#reluctant dragon

[houseofmouselove100]

Mickey and his friends started complaining

And the public wants Mickey back

Pete tries to calm the public but in the end it goes very badly, he gives up and asks Mickey and his friends to return to their places

And the club is once again called the house of mouse

I forgot to mention the headless horseman was in charge of the gossip section but since he didn't have a head he couldn't tell gossip.

Mickey returned to the stage and everyone was happy

[thinkbolt]

The Reluctant Dragon (Disney, 1941) - dir. Hamilton Luske

[howardhawkshollywoodannex]

Walt DIsney animators early concept drawings for characters in The Reluctant Dragon (1941).

[acmeoop]

Early Toontown Chase (1988)

Storyboards from Who Framed Roger Rabbit by Harald Siepermann and Hans Bacher

[deimcs]

DRAGON AGE: ORIGINS (2009) + iconic lines [3/?]

[jacesvelaryons]

The Reluctant Empress (Jacaerys Velaryon x Female!Reader)

Act II. Burgeoning

(19th Century Imperial Austria AU)

summary: crown prince jacaerys gets to know his prospect betrothed and future bride whom he has been arranged with to marry, your sister helaena targaryen, but true to your wild spirit, you cannot help but wonder what awaits in the world behind gilded castles and royal splendour.

word count: 2.4k words

a/n: i'm so sorry this took an entire year before an update but it is finally here! i apologize as I had some health things to settle, and with brain fog and got more distracted by other fandoms but here we go! once again, please comment and share what you liked, what you'd want more for me and request and let me know as my inbox is always open <3 let me know if you want to be on the taglist or not getting tags!

series masterlist

previously: prologue | act i

masterlist

requests OPEN

“Men at some time are masters of their fates. The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings.” ― William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar

Seated between her mother and sister, Y/N eyes roamed around the dining hall in the palace that hosted the royal family and her covey. Changed into an emerald green gown, wearing the necklace and earrings her father gave her on the last name day before his passing, she paid no mind to the significance of the occasion and was just glad to be there, surrounded in the splendor of the castle walls.

She knew that it was Helaena’s time to shine, and she would not want to rob her of her light, of the opportunity that would change their fortunes and not have Alicent scrabbling and worrying over the last penny of their expenses.

Twirling her fork on the pesto noodles in front of her, Y/N remained silent and just patiently listened to all the conversation around her, between her mother and her childhood friend the Queen, who inquired about Helaena’s well being, her lifestyle and assessing on how she would adjust becoming the next consort upon wedding Jacaerys.

Dazed out in a world of her own, Y/N did not hear Jacaerys reverting his attention to her aptly, until her sister nudged her ankle with her shoe, repeating her name on his tongue like it was the sweetest honey, curiosity and amusement on his features.

“Lady Y/N, what do you do in your free time, my lady?”

Stammering like a cat bit her tongue, she cleared her throat as she gathered herself and make her look and sound presentable.

“I ride horses, my prince. I hunt and I have picked up the sword a few times.” Lady Y/N bluntly replied, already feeling the burning glare of your embarrassed mother. Queen Rhaenyra only watches in amusement, how her confidante could have a daughter who was nothing like her mother.

Jacaerys was intrigued, leaning forward to hear Y/N better and scooch closer over to Her. A curious smile on his handsome, chiseled face, his curly brown hair starting to grow out and neatly groomed behind his ears.

Plates and utensils remained untouched as Y/N and Jacaerys were engrossed in an engaging, animated conversation, passionate replies to uncontrollable laughter.

The older women present at the table watched with trepidation, Lady Alicent’s habits of digging into her fingernails returned while the silver-haired queen’s expression turned unreadable.

Helaena swallowed her wounded pride of being ignored and not found as an interesting companion, playing with her knife and fork, digging at the roast beef the same way her young daughter would.

As the servants gather the finished main course meals and replace them with fresh fruit and lemon cakes for dessert, Rhaenyra swiftly suggests for the elder Targaryen sister to read out some of the poetry her mother praised earlier.

“You must share with us your talent in verse and poetry, Lady Helaena.”

Relieved, the indigo hued girl stood up at the end of the table, grabbing her little booklet hidden in the pockets of her skirt. Flipping through its parchment pages, she settles to a recent entry close to the end of the worn out leather bound book, covered with an embroidered beetle.

To want is the most natural thing Inherent in the blood through our veins The very primal urge of our being Yet we will always want, and want With no end like a black hole What better to want what is not ours? To covet what the other possesses To take away what is given as easily as it was owned?

Her raspy voice echoed through the halls mellifluously in perfectly rehearsed High Valyrian. Yet you could not help a guilty perception weighing on you, blossoming at the pit of your stomach and you could not shake it off. You were doing nothing wrong, you told yourself, wanting to believe in it but it felt wrong.

Y/N’s fears arose to the surface when she could feel a burning stare on her face intensely, as if memorizing her very form and that she would disappear into nothing anytime. You were listening as intently as you could, yet when you turned, Jacaerys did not pay mind to a single word Helaena said as his focus was fixated on you.

No, no, no. Nothing was going as planned. Everything was going wrong. She praises whatever gods intervened when the heir’s brother Prince Lucerys gracefully diverted the topic into the new cuisines created by the cooks of the Keep with the freshest catches of seafood from Driftmark.

…

“Y/N, what do you think you were doing out there?! Do you think I do not notice your need to always be the centre of attention?” The shrill shrieking of her mother’s voice pierced through her ear drums, yet Y/N was unsurprised and used to such altercations with her mother.

Following the uneasy supper, the three ladies from Dalston Keep returned to their chambers to change midday in preparation for the tour around the gardens with the queen and her heir again after a few hours of respite.

Silently humiliated as they reconvened in private, the illusion of propriety that Lady Alicent carried in front of the queen and prince ripped away, unleashing a ferocity unrestrained like never before.

“I did nothing, mother. I was polite and engaged in a conversation when I was spoken to.”

“You did more than that, you foolish girl! It was about your sister. All of this was about her, not you! Is it so difficult for you to tone down your tendencies for once so we can go according to the arrangement? You put our fortunes up to be desolated. You are as careless as your father!” The sting of her final words hung in the air, salt over the open wound for such a loss. Y/N knew her mother did not love her father, who was older than her own father, and only did her duty to her ailing, troubled, aging husband.

“Mother, that is enough! Do not bring father into this.” Helaena countered exasperatedly, holding onto her sister by her shoulders in defense. “Y/N did nothing wrong. It was..it was me. I should have engaged with the prince more. She did me a favour.”

Y/N gasps in disbelief, astonished her beloved sister would keep taking her side when it was clear she was the wounded party.

“Do not worry about it, mother. I promise I will remain silent from now on. I want this to be Helaena’s night.” Y/N swears sincerely, wanting to defend Helaena and stay away from any trouble from now on.

Alicent does not fully believe her youngest, but nods solemnly as she seeks to move this behind them, returning to her dignified, contemplating gaze with her perfect posture and arms clasped at her waist.

Subsequently, a drove of maids and seamstresses poured in, as Alicent went to her solitary room while the sisters shared a larger room. Each stepped on the raised wooden platform. Taking lush gowns from the closet, they plucked out a rich emerald green gown with fitted sleeves for Helaena.

Meanwhile, a muted seafoam gown was placed on Y/N, as maids scuttered behind her to tighten the corset and laces. Y/N whimpered quietly in discomfort, never finding any gratification in restrictive court dress upheld by centuries of protocol and conduct. It barred her sense of freedom, clipped off her wings from flight and reminded her of a bird in a cage.

Heirloom pieces of emerald silver lined jewelry were given to Helaena, designed to accentuate her beauty and prepare her for her upcoming role and ascent into her duty. As the daylight trickled in through the lace curtains and open windows, she looked like a future queen. A role she was raised to be. Otherworldly and ethereal, while Y/N was grounded to the earth, locks like flames and soil.

Y/N beamed in delight for her older sister, squeezing her hands in reassurance. Helaena reciprocated not as enthusiastically, the nerves still getting to her as her palms were sweating and shaking.

“You have nothing to worry about, Hel. We would not get this far if he did not consider you his bride already.”

“Truly, do you really think so?”

“I do. Without a doubt. You already look the part. It is only the formality left we are waiting for at the ball.”

The elder genuinely chuckled this time in relief, her joy finally meeting her eyes from the comfort and encouragement of her sister.

“Now, all that is left is for you to step into your destiny.”

…

Manicured gardens flourished in the peak of spring, cicadas chirping from the branches of oak trees. Lilies and carnations in hues of apricot and blush, while the outlying paths were paved in blue hydrangeas and violet peonies.

Queen Rhaenyra adorned a lapis lazuli blue gown adorned in gold trimmings and sapphires sewn onto her bodice, matching the stone necklace of the color on her neck and matched her tiara, a reminder of her late mother and former queen.

She pleasantly strolled with a natural confidence, carrying herself with an ease afforded by one who has known privilege and power all her life. Guiding a tour around the Red Keep at the height of its social season, Rhaenyra proudly showed off her domains, and subtly if so, the lands that Helaena would take care of as its hostess after she marries Jacaerys and becomes his queen when the time comes.

Behind her was her eldest Crown Prince Jacaerys, always without a hair or trivet out of place, the picture of perfection that she had groomed since his birth. Dressed more casually in teal with the seahorse emblem on his chest, he honoured his late father Lord Laenor Velaryon, further dispelling any rumours or uncertainty around his paternity.

Although he did not directly resemble his father, he has begun to share features with his paternal grandmother Princess Rhaenys with her Baratheon colouring, and the shape of his nose and chin mirrored her father, who was another Prince of Dragonstone, Prince Aemon the Pale Prince. As rider of Vermax, it was undeniable he was the prince long awaited by the realm, whom millions of hopes and dreams were instilled in.

Standing beside him was Lady Helaena Targaryen, his expected betrothed in everything but formality. Raised with the intention of becoming a princess consort, she was demure, shy, obedient and trusting, exactly what the people of Westeros wanted of their model future queen. Proven in her success of childbearing, onlookers examined her critically on baited breath as they wanted to know who will bear the next generation of Targaryen rulers on the Iron Throne.

Their chaperons trailed behind them, Lady Alicent arm in arm with Lady Y/N, in the same shade of muted green, but her mother had visible symbols of the Faith of the Seven from her necklace, her dark headdress and veil, and on the cuffs on her wrist and belt. Y/N distractedly took in her sights, studying every nook and cranny of the storied palace with eagerness and pursuit.

“This garden still follows the design plan created by Queen Rhaenys the Conqueror herself, yet it was only finished years after her passing in Dorne.”

The queen continued the tour of the keep, while she discreetly eavesdropped on the conversation between her heir and his expected betrothed. The two were engaging pleasantly yet amiably on the surface level, their dialogue not reaching too far. Unaware of a figure parting at the fork and heading another direction.

…

When she is assured she’s clear and no one can find her, Y/N Targaryen smirks victoriously as she heads straight and turns left towards the barn, near the dragonpit, where the horses and grazing animals were located.

On nimble footsteps, through the mud and manure, she makes a run for it as two stableboys turn the corner and miss her, as they forgot to close the stables and she sneaks in.

As the afternoon light trickles in, Y/N looks around curiously, before her attention is caught by this white mare, with its freshly brushed mane and shining horsehair, an anomaly among ebony and hickory. Not wanting to startle the majestic creature, she prances until she’s in front of the horse, hushing and cooing at them as she latches onto the reins.

She holds the mane by her reins, tugging gently as she walks through the barn and the empty backwaters of the ancient castle. It is quiet, with most servants resting for their annual nap and their morning duties finished, so Y/N is able to ride the stallion undiscovered.

The lingering scent of the manure and greenery turns into salty waters of aegean and spruce and the earthy, musty petrichor from the rain on the fir and cedar trees earlier in the morning.

A hint of the cool breeze tingles through her skin, a dress and not proper riding gear in its leathers and furs, but she brushes it off, as King’s Landing in the spring at this time of the year has turned warm and the rain from earlier is long gone.

She rides as far as her companion will allow, until the peripheral view of the Red Keep grows distant from over her shoulder. Y/N stops at the fork of the road before it joins the greater Kingsroad, diverting by the forest with towering trees and fallen logs. Sitting by the foot of a trunk, Y/N pauses for some stillness, her back pressing against the hard trunk as she closes her eyes, before grabbing an apple and vial of water to share with her stallion.

As she and the mare finish the fruit, she stands up to brush off any leaf and dirt on the back of her skirt, about to mount once again before she hears echoes of confrontation growing closer. Y/N has barely begun to leave the forest and return to the artery before she is surrounded by hooded, disheveled men with smug expressions.

Unable to avoid contact, she politely acknowledges them and pulls her cape over her flaming locks before she is stopped from moving in either direction. “Good morrow, sirs.”

She yelps as she’s grabbed by her wrists by the men, struggling to stay on her saddle as the mare turns skittish. “Not so fast, my lady. We need something from ya, and you gotta pay up for our silence. Comes with a price.” The men smirk, distant galloping approaching them.

Y/N yelps as she is knocked off her horse, hitting her head against the rock and all turns into darkness around her. She hears a distant echo of another mount heading her way, furious yelling and clattering swords. Her head throbs, feeling the blood dripping down her nape, as her eyes flutter closed.

[thefanficdragon]

Mushu, Spyro, and Toothless are probably a big reason why I'm Transmasc.

[shortnotsweet]

[ “SOMEBODY TOLD ME”]:

BREAKING MY BACK JUST TO KNOW YOUR NAME. SEVENTEEN TRACKS AND I’VE HAD IT WITH THIS GAME. A BREAKIN’ MY BACK JUST TO KNOW YOUR NAME—BUT HEAVEN AIN’T CLOSE IN A PLACE LIKE THIS.

— The Killers, Hot Fuss (2004)

Princess Rhaenyra’s insolence is wearing her stepmother’s patience thin. Queen Alicent is not ten years her senior, but even during her own sixteenth year, she cannot recall herself behaving so brazenly. She would never burst into courtly discussions in nothing but gilded armor and the underskirts of her riding leathers, awash in blood. (She would never be spotted in blood that was not her own, anyway. Alicent has never picked up a sword, not one that belonged to her.) Nevermind that Rhaenyra is attending to diplomatic affairs with bared teeth and scales, no—the crux of the matter is just that, her affairs. Rhaenyra is the Realm’s Delight, a beauty incomparable to any fair maiden, Alicent included. She indulges herself with appetite of a spoiled child, the confidence of man, and the pickings befitting only to her royal blood. Criston Cole. Daemon Targaryen. Harwin Strong. Laena Velaryon. She’s full of love, isn’t she? That selfish, foolish girl. What does Rhaenyra Targaryen know of love, of duty? She is a child in so many ways—she thinks killing makes her a man, thinks the throne is hers despite being a woman, thinks she can have her knight and her uncle and her protector and Laena Velaryon in one fail swoop. She’s wrong. She doesn’t know herself half as well as Alicent does. Alicent, who sees her for what she truly is, who wants to see all of her and more of her and none of her. Alicent has been stolen into the Keep by her own father—both of their fathers—but Rhaenyra is the key to this place, is the window to everything barred. Rhaenyra Targaryen has a dragon. Rhaenyra can fly.

That’s what Rhaenyra had promised her once, with her lips pulled back in a grin, exposing the white of her teeth like the violently radiant creature she was. “Perhaps when you grow tired of plotting against me, we shall ride on dragonback together,” she had said. The tease.

Alicent had yanked her into an empty corridor by the silk of her sleeve, ready to chastise her for her ill behavior. Conversing with the lords and ladies of the court at a feast was one thing, but chattering about her bloody encounters in battle over the pudding tureen were another. The lord at her elbow was going green. Alicent’s own face was likely red; her heart raced whenever Rhaenyra got like this. Alicent had never seen the battlefield—only seen battered men in dented armor and the slumps of corpses lined along dirt roads in the aftermath of war—but her own imagination terrified her like nothing else.

(Rhaenyra is better with a sword than half of the knights in Westeros, and more lovely than the lot. Her reign has not yet begun, but already the commoners flock to her—lured in by tales of her beauty and fine hair—and soldiers would follow her into battle. Alicent would not follow, but she would watch and bite her nails down to the quick.

She thinks of the figure Rhaenyra cuts in full armor, the heat in her gaze underneath the slots of her helmet. Alicent remembers the weight of her own hand in Rhaenyra’s—which was gloved—when the princess rode up to the spectators box and grasped it in her own, bringing Alicent’s knuckles to her lips. She thinks of Rhaenyra murdered in the sky, skewered with another man’s sword, plummeting to the ground, torn in half, streaking crimson across the clouds. Alicent would scream, or cry. She might laugh. She would throw herself from the window of her tower. Rhaenyra’s bloody exploits terrified Alicent for reasons she could not identify, and excited her for reasons she refused to.)

“I’d sooner be confined to the castle for the rest of my days than get on the back of that bloody lizard,” Alicent scoffed. Rhaenyra only tucked her hand over Alicent’s, where it was resting on her forearm. She flexed her fingers, moving to release her grip on the dark fabric, but Rhaenyra intertwined their fingers and held them fast.

“You’re confined already. You are already accustomed to such a thing. I know you. But—”

“But you forget yourself. You think you’re invulnerable, Rhaenyra. You don’t know who you are.” Alicent intends for it to be a sneer, but instead it comes out quietly, and too gentle for disdain. She can’t know. Rhaenyra is as trapped as she is, but they’re trapped together. They belong together. She belongs with Alicent.

“I am Rhaenyra Targaryen, Heir to the Iron Throne and all of Westeros. I am a dragonrider. I am—I am your daughter. In a way. Your sister, too. Your enemy. Your sword, your shield.”

“And what am I?” What else is left for me? Alicent wonders.

“My Queen. For now.” Rhaenyra cocks her head, and the gleam in her eyes burns like fire raining down. “When I am Queen, you will be my lady.”

[eddybelly]

That outfit meme thing from not too long ago. tbh, hoodies like that, leg warmers, and speedo/panties are my go to now for my dragon sona... clothed, but showing all my thighs and belly and cake.

Posted using PostyBirb

[zuppizup]

Soren would so take to Sir Sparklepuff if he found out he had a weird homunculus half-brother.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hi, just out of curiosity, given that each character is twisted from some Disney character, and Malleus is full dragon fae, could it be possible that Raverene (still wondering how they got that name translated that way) is actually twisted from Disney's version of the Reluctant Dragon, as they have a LOT of similarities? Both are pacifists, can be slightly cowards, like humans, etc. Do you think there's a chance of it or is he likely to be original? Thanks.

As a reminder, not every character is entirely twisted from a Disney character or concept and no one else. Within the main cast, we have characters of dubious origin (for example, there is no singular Disney wolf that Jack is based on), and I think the same applies for non-main cast like their family members. Yes, some family members have direct Disney counterparts. Cheka--a naive and bright lion cub destined to be king and robbing that spot of hope from his bitter uncle--is twisted from Simba. Rollo has an unnamed little brother whom he lost to "sin" (in this case, magic), which follows the story of the stage production of The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Others do not fit as cleanly. Najma is Jamil's younger sister who constantly annoys him. Her Disney counterpart, Nerissa, is Jafar's sister BUT she is his fraternal twin sister, not his younger sister. Additionally, Nerissa is far more wicked than Najma and does not fight with Jafar as often as Najma and Jamil do. Riddle’s dad does not get along with his mom, but we don’t know if that’s because Mr. Rosehearts is also meek like the King of Hearts is. Several other family members do not have obvious Disney parallels at all. For example, Chenya talks about his grandfather, but the Cheshire Cat does not have known family members; the Shroud parents have no equivalent in Hercules, etc.

That being said 💦 I have actually never heard of The Reluctant Dragon until now (nor did I know that Disney had a film of this name), so I’m not familiar with it. Based on the lack of name recognition alone (we know how much Disney and TWST love to bank on nostalgia points), I’d say the parallels between it and Raverne are coincidental?? It feels to me that Raverne was made the pacifist to balance out his much colder wife Maleanor and best friend Lilia. There’s also many parallels between Raverne and Diablo, Maleficent’s crow companion, so I definitely don’t think that Raverene is meant to reference the Reluctant Dragon alone, if he is meant to be twisted from it at all. When TWST introduces a new character, the inspiration more often than not tends to be super obvious and the fact that I have this doubt is another mark against the theory. (Although this is in part due to how little we actually know about Raverne aside from the stories we hear about him, which may not even be entirely accurate to what his character is like in modern day.)

Of course, I don’t know what the TWST devs’ research process is like or how obscure the media they pull from is 🤷‍♀️ Maybe the similarities were meant to be there and I don’t see it due to my own lack of familiarity with the story.

[thinkbolt]

Baby Weems (Disney, 1941) - from the feature film The Reluctant Dragon - segment director Hamilton Luske

[howardhawkshollywoodannex]

The Reluctant Dragon (1941) was the first Disney cartoon to credit the voice actors. Barnett Parker was the voice of the dragon. Barnett was born in Yorkshire, England, and had 55 acting credits, from four 1915 shorts to 1941.

His other notable credits include Mr Deeds Goes to Town (as a butler), Libeled Lady (as a butler), Born to Dance, Broadway Melody of 1938, Marie Antoinette, Babes in Arms, and At the Circus (with the Marx Brothers).

[ghost-bxrd]

That idea about Dick and NW vs Jason and RH fight?

Imagine Jason challenges Tim to a trial by combat. Before he has seen Red Robin.

Jason...might have overestimated the size of a two year old dragon.

Maybe Red Robin belongs to a breed of dragon that takes longer than usual to mature, or Jason plain didn't know how dragon maturity works since dragons are rarely shown in public when they are small and vulnerable.

Since everyone knows Red Robin Vs Red Hood will be less 'Trial by Combat' and more 'Breakfast for Red Hood', Dick and Nightwing volunteers as Tim's champions.

Still a mismatch, given the size, but at least there's a fighting chance, given how fast and agile Nightwing is.

Let's say Bruce can't take part, maybe some rule about the king not being directly part of trial by combat (I love the angst where Bruce has to watch helplessly...)

Jason, arriving for the combat, is caught between 'WTF, that's Red Robin and replacement!? I challenged a toddler on a gecko?!" and "Dick is fighting ME for HIM?"

Jason might have considered backing off at this point, but Red is all fired up for the fight, and the betrayal issue is smarting hard for Jason (though logically he knows Dick couldn't have let that baby dragon fight...) so the feedback loop makes him too messed up to yield.

And Dick can't yield, because if he does that will mean death for Tim...

First of all, the gecko part absolutely sent me 😭🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

But hooo boy that would be a messed up situation, but also a less bloody option than immediate all out war. Two dragons fighting each other is still better than two dragons burning the opposing army and killing thousands in the process.

But in a one on one battle… I fear Nightwing wouldn’t have a chance of coming out on top. His feathers can’t burn, but they provide frightfully little protection against physical attacks like claws or teeth. The only real option Dick has would be to try and go straight for Red’s rider…

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

original King Dragon Sovereign!reader [like nibelung] who’s powers were taken by the Primordial One then cast and trapped into/in the abyss when he(they?) couldn’t kill KDS!Reader

(humanoid w/prominent dragon features please~)

^ KDS!Reader meeting FL in the abyss (maybe on an exploration for the Fatui, maybe when Childe originally fell in, maybe they knew eachother before Childe! the choice of lore is yours!)

mainly inspired by a plot idea that’s been eating at my brain for the last month or so~ feel free to take the idea in whatever direction you please!

anon, my dear, i won't lie to you. for a split second i actually, genuinely thought that "Nibelung" was a really janky spelling of Neuvillette i'm so sorry

it's cold and dark and claustrophobic in the Abyss, and you hate it. hate it and everything around you, especially that horrible sneering god and the rest of your kind. what once was a proud race of dragons now reduced to just a few including yourself, and yet they still had not a single thought towards the rest of the world. admittedly, you can't even say that the Abyss is a particularly bad place to be right now, with the land above equally as devastated. it's still awful, and you despise the whispers that crawl up your spine and the craggy vines that threaten to entangle you, but there's some semblance of life in the air engulfing your torn wings and battered scales. the ancient blood running through your veins keeps the worst of the Abyss at bay, and you can do nothing but sit and slowly pick at your injuries, everything aching in this diminished form

there's something watching you. something quiet and hidden in the shadows. your ears flick, a soft growl slipping from your throat, and the presence flinches in the dark. slow footsteps tentatively draw near, a crimson mask following suit as an Abyssal monster emerges from the gloom, tilting its head slightly. immediately you hiss, baring your teeth and claws. it jumps back with a yelp, whining pitifully as the beast slowly lowers itself to the ground, trying to seem unintimidating. you growl again as it inches closer, but the sound is quiet and pained. the creature finally sits at your feet, crouching low and looking up at you quietly before reaching out and gingerly placing something on your knee- a length of sturdy plant fiber. it sits back on its haunches again, watching you intently with a single crystalline eye until you struggle and wrap it around the worst gashes on your body

it purrs, and for a moment you almost purr too

he calls himself Foul Legacy, you find after deciphering his rumbling, chirping language, and he's a scion of the Abyss just as you are of the world above. Foul Legacy follows you determinedly no matter how many times you tell him to leave, whimpering and fussing over your wounds and trying to protect you while your power is depleted... or chasing your tail around as it whips back and forth, tapping his talons gently against your scales and fawning over your slit pupils and pointed ears. gradually he leads you up, pushing you forward towards that distant drop of sunlight and sleeping curled around you during your exhaustion, his glimmering wings draped over yours. you need the open sky, and he's always wanted to see the real stars, his dream now including you in his company whenever he imagines it. so he takes you there, guiding you out of the darkness and back to where you belong

you still hate the Abyss. but perhaps you don't hate everything in it, anymore

[envosu]

reposting because this isn't easily found on my blog😭