#whoops i coloured and shaded a full drawing of him again. i think i have some kind of disease.

[sandcastle-art]

can't sleep. remembered that i never draw WhereWolf playing drums even though it's his job and also the entire reason he exists as a character.

[fernsplaysthings]

Is this going to be ongoing?

Looks like it. Whoops.

Fireteam Mayhem discuss ‘important’ things.

Somehow Artemis, the most grounded, sensible and responsible of the trio was the only one to raise a metallic brow in amusement, impressed with the new snippets of information being provided by the fireteam’s Hunter and leader. Salome was either in deep consideration or possibly comatose when Kestral glanced up at her. 

Even the Ghosts had decided to get in on the gossip.

Well, of course Roost had. He’d been the little shit that’d ‘accidentally’ let slip why his Guardian had been unusually light and cheery. Conveniently just after Zavala’s peaceful meeting with Caiatl had taken a sharp swerve into assassination territory and and blown a certain Hunter’s cover.

“Handsome, dark haired Awoken Guardian with a hint of ‘shifty’? Who could have possibly seen that coming?”

Artemis’ hand flew to cover her Ghost’s face in a futile attempt at hushing her before she finished that thought, a hissed ‘Diana, no’ behind her own barely tamed smug smirk. Her hand passed by her little light who’d already turned to look at the non-responsive Warlock, look back at Kestral and flicker her shell in a close approximation of a suggestive eyebrow wiggle.

Although the Hunter really wanted to object they simply relaxed their features and gave a reluctant nod of acceptance.

The details of Crow’s former life had stopped being a point of concern for Kestral since...what felt a lot like forever ago. Of course it’d only been since the Dawning. They’d come to terms with a lot of stuff and had optimistically thought that it’d be just as easy for everyone else. What they hadn’t expected was for Artemis to be the one to quickly accept that the circumstances of his rebirth should’ve really been foreseen and that all Guardians deserved a second chance if that was what the Traveler had planned.

That was meant to be Salome’s job. She was supposed to have had a tiny existential crisis, a sharp quip and then go back to ribbing the Hunter about their stupid feelings.

She hadn’t actually said anything yet and her Ghost was buzzing around her head in the uncomfortable silence.

“Is...she alright, Lazarus?” asked the Exo softly.

The little light in the dark shell abruptly stopped the figure-eight loops above his Guardian and turned, clearly ruffled, “I think so? I think the uh...the ‘Reefborn’ in her is having a moment.”

Kestral had forgotten that their resident Awoken might have something to say about the complications of getting romantically involved with the resurrected, amnesiac brother of the Awoken Queen.

After what felt like an eternity of silence Salome let out a sharp breath and, hands in a prayer-like position, palm to palm, pointed her fingers out towards where Kestral was sitting.

“I get it. I do,” she said with an uncomfortable amount of certainty that almost had the Hunter believing they were in for an enormous telling off, “He’s hot. And I assume he remains as such despite having been dead a while.”

Kestral unconsciously nodded and immediately stopped themself at Artemis’ and Diana’s combined chuckle.

“And like, I don’t doubt that you spent a good while convincing yourself that catching feelings for the former Prince of the fucking Reef who, I should add, you hunted across the system to put a bullet in, was a horrible fucking idea…”

“Oh boy did they,” Roost quickly added with a sly side eye to his Hunter.

“...But what in the fuck are you going to do when the Queen inevitably pulls back up in the Dreaming City and realises you’re canoodling with her now not-brother?”

There was a pause that lasted a little too long for Salome and, in Lola fashion, she broke the tension with an incorrect assumption of what was causing the inability to answer.

“I mean, I assume you two have…” she raised one hand, pointer finger and thumb touching in a loop, her other hand raising to complete the gesture with her pointer finger extended.

Artemis swatted her hands down hurriedly, noting the rising colour in Kestral’s face, “Don’t be crude.”

“Hey, am I not allowed to take a healthy interest in one of my best friend’s lovelife? It’s been a while since they’ve gifted me some of that juicy gossip about who’s been banging the Young Wolf recently.”

Roost’s shell shivered in frustration, “They sure haven’t, and if they could get it over with so Glint and I can get some peace and…”

“Roost, have you considered not?”

The Ghost turned to his Guardian who had by now turned a remarkable shade of red that coated not just their face but both ears and a good potion of their exposed collars and chest.

“Anyway…” Artemis desperately pulled the conversation back to where she needed it to be which was making sure her leader and friend was alright, “...You actually like him? It’s not some kind of weird way of grieving or expressing guilt or…”

“No! No I do. And I think he likes me too,” they stuttered only a breath away from hiding their face behind their hands, “He was the one that kissed me so...yeah. I’m not just the Young Wolf to him I think, he had no idea that I’ve killed Gods and saved humanity more times than anyone cares to remember. We just worked together and bonded over stuff and by the time Osiris spilled the beans on the ‘Hero of the Red War, etcetera, etcetera’ stuff I think it was kinda too late.”

“Is it not a bit fucking weird making out with Uldren Sov’s face?”

Kestral visibly wanted to curl up into a ball tight enough that they’d eventually just vanish from existence and Salome knew asking that question would do it, “It was a weird thought to start off with but then...it’s Crow. And I couldn’t help it. Sure, in the beginning it’d remind me of the times Sov would stare at me in a way that was definitely him fantasising about how he’d like to watch me die which...now that I think about it was also kinda hot and I really don’t want to unpack that but…”

“I’d like to unpack that.”

“Lola, shush.”

“...But, it doesn’t matter. They’re not the same person. Besides, it’s not like I can control who I, you know, like.”

“‘Like’, huh?” Rooster floated a few inches from his Hunter’s face, “I think you’re probably in it a bit deeper than that.”

Kestral, with an expression a mix of surprise and some kind of hurt, reached up and gently grasped their Ghost in both hands, drawing him in a little suddenly and pressing him to their forehead, then cheek. Somewhere off to the side Diana uttered a long, sympathetic ‘ooh’ and nestled against Artemis’ arm, sharing a knowing look with her Titan.

“I...Maybe? But I shouldn’t. I don’t want to hurt him. There’s so much happening at the moment with the aftermath of Caiatl’s visit and these new Vex reports. Zavala’s still got to come to terms with seeing Crow around the tower and...and he’ll definitely ask me to do something dangerous again soon, and…”

Salome let out a dramatic sigh, startling her Ghost, “Surely if things are going to shit and everything is uncertain and stupid, this is the ideal time to confess all your feelings or see if you both want in each others pants or whatever. 

“When did you become a romantic,” teased Artemis, turning away from the once again reddening Hunter, “Something happen with you and-”

“Don’t…”

“No no, I’m just taking a healthy interest in my favourite Warlock’s lovelife.”

“I know exactly what you’re doing, Arti, you judgmental tin of beans.”

Tuned out from the bickering, Kestral stealthily snuck out of the gathering with Roost quickly realising they’d left and transmatting after them.

“What’s the matter?”

The Hunter pulled their hood up to cover enough of their blush covered face as they left the apartment, “I’m gunna go see Crow.”

“After that emotionally charged conversation?!”

“I’m full of terrible ideas.”

[elecman108]

Man, I forgot to post 90% of my art here for the past while. I’m gonna do an art dump in this post under the cut. Enjoy the bonk emoji if you don’t click the read more, and man am I dumb and forgetful lmao.

Includes: OCs getting names, a Sonic impression, a D&D map, homosexual energies, a sheep floating in the astral sea, a birthday drawing I already posted, Hex Maniac Ender, D&D Characters, D&D Characters as Miis in Miitopia, Little Hater Axel, local Demon in the consciousness of my D&D character yelling at him, illegal plants, a necromancer being cute, an actual event that happened in a D&D game two days ago, and Mermay drawing.

That’s everything in here as a TL;DR, I guess. Enjoy your day!

I’m gonna try and sort of have them in chronological order, oldest first, but I may end up putting them in the wrong order. If I do... Whoops, I guess?

[04/14/21] - This isn’t really new art, but I started to work on giving the four OCs of mine without a full name full names... I have not finished this bit, though. So Hunter and Akira have full names, and Warlock and Assassin only have temporary names. This may end up like Seven where I put in their names as a temporary name (7th OC I’d made at that time) and it just kind of... sticks. Lmao.

[04/20/21] - Alone on a Friday Night? God, you’re pathetic. I didn’t colour this one because it was a half-attempt at a meme image I still like it, though, so I might end up colouring it. It’s gonna appear again whenever I do my “unfinished drawings art dump” at some point probably in... June? I know I said I’d post them last month but forget it, lmao, it’ll happen eventually.

[04/20/21] - A D&D Map! This was to help me visualize the layout of my D&D character’s ship he used to be on. Also for my DM if they ever put us aboard the ship. The little fella in the corner is just there to vibe. This map is made of free to use assets from This Website, so while I’m gonna say DONT USE MY MAP WITHOUT PERMISSION, feel free to make your own!

[04/26/21] - Lesbian Day of Visibility drawing of yours truly, the disapointment! That’s... really all I have to say about this, honestly. It was just for that one day and that was it, lmao. I mean, I accidentally lined it in dark pink, so.. .That’s different, I guess?

[04/30/21] - Do Astral Seas dream of Ensorcled Sheep? Does the City know what Sheepleb is going to do? What crimes he may commit? Who knows! This was fan art of Critical Role ep. 134 if I remember correctly, right at the end when they jumped into the portal into the astral sea and Caleb was a sheep. Using my knowledge of the German language, I knew the word for “shit”, and had to use it.

[05/07/21] - This was already posted, but it’s going in here to dilinuate that it was drawn at this point. Also, aside from playing Miitopia, this is all I have to show for myself until the 12th.

[05/12/21] - Hex Maniac Ender challenges you to a Pokemon Battle! WIll you win against my team? My sis, who loves fairy types, pointed out to me that there’s a fairy girl and hex maniac duo, so I’d be the hex maniac. I spent... Over a week drawing this, because I basically had to redraw the Hex Maniac art from scratch in a higher quality size, and then draw myself over it. So... You can excuse the low-effort background for once. It was basically this, and then my birthday doodle from May 1st to May 12th, and then I took a break to draw up several D&D characters quickly for fullbody references.

[05/12/21] - Remember this art I made several months ago? I finally added my other two completed characters! I have three more named but without character sheet D&D characters, so for now this is just Kara, Axel, Golden Shadow, Kau, Cecillia, and Miri. Kress, Tempest, and Melia will have to wait until I make character sheets for them to be posted, and... For when I probably make more D&D characters. I have at least 9 additional, incomplete character ideas floating around, so... I’m never gonna be done this art, huh?

[05/12/21] - Speaking of D&D characters, did you know I’ve been making them as Miis in Miitopia? So here is their finished full body art next to their Miitopia self! Some of them look a little off (Golden Shadow, Cecillia) because of limitations of the editor and shading issues, some of them look a little off (Kau, Kress) because this is a human face canvas that I’m using to make a non-human face, and some of them (Melia, Axel) look REALLY GOOD. Common traits among my D&D characters include green eyes and tall. You wanna know why? Because I am tall and... despite having red eyes, I do have green eyes under the coloured contacts.

[05/15/21] - More D&D stuff! This is based around my D&D group’s current Rime of the Frostmaiden campaign where our Goliath Fighter, Nioh, ends up getting a little bit of hate for being cocky, and our little (well over 6′) hater, Axel, is just a man full of irritation. These are the tallest two characters of the group at the moment. Someone send help. Nioh belongs to one of the other D&D players, Axel (and his stupid additude) belongs to me.

[05/15/21] - This is what me playing D&D feels like. Me, the demon entity trapped inside the head of my D&D character, yelling at them to do things while the dice decide that they’re gonna get bopped a hundred times by a yeti and somehow still survive. This is also a reference to our first or second game where I just ran off like sixty feet to one side of the battle map to fight a Crag Cat and was just in Gay Baby Jail until like two turns later when I could run back to the others. I also drew him not in his winter gear even though this is a bit from when we were atop Kelvin’s Carin in an icy cave, so maybe that’s why he’s at low HP.

[05/15/21] - Melia has good gardening tips, such as Use A Mars Mii Trap To Hide A Body Because They Are Endangered And It Is Illegal To Dig Them Up. I love her a lot, because she’s the youngest of four, all four sisters based around the different seasons. She’s based around Autumn, so she’s all orange and yellow and brown and is so cute. Also she’s Chaotic Neutral, as if she didn’t need to be mildly more threatening.

[05/15/21] - Cecillia is my Tiefling gal who lived in a very northern town plagued by cold weather and snow, and Axel is my Pirate guy who spent most of his time further south on the high seas and warmer weather. So, naturally... I’ll use the guy more acclimatized to the hotter weather in the campaign where we spend 99% of it in the snow. She uses Tarot Cards as her spell focus, and I decided to sneak my other D&D characters onto her Tarot cards so naturally, Axel is The Hanged Man, given his backstory and personality. She’s a very cheerful and friendly Tiefling Necromancer of the Hexblade, so she’d for sure take care of those around her to ensure their success. Especially if they’re on her Tarot Cards, and their spirit comes to her aid when she asks for them.

[05/16/21] - Content Warning; Ryma thinks too much into local stupid moron’s lack of knowing how to answer a question and thinks too much into the reputation of Pirates. Poor Axel, man doesn’t know how to socialize with people who aren’t pirates and is used to being hostile towards everyone, so when he’s asked a question that his answer to is “uhh... no?”, he panics and ends up making a mistake that leads him to think that Ryma can read his mind. Ryma belongs to another of the D&D players. I guess me drawing all those spicy Cow Costumed OCs earlier just brought me to drawing Axel being a bottom in this, huh?

[05/16/21] - It’s Mermay, which means more OC drawings! Here’s Theo after drinking some potion that turned him into a mermaid, and Seven, tiredly, collecting his stupid boyfriend so that Lailah can fix the fact he’s turned into a mermaid. Mer!Theo is based around his sword’s colours of indigo-purple with red accents, which looks a little weird since Theo is the Blue one of the group, but... it looks cool, I guess. Seven’s just the same outfit as always, just no gloves this time.

--

And that’s it for the art dump! This was, frankly, MASSIVE. I’ll try and remember to upload both on Twitter and Tumblr at the same time, but... Ah... I have been drawing a fair bit. Just mostly sketches and linework that I haven’t finished and may not actually finish. If they’re not completed, I’ll dump them all into something at the end of the month or whatever. Maybe you’ll get the old sketch of the Axel face in panel 3 because in the sketch phase it was an Ahegao face, in the clean sketch it was a lip bite, and in the linework and final it’s just horny face. lmao.

Top ten things I have to remember for drawing: AXEL HAS A SCAR AND GREEN EYES. I remember his eye colour now, but if you look at his fullbody ref, he’s got brown eyes. And, naturally, I keep forgetting to put in his scar. He has more, but most of them are located in areas covered by his clothes. So if I ever draw him shirtless I guess I’ll have to place them somewhere.

Also maybe finish the reference sheets I have left to finish so I can post more of them, since I have two “Pets” completed (Roko and Mona’s nameless pet), but I have to do up Hunter, Warlock, Assassin, Akira, Myuut, and Stella. I’m betting when I do complete two more, it’ll be Hunter and Akira. Those two are the most fun to draw, at least.

[the-faultofdaedalus]

Tony the Dragon Rescues a Princess

because @ilunabarrean wrote such a good I ALSO HAD TO WRITE GOOD DRAGON TONY

... part one, i guess, because this got WAY longer than expected. Whoops. I have no regrets.

The girl has heard stories, shouted over wine and rum by her father and her friends, whispered between the bitter, jealous queen and her maids, stories of a monster, a demon, of fire and hatred and burning things. Stories about the smell of smoke and blood, stories of children stolen from their beds. Stories of great red death killing whatever it wishes.

She grows up afraid, of sharpness and fire and anger, of hoarded gold and envy, of plated armour and red, red eyes.

She does not grow up afraid of the thing in the myths.

The page tells her stories, too. Stories of a protector, of a guardian, of one as old as the oldest oaks and just as kind.

He tells her of a place that the afraid can find a home.

They’re stories of a beast, yes, with claws as big as a full-grown man and twice as sharp as a sword, with fire breath and eyes as big as her window, but he also tells her of kindness. Of claws used with the utmost carefulness, of fire used to warm, of eyes that understand.

She is 13.

She has never been afraid of the dragon.

She is arranged to be wed in a fortnight.

(read more under the cut)

She writes a letter on the finest paper she can find, draws out every letter with care she never showed in her lessons and seals it in wax. She doesn’t have a stamp, so she improvises, presses her grandmother’s pendant into the cooling wax.

She watches the page, the one who told her the stories, ride west from her tower window.

Three days later, three days of staying awake and looking out over the woods for a sign of something, three days of falling asleep at lunch and getting confined to her rooms due to sickness, he comes.

She doesn’t see his shadow across the stars, she doesn’t hear him land on the roof, graceful beyond his size, so careful that not a single tile is forced out of place, she doesn’t notice him coiling around her tower like a serpent.

She does see when he looks in her window with his great golden eye, and all she can think is that the page was lying.

His eye is bigger than her window.

“Hello, little tinderling,” It says, voice deep, deep like the dungeons below the castle, like the cellars that her father spends too much time in, but warm as a hearth, and one massive claw slips through the window, the letter she sent held carefully in its grip. The seal isn’t even broken, pried away from the paper with care she wouldn’t’ve shown. “You called?”

She nods, unable to make a sound, not because of fear, but because of awe, because she can see the smoke curling into her room that smells like the richest cocoa and wood, because the night guards have not noticed the hill-that’s-not-a-hill, because she still thought him a myth, until now.

She feels, more than sees him shift, sees one massive wing furl up through her other window, fold back into place, feels the gale it causes, despite moving so slowly.

He doesn't say anything more, just watches her, waits for something, a signal or a sign, patient as the ground the castle, not her home, never her home, was built on.

Eventually, after one very slow blink, she takes a breath. “I do not wish to be wed.” She says, and the dragon rumbles something that sounds like mountains moving.

“You wish to leave?” He asks, like he knows the answer anyway, and she hesitates.

“What if I don’t?” She asks, because if there is one thing she knows, it is not to believe empty promises. It is that everything, so small as a couple words spoken out a window in the dead of night, has a price.

The dragon rumbles again, something like laughter, but there is something far too understanding in its eyes. She wonders what could make a dragon this big, this ancient, afraid. “Then I will leave. If you need me, I will always come back. Alway.”

“Ok.” She says, nods, and all of a sudden, she doesn’t know what to do. The dragon seems to sense this, and his eye crinkles up, like he’s smiling.

“Take all you want, child. I have carried heavier than this tower.” He tells her, and she believes it. She’s already packed, the things her grandmother left her, her favourite embroidery and a bag full of thread, brightly coloured and expensive, one of the few measures of excess that she had actually enjoyed. Her favourite books, her sturdiest clothes, a pack full of dense bread and dried meat.

A sword, bare-bones and undecorated, with a simple leather handle. She wraps it in cloth, and ties it to her side.

The dragon waits as she fills her bags, looks around her room, her prison, one last time. She will miss it. It’s the last place she saw her grandmother. It’s the place she learned to read, it’s the place she learned to sew. She will always miss it for those memories. She will never regret leaving it for what it became.

The dragon moves away from the window, lowering it’s massive head, and she takes it for the invitation it is, taking a deep breath before stepping out of the window, bundled in rough clothes more fitting for a stable hand than a princess, her belongings on her back, about to fly away on a dragon’s back.

His scales are smooth, barely sharp at all, and the small spikes make handholds as she picks her careful way across his head, between his horns, to between his wings where there is already a saddle made of soft, warm wool resting.

She can feel him holding very, very still. She’s not sure if he just breathes that slowly, or if he’s taking special care not to jostle her. Either way, she’s not afraid.

The saddle is more like a nest, really, nestled in between two spines, and there’s a blanket behind her that she could pull up over her head, if she wants. She doesn’t, just settles in and looks out over the castle from an angle she’s never seen it from before.

Everything looks very, very small, the dragon’s tail nearly reaching all the way around the walls, and she doesn’t doubt that one of his wings could cover the entire courtyard, if he so wished.

As soon as she’s settled, he shifts, uncoiling from the tower that she once lived in, and turning his head to face her again. “Are you ready, little one?” He asks, and she is. She wants to leave, to fly, to run far, far away from all the things her parents expect of her, and she nods, breathless for all that the air is clear and sharp. His mouth moves into something that might be called a grin had it not had so many teeth, and turns back, rustling like a cat about to pounce, making a noise like a million softly shifting coins. She grabs the spine in front of her, and he launches into the air, massive wings beating once, twice, unfurling like the sails of foreign ships leaving for home, catching the wind and soaring.

She laughs, the sound torn from her chest, delighted and sharp and unexpected, and the dragon laughs too, deep and rumbly like a cat’s purr, the wind cold on her face but the dragon warm beneath her, a pocket of safety in the endless sky, wings pumping like forge bellows, stirring up the air beneath.

She wishes she could see the stars, but it is too cloudy to even see the moon. That is the only thing she would change.

The dragon turns, again, and his eyes glitter in the darkness, like the light of a wax candle cast off an old book. Yellow, and old, and full of stories. “Do you want to see a trick?” He asks, and despite years of her father warning her away from street jesters, clutching her close and his coin purse closer, she nods, giddy and breathless and for once, completely unafraid. “Then hold on, little tinder.”

There’s rope around the saddles, and she ties it tight around her waist, knots she had to bribe the royal ship-hands to teach her. As soon as she’s secured, holding onto the spine in front of her with a white-knuckled grip.

And then the dragon’s flying higher, powerful beats of his wings pushing them up and up and up, and she has to close her eyes as they stir up the clouds. They’re not as soft as she thought she would be, damp and thick and freezing, but the dragon is warm beneath her and the blankets are soft, and she can feel water beading on her eyelashes.

And then it all stops, the air against her face and the wet, the cold, and at another rumble from the dragon, she opens her eyes, and gasps.

They’re above the clouds, and the stars are strung out above them like nothing she’s ever seen before. There’s no black in this sky, shades of blue and purple and everything in between, but not much of that, either, for every single space is filled with stars. “Oh, wow.” She says, and reaches up like she can touch them, if she stretches far enough.

The dragon laughs again, wings spread wide but not moving, just hanging in the sky like snow on a windless day, like a leaf caught in an updraft, still and quiet and between sitting on a dragon the size of a hill, above the clouds and under the stars, she feels very, very small.

It’s freeing, feeling so small, like she’s shedding all of the overinflated importance placed on her from birth, like all the responsibilities and expectations and the entire kingdom resting on her shoulders have fell away and given her a chance to breathe.

“It is beautiful, yes?” He says, and she knows he can’t see her, but she nods anyway, unwilling and unable to tear her eyes from the stars. She knows when he turns to look at her, because he rumbles agian, taking in his tiny burden, her hand raised to the sky like she could steal one right out of the sky. “You can not reach them, little jaybird,” he says, but she doesn’t lower her hand, and despite his words, flies even higher. “I have tried.”

At that, she looks at him, wonders just how far away the stars must be if even he cannot reach them. “Oh.” She says, and he rumbles in agreement. It should be cold, this high, but it isn’t. “Thank you-“ she says, and claps her hand over her mouth. “Oh no!”

The dragon stops so fast its almost comical, half-turning in the air and looking at her with wide, concerned eyes. “What is wrong?” He asks, “Did you forget something? Do you wish to return?”

She shakes her head, closes her eyes and takes a breath, like her grandmother taught her to fight away the chilly feeling in her chest. “No, no, I have been terribly rude, I’m sorry.” She says, “I forgot to ask your name!”

The dragon laughs as he rights himself, continues flying towards their destination, wherever that may be. “Then I must also be rude, because I have not asked yours either, little Bluebell. You may call me Tony.” He continues, a smile in his voice.

“Then you can call me Ella.” She says, and she’s smiling just as hard. “Thank you, Sir Tony.” She says, after floundering for a proper title, something less simple, grander than simply “Tony.”

The dragon’s — Tony’s — wings falter in surprise, and he turns to look at her. She wonders if she perhaps made a mistake. “I am not a knight, little Ella.” He tells her, but he doesn't seem angry, or upset, or really anything aside from confused.

She sits up as straight as she can, puts on her best princess face. “Well, you are an awful lot more knight-like than any knight I have ever known.” She says, wrinkling her nose at the memories, men in unwashed full plate, smelling of sweat and blood and drink, starts ticking off her fingers. “You rescue princesses from towers, you are kind, and brave, and honourable, and I daresay you would not need sword or armour to fight, if you had to.” Tony shifts, at that, and if she thought that something as big as a small mountain could be self-conscious, that is what she would think he was, and smiles. “My knight in shining scale.”

Tony huffs. “I did always want to be a knight.” He admits, and she leans forward to hear him better, no matter that his voice could be heard across the kingdoms if he wishes. “I thought the idea most noble, when I was but a yearling, smaller than you, even.”

She can’t imagine him that small, like she can't imagine the castle as a handful of tents against the sea. It seems wrong, for something so large, so stable, so ancient, to have been small, once upon a time, but at the same time, it gives her hope.

Maybe, one day, she can be important too, important because of how she’s grown, not because of who has made her. “I thought the stories far more entertaining that the reality, I must admit.” He continues, “But all the same, It was a nice wish.” He says, and he sounds wistful. Like if he had been human, he would’ve been a knight, one of the good ones. One of the ones they wrote stories about.

And she remembers the sword she has packed away beside her, a solid, reassuring weight at her side. She scrambles to get it out, and it feels silly, suddenly, a rose thorn next to the dragon’s claws, but she is not wielding it to hurt. Not now, not as long as she is able. She scoots forwards, as far as she can reach in the saddle, and rests the flat of the blade on his left shoulder.

“I,” She starts, projecting her voice the way her mother taught her, weary and bitter and wanting to be heard, puts as much kindness into it as her grandmother did, “Princess Isabella Fawkes, first of her name, granddaughter of Queen Mariana Hart.” She moves the sword to the other shoulder and swallows down a lump in her throat. It all suddenly seems far more serious than she had set out to make it, than she had thought it would be, but she is riding away from home on a dragon’s back, granting one of his wishes using her grandmother’s name. “I hereby knight you, Sir Tony.”

The air is still for a moment, not even his wings moving to stir it, and he turns. “Thank you, little princess.” He says, and she can nearly feel his gratefulness. “I hope I will stay deserving of being your knight.”

“I am sure you will.” She says, and he rumbles a laugh, like he doesn't quite believe her but is happy all the same.

He starts flying again, speeding west, and she settles in for a long journey. She is about to fall asleep when the dragon speaks again. “Thank you.” He says, “Sleep well, little lady.” He tells her, and she drifts off above her kingdom, under the starry sky, on the way to her new home.

[imagine-wannaone]

Park Woojin Super Powers Au

So anon requested a Woojin super power au so here we are. Idk this one seemed weird to finish but it’s probably my same style heh.

 • Woojin knew he had an ability from when he was tiny - he’s never not had it,

 • He was a baby who had to stay on a leash because if he started to run, no one could catch him,  • Woojin’s super speed made him a very difficult toddler to control but man he had the time of his little life,  • He could easily escape places, but was banned from sports which upset him, but he kinda understood,  • Like imagine going to run a race against 9 year old woojin and he’s at the finish line within a few seconds of the starting gun,  • So he accepted it and moved on to art and music, something he became very talented in,  • I mean when you don’t have to spend 20 minutes walking home, could get to places faster, generally just lived in the fast lane?  • He had a lot of spare time,  • And school wasn’t great for him, many people without abilities were bitter and jealous and would have bullied Woojin,  • But they couldn’t catch him, as soon as they cornered him he could disappear in front of their eyes and be across the playground,  • Woojin was more of a flight, not fight,  • Relatable,  • And as Woojin got older, got faster, got more in control of his ability, he tried to keep it as low key as possible,  • Everyone with an ability also has a key though, something that signals that they have a power, as little as a birth mark or as obvious as different colour skin,  • Lmao Woojins mark is 2 dark blue lines going from his ankle to his armpit on each of his side’s - like go fast stripes on cars whOoPs,  • But they’re easy enough to cover so Woojin doesn’t mind them as much,  • While there was plenty of people totally fine with people with abilities, there were also many people who refused to employ them, who sent them hate, who assaulted them,  • So Woojin ran as little as he could and lived a totally average life,  • Except the fact Woojin did dance and maybe it helped him a little bit…  • He loved running, and the fact that he couldn’t suppressed a part of himself, but he managed,  • (In this au if you don’t use your ability for a certain amount of time you get uncomfortable or a yearning, or sometimes even pain),  • But when he finished school no one knew of his ability so he was free,  • He decided to pursue a career in painting, because that’s where he found his peace, and he loved watching people’s faces light up at what he made,  • Woojin painted whatever caught his eye,  • When places were quiet, or at night, he’d run and watch colours and shapes blur, imprinting what he saw to memory,  • Then he’d spend the next month perfecting his piece,  • Around 1/12 of the population had abilities, although you could hardly ever see one, most hiding it,  • But people picked up on woojin and what he painted, and it helped people, so he became more open about his ability and became an advocate,  • He’d paint political pieces and paintings with stories without anyone actually knowing his identity,  • (Think banksy)  • And was part of an organisation called Wanna One - People with abilities who tried to raise awareness,  • Woojin got a lot of hate but he gets paid a good amount for his paintings, allies buying pieces,  • Many people make requests, they ask him to run through a certain place and paint what he sees,  • Because Woojin hated his ability throughout his youth and even sometimes in his daily life; he wants to help people accept themselves,  • And Woojin is on a night quest one day, he heard someone with an ability was making art as well in the near by park and he wanted to see it and offer support,  • And you’re also walking down the street heading to the park when you see a teen alone crossing the street,  • But they have glowing green cat eyes, something almost impossible to hide and your heart already softens towards them - they probably go through a lot of shit,  • You’re contemplating talking to them when you spot a car on the road suddenly speed up dangerously,  • You see, behind the wheel, a middle aged man, his eyes focusing coldly on the teen,  • Mnet if they were in this fic,  • You’d seen many people like that before, been against many people like that before, but you don’t want someone, a young teen, to have to face something like this so early,  • So you do whatever you think,  • You sprint forward and push the teen away, hoping they don’t get hurt on the landing,  • You watch the realisation appear on the dazzling slitted pupils and thank god they’ll get to live another day,  • You wonder if your case, mutant killed by car, will even be heard, or if they’ll let him go with a warning,  • If the activists will help and protest in your name,  • You turn to face the car, just meters in front of you to stare at the man,  • But then you feel a hand wrap around your waist and your eyes are watering as colours create a mesh of familiar patterns,  • Your arms find themselves around a neck and cling on instinctively, clinging closer to whoever has pulled you against them, their warmth comforting your mind lost in panic and slightly queezy at the disorientating speed you feel,  • You close your eyes tight until everything is absolutely still an your mind has stopped spinning,  • “Hey, are you okay? Can you hear me? Are you awake?”  • A soft voice rubs your shoulder, although it sounds slightly panicked, which unsettles you,  • Something in your chest feels the urge to make whoever’s speaking feel safe, at ease, so you crack open your eyes and take a deep breath before sitting up,  • The world still spins but a hand is quickly placed against your back to steady you and you lay eyes on a boy in front of you, lent a little too close out of worry,

 • His brows are creased, hair jostled and eyes sharp,  • You laugh at the situation, mind finally grasping into what just happened, and you pull him into a tight hug,  • Woojin nearly looses his balance but laughs in relief himself,  • “Oh god thank you so much, I could have died but wow,”  • You’re sat in a quiet part of the park you were heading to, only the leaves breaking the silence, rustling around you,  • “It was very brave,”  • The guy blushes and looks away and your heart melts,  • “And so were you,”  • His blush intensifies and you want to wrap him in blankets,  • He stands before offering you a hand up, slowly drawing yourself to your feet,  • And Woojin is internally freaking out and this person that smells fresh like a meadow,  • He just saved someone who is a complete cutie and makes his heart race,  • And he just wants to wrap his arm around their waist again, or trace the black vines that tangle and peak out from under their shirt with his fingers, their key sign,  • “Ooh, gimme a second,”  • He watches you as you jog to the second nearest bush and crouch with your back to him, his mind whirls with ideas of what the hell you could be doing,  • For all he knows you could be preparing a magic trick,  • But you turn round with a small dahlia, soft orange and in full bloom in your hand,  • You poke the stem through the hole for the drawstring on his hoodie, hanging it out delicately, the colour complimenting his face perfectly and you smile a little at your handiwork,  • And Woojin is trying to avoid a heart attack at the look on your face and the fact that you’re a green touch - someone who can grow whatever they want wherever they want, which explains the beautiful black vines he saw earlier imprinted onto your skin,  • It’s all way too cute for him,  • “It doesn’t exactly pay you back, and I will pay you back, but I hope it’ll do for now,”  • And that is the story of how Park Woojin develops his massive crush on the person he rescued from near death,  • But he doesn’t think he’ll ever see you again, so stews silently,  • But then he gets asked by the head of Wanna One to work with one of their other artist advocates, so he agrees straight away,  • Working with other artists always lifts Woojins mood because it’s working with someone who believes in the same things to make something wonderful,  • (We’ve done something wonderful by Epik High 10/10 album lads)  • So imagine his pure shock,  • His innocent surprise,  • His bashfulness,  • When he arrives at the meeting spot, a blank white wall to paint, to see you  • He does a whole triple take,  • And he’s like o shit??,  • And you’re like ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ WhoOpS,  • It’s not like you figured out he was also part of Wanna One and asked to do a joint project,  • Sneaky hoe,  • V clever sneaky hoe wow you got snooping talent,  • But the two of you work on your memorial together, Woojin having a great skill with spray paint as well, and you raise flowers and vines and bushes out of concrete and pot plants to weave into places and spaces perfect for you to bloom shades of flowers,  • It’s your art style, making pictures and stories out of greenery, the textures and colours blending, it’s truly unique and iconic™  • But when the two of you finish, the wall is a statement and breath catching,  • And the reaction from the public is strong, so the two for you continue to work together,  • You make art all around the city, or you compress and dry flowers for him to paint into canvas or give him models or tips on how to draw them realistically,  • Or you grow huge white flowers, roses or lillies or tulips and he paints them with beautiful detail,  • And continue to meet, and continue to grow together,   • “‘Grow togther’” puNs :DDDDDDDD

• Not only do you meet for art, you start going out for dinners,

 • (At first you insist it’s to pay back for him saving your life but then you don’t have to make any excuses it’s just because you both want to),  • Or you go to museums or theme parks or aquariums together,  • And they’re all beginning to look suspiciously like dates ngl,  • The two of you find yourselves watching the sun set from the hill you’re perched on, sharing blankets, claiming it’s to fight off the cold,  • Dirty liars,  • You lean against Woojins side as he rests his head on top of yours,  • You had mentioned you always wanted to watch the sunset from above but didn’t know anywhere close,  • So Woojin had ran the both of you to the outskirts of the city where the land rose and fell, making the view something you’d want to recreate,  • You look up, looking to Woojins face, smiling softly in the evening glow, he turns his face to catch you staring but you aren’t shy, you’ve never been shy with Woojin,  • You fall back, dragging him with you as you stare,  • His hand traces the black vines that link across your torso sending shivers down your spine at the cold against your warm skin,  • And you think,  • You think about all the things Woojin has given to you, the life you have lived since you nearly died and how you owe him everything you can give to him, how the love that’s developed inside your chest for him drowns out any other feeling,  • And Woojin thinks about how he’s finally so so glad he’s a mutant, that he could save you and you could open his eyes, and that he owes you the world,  • And the two of you share your thoughts and gratefulness and pure admiration when you press your lips together in a gentle first kiss,  • And you spiral even quicker than you were before,  • He paints you pictures and portraits and you make him beautiful bouquets,  • He’s never been bought bouquets because everyone always assumed he’s a boy and wouldn’t want any but??? They’re so beautiful???? Why do people never buy boys bouquets???  • And you learn to paint smoother together,  • And you open a Florist and are living the dream, generally a pure and happy relationship,  • And sometimes you’re yelled at or someone makes a malicious comment,  • Or another Florist confronts you saying it’s not fair on them, you being able to grow your own flowers,  • But Woojin is instantly ready to fight and you just protect each other all the time,  • He protec, but he also attac,  • lmao save me from old memes,  • Woojin loves to trace the vines that paint your body permenantly and you honestly aren’t complaining,  • And like you would love to trace his stripes but he’s so damn ticklish,  • So you use it against him hehe,  • But basically you’re living your dreams, helping others and sharing every moment with each other,

[azurehyn]

Soul Window

Part 4 

Here it is! They finally meet! In a way! I’ll stop with the exclamation marks now!

no trigger warnings. Not much more this time round. This chapter is pretty light as opposed to the goddamn heavy shite Part 2 was absolutely full of. It’s more of a mix of their two POVs than strictly one. I tried to do it one or the other way but it didn’t work out too well...and I like how this turned out...

As always, likes, reblogs, and comments are much wanted and appreciated! And if you spot any typos and such, please do point them out!

As can be seen, I’m updating fairly regularly (every day, I try, kind of following the #writeeveryday trend on Wattpad), so look out for Part 5 tomorrow!

Two souls a world apart finally meet...sort of.

For several long seconds, across the world, boy and girl stared at each other.

The boy with hair flopping messily over green eyes that sparkled with light and life despite exhaustion’s fingers drawing shadows under those eyes gaped uncomprehendingly at his phone in London. All thoughts of Jake and his guitar-arse-whooping threats evaporated into nothing.

The girl with long hair that curled in a wild, electric mess down her back and light brown eyes that held no glimmer of hope blinked owlishly at her phone, thumb hovering at the lock button. All thoughts of dredging up enough strength to fend off Zoya’s concern on WhatsApp and everywhere else drained away.

Yulia stared at the face that looked back at her –a face that definitely was not hers because she wasn't a guy. Although sometimes -often, actually -she wished she was a boy. That way it wouldn't have been possible for Frank to do as he liked. He was so homophobic that a meme on men like him should have been made already,

Harry couldn’t tear his eyes away from the girl who stared back at him, paler than before, although maybe that was because of how flat and 2D phones made everything look. He sat frozen like a marble statue on the edge of his bed, smile disappearing as his brow furrowed deep. 

Because there she was.

Well, not right there, but she was still there. Not in his mirror this time, but in his phone. He didn’t know why he saw that as some form of confirmation that nope, he wasn’t insane yet and yes, she was real.

And the shock of seeing him somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be left her stripped bare.

She wasn’t naked, of course. He could just barely make out that she wore a tank top, its colour dark grey and washed out from his still locked phone screen. Around her neck was a neckalce made of tiny black beads, the centrepiece being what looked like a shiny keyring and a metallic zip connected together by a small silver chain, reaching a little past her collarbone.

Her face was no longer set in a carefully constructed blank look. A fascinating myriad of emotions flickered past her eyes, so fast he could barely catch them, even though he knew they mimicked the ones he felt right then and there.

With one notable exclusion; relief.

After his last sighting of this girl being that of her holding a razor in her hands, he hadn’t realized until now that he’d been running on low-key anxiety and panic the last two days over what she’d done with the blade. All he’d felt was an itch, like something with steel claws was scratching just under the surface of his skin, like venomous snakes were hissing and spitting in his stomach. 

He didn’t know what was going on, why he was seeing this girl first in his bathroom mirror and now in his phone, but after seeing that razor in her hands, the look in her eyes, the tremble of her lips seconds before she winked out of sight for good, he’d assumed the absolute worst.

He didn’t know if girls had razors like that for shaving or something. He didn’t know why a girl would have such a thing in their bathroom, though he knew there were many reasons for it. There were probably dozens of reasons why a girl would have a razor in her bathroom. Of course there were.

But when he saw this one holding it, he’d jumped to the worst conclusion and thought that she would use it on somewhere it wasn’t supposed to touch.

Somewhere like her wrists.

Yulia was strangely calm as she slowly came to the realization of what was happening; she was going mad. Finally, after all this time, she’d been driven round the bend. She was crazy, insane. She’d get committed into some shady mental institution and at least have that as an excuse not to live under the same roof as Frank anymore. 

But that wasn’t what had her body frozen into a block of ice as she stared at the face that blinked back at her with an odd mix of shock and...was that, what, relief?

No, that wasn’t what confused her. If her brain was going to make her think she was seeing things -people -that weren’t actually there, why him? 

Why the worldwide phenomenon parading round as Harry Styles, of all people?

She didn’t even listen to his music. She’d never listened to any One Direction songs, either, except for that one time Zoya tricked her into listening to one song. 

They’d been sitting on the school bus going home, when they still attended the same school. It was before everything with Frank started, before Zoya moved to London and Yulia found herself more alone than she could ever have imagined. She had been in low spirits that day, though she wasn’t sure why (two hours later she realized her terrible mood was thanks to Mother Nature’s unwanted gift wrapped in bloody strings called period). Zoya popped out her earphones and gave them to Yulia, playing a song she picked out on her phone because Yulia forgot her own earphones that day.

Though she could admit that the lyrics of the song were good, could help people, could make people actually feel something, she hadn’t gotten it. She guessed that she understood the message of the song, but she didn’t really connect with it. It wasn’t until she peeked at Zoya’s music player that she saw it was Little Things she’d listened to.

That was the moment she’d decided that no, she wasn’t a One Direction hater or anything like that. It was just that the music they made wasn’t in her tastes. No hate there -just disinterest. Then again, her music taste was probably skewed thanks to her near-total obsession with trailer music and anything that wasn’t mainstream. Really, Twelve Titans and J2 were the only things that got her blood pumping these days. Hidden Citizens, Black Math, SIDI, machinehearts, she loved them all.

But Shawn Mendes? Harry Styles? Who now?

The only reason she knew, vaguely, what went on in the celebrity world she had no wish to ever go near was because Zoya enjoyed their music, even now that the famous boy band had gone their separate ways. Zoya loved sharing the things she loved with Yulia.

Once upon a time, Yulia had loved sharing the things she loved with Zoya. It was a two-way road with them. Once upon a time, she shared everything with Zoya.

And then her car on the share road started to slow. It ran out of fuel and sputtered to a stop, until the only thing Yulia did now was push Zoya’s car along the road so that her friend wouldn’t realize her car was far, far behind.

She frowned at the startled face on her screen. She knew the colour of that dark hair was brown, but she didn’t know what shade of brown it was. Was it streaked with light bits like blond highlights? Or was it so dark that it could be mistaken for black?

She knew that those incredibly light eyes that held so many confusing emotions that befuddled her were green. She didn’t know what shade of green, though. She so rarely looked at pictures of celebrities, so how was she supposed to know?

Why was she gripped with the sudden need to know what exact shade of green those eyes were? Were they moss green trees, emerald Oz’s city, mint green Saeran’s, sea-green Percy’s? 

When they opened their mouths to speak, what they wanted to say ranged from, “Who are you?” to “What the hell?” to “Why are you in my phone?” to “You didn’t see me”.

What came out was,

“You’re okay.”

“Why you?”