? dude, they didn’t tell each other for seven years and he was, i dunno, the center of a fucking war by the time they realised that they liked each other for real??? like, again, seriously?

they have “no development” in the epilogue because you’ve skipped 19 years and it’s like six pages long and not about them. it’s about harry’s gay son who is scared of being a slytherin, not ron or hermione or rose or hugo. they’re just little figurines in the background of harry’s small dilemma with his son that only have a few lines of small talk with their best friend/in law.

also, acting like ron and hermione’s relationship was out of no where just proves that you probably haven’t read the first two or three books in a while. some venture to say that seed was planted during the first book when ron sarcastically calls hermione “a lovely, sweet tempered girl” or the wingardium leviosa scene or when he beats her at wizard’s chess and it’s the first thing she’s ever lost at. jkr herself said once that they were meant to be a bit “love at first sight”-y (they’re 11 so i’m not 100% a fan of that) but if you can’t see it when he nearly jumps draco malfoy in chamber of secrets for wishing hermione dead or when he keeps looking sadly at her empty seat while she’s petrified you’re being purposefully dense.

if you’d like to try some more arguments please go ahead, but make them harder. this was entirely too easy and elementary. i could’ve given these same answers when i was thirteen.

“I used to ship Harry and Hermione together but that was back when I was 12 years old. Now, I’ve grown up and realized that Ron and Hermione make much more sense together and are good together” is a sure-fire way to tell me you didn’t “grow up”.

[candycandy00]

Once Upon a Time - A Choso x Reader Fanfic Part 2

Retold fairytales featuring the JJK men! This is Rapunzel featuring Choso! While gathering herbs in the forest, you stumble into the garden of a strange man living in an abandoned watch tower. He talks often about his three little brothers, but you’re beginning to suspect they’re no longer there. 

Part 1 | Part 2

Read Sukuna x Sleeping Beauty Here!

Read Gojo x Cinderella Here!

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. Reader as Rapunzel. Reader has long hair (she kinda has to for this story) but no other distinguishing physical characteristics. Choso as a classic Yandere. Possessive behavior. Toxic love. Manipulation. Reader is locked up. Mentions of characters dying before the story began. Bondage (not used in a sexual context… yet).

Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more and @benkeibear!

You slam the shutters closed and back away from the window. Already you’ve begun trembling from the cold, and despite the shackle on your ankle, you’re irrationally afraid of falling out the window. 

The chain on the shackle clinks as you move, and you follow it back to see what it’s connected to. Under the straw mattress, you find a great metal hook where the end of the chain is fastened. You pull at it, but there’s no way to get it free. It seems to be built into the hook somehow. 

Changing tactics, you sit down and examine the shackle itself. There’s a small keyhole on the side, and no other way to open it. You pull and jerk, but it doesn’t budge. 

Why would Choso do this? You thought things were going so well. You even fell in love with him. Did he have something like this in mind the whole time? And what does he even plan to do with you?

You run through possibilities in your mind, but nothing makes sense. If he wanted to keep you here for sex, why bother when you slept with him willingly? You make him all the medicines he wants. You spend time with him and even invited him to come visit you. What else could he possibly want from you? 

Just then you notice that your hair has been tied back up into a ponytail. It’s a bit messier than when you do it, but it’s clear that Choso has made an effort. Why would he do something so considerate while doing something as terrible as chaining you up? 

Footsteps echo through the room, and you look toward the door. Someone is coming up the stairs, and unless you’re completely wrong about his brothers being dead, it’s definitely Choso. 

You feel a surge of panic. Whatever he wants from you, it can’t be good if he’s taken you captive. You’re not sure if your heart can handle being hurt by someone you’ve come to love, someone you were so intimate with just before you were knocked out. 

The door opens, and Choso is on the other side, holding a plate of food. His eyes widen when he sees you standing there in the middle of the room.

“Oh, you’re awake,” he says, relief in his voice. He steps inside and sits the plate on the dresser. “I brought dinner just in case, but I was worried you’d still be asleep. That sleep medicine you made is more potent than I thought. Or maybe I used too much. It’s been two days.”

Two days?! You’d guessed around twelve hours! But this is no time to be shocked into silence. 

“Why have you taken me prisoner?” you ask, trying to keep your tone even and calm. Losing your cool will be no help at all. 

He blinks. “Prisoner? No, that’s not what I’m doing. I’m keeping you safe. After the threat is gone, I’ll take you home.”

“The threat? You mean the wolves?” How could he possibly rid the forest of wolves single handedly? Or is this just a way for him to keep you here indefinitely? 

“Yes, the wolves,” he replies, seemingly oblivious to how ridiculous that sounds. “Well, that particular pack of wolves. I’ll hunt them down and kill them all, so they won’t ever hurt you again.”

You step closer to him. “Choso, you don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine! The wolves are less active during the day, so just escort me home now while the sun is still up, and-“

“No!” he shouts, making you flinch and step back. His face then softens immediately, as if your reaction pained him. “I’m sorry for yelling, but I can’t let you leave until I know you’ll be safe. I promise I’ll take care of you, so don’t worry!”

“Choso-“

“I’ll cook meals for you every day,” he continues, cutting you off. “You like my cooking, right? I went to the village yesterday and bought you a couple of dresses to wear, and some books to read so you won’t be bored!”

“Please, Choso, listen to me,” you say, approaching him again. “I know you mean well, and you’re trying to look out for me, but this isn’t the way to do it. I need to go home. You can’t keep me here against my will.”

This time he takes a step back. “I’ll take you home as soon as I kill the wolves. It won’t take too long, but I can’t let you go before then. Those wolves are bloodthirsty, and they’re not afraid to attack humans.”

You stare at him for a moment, wondering if you should say the words bubbling up in your mouth. Since he’s taken things this far, you decide to stop dancing around the topic and ask, “Is that what happened to your brothers?”

His face goes blank, his eyes looking eerily empty as he says, “What are you talking about? My brothers are downstairs playing.”

For that brief moment, Choso frightens you to your core. For that one solitary moment, you believe he’s capable of anything. 

You feel your eyes becoming wet. “Choso, I’m more afraid of you than the wolves right now.”

He looks hurt, reeling back as if he’s been slapped. “Me? But I’d never hurt you! I’m doing all this to protect you!”

“But I don’t want this kind of protection,” you say as calmly as possible. “Don’t you care what I want?”

He wears a conflicted expression, which is a good sign. Maybe you can reach him. He backs up toward the door. “Of course I care, but I care more about keeping you safe,” he says as he opens the door and steps out. “Please eat. I’ll come check on you a little later.” Then the door closes. 

You stand there for a while, listening to his footsteps carrying him down the stairs. Once he sounds far enough away, you go over to the dresser and pick up the plate. Your gut reaction is to smash it on the floor, but starving yourself will get you nowhere. It might even end with Choso forcing food down your throat. 

No, the best idea is to appeal to Choso’s care for you. He’s clearly been driven mad by grief over his brothers, and it’s impossible to tell what he’d do when pushed into a corner. 

But the worst part is that, despite what he’s doing, you still feel love for Choso. He seems to sincerely believe he’s protecting you. 

For now, you decide to bide your time and try talking some sense into him. 

Later that evening, Choso returns to the top of the tower. When he opens the door and steps into the room, you gasp at the sight of him. 

His clothes are torn, there are bloody scratches all over him, and he’s carrying a heavy-looking wool sack. 

You quickly get to your feet and hurry over, but the chain prevents you from reaching him. He’s just inside the door, barely out of your reach. You extend one hand toward him. “Choso, what happened?!” No matter what he’s done, you still can’t bear to see him hurt. 

Choso looks at her with an anguished expression when he realizes she’s trying to come to him but can’t, because of the shackle he placed on her ankle. He takes the ten steps needed to be close enough for her to touch him, sighing in relief when her soft hands touch his shoulders. 

“I’m alright,” he tells her, shifting the bag to one arm. “More importantly, I brought you a gift.”

She looks skeptical. Of course she does. He’s well aware that she’s unhappy with this situation. He doesn’t like making her unhappy, but he knows she’ll understand after she’s here for a while with him. Eventually she’ll come to like being kept safe and pampered here. 

He opens the bag and dumps out the contents on the floor in front of her. Two gifts that will surely prove his devotion to her. Two bloody, mangled wolf carcasses. 

She doesn’t scream, but instead makes a strange little cry of alarm, barely above a whisper, as she steps back, one hand closed over her mouth. 

“Don’t you recognize them?” he asks, squatting down to hold one of them up. “These are two of the wolves that attacked you. There’s only four more.”

She looks horrified as her lovely eyes take in the dead wolves, then shift to his face. “You killed them yourself?”

Choso smiles, feeling proud. “Yes, with a hatchet! It was fairly easy to take a couple down once I drove the pack to separate, then I-“

He notices she’s crying, and it makes the words dry up in his mouth. She looks aghast. 

“Please don’t do something like this again!” she cries. “Think about what would happen if you’re killed by the wolves! I’d be trapped here alone, with no food or water!”

Choso’s heart nearly stops when he hears her words. How could he have been so careless? He put her at risk! “I’m sorry!” he says, dropping to his knees beside the wolves. “I didn’t consider that! I’ll bring extra food and water tomorrow, and I’ll be very careful when I kill the rest of the pack!”

She kneels down in front of him. “Don’t kill the rest of them! Please just stop all this. Wolf attacks are rare. I’m sure it won’t happen again. I’ll forgive you if you let me go home when the sun comes up.”

Her words are logical. They make perfect sense to Choso, but he knows logic isn’t always right. He can’t risk her being attacked again. Standing up, he looks down at her. “After I kill the remaining four, I’ll take you home. I promise. And don’t worry, I’ve killed a bigger pack than this one before. I know what I’m doing.”

She lowers her head in defeat, not even looking up when he places the dead wolves in the bag and leaves the room. 

Back downstairs, he strips off the bloody clothes and cleans up in the small washroom beside the kitchen. There’s a similar washroom upstairs for her to use. He cleaned her body the day before, while she was still sleeping, but he was careful to protect her modesty as best he could and not touch her inappropriately. 

After washing his hair and drying off, Choso pulls on loose fitting black pants and sits near the fireplace to warm up. He can’t help remembering how he made love to her in this very spot only two days earlier. When he’d been fully sheathed inside her, wrapped in her arms, he felt at peace for the first time in years. 

It was almost enough to make him forget. 

After a few minutes, he decides to go up and check on her. He misses the time they spent talking happily together, sharing stories about their lives. He hopes they can go back to that someday. These are his thoughts as he climbs the steps of the tower. 

You’re surprised when you hear footsteps on the stairs again. You didn’t expect Choso to come back again so late, but when he opens the door, he’s standing there in only black pants, no shirt, his hair loose around his shoulders and slightly damp. 

It reminds you that you find him very attractive, and you wish you could just turn that part of your brain off. 

“Ah, sorry if I’m bothering you,” he says, looking a little sheepish. “I think it’s time to change your bandages. Is it alright if I help you?”

You already found a drawer full of supplies in the dresser, but you haven’t changed them yet. To be honest, that’s been the last thing on your mind today. 

You’re not quite sure whether you should accept his help, or anything else. You haven’t even looked at the dresses he bought for you, spending the day in your slip. There’s a coal heater in the room, with a vent built into the wall to prevent smoke buildup, so you haven’t been cold unless you open the window. 

He stands there looking like a lost puppy, and you can’t help yourself. “Alright, you can help me,” you say, sitting on the mattress. 

Looking pleased, he hurries over to the drawer and gathers supplies, then sits down beside you. His hands are nearly shaking as he carefully removes the bandages from your hand and arm. As always, his touches are light and gentle, his fingertips soft on your skin. He continues this process with your other wounds, and it feels so nice and relaxing that your guard drops completely. 

When he’s finished, he starts to stand up, but you place one hand on his arm. “What about you?” you ask him, looking at the numerous shallow cuts and scratches on his firm torso. “Let me help you.”

His eyes widen slightly, a faint dusting of pink on his pale face as he settles back onto the floor and nods. With the same care he demonstrated, you clean and wrap his wounds with bandages, your hands lingering on his abdomen. You wonder if he’s aroused right now, considering the way his breaths are coming quicker and his eyes seem to be darker. 

Do you want him to be aroused? 

You’re not certain what you want. And while you’re still in this vague mindset, Choso softly asks, “May I touch you?”

Slightly dazed by his closeness, you say yes, assuming he plans to embrace you when he moves to be behind you. 

Instead, his warm hand slides under the fabric of your slip, between your legs. You gasp when his fingers gently prod your folds open and find your clit, stroking it until you become wet. 

“You liked it when I touched you here, right?” he says into your ear, and your whole body shivers. 

You shouldn’t let this happen. You should tell him to stop. Being intimate with him again will only make him feel like his behavior is okay. But you’ve been so stressed today, so wound up and worried. And Choso looks so beautiful with his hair down, his fingers feel so good, causing currents of electric pleasure to ripple through you. 

You should stop this, but instead you lean back against him, opening your thighs. You turn your head to look at him over your shoulder, one of your hands moving to his hair and pulling his face close enough to kiss him. You moan into his mouth as he continues rubbing your clit, your body beginning to quiver. 

Breaking the kiss, you look him in the eyes. “Choso… take me,” you plead, peeling off the slip and leaving yourself nude. 

You don’t have to ask twice. With an urgency bordering on desperation, he pushes you forward, onto your hands and knees on the floor. Within seconds, he’s shoving into you, a short whimpering cry escaping his lips as your warm, slick walls close around him. 

He’s less careful this time, less gentle as he thrusts into you from behind, as if he can’t hold himself back any longer. 

One of his hands slides around to continue stroking your clit, making you sob out a moan. His other hand reaches around your face, where his fingers dip into your open mouth. His thrusts get harder, faster, and the chain connected to your ankle clinks as it rattles. 

Oh god, you’re falling into madness with him. 

When you cum with a great shudder, you inadvertently bite down on his fingers, tasting his blood. He doesn’t even try to withdraw them. 

When he cums, fully inside you, he leans over your shaking form and says into your ear, “I love you so much. I’ll keep you safe… forever!”

The words, sounding sweet at first, snap you back to your senses when you realize what he’s actually saying. 

He intends to keep you captive here for the rest of your life. He’ll never let you go. 

The thought is sobering, and you instantly lose the sense of pleasure you’d just felt. In a moment of weakness, you’ve made a terrible mistake. 

When Choso pulls out, he wraps his arms around you, clearly wanting to be close for a while longer. You pull away from his grasp and say, “I need to go clean up.”

He looks at you as you stand up. “Do you need any help?” he asks, seeming so kind. 

“No, I’m fine,” you say, not meeting his eyes. 

You spend longer in the washroom than you need, hoping he’ll be gone back downstairs when you come back out. Unfortunately, he’s still sitting on the floor when you return. He must have noticed your change in attitude, because he looks worried. 

“Are you upset?” 

You finally look him in the eyes. There are lots of things you want to say, but all of them would probably make this situation worse. No, you need to be smart about this. Making him freak out and be on his guard will be no help to you. 

“I’m just tired,” you say. “It’s been a long day.”

He gets to his feet and hovers awkwardly for a little while before heading for the door. “I guess I’ll see you in the morning. I’ll bring your breakfast.”

“Thanks, Choso,” you tell him, pulling on your slip and sitting down on the mattress. 

He gives you an uneasy smile, then leaves the room. You listen to his footsteps, waiting until you can no longer hear them. 

A plan is already forming in your mind. You’ve realized tonight that you have to escape, and soon. The first step is to get rid of the shackle. Choso locks the door each time he leaves, but there’s a chance he might forget at some point. You need to be ready for that possibility. 

Sitting on the mattress, you bring your shackled ankle close and carefully remove the strips of cloth Choso has tied underneath the metal. Then you grit your teeth and begin yanking on the chain, pulling it harshly against your skin. After several painful minutes, you tie the cloth back around your ankle and slide it under the shackle. 

The next morning, Choso brings your breakfast and sits it on the dresser. He walks over to where you’re sitting and says, “How are you feeling today?”

You look up at him, rubbing your leg absently. “I’m okay. It’s just…”

“Hmm? Is something wrong?”

You extend your leg, the chain clinking. “My ankle hurts.”

He squats down and gently begins untying the cloth. When it falls away, a look of horror spreads across his face. Your ankle is wrapped in deep purple bruises. 

“I’m so sorry!” he says, digging around in his pockets and pulling out a small key. “I thought the cloth would be enough to cushion it!”

He quickly unlocks the shackle, then pulls it away from you. With one hand you rub over it, wincing. “I think it happened last night, when we were together,” you tell him. 

His face reddens. “I never realized it. I’ll leave the shackle off for a while. Maybe you don’t even need it.”

You don’t say anything to that, afraid you might say something that makes him suspicious. 

The day wears on, Choso bringing you meals and even applying a salve to your ankle. He seems happy to see you wearing one of the dresses he bought for you. 

He doesn’t know you’re preparing. 

By nightfall, you stop hearing any sounds whatsoever, and you have no doubt he’s gone to hunt the wolves again. This is the time to act!

You start by checking the door, just in case. As expected, it’s locked up tight. But that’s okay. You have a back up plan. 

It takes you several minutes to unfasten all the loops and ties in your hair, which you’d redone after Choso’s attempt at fixing it back. Once all of it is loose, you begin twisting it around into something resembling a rope. Then you drag the heavy dresser over to the window and tie the end of your hair around one of its legs. 

You open the window and look down, trying to judge the distance. You’ve done this many times already, and you’re still not certain you can reach the bottom. Even if you do, you’ll have to make a horrible decision. 

You’ll have to cut your hair. 

It’s the only way to escape, and you have a small blade that Choso left with the medical supplies, for cutting off strips of bandages. 

You have no choice. Choso will keep you here forever. There will always be more wolves in the forest. The longer you stay here, the harder it will be to escape, the more you’ll grow comfortable with being held captive by him. 

Steeling your nerves and your heart, you open the window and climb onto the ledge. Holding tightly to your hair as if it’s a rope, you begin easing yourself down, keeping your feet on the side of the tower. 

The climb down is terrifying. If your feet should slip, or your hands lose their grip on your hair, you could fall the rest of the way. Depending on how the length of your hair compares to the tower, you could smash into the ground or have your neck snapped if your hair suddenly stops your fall from this height. 

Luckily, it’s too dark to see much when you look down, so you can focus all your attention on your descent. 

It takes longer than you expected. At least twice you hear the sound of wolves howling. Is Choso hunting them now? You hope he’s not hurt, but you also hope he doesn’t come back before you’re gone. 

Finally, you reach the end of your hair, leaving yourself only enough slack to move your head around. You look down, and the ground looks close enough that dropping from here wouldn’t hurt at all. It’s now or never. 

You pull the blade from a pocket in your dress and take a deep breath, then you begin cutting through your hair. Tear fill your eyes as you watch the strands split off from each other. Your hair is sacred, it represents your spirit, but those are just ideas you grew up with. Logically, you know it’s just hair. It will grow back. But it’s still emotional for you. 

Once you’ve cut it free of your head, you extend your arms, holding onto the end of the “ rope”, giving yourself a few more inches, and then you drop. 

The ground rises up to meet you, and your legs quiver when the impact shoots from your feet up to your hips. It hurts, but you don’t think you’ve injured anything. You catch your breath, then run around to the other side of the tower, toward the path you’re familiar with that leads back to the village. You try not to think about your hair, about how it’s barely long enough to cover your ears now. 

When you round the tower, you stop dead in your tracks. 

Just a few feet away from you, Choso is walking toward the tower, a dead wolf thrown across his shoulder. 

[sapphiresaphics]

Having spent time now with the full series I still don’t feel the pacing issues other people seemed to have with it.

I get that as the episodes are releasing and we only have 3 a week and don’t have the full picture of what they’re planning it can be really easy to feel lost and confused.

But now knowing where they were going, a lot of those supposed “rushed plot lines” people were complaining about make sense. The importance of the Black Rose stuff now makes sense because it’s Ambessa’s entire motivation for why she’s doing the things she’s doing. It makes sense to take Ekko and Jayce out of the plot briefly when they visit the hexcore cuz that forces Ambessa to side with Singe. It makes sense why the Warwick stuff was being set up because that ended up being the catalyst to propel Viktor into being the Machine Herald.

Also, it makes sense now why Piltover and Zaun played such an important role in being the stage for where THIS story was set. I get people wanted the show to be more about the inequality, but the inequality was always just the set dressing for the main characters to be in and was never the central focus of the show. Not even back in season 1.

Like back in season 1 the inequality helped explain the characters motivations, but the central core message the story was telling was how people compromised their morals with good intentions only to achieve terrible results.

Jayce built Hextech to help the undercity and he ends up using it against them. Viktor obsesses so much over fixing his disease that he compromises and takes shimmer and in the process Sky dies. Silco dreams of a free Zaun, but it results in him essentially becoming a drug lord and harming the people of Zaun more than helping them. Caitlyn breaks Vi out of prison to help her hunt down Jinx, and in the process of having Vi return into her life inadvertently causes Jinx to double down and attack the Piltover council.

Inequality was a setting and a backdrop, but the show was never focused on resolving or exploring those issues much deeper than it was.

Also, about that pacing.. have you guys gone back and rewatched Season 1? The first 2 episodes are pretty chill with the pacing, but episode 3 goes crazy. And so does episode 4 and 5 and 6… like the pacing gets wilder and wilder as the season goes on until towards the end we are jumping from Silco reeling from nearly getting killed by Sevika to having a friendly discussion with Jayce on the bridge to being captured by Jinx. It’s FAST guys. Breakneck speed.

I will also say that rewatching season 1 gives me an appreciation for a lot of the parallels they had in season 2 that I missed. Things like “Remember Me” being the theme to when Vander attacks Silco back in season 1. Or like how when AU Powder appears on the dance floor with Ekko mirrors how Jinx approached him on the bridge in Season 1 Episode 7. Or how Jayce and Viktor invented Hextech floating up on the ceiling, and the series ends with the two floating in the ethereal plane together.

I maintain that a lot of these criticisms about season 2’s pacing are not as bad as some people think they are once you take the whole series together as a whole. Without that 3 year gap or the wait between episode drops, the whole series blends together much more seamlessly.

And then there’s like… season 2 episode 7? That episode stops all the forward momentum and resets our expectations. It provides us with context for some of the stuff we had seen and helps us understand the stakes going forward. When people are complaining the series is going by too fast I just can’t agree because that episode exists and it literally stops us in our tracks before ramping up again.

I understand that some side characters outside the central 7-8 mains weren’t fully developed much and that is definitely a valid criticism of the show… however I would also remind people that season 1 had a similar problem. Grayson was a fascinating character I wish I knew more about, but outside of a small cameo in episode 5 she’s just gone out of the series forever and nobody brings her up again ever. We never learn much about Huck. We never learn what happened to Clagger and Mylo’s parents. We never learn anything about Finn and what he did. We never learn more about the robot council member or the woman who has a clock on her neck. There are a LOT of characters who just never come back at all in season 1.

I dunno guys.. the more I digest this series the more many of the criticisms feel unfounded or a real reach for something to complain about.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Emotional Support Animal

Hi. I’ve been reading your Merlin stories and I just finished The one with Gaius the emotional support dog. Could you write a similar one but set in medieval times in Camelot. Maybe his friends notice his anxiety and panic attacks and don’t know how to help. There’s a hunting dog that’s rubbish at hunting, too protective of everything or not the right temperament. They’re going to kill the dog or sell him but Arthur has noticed that Merlin seems calmer around animals (or calmer after walking Arthur’s dogs) so he gifts the dog to Merlin. Merlin’s new dog becomes the world’s first emotional support dog. Or if you want a twist, Merlin gets a tiny (cat sized) runt of a dragon as an emotional support critter. I just also thought it would be hilarious to see Uther’s reaction to Merlin having his emotional support dog following him around the castle. – mcddff

Read on Ao3

Warnings: panic attacks

Pairings: merthur, can be platonic or romantic you decide

Word Count: 2153

"It's incredible," Elyan muses as Merlin sleeps, curled up into a little ball with the dog snugly in his lap, its head resting in the crook of his elbow, "I've never seen him be the first to fall asleep while we're out of the castle…ever."

"I've never seen him sleep." Percival shifts to adjust the fire, wary of how much noise he's making. "Part of me believed he didn't."

"The dog's good for him," Arthur says, the same way he always has: with the quiet conviction of someone who knows beyond any reasonable doubt that he is correct.

***

Whenever the castle produces a new litter of puppies, the King and the Crown Prince are summoned to appraise the fresh crop of hunting dogs. The stable master guides them down to the stall that's been set aside for the new mother and her pups. Arthur wrinkles his nose slightly at the smell. Merlin, strangely enough, does not.

"I grew up around this sort of thing," he mumbles when Arthur shoots him an accusing look, "I'm used to it."

He sets aside how distinctly uninspired he is to make jokes about Merlin being raised in a barn for later, turning his attention to the squirming bundles of fur rolling around in the shavings. Uther raises a hand and the stall door is unlocked, letting Arthur inside to examine them.

"How did they fare?"

"Well, sire. Tad loud in the midst of it, but that's typically how she is."

Uther nods, his gaze roaming over the puppies. Arthur crouches down near the door, letting them come over and sniff him. He's been told it's good practice to get himself acquainted early, let them know his scent. It took him far too long to realize Uther didn't partake in such things, but then again it's been a while since he believed his father to be beyond reproach. As they always do when his thoughts steer in this direction, his eyes dart towards Merlin.

Merlin's gaze roams just as Uther's does, only his is softer, gentle. A bit of respect and admiration for the mother, who birthed her litter and now sleeps in the sunlight—thinking she's earned it, no doubt, and Arthur finds himself hard-pressed to disagree—and nothing but wonder for the little balls of fur darting about the stall. A few of them nip playfully at Arthur's boots and fingers, yipping. He rewards them with gentle pats to their heads, a stroke down their backs. The mother opens one eye, assessing him, before deciding he's allowed to do what he pleases and going back to sleep.

"—and only one runt to put down, which is some sort of record for her."

Merlin's head turns. Arthur stands up, already going to get between Uther and Merlin before Uther can notice he's being stared at—glared at, more likely—and before Merlin can open his mouth and say something to get himself in trouble.

"I think they'll be good for us, Father," he says, swinging open the stall door to block Merlin. Playing the 'father' card with Uther never fails to catch him off-guard. It shouldn't, but it does, and Arthur's not going to think about that now either. "We should begin training them as soon as they're able."

Uther nods, mind already elsewhere. "Have the kennel master made aware."

"Yes, sire."

With that, the King turns and begins to make his way back toward the citadel proper. Arthur lingers behind, ostensibly to watch the puppies play for a little longer, but really it's to let Merlin quietly ask the stable master if the runt has already been taken care of. The stable master glances over to see if Uther's really gone—he is, the King would never be caught dead near the stables if he didn't have a damn good reason—before telling him it's in the last stall on the right.

Merlin's off before Arthur has time to say anything.

"How are the bakers liking their new dog?"

"'S named Clove now, sire. They love the little thing."

"And the family on the edge of the city?"

"Well, nothing quite replaces a child, sire, but they do love their Gilly."

Arthur nods. It's been far easier than he anticipated to strike a deal with this stable master and kennel master. The previous ones, Uther's men through and through, had killed the runts as soon as they were made clear. But these men know how precious a little pup is for any family who might need one, and so Arthur had helped them quietly smuggle the pups out in the dead of night with a wink and a promise that they not tell anyone where they got them.

Oh, sure, the smarter of the guards—and Leon, because that man knows everything—already knew. But the majority, and most importantly, the ones that would tell Uther, were none the wiser.

"If I may, sire?" Arthur glances over. The stable master grins. "I know that sweet little tailor's lass was waiting for her new pup, but I think she can wait a little while longer."

Sure enough, when Arthur makes it to the last stall on the right, Merlin's sitting there with a dark brown pup in his lap, letting it gnaw on the edge of his sleeve. He looks up at Arthur and Arthur just sighs.

***

The pup doesn't have a name. If it does, Arthur doesn't know it. If he didn't know Merlin were a sorcerer, he'd be staggered at how quickly the pup learns to do exactly what Merlin wants, recommending he take it up with the kennel master for training the dogs when they come of age. But he knows, and more importantly he knows Merlin would never be comfortable teaching anything to kill, and so he just sits back and marvels.

The pup stays at Merlin's heels everywhere he goes. He tried to enforce it staying out of his chambers at first, only to fall victim to two dangerous sets of puppy-dog eyes, and quickly relented with a sharp order to make Merlin clean it if any 'accidents' were to happen. But they never did; the pup sits or lies down politely at the edge of Arthur's desk while he works, dozing in the sunlight or gnawing on a small scrap of cloth that Merlin swears was from his own bedraggled closet, not Arthur's. When Merlin has to leave to go on an errand, it hops up and follows him, nudging Arthur's leg as they leave. And when he's back, it always nudges his leg in greeting before plopping right back down.

The knights take it in stride, the way they do with everything when it comes to Merlin. The pup sits on the sidelines with him as they train, hops up onto a table in the armory to get out of the way when they come to return their weapons. It makes a befuddled mess of itself once when all of them go to retrieve their cloaks only to find it whimpering quietly in question, swaddled in a mess of all of them. It licks Merlin's face when he goes to help, leaving the two of them laughing as the knights watch on in wonder.

"Damn it, Merlin," Arthur swears he hears Gwaine mutter under his breath, "leave some for the rest of us, would you?"

But Merlin's still smiling softly at his pup and Arthur…well, Arthur's not inclined to move to the next part of training either.

***

Merlin has magic. Merlin is a sorcerer. Merlin is a very powerful sorcerer. Merlin is a very powerful sorcerer serving Crown Prince Arthur Pendragon in the heart of Camelot, a kingdom so staunchly anti-magic under the iron fist of King Uther Pendragon that the first day he arrived, he witnessed an execution of someone like him.

Of course Merlin is terrified.

Arthur has to give him credit: you'd never know it by looking at him. Sure, he makes jokes about Merlin being a coward, but he never means them. Not when Merlin is hiding a fear greater than one he could ever understand and still manages to smile and joke like everything's right with the world.

That doesn't mean it's always easy.

One of the first things he'd done once he realized Merlin's…gifts and the implications therein was go to Gaius. First because Gaius was bound to know about this, second because he wants to know why Gaius didn't tell anyone, and third because—because—

Well, because he was worried.

Not that he would have admitted it then—and you'd be hard-pressed to get him to admit it out loud now, but because his little skinny shrimp of a servant who looked as if a stiff breeze would knock him over sometimes was also prone to staring into the distance with the same look as some of the oldest of Camelot's knights. Because he'd almost stumbled upon said servant breathing hard as though he'd run the length of the kingdom, tears and a puddle of sick on the floor at his side. Because he'd laid awake the few nights they'd slept close together, listening to muffled cries and soft curses with his chest aching as though he'd been stabbed.

Because Merlin needs help, and it's not a sort of help he knows how to give.

The knights can't give it either. They give it where they can—he's long ago learned his lesson about underestimating them—and once, he has to quickly duck back around the corner when he sees Gwaine and Lancelot holding Merlin in their arms as he sobs. But he doesn't know what else he can do other than check in every once in a while.

Then the pup barks at him.

It startles him awake, because he's never heard the pup bark before, and then he's staring down at this little brown ball of fur growling at him, and he's out of bed the next moment. He follows it down the darkened hallways until he's standing outside Gaius's chambers—Merlin's room, and the pup nudges him through the door and—

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, no.

Merlin's curled up so tightly it's a wonder that he can still breathe. The pup jumps onto the bed and nudges its way into his hold, licking his face and whining softly. Merlin's sobs slow ever so slightly, his head turning to nuzzle the pup's head as it patiently licks away his tears. His eyes open slightly and then he sees Arthur.

"A-Arthur—"

"Shh, shh, it's alright, you don't have to say anything," he soothes, rushing to the edge of the bed when Merlin looks like he's about to fall into the wall to get away from him, "it's alright, I'm not gonna hurt you."

The pup whines, reaching out to grab Arthur's sleeve with its teeth to pull him closer. Arthur chuckles, shifting close enough to wrap his arms around his poor Merlin. The pup licks his cheek and, well, if it helps…

Merlin lets out this adorable little noise when Arthur kisses his cheek. He stares up at him, his eyes wide, and Arthur smiles gently.

"Hello, Merlin," he murmurs, "it's alright, see? I'm right here."

The pup whines indignantly, nosing in between him and he laughs.

"We're right here."

***

Uther looks up as Merlin comes into the hall.

"Arthur."

"Yes, Father?"

"Why does your manservant have a dog?"

Arthur doesn't even look up. "It's his emotional support animal."

"His what?"

"His emotional support animal."

"Why does your manservant need an emotional support animal? I've never heard something so ridiculous. Get rid of him at once."

"It's his dog, Father. It's well-trained. I don't see the harm in letting him keep it."

"Then get rid of him. No son of mine will have such a mutt trailing after him."

"Can't."

"What do you mean, you can't?"

"He's my emotional support manservant."

"Arthur."

"Yes, Father?"

Uther may rule his kingdom with an iron fist, but he did not stay a King as long as he has without learning how to pick his battles.

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[just-a-living-meat-thing]

RAAAAAAGGHHH OKAY YOU ASKED FOR IT

Pyrrhia:

- Is about the size of North America and half of South America. It’s a big fuckin continent bro, I don’t fuck with the idea that dragons can fly straight across Pyrrhia in the span of a few days. It’s gonna be a few months TOPS if I have anything to say about it

- Also, in my unshared WoF au, the “head” of Pyrrhia is muuuch farther north than in canon, and the “wing” is a little bit shorter. That way, the IceWing kingdom makes more sense to be that cold, but the SkyWing wingtip stays relatively warm in comparison

- There’s a Great Plains now!! In between the Ice kingdom and the Sand kingdom! It technically belongs to the SandWings, but it’s a great mix of different tribes and migratory cultures. The only downside are the tornadoes :/ those suck

- Also. I think the SkyWings deserve floating islands. I personally hc that Pyrrhia has a bunch of floating islands everywhere (affectionately called “floaties” or “those flyin’ fuckers up yonder” by certain SandWings) but the SkyWings have the most, the biggest, and the highest. Most aren’t big enough to hold towns or villages up there, so they’re mostly used for trade and postal services

- Pyrrhia does not just have regular animals. A lot of the Pyrrhic animals I’ll mention are inspired by the Mesozoic and Cenozoic era, or creatures from different mythologies. Not all of them are important enough to mention, so I’ll just dump a few of the most common ones here and hope it makes some sort of sense

- I also think there should be wyverns and drakes and wyrms around. They’re like the dragon equivalent of chimpanzees and monkeys and so forth. None of them are as big or as cognitively intelligent as dragons, but they’re still important, evolutionarily speaking

Scavengers:

- Hmm. I’ll be honest, I don’t really care for the humans in WoF. I don’t dislike them per se, but they just don’t interest me as much as everything else does. That being said, I do have some concept design ideas for them that I’ll elaborate more on later with drawings and charts and suchlike, once I finally have the energy to do creative. I just gotta beat this executive function and depressive shit and mental fatigue and then it’s all over for you bitches!! You’ll see!!

- Anyway. I think of them as primate creature things. Quadruped. Can stand and walk on two legs pretty easy, but default to four when traveling long distances or when on the run. I also don’t think they’re super smart? They’re like, crow intelligence to me. Smart enough just to be uncanny, and wickedly emotionally intelligent, but they’re not taking over the world anytime soon, y’know?

General dragon physiology:

(QUICK PREFACE: As a rule, I tend to gravitate more towards a design perspective rather than a scientifically accurate one when it comes to speculative biology stuff. I think if a thingamajig or a creature or a species looks visually interesting, makes sense for their environment, and can use it’s natural abilities efficiently to its advantage, it’s fine if the design itself is not super accurate. What matters to me is whether it looks cool. Everything else is just a bonus)

- Tribal color schemes: while general color palettes for each tribe are important in differentiating one tribe from another, at the end of the day, there is still a lot of color variation within tribes. I honestly don’t think dragons use camouflage as much as we’re thinking (at least not anymore), since they’re all living—somewhat together—in civilized societies and don’t necessarily need to hunt as often as they once did. Especially since the establishment of agriculture is canon (at least for MudWings) in WoF, I doubt that dragons living together in cities or towns or villages hunt very often anymore. Why spend time and energy hunting when you can just buy an animal down at the market? Now, that being said, dragons do still hunt for their food, especially those in isolated or rural villages, nomadic communities, dragons living out in the countryside, or those living in poverty. Those dragons do typically follow rules of camouflage, since they depend on it more. But for those wealthy enough to not depend on hunting for survival, who can hunt for sport, for tradition, or for leisure, coloration varies more into the “classic” WoF tribe color scheme, often appearing brighter, more vibrant, and more domesticated

- Patterning also varies, often indicating a dragon’s born social status. Each pattern is unique to the dragon it appears on though, and any characteristics I might mention are incredibly generalized. The sky is the limit. Wahoo

- Body weight and structure also varies for each individual dragon! There is definitely a “common” body type for each tribe, but that is by no means the be-all-end-all rule

- Most tribes are heavily omnivorous. There are only two outliers, both on opposite ends of the spectrum. IceWings are hyper carnivores, since their environment does not so easily suffer the bearing of plant material. RainWings, on the other hand, are almost entirely herbivorous, though they will still eat small mammals, fish, and rainforest insects when favorite foods are scarce

- Fire-breathing tribes cannot easily digest raw meat. Their food usually has to be cooked before they can eat it. Fortunately for them, as fire-breathers, this is a non-issue 99% of the time

- All tribes at least partially molt their scales, either throughout the year (like most tribes) or during a change in season (like IceWings). This is especially felt by teenage dragonets, who often feel embarrassed by the perpetual scrumpled appearance caused by their quick growth

- All dragons are quadruple, able to walk and even lope short distances on their hind legs with the aid of their wings and tail. That way it makes a little more sense for them to be wielding spears, although I think that would be more of a flying weapon rather than a ground-based weapon

General culture:

- The more isolationist tribes (IceWings, NightWings, SeaWings, RainWings, different subcultures within the tribes, etc) have kept their own distinct languages alive through the centuries and each have distinct accents. Regional dialects are also incredibly relevant in Pyrrhia, even in common tongue, and a trained linguist can easily identify where a dragon came from just based on their accent

- The monetary system is based on different coin currencies depending on which kingdom you’re in, but generally speaking, most places will accept anything deemed an acceptable trade. Treasure is the most valued commodity though

- Generally speaking, dragons do not wear clothes. At least, not in the way we do. However, many of them do wear shawls, hats, scarves, or wing-canvass, particularly if it’s nippy or very hot. This type of dress is also an indication of one’s social status, as the more extravagant and attractive an article of clothing is, the more wealthy a dragon tends to be

- Utensils are nonexistent except for soup, and that’s usually reserved for the upper class. If you ask for a spoon in a backwoods SkyWing village, you will get bullied

- There are also a myriad of writing tools available. Using your claws is a traditional, ancient method of writing, and is now more of a practice in meditation than in actual writing, but many older dragons in leadership positions continue to write with their claws. It’s an under appreciated art form

Etc, there’s more and I will elaborate more later, but I gotta remember them first :/

Creatures:

Thunderhawks:

- Named for the sound the beating of their wings make when they congregate in the air, these avians are found primarily within the Sky kingdom and are currently the largest bird on record. Thunderhawks grow about the size of a juvenile SkyWing and are fiercely territorial creatures, often causing a whole host of issues to any SkyWing flying too close to their nests. They aren’t particularly dangerous if you know what not to do, but they will absolutely fuck your shit up if you mess with them. So. Don’t mess with them

CATerpillars:

- I don’t have a fancy name for them yet but I just know that’s a popular bad pun in the Ice Kingdom

- These guys are basically snow leopards/polar bears, but bigger, and with eight limbs. They look a little sluglike to be honest, but are actually frighteningly quick. They’re found exclusively within the Ice Kingdom and are very solitary creatures, shy around dragons unless they’re sick or starving and just desperate enough to snag a dragonet that wandered a little too far from the igloo. They’re quite prominent in IceWing culture, though I won’t go too deep into it for now

Sand Wyrms:

- Like Thunderhawks, the wyrm family is found all across Pyrrhia in different types of environments. However, the Sandwyrm is a genus specific to the desert, and often targets lone animals traveling on ground. Sandwyrms travel across the sand for the most part, until they catch the scent of prey. They will follow their targets until close, at which point Sandwyrms will bury themselves under the sand and ambush whatever creature is unfortunate enough to cross their path. They don’t eat very often fortunately, otherwise they’d be a real nuisance. Generally though, they don’t bother dragons so the SandWings leave them alone (except when they’re hunted as delicacies. Sandwyrm meat is delicious, and they’re just hard enough to catch that they’ve become a real treat. Yum)

Various bigass fantasy bugs:

- Bigass fantasy bugs are a staple food in Southern MudWing territory, just when the swamps start to become jungle. They’re usually food for the lower classes and locals, which is to say they’re a part of stereotyped beliefs about backwater, Southern MudWings (and MudWings in general), but the real game down there gets bigger and meaner and more dangerous to hunt the further south you go, so bugs it is. They’re actually pretty damn tasty but no one ever gives them a chance :(

There’s a lot more but I haven’t named them yet or come up with a solid idea for them. Plus I wanna draw pictures of them but. Well. I am currently besieged by the curses and thus cannot promise any designs to be forthcoming

I also have specific tribe headcanons (including physiology, culture, food, religion/spirituality/mythology, oc lore, etc) if y’all wanna know about that, but I’m not listing them here because there’s too many and I’m overwhelmed. And I also wanna draw them. But I will be listing them soon, art or no art. So watch out

ASK ME ABOUT MY WOF HEADCANONS PLEASEPLEASE PLEASE LLEASE

[leafatlaw]

Wow so the new mythic quest epsiode was really, jo and brad hate who they are and are stuck in jobs they hate, and they’re cold ruthless killers, but they won’t kill a pregnant rat, instead they just give it to David.  and then poppy makes fun of Ian once and they seem so fragile after sarian. It’s like Ian’s only thing is his creativity and he puts his entire being into that, and he values the control so much. But poppy relies on him so much and she’s not the best at people and her coding is so important to her. And these people care so much but they can’t agree on anything else. And Ian really did try his best for poppy but it wasn’t enough. Not when poppy has always been there for him. But he CANT do the same.

[thestobingirlie]

i love the scene where steve hits billy with his car for a lot of reasons, but one of it is for the monster hunting trio of it all.

so, jonathan’s in the car, trying to get away, nancy’s standing guard, shooting at billy, and steve is the one that swoops in at the last second, sacrificing himself for them (obviously he didn’t die, but could’ve so it still counts)

anyway! first of all, you get the parallels to season 1, with jonathan repeatedly dragging the both of them away from the demogorgon and to safety, nancy shooting the demogorgon to try to save them, and steve running in, to dive in front of the demogorgon.

just, like, at their core, these characters aren’t totally different. they’re changed by what they’ve witnessed, but their instincts are still the same, even nearly two years later, they’re still trying to save each other.

just, in both seasons, they’re protecting, but in different ways. jonathan is trying to save them by getting away, nancy is trying to save them by killing the thing that’s threatening them, and steve is trying to save them by diving in front of them all, and doing whatever he can to protect them.

[hsslilly-blog]

shirt with a heart and child of divorce written on top but then there’s a picture of huntclaire. you wouldnt get it. i do

[quietwingsinthesky]

if i ever have to play beyond two souls again im going to kill someone someone’s life ends with me

[konshokoentaiko]

i always thought i was a very typical enemies to lovers girlie but i think i just realized my actual taste in ships is the dynamic where the two are supposedly equal rivals/enemies who represent diametrically opposed themes (for the Aesthetic), but in actuality it’s just one of them yanking the other around on a chain while the other whines and rages and protests and ultimately makes an absolute spectacle of themselves

so uhhh. how did THAT happen and when and why

[pynkhues]

https://x.com/pixielayer/status/1818003659675869381

since you're in your smut writing renaissance era... i'll just leave it here and hope it sparks the creative juice flow *wink-wonk*

(ok that sounded weird. i'm out)

Lmaooo, anon!! LOOK, I will keep it in mind.

[harpysongs]

Literally shoutout to every paleokin who’s type hasn’t been discovered yet, who’s type only has scattered incomplete fossils, who’s type is constantly being re-evaluated, who’s type can’t get enough funding for research.

[teabookgremlin]

i’ve started thinking of my shifts as did i win or did [company name redacted] win and today. today [company name redacted] won