#wof fanfic

[spoonhead]

-broken family-

designs for Tundra's family in my wof fic! I wanted to do size comparisons + designs for all my characters, and I'll probably do more minor characters later (Gator, General Sparrow, etc etc)

Tundra is a small Sand/Ice hybrid and is considered thin and scrawny by dragon standards. even as an adult he'll still be small, which he gets from his mother.

Fennec is a fairly average sized Sandwing, although still naturally thin. her colors are solid markings, not gradients like Snowmelt's.

Snowmelt is a large Icewing and the bulkiest in the family. he's naturally built big and his colors were inspired by the melting snow you see on the side of the road. *this is before the timeskip. afterwards, his left forearm is permanently scarred and leaves him limping*

~individual refs under cut~

*friendly reminder that i do take requests! send me your ocs and i'll draw them if i have time :)*

#imma be real when i made tundra i had just gotten back into wof #so i had forgotten that there was already an icewing named tundra #oopsies #wings of fire #wof #wof hybrid #wof sandwing #wof icewing #wof fanart #wof fanfic #wof ocs #oc: snowmelt #oc: fennec #oc: tundra #dragons #spoonheads art #spoonhead ocs

[aemondsbabe]

Homecoming

summary: reassurance & car sex || you're desperate to have tom before he ships off, but neither of your houses are exactly ideal options...

pairing: tom bennett x f!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, first time, loss of virginity, car sex, public sex (they don’t get caught, no one else sees, but it’s not in the privacy of a home so ig), fingering, fluff, tom being so sweet actually, v soft

word count: 3.1k

a/n: happy day two of 12 days of smuff!!! tom bennett makes my head spin!!!!!!! Can be read as a part 1 to A Promise is a Promise or as a stand alone!

12 days of smuff masterlist!

gif creds to @violaobanion!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

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A loud peal of laughter erupts from Tom’s lips as the two of you stagger out of the small, neighborhood pub you frequented, each of you calling quick goodbye’s over your shoulders to your friends. The night air was crisp but thankfully not overly cold yet as you take Tom’s arm, your shoulder bumping against his as you step out onto the sidewalk.

“You’re a real firecracker, love, you know that?” He asks with a cheeky grin, draping a long arm over your shoulders as you begin the quick walk back to your family’s place. 

You can’t help but chuckle as you glance over at him, the apples of your cheeks sore from how much you’ve been smiling and laughing over the last couple hours. “‘S just the truth, Tommy,” you shrug, slightly slurring your words, “I just love you sooooooo much! Like, more than anything.”

Leaning in, Tom presses a quick kiss to your cheek and laughs once again when you stumble against him from the movement. “Easy there, tiger,” he mumbles, a soft smile on his face. The two of you amble a bit further in a comfortable, giggly silence as you finally turn the corner onto your street, “D’you love me more than Cola Cubes?” Tom asks, giggling out the words.

You throw your head back and groan dramatically before turning to him with a playful pout, “That is pure evil, that is! Making me think of Cola Cubes during rationing!” You whine, reaching up to lightly smack him on his firm chest. 

Tom merely laughs as the two of you finally come to a stop in front of your front door; spinning around, you let yourself fall back against the white-painted door, the material cool against your back through your thin blouse. You look up through your lashes at Tom, watching as he leans forward, balancing himself against the door with one arm outstretched above the two of you as his other hand comes to rest on your hip. 

“Tell ya what,” he starts, a suddenly serious look in his cobalt eyes as he leans ever closer to you and rests his forehead against yours, “I’ll save you every single Cola Cube I get in my C-rations and y’can have ‘em all when I get back to ya.” 

Your throat tightens at his words and your heart twists meanly in your chest, though you manage to turn your lips up into a small, quivering smile as you place a hand on his chest, the grey fabric of his sweater soft under your palm. “And you promise you’ll come back?” Your voice is softer than you mean for it to be, a slight hoarseness to it from how your throat pinches. 

Tom sighs softly and gently cups your chin, his hand still cool from where it had been balanced on the door. “I’ve only had you for a measly two months, you think I’m giving you up that easily?” He teases, though there’s a certain sadness in his eyes that mirror’s your own; even still, you can’t help but chuckle at his words. 

The two of you stand in a comfortable silence for a moment, simply enjoying being close as neither of you are willing to say goodnight yet. After a minute, your breath hitches in your chest as you notice the shadow behind the brunette’s eyes morph into a different kind of darkness as his eyes stray to your lips.

Without a second thought, you lean in and press your lips against his, eliciting a pleased hum from the boy, the small noise vibrating against the hand still on his chest as your other comes up to rest on his shoulder. Both of his skirt down to grab at your hips and he pulls you closer to him, your heads tilting in opposite directions as the kiss deepens. A small whimper escapes your lips as he licks into your mouth, his tongue swirling against your own.

“Tommy,” you whisper, your head tilting further to the side as he presses a line of kisses down your neck, “I… I want you.” You finish shyly, teeth biting into your lower lip as he pulls back to look at you.

His breath hitches for a second before he collects himself. “Are you sure, love?” He asks gruffly, “I thought you wanted to wait till–.”

You shake your head, your eyes searching his as you fiddle with the neckline of his sweater. “Changed my mind,” the corner of your lips quirks up into a nervous smile, “Think of it as a going away present.”

Tom smiles at your words and huffs out a small laugh before nodding to the door behind you. “Whatever you wish, love. Lead the way.”

Your eyes widen slightly as you shake your head again. “Are you crazy? We cannot go in there, both my parents are very light sleepers and if my dad catches you, you won’t even make it to the Navy, much less make it home. Can’t we just go round to yours? It’s only a couple minutes away.”

“No can do, love,” Tom sighs with a shake of his head, “Even if my dad’s asleep, there’s no way we’ll get past Lois. Bloody bat hearing on that one, I swear.”

The two of you sigh, defeated, your shoulders sagging as Tom crooks an arm up, awkwardly rubbing at the back of his neck as he glances around, the wheels in his head spinning frantically as he tries to come up with an idea; his eyes do a double take as he spots your family’s black car sitting idly on the small driveway in front of your house and he turns to you with a sly smirk.

“What say we christen your dad’s car?”

You start to giggle, convinced he’s merely joking, although you stop when you see the look in his eyes. “Tommy, you can’t be serious,” you say with a surprised smile, “If my dad finds out we took it he’ll–.”

“Who said anything about taking it, love?” He says with a proud smirk.

You guffaw at this, staring at him incredulously. “What, you mean just here on the drive?”

“Well, why not?” He questions, exaggeratedly turning his head as he looks around, peering up and down the deserted road, “You know as well as I do that all your neighbors are old as the hills, love. Only ones out round here at this hour are you and me.”

You stay quiet for a moment, unbelievably actually considering his proposal as you glance up and down the road and well… he is right. Most of your neighbors are quite a bit older and all of their windows dark and still as you peer around. Finally, you turn back to Tom with a sigh, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

“Fine,” you quip, blushing slightly as he chuckles lowly, clearly pleased with himself, “Let me grab the bloody key.” You mutter with a playful eye roll as you open your front door as slowly and quietly as you can possibly manage. You duck in and quickly snatch your father’s ring of keys off the small table next to the door before quietly shutting it behind you. 

You hand the keys to Tom and follow him down the drive, a sense of giddiness quickly replacing your nerves; the brunette easily unlocks the car and quickly pulls one of the back doors open and slides inside before reaching a hand out to pull you with him.

He pounces on you as soon as you carefully shut the door, his rough hands eagerly bunching up the fabric of your blouse as he tugs it out from where you’d tucked it under your skirt while his lips move frantically against your own. 

“You’re sure?” He pants, pulling back after a moment when he feels your hands starting to tug impatiently at the bottom of his sweater, “We really don’t ha–.”

You press a finger against his rosy lips, cutting him off with a soft giggle. “I want this, Tommy,” leaning in, you trail soft kisses up his jaw to his ear, “I want you.” You whisper, relishing the way he shivers on top of you and the way the muscles of his stomach and chest twitch under your touch as you slide your hands under his sweater. 

With a nod, Tom dives in yet again and presses wet kisses against the column of your throat as he tugs you into his lap, careful not to let your head bump against the roof of the car. He groans at the feel of you on top of him and his hands move quickly as they pull your blouse up; he leans in and kisses wetly up your stomach, right down the middle until he reaches the bottom of your bra. 

His blue eyes are nearly black as he gazes up at you, questioning. A whimper slips past your lips as you answer him with a small nod, fingers threading through his short hair as he eagerly slips your bra up.

He breathes out a low, satisfied groan when your breasts are finally free, not bothering to take off your bra or blouse before he dives in. “Jesus Christ,” he mumbles, lips pressed against the underside of your breast, “They’re better than I imagined, so much better.”

A giggle spills past your lips before it quickly turns into a moan, your head lolling back as he latches onto one nipple, happily sucking it into his warm mouth with a satisfied grunt. “T-Tommy,” you whisper, already writhing on top of him from a few touches, “Don’t stop.” Your voice is whiny as you speak, only for you to actually whine as Tom pulls back for a second to tug his sweater over his head. 

“Relax, love,” he huffs against your chest, groaning hotly as you squirm in his lap, no doubt able to feel his cock as it hardens steadily in his pants, “‘M gonna give you what you want, gonna do right by you.” He promises, licking over your nipple before sucking at it and letting his eyes flutter shut at the way you gently tug his hair. 

The windows of the car quickly begin to fog up as the two of you move together, your breathy sighs and whimpers filling the small space along with Tom’s harsh pants and groans. You squirm in his lap as his hands make quick work of your stockings and underwear, quickly tugging them down and off your legs before he tosses them somewhere on the floor of the car. 

He looks to you for reassurance once more, which you happily give, before his warm hand cups your center, causing both of you to shudder against each other. Slowly, carefully, he parts your folds before gently rubbing a finger over your bud, chuckling when you buck into his hand with a loud moan. “That the spot, love?” His eyes flick up to your face, eager to watch your reactions as he touches you, “God, you’re dripping.” A soft sigh leaves his lips as he presses his fingers more firmly against you, flicking them over your clit. 

“Mhm, Tommy, shit,” you whine, your voice only a breathy whisper as you press your forehead against his. Your eyes flutter as your hips move against his hand, seemingly with a mind of their own, “More, please!” You whine desperately after a few moments, eyes squeezing shut at the way your center clenches around nothing.

Nodding, Tom moves his hand a bit lower, groaning at how much slicker you are here, before he runs his fingers through your folds once more, making sure to get them wet before notching two at your entrance. “Ready?” He asks softly, only slowly pushing them in once you nod. He groans along with you, marveling at how tightly you’re grasping his fingers as his cock twitches in his pants at the thought of how much tighter you’ll be around him. “Fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight,” he groans lowly, blue eyes glancing down to watch your breasts heave as you pant on top of him, “Does that feel good, love?”

Wordlessly, you nod against his forehead, swallowing thickly. A loud moan is practically punched out of you as he curls his fingers, pressing perfectly against a small, sensitive spot inside you. Your mouth hangs open as unintelligible whines tumble from your lips, a shiver going down your spine when you see the pleased smirk on his face. 

His long fingers fuck into you for a few more moments, his thumb coming up to rub at your clit in a way that makes you see stars as you cling to him tightly, your breasts pressed deliciously up against his warm, bare chest. 

You whine, however, when his movements start to slow against you, though he’s quick to hush you, chuckling as he presses a kiss to your cheek. “You want my cock, love?” He asks, pulling his fingers from you slowly before gripping appreciatively at the fat of your inner thigh. 

You pull back to look down at him, your eyebrows knitting together as a small, nervous pit forms in your stomach. “It… it won’t hurt, right?” You ask softly, the words of several of your friends echoing through your mind. 

Quickly, Tom shakes his head, one hand coming up to cup your cheek lovingly. “I promise it won’t,” he says softly, pressing a reassuring kiss to your lips, “I told you, I’m gonna do right by you.”

Hesitantly, you nod, though he must sense the nervousness that’s still pooled in your stomach. He sighs with a soft smile, his thumb caressing your cheekbone. “How about you stay on top, hm? That way you control everything.”

You blink a few times, considering the offer before smiling and nodding, which draws a bright smile from the boy underneath you. You shift back a bit on his lap, giving him enough room to unbutton and unzip his pants and pull them down just enough to free his cock; your eyes widen as he pulls it free from his boxers with a relieved sigh.

“A-Are you sure it’ll fit?” You ask softly, marveling at it as he runs a hand over his length. 

He chuckles beneath you with a proud smirk as he pulls you back to him. “I’m sure, love, I promise you’ll enjoy it.” He assures you, pressing kisses down your neck as he does so. Your breath hitches as you feel the head of his cock prod at your entrance, and you lean into Tom’s touch as you let him guide your hips. 

“Oh!” You shudder as you slowly sink down, breathing heavily as the head slips inside your warm center.

“That’s it,” he coaxes, his hands gentle on your hips as he lets you take him at your own pace, “Doing so well, pretty girl.”

His praises spur you on as you sink lower and lower, eyes squeezing shut as your thighs burn a little with the effort. Finally, after a few minutes, you breathe a sigh of relief as your thighs finally rest on top of his, his length pressing fully inside you.

“Y’okay?” He checks through a ragged breath, his eyes nearly slipping to the back of his head as he feels you twitch and pulse around him already, your walls suffocatingly tight against his length. 

You nod as you let yourself fall forward and press a cheek against his warm shoulder before giving a small, experimental roll of your hips. You gasp as you feel him press against you, filling you with a delicious ache. 

The two of you begin to move together wordlessly, your hands finding purchase against his firm chest as you gingerly bounce on top of him, breathily moaning in time with each thrust. Tom grunts each time you sink back down onto him, one hand gripping at your hip as the other kneads at your breast, his fingers pinching and pulling your nipple just enough to elicit adorable high-pitched whines from you. 

Your clit, still sensitive from his earlier attention, rubs perfectly against the small thatch of hair at the base of his cock and sends shivers down your spine. “T-Tommy,” you gasp, nearly doubling over as you tilt your hips, causing the head of his cock to rut against that sensitive spot within you at the same time your clit grinds against him, “I think – I, oh!” You pant against his shoulder, unable to string together two words as sparks suddenly burst behind your eyelids. 

Tom huffs out a loud groan as he feels you tense on top of him, your walls clenching around his cock wildly as your peak washes over you. He mumbles incoherent curses against your neck as his hips rut up into you. 

He holds out for as long as he can before tugging you off of his lap, one hand quickly grasping at his length as he desperately strokes it. You watch, enraptured, as his head tilts back onto the car seat, his Adams’s apple bobbing beautifully as he moans, long and loud. His cock twitches in his grasp as he finishes, painting wet, pearlescent streaks against the trembling skin of his lower stomach, his chest heaving. 

After a moment, the two of you giggle softly. You bite your lip as he bends over, only to open it in protest as he quickly wipes his spend from his stomach with your discarded stockings, “Tom! You pig!” You admonish, albeit through a surprised laugh. 

He peers up at you cheekily as he deposits your stockings on the floor of the car once again, laughing as he pulls you back to him. “You’ll wash them anyway!” He huffs, wrapping his arms around you. The two of you grow quiet for a moment, rain softly pattering against the top of the car. “Or you could keep them like a trophy while I’m gone,” he teases, chuckling once again at your small sound of disgust, “Something to remember me by.”

“But you’ll be back,” you say softly after a moment, pulling back so you can look at him properly, your wide eyes searching his, “Right?”

He sighs with a soft smile, both hands gently cupping your cheeks. “I promise, I’ll come back to you,” he says earnestly, blue eyes boring into your own, “I will come home to you, love.”

You stare at him for a moment longer before finally nodding, tucking your face against his shoulder once more and breathing in his familiar scent.

tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @alerisc

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#tom bennett #tom bennett x reader #tom bennett x you #tom bennett smut #tom bennett fanfic #tom bennett fanfiction #tom bennett fic #world on fire #world on fire fanfiction #world on fire fanfic #world on fire smut #wof fanfiction #wof fanfic #wof smut #ewan mitchell #ewanverse #ewan nation #my writing #fanfic #fanfiction #smut #12 days of smuff

[arcielee]

It's Not Tonight

Summary: Tom Bennett slips in through your window. Paring: Tom Bennett x Female!Reader Word Count: 1.6k+ Warnings: Tom is a scoundrel, angst from a one night stand, masturbating, a smidge of voyeurism, kissing, grinding, sexual memories recalled fondly but also bitterly, overstimulation kinda? Author's Note: It has been one year since I last wrote for Tom fucking Bennett and what better way to commemorate that than something short and smutty? This takes place end of episode 1 and beginning of episode 2, for season 1 WoF. Thank you so much my beloved @helaelaemond for being my muse, for your help with this piece! Without you, it would have just been sitting in my drafts. 💜 Dividers are by @saradika-graphics 💜

It had been two weeks since Tom slipped through your bedroom window, his features pink from the night’s cold air and a boyish grin curled on his lips. You squeaked your surprise, your eyes wide as he pressed close to kiss, the contrast of his cold nose and hot mouth making your skin rise, tasting the pint he must’ve finished before he came tapping on your window pane. 

“Be quiet, pretty girl,” he had said, a murmur against your lips, and you sighed sweetly, his tongue pushing past your lips for another deep kiss. “We don’t want to wake no one.” 

This was true, as your father would often vocalize on how much he loathed, “that damn Bennett.” You quietly pulled him towards your bed. 

The next morning, your sheets held the tangy sweet scent of the euphoria he had pulled from you–several times–mixing with the cigarette smoke and a musk that was so distinctly his own. As you pulled them off to wash, you noticed his navy blue overcoat he had tossed onto your chair. You grabbed it as well, smiling with the thought it would be clean for when he came back.

But he did not come back that night, or the next one. 

It was now fourteen fucking days since that night together. Though your agitation with Tom Bennett was not as adamant on your every expression, something pointed out by your mother, it still thrummed beneath in such a way that rattled your bones. His coat was now clean and folded across the armrest, a mockery of that short-lived bliss.

You were on your bed and reliving the warmth of his voice that had tickled the shell of your ear, how his fingers so carefully peeled away your nightgown and the undergarments you had worn, the gentle nip of his mouth that trailed towards your core…

You burned with this memory, same as you had that night, rutting your nightgown to your hips, your fingers touching and trailing back up the damp fold of your underwear that was shaped to your lips before you dipped below the waistband. Your arousal was slick between your folds, a slow circular motion, just as Tom had done. 

When he did, he had asked you, “Do you think of me when you touch yourself?” 

That arrogant bastard–but your scoff came out as a soft moan, followed with his name spilling from your lips, breathless and still wanting, “Tom…”

“Yes, love?”

The voice struck cold against your spine, your hand pulling back and your eyes snapping open to see his lean figure pulling through your window. You struggled to find your voice. “I…” you were now burning from how Tom looked over you, aglow, aware, with his damn cheeky, boyish grin splayed across his perfect mouth, “...where the hell have you been?”

Tom only hummed in response, still smirking as he peeled off his shirt, his pale chest stained pink, and climbing onto your bed. You parted your legs to let him rest into the cradle of your hips, the nip of his skin against your plush thighs making your skin rise. 

When you tried to move the offending hand, he was quick to catch your wrist, the crystalline blue of his eyes boring into you, and you stared at him a moment, watching as he brought your hand closer, pressing your middle and ring fingers to his tongue, his hot mouth closing and suckling them clean. 

Your mouth opened with a soft gasp, squirming under his weight, from the sensation of his tongue licking your fingertips. He pulled your hand back with a lewd pop and let it fall back to your side, his grin still cheeky and now almost smug. 

“They had me on remand for two weeks,” his voice was low, the blue in his eyes bright, “I came here to celebrate, but I see you started already…” 

You should have pushed him off and then back out the window he crawled in from, but your body betrayed you with a warmth pooling between. Instead, you pushed to your elbows, one hand reaching to cup the back of his neck to pull him closer for a kiss, tasting the remnants of yourself, your tongue curling against the roof of his mouth. 

Tom groaned, low, returning the passion until your breath was a heated exchange. He shifted his slender hips with a slow grind against your clothed cunt and you moaned softly, nails biting into his shoulders. He reached between, his fingertips almost tickling with his touch. 

“So wet,” and he was still smug, “and it’s all for me.” 

Your eyes were glazed already, your skin warming as you processed what he said, but before a smart comment could pass your kiss-swollen lips, his hot mouth moved to reclaim yours again. He was hard already and you could feel him, pressing against the seams of his pants, pressing against you until your heart rate could now be felt in your cunt. 

“Tom,” you moaned again, your hips lifting for the friction, “I need you.”

He pulled to lay onto his back, unfastening his buttons while you slipped your panties off. You moved to straddle him, his slender frame caught between your plush thighs and his cock hard and flushed and pressed upwards, nearly touching his belly button, slotted between your soft lips. Black now almost swallowed the brilliant blue of his eyes when they focused on your nipples that were peeking beneath the thin fabric of your nightgown; you could feel him pulse beneath you. 

Tom pushed up for another kiss, fumbling to help remove your final layer, your bare chest flushed against his as he pulled you close, and his chest hair tickled. His mouth moved towards the curve of your neck, trailing to your chest, the glisten of his spit with every intimate kiss placed.

Your back arched in response, rolling your hips against him. You reached to line him with your entrance, slowly sinking onto his length; you are wet, but there was a stretch still, a fullness that Tom fucking Bennett possessed, and it was delicious. 

“Stop clenching,” he gritted once he was fully sheathed within. Your hands moved to his chest, pushing him to lay back against the pillows; it was your turn to wear the smug smirk. 

His eyes fluttered as you slowly rocked against him, so deep you swore you saw sparks when he bottomed out. His grip dimpled with the hold he had on your hips, lifting his own in response to your motion. You gasped, soft in the quiet of the bedroom, and he repeated the movement. 

“Fucking hell,” he rasped, setting a pace that sent a tingling sensation to the ends of your appendages, returning to claw at your lower core. “You feel fucking perfect.” 

You are without words, your fingertips digging red crescents onto his pale chest for balance, chasing after your pleasure. The flutter of your walls around him had Tom groaning. “Touch yourself,” he commanded, and one of your hands lifted to touch his bottom lip and, again, his mouth closed around, his tongue coating them with his spit. You pulled back and slipped them between your blossom above where his in-and-out pace continued, a milky white ring forming around his base. 

The touch was the tipping point, spilling your climax with a clenching response to the shuddering euphoria that rippled through you. You struggled to stay quiet and Tom was quick to roll you onto your back, pinning you to the mattress. 

His large hand pressed over your mouth to muffle you, sliding back in and returning to his same brutal pace. You whimpered against his palm, still very sensitive with the final waves of your last release that was trilling your spine. 

“One more for me, pretty girl,” he whispered, and your tears were already pearling, your walls clenching with your second peak–not as intense as the first, but a prolonged pleasure with the stuttering of his hips. 

Tom pulled back, still hunched over you with his tension present in his shoulders and neck, his brow focused in a furrow as he pumped his fist, his pearly spend spilling from his flushed cockhead and across your stomach. He paused, leaning close to touch his forehead to yours, a sticky sheen from his peak, before his jaw tilted up to press a messy kiss to your hairline. 

“Alright then.” 

You blinked and he was gone, already standing and tucking himself back into his slacks before reaching to toss your nightgown to your grasp. You could already feel the heat of your returned anger spilling into your bloodstream, replacing the sweetness you felt only moments before. “You taking off to disappear another two weeks then?” Your voice was tight with the question. 

His crooked grin flashed as he crawled back onto the mattress, his mouth hot and consuming, his kiss slow and searching until it drew a small noise from you. Then Tom pulled back again, grabbing his shirt. “I have somewhere to be tomorrow.”

“Court date?” You were flushed from the kiss, but your bitter tone remained.  

“They only let me out cause I said I’d join up, but I had a change of heart on the way over,” he finished the last buttons before tucking it into the waist of his slacks, his perpetual smirk playing on his lips, “I’m a conscientious objector.” 

His Mancunian drawl emphasized the final two words. “You’re a scoundrel is what you are, Tom.”

Tom only hummed, grabbing his coat and slipping his arms through the sleeves. “You would not have me any other way,” and he moved to steal another kiss, a clash of teeth and tongue that stirred your blood again. 

But before your fingers could move to comb through his sandy locks, he pulled away, disappearing out through your window and into the night. 

You fell back onto your sheets with their tangy sweet scent of the intimacy shared, of cigarette smoke and the musk that was so distinctly Tom fucking Bennett’s. 

Taglist (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @black-dread @fan-goddess @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @amiraisgoingthruit @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @itbmojojoejo @girlwith-thepearlearring @lauraneedstochill @theobjectofyourire @troublesomesnitch @multyfangirl

arcie's ewanverse masterlist

#ewanverse #wof fanfic #wof fanfiction #tom bennett #tom bennett x reader #tom bennett x you #tom bennett x female!reader #it's not tonight

[some-pers0n]

Memoir of an Albatross

Chapter 1 - The Legacy of a Monster

[1] [2]

(Art by Loquatic)

Chapter Description: Turtle and the Jade Winglet have decided to spend a night at the long forgotten Island Palace. Turtle is petrified. This is where Albatross, the mass murdering animus, had killed dozens. But, late into the night, he spots something strange.

The Island Palace was quite possibly the last place Turtle wanted to visit. Why would he? It remains as a scar on Pyrrhia, a reminder of the dangerous potential of animus magic. A stain on the Sea Kingdom's history of what happens when animus magic goes unchecked.

Albatross was not a dragon Fathom wanted to be. A mad dragon. A terrifying murderer. An animus who could not control his own magic. Simply thinking about him made his stomach churn. Knowing that it was a possibility he could end up like Albatross horrified him. He would be better than that monster.

So, hearing that the Jade Winglet wanted to spend a night at the Island Palace was definitely something he was not interested in doing. 

Unfortunately, Qibli and Kinkajou were firm in their decision to do just that.

"Oh come on," Qibli said, "it's only one night!"

"We shouldn't...be here," Turtle mumbled. "Isn't this disrespectful? I mean, we are just going to run around in a place where so...so many dragons lost their lives."

"And? It's not like they're alive to see it. They've been dead for a long, long, LONG time," Kinkajou called out. "Who cares? It's going to be fun! Trust us."

"It's supposed to be scary anyway. It's Faust's Hallow. Wouldn't it be a little fun to spend it at some creepy old palace? We rarely get together nowadays, and besides, didn't Queen Coral give us permission for this? Turtle, this is our one chance!"

Turtle reluctantly looked at her, sighing. "If you say so..."

He was never fond of Faust's Hallow. It was a biannual "celebration" of one of the forgotten brother of Imperial, Oracle, and Perception. As the NightWing legend goes, while the other dragons ascended into the night sky to become the moons, Faust remained. He was tied to the world with his earthly connections. Thus, becoming the first-ever spirit. It was the basis for SandWing spirituality, so to say that Qibli was interested in it was most definitely an understatement.

Turtle on the other talon? Well, all he could think about was death and horror. His older brothers took joy in dressing up as ghosts and scaring the living daylights out of the younger ones. Not to also mention the constant imagery of skeletons and mourning, with Coral always having a memorial for her lost daughters.

Then, of course, Albatross himself. The reason they were coming here. A legend was that Albatross's spirit had never passed on. That his soul remained at the Island Palace, restless and still just as mad as the day he died. There had been stories of overly curious and confident dragonets running home after an encounter with Albatross at the Island Palace. But, those were just silly rumours. Little myths. That's what it is, certainly. 

Albatross wasn't there. How could he be? Well, the story of Faust was based on him wandering the continent for eternity. Perhaps, maybe- no. It's a made-up story. Turtle wasn't going to fall for some sort of story his brothers would tell to scare him. He already had enough sleepless nights, filled with anxiety and worry over the concept of Albatross still being around.

He's not. He's dead. This was just going to be a nice, if a bit restless, night out in the ruins of the abandoned Island Palace. He will not be scared.

They touched down on the beach around it. If Turtle remembered correctly, this was the Sunrise Beach. It was empty, completely devoid of any sort of life. The palace in front of them was crumbling and tattered. The lavish white walls were discoloured and washed out from weathering an impossible amount of storms. It was covered in moss and sea flora, with barnacles growing on the base of the palace. The light of the setting sun basked the palace in an ominous glow of oranges and purples.

A deep, horrible feeling persisted within Turtle. It made him aware of the light sensation in his claws. The tiny burning from within. Only a little ways away, tragedy had taken place. Two thousand years ago, Albatross, his great-grandfather, slaughtered twenty dragons. He carries the same power he does. Even right now, he could kill all of his friends. One stray thought and who knows what would happen.

"Well, don't just stand there!" Kinkajou bounced ahead. "We've got a whole palace to explore! I call looking on the upper floors with Moon!"

"Wh- me? Uh...okay then?" She stepped forward, following after her. "See you, I guess?" She waved to Qibli and Turtle before disappearing off into the courtyard.

"So, that just leaves me and you." Qibli rested his wing on Turtle, pulling him closer.

"Hurray..."

"Where you wanna go? If they're going up, let's check out the ground floor. Gardens. See some cool old statues that've been crumbling from age."

"What fun..."

Qibli frowned. "Hey, look. I know you're a bit freaked out. You didn't really want to come here. I'm sorry for dragging you along. But, I promise it'll be fun! There's nothing here to hurt any of us. Even if Albatross is still floating around somewhere, I'll be there protecting all of you." He raised his tail, showing off his obsidian-black barb.

Turtle awkwardly chuckled. "I don't think you can really stab a spirit."

"Are you saying I've never fought a spirit before?" the SandWing grinned confidently. "I'll have you know that, as Queen Thorn's personal guard and adoptive son, I had to fend off armies of spirits. Vengeful ghosts of dragons. Such is the way of being queen, I suppose. Anyways, I just need to fight them. Give them the ol' one-two. Beat 'em off with a stick." He swung his arm, mimicking hitting something.

He laughed, feeling his anxieties melt away. Qibli looked back at him, a soft, genuine smile on his face. "Feel a bit better?" He patted him on the back. "Right, let's go exploring."

The experience was dampened by Turtle's constant anxiety, but even then he couldn't doubt the majesty of the palace. Despite its decaying state, it was beautiful. Quiet, with only the sounds of waves crashing in the distance and the gentle trill of the breeze blowing through. Roaming the vast, empty halls was an experience to say the least. 

It made him picture the nights that happened in this palace. Legends say that it was originally used for diplomats to rest, but also for parties and special occasions. Turtle, having the soul of a writer, felt his mind wander as he imagined the sorts of stories that would've spawned from such a place. The balls and weddings. The ceremonies and speeches.

...then, of course, there's the massacre, but Turtle would still rather not think about that.

After a long while of exploring through forgotten gardens, they reached the main gathering room. It was central to the rest of the palace, with several collapsed balconies around it. Dried-up ponds and steams littered the floor. In the middle of it all was a large, grand statue of a SeaWing. Despite the ruin around it all, the statue remained somewhat intact. Turtle could even make out the royal blue of which it used to be.

Off to the side was a large archway leading out onto the other beach. The setting sun was just about on the cusp of the horizon, painting the sky in vibrant oranges and yellows. The sapphire blue ocean pulled in and out rhythmically. It was as though it was the sea's own heartbeat.

"Woah..." he whispered, awestruck.

"Sure don't see places like this too often." Qibli walked ahead, eyes glazing over every detail.

"Hey!" a voice called from ahead. Turtle looked up, seeing Moon and Kinkajou on a balcony.

"What did you find?" Kinkajou asked.

"Not much. Bunch of gardens. Cool statues in them though," Qibli said. "How about you?"

"Bunch of old bedrooms," Moon replied. "Kinkajou thought she could find some treasure still. Checked all over. Nothing."

"Doesn't seem like it," Qibli said, "palace has been picked clean for centuries. Any chance for any sort of gems are probably all lost."

"Yeah..." Turtle quietly said. "Is anybody else feeling a little tired? Like they don't want to explore a big ruined palace that a bunch of dragons died in anymore and just sleep?"

The SandWing laughed. "I don't know about that."

"I'm feeling a little tired myself," said Moon. "It's been a long day of flying. I can probably lay down with Turtle if you don't mind."

"Oh come onnnn guys!" Kinkajou wined. "This is supposed to be a cool adventure for us! Sleep? Bleh! Gross! I want to stay up all night and look for all of these ghosts. It'll be fun!"

"I know, but...I just want to rest. Besides, this was all mostly for you two anyways." Moon opened her wings, flying down to the ground floor. "Sorry for being disappointingly boring..."

"No, no! It's all good." Qibli waved them off. "It's fine, really. Kinkajou and I can stay up and face those spirits ourselves. Buuutttt if you hear us screaming and calling out for help as we're being chased by a very scary old murderer dragon, you wouldn't mind helping us out, right?"

Moon and Turtle chuckled. "No, not at all." She turned her attention to Turtle. "I guess we can settle down here. I doubt we'll find a blanket of some kind."

"Ah, so we have to lie on the cold, hard floor."

"Yes, probably."

"Hey, if it'll make it up to you, I could try and find something. There's gotta be a stash of blankets that are still around," Qibli said, lifting himself into the air.

"Even after two thousand years?" Turtle asked.

"Worth a shot!" He shrugged, flying up to Kinkajou. "See ya around." He dipped his head before wandering back into the palace with the RainWing, leaving them both to themselves.

"Well, see you in the morning." Moon walked in a circle, patting the ground before lying down.

"Hey, quick question," Turtle said, "do you feel scared?"

Moon tapped her claws. "A little."

"You aren't just saying that to make me feel better, right?"

"Of course! It's just that, you know, being alone in a big palace. Makes me think about Darkstalker and that whole...thing." She sighed. "I know you're freaked out too."

"It's nothing, really. I'm just a little anxious over nothing. Spirits don't last forever, right? They move on. Pass onto some new stage of life we can't even comprehend. I doubt that he would still be here."

"He isn't, and, well, if he is, then we'll do everything to protect you."

Turtle glanced at his talons. There was a gentle tingling within them, a feeling he had only noticed when his magic was briefly taken away. "You shouldn't need to protect me."

"Hm?"

"I have magic, don't I? I should be able to protect myself. I should be the one protecting you in case something goes wrong."

"Nothing's going to happen though."

"I know, but, I still feel like I should be using it in case things happen. Stop being so scared of it. But..."

"But you don't want to end up like Albatross?" Moon asked.

He smacked his lips. "Yeah, pretty much."

She exhaled. "I'm sorry. But, it'll be a nice night, I'm sure. We can just sit and sleep if that makes you happy. The night will pass and we can listen to Kinkajou and Qibli and their adventures in the morning."

"That sounds nice." Turtle laid down next to her, yawning before resting his head against the marble floor. It'll be fine. He just has to sleep. When morning breaks, it'll all be over. When morning comes, Albatross will be gone.

He didn't know what time it was when he woke up. All he knew was that it was dark. Pitch black. Turtle blinked, his eyes slowly adjusting to the night around him.

He didn't wake up from some nightmare or anything. He didn't dream much these days. Instead, he felt a presence around him. A shift in the air. He couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was, but it was uncomfortable enough to drag him out of his sleep.

Around him were the rest of the group. Kinkajou and Moon were huddled together while Qibli held his wing over Turtle. Looks like the hunt for a ghost didn't turn out so well if they were all asleep here.

He wiggled out from under there, slowly rising to his feet. He looked around, trying to see if it was just his paranoid imagination or if there was really something amiss.

Then, off in the distance, he noticed something. A dim light. A faint glow out by the ocean up ahead.

Immediately, Turtle's stomach dropped. His mind instantly went to the worst thing possible. It was him. He was here and he was going to kill them all. Why would there be glowing right there if not for being the aura of some spirit?

No, no... It's fine. Deep breaths. It's all okay. It's probably a moonlight jellyfish. They glow in the dark. Maybe it washed up on the shore. He could help it out a little. If he did that, then maybe he'd realize there was nothing to be scared of. That there is no ghost. No dangerous, vengeful spirit of a long-dead murderer.

He steadied himself as he walked forward. He repeated to himself over and over that he's got nothing to worry about. It's all okay. He walked up to the edge of the archway, right before his talons would touch the sand.

It was a glowing dragon with a massive spear plunged right through its neck.

His weight slipped beneath his talons and he fell forward. He tried to quickly turn around and fly, but, clumsy as he was, he tumbled and was now barreling towards it. He rolled along the sand like the most terrified armadillo to walk this continent before finally stopping. He froze completely. Paralyzed. His heart pounded against his chest as he tried to comprehend what to do.

After what felt like an eternity of waiting for an attack that never came, he sheepishly looked up.

Gazing back at him were two eyes, darker than the night around them. Their scales were a sickening pale grey. The most eye-catching thing of all was the silver spear that was lodged in his throat. Its hilt was stinking out one end, with the blade poking out the other. Faded stains of blood were dotted around his body, the most being around where the spear had hit him. Outlining the body was a gentle blue light that flicked like a lit candle.

The two stayed like that, staring. Turtle did not dare to blink, fearing that one small movement would instantly set him off. This was him. This was Albatross.

"Fathom?" the spirit asked. His voice was calm, if rather confused and surprised. "No, you can't be him. Fathom must have died ages ago. You're someone new. Someone in his likeness."

"...please don't kill me..." Turtle squeaked. He wanted to say something with more meaning. Cast a spell or anything. Yet, he was trapped in his fear. He couldn't think.

Albatross's expression dimmed. "Right. You must be terrified of me. I was so distracted by you looking like my grandson that I forgot about that horrible, horrible night. That night which made me what I am now." He tapped the spear. "Though, I do think you're the one to last the longest when seeing me. Most run. Maybe they'll throw something at me or try attacking me. Never works. Can't exactly kill a ghost, now can you?" He quietly laughed.

Turtle tried speaking again, but all that came out were mere whimpers.

"Goodness, you're petrified of me. I mean, anybody would. I haven't left the palace since the day I died, but I know enough to understand. I've been there when visitors come around. They steal the things out of my own house, cursing me and what I've done. It's upsetting to know what I am remembered as, but I don't blame you for being scared. I don't blame anybody. I should be condemned for what happened."

He finally shut his mouth. The more Turtle looked at Albatross, slowly, the less fearful he was. Granted, he was still very much horrified, but there was an air to the way the spirit spoke that resonated with him. That he was being genuine.

This wasn't what he expected. He pictured Albatross, the mad animus, as a being of chaos that the world has never seen. Some dark, twisted dragon who could barely control himself. He was imagining him to be vicious, bloodthirsty, and wanting nothing more than to kill.

Instead, he seemed mournful. He spoke warmly. There was reason and understanding in his body language. Even if it was idiotic, Turtle let his guard down somewhat.

"How...what..." he stammered.

"How am I here? I couldn't tell you myself. I've never read that much on spirituality and ghosts. But, I'm the only one left here. The rest have all gone away. Yet, I remain. I'm bound to this palace. I can't leave. If there was a way, I would've found it years ago. Then maybe I wouldn't be here, scaring you."

"You sound...sad," Turtle blurted out.

Albatross snorted. "Pff, do I really? I didn't know I sounded so melancholic. I haven't had anybody to talk to in ages. You're good company. Thank you for listening to an old sea dragon ramble, even if you're still scared. I know it's not much to you, but I promise I mean no harm. I've never meant harm. Ever. It's just..." He glanced away, breaking eye contact. "I was emotional. I had no excuse. I let my own instincts and desires take over my own better wishes. Despite doing everything right and trying my hardest to avoid it, it still happened."

He looked back at Turtle. "I'm sorry for what I've done for our tribe. You can run away now. I'll just be happy I had somebody to talk to, even if it was a one-way conversation." He smiled a crinkly, awkward smile.

Turtle stared. Then, he made what should've been the stupidest decision of his life:

He stood up but did not flee. He sat there. "My name is Turtle," he said quietly.

"Turtle?" he echoed. "You aren't flying away screaming?"

"Not unless you give me a reason to, I guess?"

"Isn't looking at a dragon who's killed dozens of dragons in one night enough of a reason?"

"It...should be, but I'm not that scared of you. You seem too sad to hurt me."

"Hurt you? I'd never do that! My magic is limited. I can't do much besides lift some rocks and play around with the water." He waved his talons. Behind him, a small amount of water rose into the air, shaping and twisting into the shape of a bird. A seagull.

"Even if I could do more, I wouldn't dare to hurt another soul. I've already done enough damage," he continued.

"You confused me for Fathom earlier. Your grandson, right?"

"Yes, Fathom." Albatross's eyes narrowed. "You have the wing patterns. You're royalty as well?"

He nodded. "...and I am also an animus."

He barked a laugh. "Really? I've never believed in reincarnation, but you're the spitting image of Fathom if I've ever seen it."

Turtle shuffled his talons. "Thanks. I got that once before."

"Hm? By who?"

"A big evil NightWing who wanted to kill the entire IceWing tribe. He was friends with Fathom as well. How did I meet him if he was alive two thousand years ago? It's a long story."

"Don't we all have long stories to tell." Albatross turned his back to Turtle, staring back at the ocean. "If you don't mind, may you sit next to me? I enjoy watching the sea."

Turtle hesitated, but he followed. He joined the spirit.

It was a tranquil night. A clear sky, the moons beaming down in their full glory. The cool salty breeze brushed against Turtle. Strangely enough, he felt at peace. He never would've thought in a million years he'd say that when right beside him is the ghost of Albatross, but what can you do?

"I'm sorry if this is selfish," Albatross began, "but do you have the time to listen to an old dragon's story?"

"Huh?"

"You seem like a wonderful dragon, Turtle. You're far too sweet than what I deserve. I apologize if it's a bit much, considering how I am still a murderer in your eyes, but could you listen to me tell my story?"

"Your story?"

"My life. Nobody ever heard about it. They only see me as a monster. I am, but I can't help but want something else. I want to tell at least one dragon about it. Set it all straight. Pour my heart out if only to get everything that's been festering inside me out into the world."

"That'd be alright. I like stories."

"It's not a very happy story. There's a lot of tragedy. Too much, now that I think about it. I'm sorry."

"No no! It's alright. I do want to hear it. What life was like for you," he said.

Albatross cracked another smile. "Thank you..." He sounded as though he was fighting back tears.

He waved his talons, the water rising once more. "I suppose I should start it when it all went wrong." The water slowly began to shift into the form of a dragon. "The day when I discovered my magic." 

#Anyways I'm probably gonna post the second chapter tomorrow :) #See ya then #Hope you all enjoy this little prologue of sorts #wof #wings of fire #albatross wof #turtle wof #wings of fire fanfic #wof fanfic #sp-writing

[toadslug]

Sapphires: Chapter 1

A fanfic/AU/whatever you want to call it I'm going to explore with Orca's statue! I've never really done writing like this before, so we'll see how this goes. Might try out websites like AO3 to host this on??? But I'm sticking to what I know right now. Anyways!! Here's what I've got so far.

"She was so young..."

The heavy stone doors of the Royal Hatchery scraped open. The grating noise was by design, ensuring intruders could not sneak in.

Dim blue light traced the silhouettes of two dragons at the entrance.

"I don't know why she didn't wait a couple more years." One of the dragons conveyed through flashes and gestures, paddling forward.

"Mm." The other lazily flickered back, straining to shut the doors behind them and sealing the room into inky darkness.

One by one, the dragons lit their bioluminescent patterns. The electric teal glow discovered dips in the floor where clusters of eggs awaited, comfortably tucked into tidy seaweed nests. The shells appeared as a muddied grayish-blue, but under proper lighting, they would have glimmered like droplets of brilliant amber. They were arranged by sex—males on one side of the room, females on the other—in spiral shapes.

"Looks like they're all here." The tired SeaWing gestured, turning to leave.

"Looks like you're begging to get your teeth smashed out." The other gestured back, peeking at each nest and counting the eggs. That was meant to be a joke, but they both knew it was hardly far from reality. The queen was fiercely protective of her eggs. The tired SeaWing grumbled but wearily set to work.

There was a lapse of silence. The chatty SeaWing gave small talk another shot: "... That statue is a lot creepier now, huh." His voice was a little stiff.

The tired SeaWing did not answer.

The coral heating tubes that twisted along the walls quietly bubbled.

Hesitant at first, the chatty SeaWing drifted towards the sculpture at the center of the hatchery. He wasn't sure why.

It had been installed less than a week ago. She had insisted it be placed here.

He brought the light from the banded patterns on his arm up to the statue, squinting at its features. It was regal; imposingly majestic. Masterfully chiseled from empress marble; frighteningly realistic. He angled the light further up, revealing an astute face. Various undersea plants intricately weaved around its curving horns—the webbing that flowed down its spine and wing membrane also followed this design.

And the eyes.

They looked just like her eyes.

He rarely saw her eyes. Partially because none of the royals really bothered with him. But her eyes were always elsewhere. Always focused on her next masterpiece or her mother (though, in hindsight, she had probably been focusing more on the throne her mother sat on); however, the few times her eyes parted, he found himself both intrigued and perturbed by them. They were a divine blue. An enchanting blue that compelled you to unlock their secrets, but a haunting blue that would curse you if you ever found the key. A distant blue, but a blue that lingered with you forever.

Her fathomless ocean filled those sapphire eyes.

"Done checking?" The tired SeaWing flashed, startling the chatty SeaWing. "Almost." He forced himself to quickly regain his composure, though his even face betrayed how unnerved he was all of the sudden. Before resuming his duties, he felt drawn to give the statue one more glance.

His eyes fell to the glittering pedestal it perched on. To the name engraved upon it.

Orca.

Couple of headcanons I worked into this (in case you were confused):

• SeaWings eggs look a little more like fish eggs (round and orange). Since deep water filters colors like red, they appear more blue here.

• SeaWings use sign language along with their bioluminescent scales to communicate.

#sapphires au #i have no idea if this is good or not #i've had this idea in my head for a while now and i just wanted to get it out there already #the au will become more clear in the next chapter 👀 #wings of fire #my art #wof #orca wof #seawings #wof orca #orcas statue #seawing #seawing wof #writing #my writing #fanfic #au #wof au #wings of fire au #wof fanfic #wings of fire fanfic #wof seawing #seawings wof #orca statue #art #illustration #digital illustration #digital art #wof art #dragons

[quotidianish]

“Where’s Winter?” he whispered, nudging Ostrich with his elbow. She sat up and looked around with blurry confusion.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “He was here a moment ago.”

Qibli twisted in a frantic circle and spotted a shadow flitting through the pear orchard. He couldn’t shout for Winter lest he alert the whole compound. Qibli groaned internally.

  “Stay here,” he whispered to Ostrich. “Stay as hidden as you can. We’ll be right back.”

She nodded, strutting back into the shadows.

  Qibli hurried after the Icewing prince and realized that he was aiming for the courtyard, separated from the orchard with a wall. It was enormous, surrounded with buildings and a partial bailey, blocking his view of the inside. The bricks were painted in a turquoise and amber mosaic of snakes and lizards chasing one another endlessly.

  Before even seeing where Winter was headed, Qibli knew all too well what he was planning to do. The courtyard was noisy with birds and other pest-like creatures, alongside the distinct growl of a dragon.

Arrrrgh, Winter, you obsessed ninny.

  He caught up as Winter was tinkering with the lock of the metal gate. It stretched up to an arch at the doorway, where the mud had begun to crumble, smelling of spoiled food, live pigs, and dates. 

“Are you serious?” he said, and Winter jumped a mile, which was almost hilarious enough to make this side excursion worthwhile.

  “Shhhhh!” Winter hissed.

“What are you thinking?” Qibli whispered.

  “I’m thinking your horrifying grandfather will make this poor dragon into tomorrow’s buffet,” Winter whispered back. “Unless I save it.”

“Right now?” Qibli asked. “In the middle of our own precarious escape?”

  “Well, I’m not planning on coming back!” Winter said, tugging on the lock again. “Hey, you’re a street thug. Can you pick this lock for me?”

  “An Outclaw is not the same thing as a criminal,” Qibli protested. “Oh, fine, move over.” He studied the lock for a moment, unsheathing his kirpan and inserting it into the mechanism, wiggling it around until he heard a click.

  “Now what?” he asked Winter as he nudged at the gate, careful not to open it too wide so the hinges wouldn’t creak. “We shove it in a bag and carry it off into the desert with us? I’m not sure if you’ve noticed this, but dragons aren’t exactly travel-sized.”

  “We’ll just let it out,” Winter said, pacing past him into the moonlit quadrangle. “It’s smart enough to fend for itself after that.”

   Qibli decided not to point out that it hadn’t been smart enough not to get caught in the first place.

  Winter crouched beside a large chain, bound against the beige dragon’s hind leg and anchored into the ground with weights. Despite having thrashed helplessly a moment ago, this time it peered curiously down at them.

  “Don’t be afraid,” Winter said softly. He looked around for the small alcohol lamp by the window they’d seen earlier, and carefully reached for its shackle. Upon bringing the flame close to the brass chains, the heat thawed through the metal like snow. They both stepped back and waited.

  Slowly, the levitation-esque creature raised its head, tearing its obsidian black eyes from the two humans and towards the night sky. A plume of smoke shot through the air as it flapped its enormous wings once, then twice, then lifting itself off the ground, sending a whirlwind of sand flying into Qibli’s face, before swiftly gliding away to freedom.

#Sorry I CANNOT draw today #Wings of fire #Hwof #wings of fire au #wof au #Based off I think page 122-123 of darkness of dragons #I read a digital copy so that number might be off #wof qibli #wof ostrich #Wof winter #wof fanfic #sort of? #quotidianish

[owlheartt]

TRYING AGAIN. Bc the void consumed or whatever >:(

I’m writing a WoF fic that’s basically “fuck you the kids stay in school” plus a lot of culture clash. Also Mind reading and animus magic works differently bc those powers were set up to write fantastical adventures and I just want some kids doing just some kid stuff.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/53136409

#the fic is only getting tagged with the characters who’s perspective it’s from #so I’ll do that here too #moon wof #moonwatcher wof #wof #wings of fire #wof fanfic #art #my art #writing #ehhhhh I can tag Qibli he’s There The Whole Time #qibli wof #qibli wings of fire #jade mountain academy #wof arc 2

[dannythedanman]

The Blood-Red Egg

Fandom: Wings of Fire

Word Count: 1,052

Characters: Burn, Smolder, Original Female Character

Relationships: Burn & Smolder, Burn & Original Female Character

Summary: The blood-red egg that is mentioned in burns weirdling tower hatches the night she gets it

CWs: none

A/N: This fic/au is inspired by dragonsheep's agttdw video where she mentioned the idea and I feel in love with it!

Burn whipped a cheap terracotta vase at the wall of the SandWing Stronghold, screaming

"THIS PROPHECY IS NONSENSE! I WON'T LET SOME 9 YEAR OLDS TELL ME HOW OR WHEN I DIE!" She hissed, her tail rattling.

It had just come out that Morrowseer of the NightWings had had a prophecy stating that in 12 years, 5 eggs would hatch on the brightest night, choose a queen to win, and end the war.

Of course, Burn was enraged by this news (like she was by everything else). She knew she was the strongest of her sisters and that she would be the best queen once she picked them off, but now some random dragonets would have the power to decide who won!?

She picked a stray rock of the floor and chucked it out of the nearest window with a grunt. She huffed, watching the rock tumble to the desert floor, unsatisfied with the lame impact it made with the floor.

She whipped around and pointed at the soldier in the entrance of the room.

"You! In 12 years, I want EVERY blood-red egg you can find, DO YOU HEAR ME!?" She screamed, stalking closer to the frightened gaurd.

"Y-y-yes ma'am!" He stammered.

Pathetic.

-●-

12 years later

Burn sat in front of her fish tank in her weirdling tower. The brightest night was near, and she had sent a group of soldiers to go steal the blood-red egg of the prophecy.

It had been a few hours since they had left, and Burn was starting to get impatient. She preoccupied herself by admiring all her other unusual things and fantasizing about how the egg would look when mounted on her makeshift nest.

Suddenly, her gaurds burst into the tower with Smolder in toe. Burn sat up and faced their direction.

"You got the egg?" She asked.

"Yes, my queen. It was near the outskirts of the village, so it was easy to steal." The gaurd who was clutching the egg held it out to her.

Burn cupped the egg in her claws and stared it with bewildered eyes. They weren't kidding when they described the egg as "blood-red." It looked like someone had taken a paintbrush and painted the egg with blood.

"It also seems that MudWings don't gaurd their nests, so that was a plus!" Another one of her gaurds chimed in, disrupting Burn's train of thought.

"How peculiar." She noted, "It's perfect."

The princess strode over to the nest on the platform she had chosen to display the egg and placed it down. She backed away to take a look, and it almost brought tears to her eyes.

"It's perfect!" She yelled excitedly for the second time.

Just then, a crack! echoed across the vast room. Everyone looked around to see what had caused the noise, but it was Burn who had figured out first that the egg was hatching.

This had made the night better than anything Burn could've thought of. She thought about what weird specimen would crawl of the egg. Would it have three eyes? Two tails? Zero wings? The possibilities excited her.

She raced over to the egg and watched it intensly as more and more cracks formed on the red shell over time.

It was customary in most tribes to let the egg hatch by itself, but Burn did peel back a fair bit of the shell.

After what seemed like hours to everyone involved, a tiny MudWing hatchling hobbled out of the shell.

Burn stared at the babbling baby. It looked...normal. It was the regular deep brown color of the MudWings with a slightly lighter set of wings and underbelly and piercing orange eyes.

It was like every other MudWing she had ever seen, and she was mad about it.

"What is this!? WHY would a MudWing hatched from such a STRANGE egg be normal!? I DONT UNDERSTAND!" She shoved her gaurds out of the way and punched the wall.

As she stared at the newly dented wall, she heard the ear-shattering sound of crying. She looked behind her and, lo and behold, that unfortunately-not-defective MudWing was crying.

"Burn, get over here and calm down your 'perfect thing!'" Smolder teased.

Burn whipped her head around at her brother.

"I REFUSE to acknowledge that THING any longer! Take it back to the MudWing kingdom WHERE IT BELONGS WITH ALL OF ITS NORMAL MUDWINGS!" She yelled.

"W-we can't just take it back to the village! Queen Moorhen will know that we stole it and break off her alliance with you!" One of her useless guards said.

"And what if it grows up to be something super weird, and it just hasn't developed it yet as a hatchling!" Another one of her brainless gaurds chimed in.

"Also, 'it' is now a she." Smolder interjected.

Despite how stupid all the dragons in this room were, they did bring up some valid points (all except Smolder, Burn could've figured that out herself).

She strolled over to the STILL WAILING hatchling, picked her up, and laid her over her shoulder.

"Shh, shhhhh, yeah, yeah, just shut up already." Burn tried her best to sound compassionate as she slightly bounced her shoulder up and down to calm the newborn.

The MudWings cries turned to whimpers, then to silence as Burn continued to bounce her.

Burn felt an emotion she hadn't felt in a long time. She couldn't exactly explain it, but her thoughts were something along the lines of "Wow, I just made this tiny thing so happy."

It was probably just pride at how good she was at making dragons bend to her will. It was definitely that.

"Hey, not to interrupt the moment you two are having, but what are you gonna name her?" Smolder asked.

"Uh, I dont know." Burn turned her head to face the gaurds, "You guys! Make up a MudWing name for her!"

The gaurds scrambled to put together a decent name for the hatchling. Shouts of suggestions were laid over one another, but none of them caught Burns attention.

"Terracotta?" A light yellow SandWing gaurd suggested haphazardly.

"TERRACOTTA!" Burn repeated louder, "we should call her Terracotta!"

And just like that, the most important thing in Burn's life had a name. And it was Terracotta.

#wings of fire #wof #wof fanfic #fanfic #burn wof #wings of fire oc

[acroporatheseawing]

I DID IT. I posted my first wof fic!!! It's still a wip and only the prologue is out rn but I hope you like it!! It's been a lot of fun to write so far! :D

#wings of fire #wof #wof oc #wings of fire oc #wings of fire fanfic #fanfic #fic #writing #my fic #wof fanfic #wof queen diamond #wof diamond #queen diamond #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #wof ao3 #fan fiction #ao3 fan fiction #ao3 writer

[truthseekerthedragon]

Eyes of a Writer: "Duties"

After having written a ~10k oneshot, I've decided to write a post detailing my thoughts on the story, inspirations, extra lore, and the like. I'm hoping this post helps other writers with their own stories and offers insight into their personal creative processes. There's a good chance I'll make more of these in the future, so keep your eyes peeled.

The story in question is "Duties," a Wings of Fire fanfic set within my Bloodbright AU (a comprehensive AU that involves overhauls to the canon, expanded worldbuilding, and events that occur centuries after the Wings of Fire timeline). The fic itself is about Winter getting tangled up in a coup, then discovering thousand-year-old secrets deep within the IceWing palace.

The fic can be found here. I recommend reading the fic first, as this post will spoil the entire thing.

Both the fic and this "annotation" have a content warning for verbal abuse and minor body horror. This post also contains images of hostile architecture.

Let's start with inspirations.

The design and atmosphere of the depths of the Shimmerspire Palace are heavily inspired by NaissanceE, a French indie game released in 2014. The game is a puzzle/platformer that takes place within a labyrinthine superstructure that defies words, a setting that I find extremely difficult to describe.

Image Description: The interior of a superstructure. It looks like the interior of a skyscraper if hollowed out, or perhaps an enormous rectangular tunnel that extends deep underground. The walls are lined with large, industrial blocks and overhangs and struts that may be pipes or supports. The walls sink down into a greenish-gray fog, and the occasional light or archway can be seen. Every surface is a smooth gray color.

Image Description: A... monument, perhaps? There are several sculptures all lined up in a row, each consisting of four overlapping cubes that point upward. The sculptures are lined up in the middle of a walkway with short walls inlaid with small lights to the sides. To the right a large building and light from an offscreen source can be seen. The monument is surrounded by enormous cube-shaped structures rising from a blue-gray mist or light. Rows of tiny lights shine from the cubes, making them resemble buildings. Some of these structures stretch to the ceiling, from which catwalks can be seen.

Such is the game's setting. The game has no real plot, only puzzles and platforming as you try to escape this place. NaissanceE is deeply unsettling to play (when you're not frustrated by failing the same jump 30 times, that is). Many parts of the Shimmerspire Palace's interior are lifted straight from the game's visuals.

If you want to know more about NaissanceE, you can find a video about it here.

The idea for the fic itself was something I had been tossing around for some time. I've wanted to write something with Winter in it, partially due to my frustration at how fanfics often portray his character (i.e. as a generic bully with no depth). I wanted to include Icicle as well, since I don't often see her in fanfics--and when I do see her, it's usually so the fic can treat her badly. I had the writer itch, or drive, or whatever, and I wanted to explore these characters.

I also had the idea for the eldritch IceWing palace. The Shimmerspire Palace's nature was part of my AU's lore and I had always intended to explore it in a story, but it was hard for me to come up with something. In the end I decided to tie it with Winter and the Protector Coup, another event that occurs in my AU (more on that below).

I used some music while writing. I've found that music can be an excellent tone setter for writing scenes, although I tend to be very picky with my music--for instance, songs with lyrics are a hard no, since lyrics are very distracting for me personally.

Here are the music/tracks I used for the fic:

The score of Swan Lake and, to a lesser extent, The Nutcracker for the scenes that occur in the normal sections of the palace. I find the Swan Lake score in particular to be quite fitting for the IceWing aristocracy. The music is grandiose, perhaps wistful.

Prométhée Part 1a for the sequence when Winter first enters the strange parts of the palace up to him meeting Foeslayer. It's part of NaissanceE's soundtrack. This track is beautiful yet unsettling.

The Deep Listening album for subsequent scenes deep in the palace interior. These ambient tracks are unsettling and, at least to me, convey a sense of scale. These are also in NaissanceE's soundtrack.

I used part of the Scanner Sombre soundtrack for the scene where Winter and Foeslayer crawl into the tunnel beneath the memorial. Scanner Sombre is a 2017 game about exploring a cave using nothing but a scanner, and the track does an excellent job at conveying what claustrophobia feels like.

Now, let's go over the fic itself with my notes in hand.

First, Winter's characterization. I spent some time trying to figure out how I'd write him. In canon, we rarely see Winter on his home turf; most of the time he's out and about in Pyrrhia. The way I see it, Winter's jerk behavior is a mask of sorts that he projects to gain a sense of security. He blames himself for Hailstorm's capture, so he tries to hide how weak he sees himself as by putting on a big, mean, tough-guy persona. We don't really see any jerk moments from him while he's in the Ice Kingdom, which makes me think that he drops the persona whenever he's placed in a situation where such behavior would be considered deeply inappropriate.

In this AU, there is no feud between the IceWings and NightWings, because in canon it was essentially a poorly done race metaphor and I decided to nix it to avoid bad implications. In addition, Winter never went to Jade Mountain Academy--in this AU, it was a failed project that didn't account for the fact that no one would want to go to school with dragons who were their mortal enemies less than a year ago. The wounds were still too raw.

Anyways, in the fic Winter is also quite knowledgeable in various subjects, such as history and his High Speech studies. This is all stuff he learned to climb the rankings and to make up for his subpar fighting skills. Him reciting the list of queens was an opportunity to show how hard he's working to climb the rankings, and it also let me sneak in some worldbuilding.

While there are IceWing guards in canon, I decided to add an elite imperial guard that was in charge of protecting the palace and the royal family. Looks like they're not very good at doing the latter.

If you're wondering why Winter had to wait so long, it's because coups in general can get very chaotic. It took a while before Hoarfrost could get everything in place for his dramatic little skit.

The Protector Coup itself is another AU event. I'm not a fan of The Dangerous Gift, especially not the scene where Snowfall destroys the rankings and most dragons respond to it by clapping. Why would most IceWing aristocrats respond like that to the destruction of the bedrock of their society? Absolutely ridiculous. It's more likely that we'd see a coup occur pretty much immediately.

Here's a little secret for you: Hoarfrost had actually been planning a coup for months, but seized the opportunity to depose Snowfall after she destroyed the rankings. Now he could definitively say he was doing it because of how utterly unfit Snowfall was to be queen. While Hoarfrost is doing it for the power, Taiga sees it more as a necessary evil. She's convinced that if Snowfall is queen for any longer, she'll destabilize the country.

Snowfall still destroys the rankings and the Great Ice Cliff in this AU, but there's no gift of vision (or, as I like to call it, the torture ring) that influences her here. So why did she destroy two animus gifts? That's something I might answer in another fic. Or not. I'll just say for now that it's related to Snowfall's PTSD.

You may have noticed that I changed the names of some countries in this fic, which I did because frankly, "Ice Kingdom" is just incredibly boring. "The Iceshard Hierarchy" is not only more distinct, but the name itself tells you something about the country's principles and how it sees itself.

In my AU, the High Speech works a bit like Latin: it's not spoken anymore, but it's still a prestige language that every dragonet in the Circles has to learn, ostensibly so they can read thousand-year-old archival documents. Translation is for suckers. Many aristocrats like Hoarfrost occasionally drop into High Speech for prestige/pretension points. I also wanted to add a sense of age, the sense that the IceWing aristocracy was very old, and I figured that introducing an extinct language was a good way to go about it.

Something else you may have noticed is Winter's comment that animus magic is "notoriously difficult to work with and [is] prone to error and misinterpretation." Animus magic works a bit differently in my AU, being more like a "soft" magic system that is difficult to shape to the caster's desires. You don't really see much of that in this fic except for, you know, the eldritch palace.

So. For those of you with the burning question, Is the palace alive like Winter thinks it is? Well, I have a definitive answer for you.

Yes.

Winter says the twins who made the palace died shortly after making their gift, but this isn't technically true. It would be more accurate to say that the animus twins (whose names are Quartz and Shimmer, by the way), disappeared after casting the spell and were presumed dead. However, my AU's animus magic operates by Fullmetal Alchemist rules in that you cannot create life from nothing; you have to use something that's already alive. I'll let you connect the dots from there. As a bonus, this also answers the "is the palace self-aware?" question posed by Foeslayer when she and Winter find the monument.

Speaking of Foeslayer, her introduction in my fic is very different from how she meets Winter in canon. For one, the nature of the enchantment that Diamond placed on her is much more horrifying! I decided to include Foeslayer in the fic because I didn't want Winter wandering through the eldritch palace by himself; that wouldn't be very interesting, and I knew I needed another dragon that Winter could talk to. I figured Foeslayer would be a good option.

The problem was, the nature of Foeslayer's enchantment in canon was extremely specific and didn't fit the rules of animus magic in my AU. I had to change it while keeping the spirit of the enchantment. So I thought to myself, "What is the most spiteful, petty thing Diamond can do to Foeslayer?" And I came up with "How about taking away her body autonomy while making sure she can't die?" And this is how I came up with mannequin Foeslayer.

This is how I imagine it went: After capturing Foeslayer, Diamond kept her around as a punching bag. Around this time Diamond also had lots of dragons who didn't like her style of leadership or that she had petty vendettas against, so she had these dragons locked up in the IceWing palace. Once these prisons were full, she realized she could feed these dragons to the bowels of the palace and never have to worry about them again. She got bored of Foeslayer and threw her into the deep interior as well, making sure to shred her wings so she couldn't leave by flying out the exit. And there Foeslayer remained for two thousand years.

When she meets Winter, Foeslayer says she had nearly forgotten how to think. Given how long she was down there by herself, no wonder. This also doubles as a JoJo reference.

Winter being able to understand her thousand-year-old language is both foreshadowed (when Hoarfrost spoke in High Speech) and serves as a worldbuilding element. Again, I use the High Speech to indicate age, but this time it's to show that Foeslayer speaks a long-dead language.

Foeslayer at one point says "longer than you think." This is a reference to Emesis Blue, a 2023 web horror film that is a dark reimagining of the lore of Team Fortress 2. The same phrase is repeated throughout the movie. In Emesis Blue proper the line references Stephen King's 1981 short story The Jaunt. References within references! Fun! Little does Winter know, Foeslayer has been alive for two thousand years, and she's been conscious the whole time, unlike in canon. She spent an eternity in there.

In case you're wondering why Foeslayer gave a fake name, it's because she was rather infamous in her own time, having eloped with a prince and all. She didn't want anyone to recognize her, because she'd rather just put all that behind her. The name "Discretion" comes from one of the NightWing diplomats in Runaway.

The part where Winter talks about his life was a tricky one. I kept going back and forth between writing out what Winter says as opposed to just telling the readers. I eventually settled on the latter since explaining Winter's character to people already familiar with him would be repetitive, but it wasn't an easy choice to make.

The panic attack scene was also tricky for me to write, but for a different reason--I've only experienced one panic attack in my whole life. Luckily there are lots of blog posts about what a panic attack feels like (thank you so much internet), and I think the scene turned out fairly well.

Given the mental and physical exhaustion that comes after a panic attack, I needed a scene where the characters could unwind. After some thought I settled on Foeslayer asking to hug Winter, sort of as a found-family thing. While Winter in this fic has an arc about learning to be himself and throw off the weight of the expectations placed on him, Foeslayer also has a mini-arc about learning to be a mother again. Having a mass murderer for a son and 2000 years with nothing but your thoughts for company tends to make you introspective. Winter needed a mother figure to support him, eventually allowing him to support himself, and Foeslayer needed a son figure after... you know. Foeslayer gets a do-over like in canon, but it's with Winter instead of her mind-wiped mass murderer son. The whole Peacemaker thing just never sat right with me, but then, I consider mind-wiping to be pretty heinous in general.

Hopefully you enjoyed the hugging scene as much as I enjoyed writing it. Warm fuzzy feelings for everyone!

Okay, now to the escape scene where Winter feels like he's being chased. This part is another shout-out to Emesis Blue, specifically the scene near the end where Soldier is running from an unseen creature that may or may not be a hallucination. If you're wondering what the Watsonian explanation for this scene is, I'll tell you that the palace feels bad about Winter and Foeslayer leaving. :(

Icicle in this AU really likes ruby earrings. They represent the blood of the Hierarchy's enemies.

Alrighty, now for the fun part: my breakdown/explanation of Icicle's character! In canon it's very clear that Icicle doesn't care for Winter, and the only dragon she seems to truly respect is Hailstorm. I extrapolated that Icicle has a personal honor code that she adheres to rigorously, one based around her view of strength. She sees herself as the ideal IceWing aristocrat: regal, intelligent, and deadly. Anyone who can meet her standards have earned her respect, perhaps even admiration and love; anyone who doesn't she views with nothing but contempt. I think Icicle's little monologue in the fic explains pretty much everything else about her character.

I think automatons warrant a quick mention. Automatons have been around for thousands of years, and during the early modern period were capable of complex tasks such as drawing pictures and playing chess (similar to what Winter knows automatons are capable of). Fans of The Magnus Archive will be familiar with the Mechanical Turk, which was actually operated by a human during chess matches.

Winter's metaphor of society fitting him into a mold is a nod to the manga short The Enigma of Amigara Fault. There's an excellent video that breaks down the cultural context behind the story, which can be found here.

And my final note for the story: The phrase "the cold does not forgive mistakes" originates from the Jacob Geller video essay "Fear of Cold," which can be found here. An excellent video about... pretty much exactly what it sounds like.

Thanks for reading my fanfic annotations. If you have a burning question about "Duties" that wasn't answered here, feel free to send me an ask.

#fanfiction #wings of fire #wof #wof winter #wof foeslayer #wof icicle #wof au #bloodbright au #writing #eyes of a writer #wof fanfic

[ilikemicrowaves]

LOYAL STARFLIGHT AU

Notes: LOYAL Starflight au is were Starflight decides to help the nightwings take the Rainforest instead of Glory.

Summary: starflight meets his father and finds out why Fatespeaker claims to be the wings of night

Plans

Starflight followed his father to the other side of the lab as he struggled to turn the circular handle to what seemed to be a vault door.

"Our understanding of this biological anomaly is so new that we haven't even put it in any scrolls." He said in a fascinated voice.

Fatespeaker bumped into Starflight since Morrowseer's massive body took up a large amount of room.

"It turns out one tribe of dragon has evolved an unusual defense mechanism." He continued finally opening the door as they filled in.

Inside, the floor was covered in what Starflight first thought was splattered black paint, but recognized it as venom.

"You'll never guess which one!" Mastermind said.

"Rainwings." Starflight answered.

The delight on Masterminds face brightened. "Yes! They shoot venom out if their fangs."

He walked over to the middle of the room, spreading one wing to gesture at the venom marks.

"One of our first questions, naturally, was how far can they shoot? What's a safe distance to attack them from?" He put on a show by making dramatic hand movements, something Clay would laugh at Starflight for doing the same.

We truly are alike, not just interests.

Helmet in hand, Mastermind circled the black trail marking as Starflight and Fatespeaker followed.

"This is as far I've ever seen a dragon shoot. An older male, suggesting the skill gets stronger as they age." Mastermind theorized.

"Actually, they have training sections. Though the teachers in the Rainforest aren't the best as of what I've seen." Correct Starflight.

"Interesting, I'll have to write that down. Very observant, son. Oh I just love saying that word, now that it has a purpose!"

Starflight felt pride in his stomach, maybe his father wasn't like his other friend's parents after all.

As Mastermind wrote, he continued about his research on these unfortunate rainwings.

"The next question, of course, was what doesn't react to venom?" After writing the side note and crossing out some previous ones, he lead them to a table with two trays of different material.

"What could we use for protection? Metal, for one thing."

He knocked onto the Helmet he sat on the table.

"But anything biological, it destroys." He lifted his talon to show the rotten lizard and fish, as well with withering plants.

Fatespeaker commented her opinion with an "eww.."

Mastermind, leaning over the trays and collecting himself and the Helmet, continued. "If it gets in your eye or blood stream, you are most likely to die, instantly."

Maybe that's what happened to queen Scarlet

"If it hits your scales, you'll wish you where."

Starflight touched his head, thinking about the melting faces of Scarlet and Crocodile.

"I've seen it kill two dragons so far." He revealed.

Mastermind lifted his head before readjusting his glasses.

"Two, really? How surprisingly careless. We haven't picked up any rainwings with that little control yet."

"They weren't careless it was on purpose."

Mastermind smiled, "Purpose? That changes things entirely! I want to know everything! How long did death take? What provoked the attack?"

Excitingly, Mastermind unhooked a key off a key holder.

"I've never seen rainwings attack other dragons." Commented Fatespeaker.

"Even a rainwing will defend themselves from time to time." Educated Starflight.

"In my experience, not often." Mastermind equipped his helmet, unlocking the door Starflight hadn't noticed before.

"But why don't you stand back just in case."

Upon unlocking the door, they entered what seemed to be a torture room. A Rainwing, a somber gray, the most miserable color he thought he could see a rainwing be, hung by chains on a ceiling.

Below them was a drain.

That'll be useful if I need to escape, if it leads to anywhere anyway.

"What are you doing to her!?" Gasped Fatespeaker in fear.

"We where testing wether or not they run out of venom. Unfortunately she passed out before we could gather any useful data."

Fatespeaker ran over to the cauldron filled with water and struggled to carry its heavy weight over to the rainwing.

"What are you doing?" Mastermind asked.

"Giving her water!" She snapped.

That is a good idea. If she's dehydrated she's more likely to faint.

Starflight walked over to them and could hear the weak gulps as the rainwing began to drank.

"Who are you?" He asked.

Taking a breath, the rainwing spoke. "Orchid...no nightwing has ever asked me that." She managed.

Starflight recognized that name. "Oh, Mangrove's been looking for you." He said.

"Than I won't give up on living just yet."

She let her head head hang again as her scales shifted to a beautiful pink.

"Incredible! What did you say to make her do that? I've never seen it before!" Mastermind observed.

Wow, he really doesn't know.

"She's thankful for the water." Interjected Fatespeaker.

"Fascinating! Utterly fascinating!"

He swooped around and stuck his head out of the room.

"Strongwings! This one is ready to go back! And Strongwings, guess what! I have a brilliant son!"

A bulky dragon larger than him walked in padded with armor that looked like a skywings.

"Yeah whatever, when will I get one of these fancy looking helmets?"

Mastermind yanked it away as Strongwings tried to touch it.

"This is just a prototype."

While Strongwings started to unclick the locks around Orchid Mastermind stopped Starflight before he could walk any further.

"As one can imagine, the hardest part about making venom-proof armor is making it possible to see!" He lifted the helmet into his face.

"I'd be interested in your thoughts."

Starflight blinked a few times.

"Firstly, I'd like to discuss how you treat the rainwings." He said. "Why are we studying them? Why do we need to protect ourselves?"

Mastermind lead him and Fatespeaker out of the room.

"Queens orders." He simply said. "Right now that information is restricted from you, I wish I could tell right now but Morrowseer and the Queen forbids it."

He looked him dead in the eyes. "Surely as my son you understand that, right?"

Still just meeting his father he didn't want to disappoint him, he's his only family after all.

"I understand, until I earn her majesty's trust, I won't bother you about it."

Mastermind smiled, "thank you," leaving the room he lead them out to a bridge the clutched to the side of the mountain.

"I must attend my daily meeting with the queen, I hope to catch up with you soon!"

Mastermind hugged Starflight, making him feel very affectionate compared to his other friend's parents.

"Goodbye, dad." He said with a wave as Mastermind disappeared into a different room.

"Wow." Fatespeaker said. "So, turns out we are terrible dragons." She said.

"I still don't understand why we are kidnapping rainwings..." He said.

"Neither do I! And did you see how bad she looked?" Fatespeaker was circling around the ledge now.

She stopped infront of Starflight. "And how did you know her? I thought nightwings didn't leave this place?"

"I'm not from here, I was raised by the Talons of peace."

Fatespeaker giggled. "Liar, I've never seen you in camp."

Starflight lifted his head towards her "I'm not, we were born under a mountain, I am the dragonet from the prophecy."

Fatespeaker had doubt written all over her. "I am! Morrowseer says I'm special, I was born on the brightest night!"

"False, neither of you are in the prophecy yet." Said a booming from above.

Morrowseer landed with a loud thud.

"Only one of you will be in the prophecy. That's why your here. Thankfully we didn't have to put up a fight getting Starflight here."

"Don't you know? You delivered the prophecy."

Tossing his head in a frustrated manner he said, "Prophecies, are complex."

Fatespeaker grinned and turned to Starflight to whisper, "Thats a good comeback. I should write that down."

Jabbing his claw in their direction, Morrowseer continued to explain.

"The real problem is neither of you are suitable. You are both weak and too sympathetic. We made an error letting you be raised without a nightwing at watch." He said with grimace in his voice.

"Why aren't I suitable?" Asked Fatespeaker.

"You act like a hatchling! And you!" Pushing Starflight back a little he yelled.

"You've antagonized our ally!"

"Hey, that's not my fault!" Starflight protested. "My friends did! I tried to convince them but they wouldn't listen."

"You have no leader ship at all! Maybe if you were a true nightwing things would be different." He said. "But now you've placed our whole in jeopardy."

Starflight pushed back the large talon infront of him. "If you told me the plan maybe I could have helped! I can't when I don't even know what it is!"

Morrowseer lashed his tail and huffed.

"We cannot trust either of you with the nightwing secrets. Not until you are proven loyal."

Starflight puffed a plum of smoke.

"I am loyal! Why do you think I abandoned my friends in the first place?"

Morrowseer considered it for a moment, then alofted himself into the smokey sky.

"Queens orders, follow me."

Doing what they were told they followed after Morrowseer. Starflight could feel ashes hit his face and shoulders flying through the thick smoke.

Swooping up to Fatespeaker he asked, "any visions about their plan?"

Carelessly she said, "nope!" And flew faster ahead of Morrowseer.

Starflight continued to fly while the wind wrapped around his body.

Mmh, He thought, odd. But I need to figure out their plan. Why are they kidnapping and studying rainwings? Especially their venom. Maybe they're using that research to understand what's happening to us, with the prey and our poisonous bite.

Have I ever done that? He continued to think. I do recall biting Kestrel in training once, and her wrist swelled a little. I thought it was because it got infected from an open wound.

"I guess not..." He said to himself.

But why bother to understand that during times like this?

They also are looking for ways to protect themselves from the venom, but rainwings are pacifists. Maybe if I told them that they would put an end to this research.

"Wake up dreamy face!" Fatespeaker snapped him out of his thoughts. "Morrowseer says you need to meet the others, in case you're the dragonet for the prophecy."

Oh no, there's others?

_______________________

Notes: Thank you for reading this :) it'd be really appreciated if you reblog this so other can see my work!

#wof #wings of fire #nightwing #loyal starflight au #ls au #lsau #Morrowseer #mastermind #Starflight #fatespeaker #strongwings #rainwing #orchid #microwaves writings #wof fanfic #fanfic #wof au

[aemondsbabe]

A Promise is a Promise

summary: promises & phone sex || tom's trying his best to make it home to you by christmas, but a snowstorm derails his plans

pairing: tom bennett x f!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, phone sex, dirty talk, fingering, masturbation, breast/nipple play, very slight angst but happy ending, probably not historically accurate bite me, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 2.3k

a/n: happy day eleven of 12 days of smuff and happy christmas eve to everyone who celebrates!! hope y'all enjoy this one! Can be read as a part 2 to Homecoming or as a stand alone!

12 days of smuff masterlist!

gif creds to @rxyl

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!

Your breath fogs up the window as you look outside one last time, sighing heavily as you watch puffy snowflakes rain down from the sky, scattering through the pale yellow shafts of light from the street lamps. You peer up and down the quiet street, frowning at the sight of all the twinkling lights and festive candles that decorated so many of the townhouses, feeling decidedly un-cheery this year. 

Deciding that it wasn’t worth it to torture yourself further, you pad up the stairs to your bedroom, trying to ignore the soft glow from the Christmas tree in the front room. Your footsteps sound much louder than normal in the quiet house since your parents were out for the evening, attending some holiday party at a friend's house, one that you were in much too foul of a mood to even consider attending. 

You’ve hardly had the chance to change your clothes before the phone in your room starts ringing loudly, making you jump. Sitting on your bed, you roll your eyes as you reach for it, expecting it to be your parents or some friend, calling half drunk from a party no doubt. 

“Hello?” You sigh, pressing the phone to your ear as you stare disdainfully out the window, watching more and more of the traitorous snow fall from the dark sky. 

“Well, try not to sound too excited.” A familiar voice chuckles, instantly making you perk up.

“Tom?!” Your eyes widen as you press the phone harder against your ear, “Where are you? Are you okay? I thought you said you’d be home this afternoon!”

You can hear him laugh on the other end of the line at your rushed questions. “Relax, love, I’m fine,” he sighs, you can hear springs squeak softly in the background, like he’d sat down on a bed, “The train’s just got delayed, ice on the rails or some fucking nonsense, and with the damn snowstorm, well…” He sighs heavily.

“Delayed for how long?” You ask, crestfallen. 

“Dunno, the man at the station said maybe a day, maybe two,” you can practically hear his frustrated sneer, “What with it being Christmas eve, everything’s just a damn wreck, apparently.”

“Oh…” You try not to sound too heartbroken, not wanting him to feel worse, “Well, did you find somewhere to stay in the meantime? I hate the idea of you sitting at the station.”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, “Some shoddy little inn. The train had to stop at some farming town in the middle of God knows where, but a bed’s a bed, I suppose.” You can hear two thuds in the background, no doubt him tossing his boots off somewhere carelessly. 

“I’m glad you’re somewhere safe, Tommy,” you smile sadly, idly fidgeting with the bottom of your night shirt, well, really his nightshirt, “I wish you were with me, though.” You whisper, trying to ignore the sad little squeeze your heart gave. 

“Wish I was too, love.”

The two of you sit in a comfortable silence for a moment, happy to simply listen to each other breathe after so many months apart. You really are trying not to let it get to you too much, but he only got so many days of leave from the RN and once he got shipped back out… you dare not think about it too deeply. 

There’s some rustling on the other end of the line and you furrow your brows as you listen, hoping the storm isn’t interfering with the phone lines too. 

“Tom?”

“‘M here,” he reassures you, springs creaking again as he settles back on the hotel bed, “Was just taking off my shirt.” He cooed, making you roll your eyes as you picture his playful smirk, your cheeks flushing as you imagined that cheeky little head bop that followed most of his lewd comments. 

“Now there’s a sight I’d like to see.” You hum, reclining back against the many pillows on your bed with a small smirk.

“Bet you’d be falling all over yourself for it,” he laughs, propping up a knee, “It’s a miracle you’ve lasted this long without it.”

“Without what?”

“My cock.” He answers, voice confident and cocky. 

“Tommy!” You squeak, giggling despite yourself, which makes him chuckle on the other end, “And here I was hoping months away would turn you into a romantic!”

“Fat chance, love.” He laughs heartily, smiling genuinely for the first time in months. 

Again, a comfortable silence washes over the two of you, each of you clinging to the phone like it was truly a lifeline, feeling closer than you have in months although you’re God knows how many kilometers apart. 

He sighs again, though this one makes you smile. It’s a familiar sigh, one he only does before he says something he knows will get a rise out of you.

“What’re you wearing?” You can hear his smirk, you can practically feel it on you as he speaks, his voice already low and raspy. 

You can’t help the tittering little giggle you let out, biting your lip as your cheeks flush further. “Erm, just your button down, actually,” you say, shy all of a sudden as you squirm atop your covers, “The one you wore in secondary some days… oh, and knickers.”

“And knickers,” he murmurs, quiet for a moment before continuing, “My girl in my shirt n’ I’m not there to see it. A real shame.”

“Yeah…” you whisper, fidgeting with the small buttons lining the front. 

“D’you have my shirt buttoned, love?”

“Yes?”

“You think you could unbutton it for me?”

The way he asks for it has your heart racing, excitement building steadily within you as you rub your thighs together, already seeking something to lessen the tension within you. Almost automatically, your hands reach for the buttons as you cradle the phone on your shoulder, holding it in place with your cheek. 

“Yes, Tommy.”

“That’s a good girl, love.” He praises, chuckling lowly as a small, delicate whimper just barely makes it through the phone lines. 

You scramble, all but ripping the shirt in two until finally the fabric falls away. You’re already breathing heavier, chest heaving enough to have the shirt slip off your chest instantly; your nipples harden quickly in the cool air of your bedroom, the small radiator only doing so much to heat the space. 

“It’s unbuttoned.” You breathe, squeezing your eyes shut as you desperately try to envision him doing the same. 

“God, I wish I was there,” he sighs and your ears perk up when you hear a soft tinkling in the background, cheeks heating up at the thought of him slowly taking off his belt, “I miss those perfect fucking tits, lovely girl. Got off thinking about them every night.”

“Yeah?” You ask breathily, your fingers skimming softly over your stomach, coming to rest in the valley between your breasts. 

“Mhm,” he murmurs, already breathing hotly into the phone, “Pinch them for me, pretty girl, yeah? Like I would.”

You gasp and quickly do as he requests, not being able to hold off any longer yourself. You whimper into the receiver as you tweak your nipples, your eyes roll back in your head at the thrill that shoots down your spine and settles right between your legs. 

“Fuck, good girl.” He praises again, sounding like he’s speaking through clenched teeth.

“What’re you wearing?” You ask breathily, lightly tugging at your stiff nipples still as you rub your thighs together, your center already aching, “What’re you doing?” 

“‘M rubbing my cock through my boxers,” he sighs heavily, “S’all I’ve got on.”

The thought makes you whimper again, imagining him cupping his already twitching length through the thin fabric of his underwear. Your mouth waters as you picture a wet patch near the tip, his cock leaking at the thought of you. 

“Tommy,” you sigh as your back arches into your own touch, “Can I?” 

Your meek question makes him chuckle. “Can you do what, love? You’ll need to be specific.”

You whine this time, biting your lip as your cheeks flush. “C-Can I…” you start, still feeling so impossibly shy around him sometimes, “Can I touch myself?”

“Thought you were already touching your tits?”

“Tommy!”

“C’mon, pretty,” he laughs, licking his lips as he imagines how cute you must look, cheeks all blushed with embarrassment, “Y’know what I wanna hear.”

“Can I touch my cunt?” You murmur, voice high-pitched and breathy.

“Fuck,” he breathes, head lolling back against his pillow, “Yeah, y’can, love, lemme hear you.”

Mindlessly, your hand drifts down. You don’t even bother to take off your panties, too impatient to go to the trouble as you shove your hand inside. A moan is punched out of you at the first touch, your core already throbbing as you glide your fingers through your slick folds. Tom groans along with you as your fingers finally begin swirling around your clit, your thighs spreading further. 

“What, shit,” you sigh, a shudder rippling up your spine, “What’re you doing now?”

“Got my cock out,” he rasps, his voice catching, “Thinking about you while I fuck my hand, God, I wish it was your tight cunt, pretty girl.”

You whine again, back arching once more as your fingers skim over your clit before dipping down to gather more slick from your dripping entrance. You all but see stars when you rub yourself again, core clenching around nothing. 

“Wish you were here…” You murmur, breath catching as you move your hand a little quicker. 

“Yeah?” He asks in a low voice, “What would you want me to do?”

“Fuck me,” you whine, wiggling your hips impatiently, like he was just at the end of the bed teasing you instead of lost somewhere in the countryside, “Want you to fuck me, Tommy.”

He groans, louder than he probably should in a small inn. Your face flushes when you hear him spit, imaging his cock glistening as he uses it to stroke himself. 

“Christ, I miss that pretty cunt,” he mutters, breath catching, probably speeding up in time with you, “Get a finger in there, love, fuck yourself like I would.”

Obediently, you do as he says, rutting against your own hand as you unceremoniously push two fingers into yourself, marveling at how tightly your walls already clench around them. 

“Fuck, Tommy!” You squeak, clit tingling every time your palm smacks against it as you fuck youself. 

“God, that’s it,” he groans, “Keep going, fuck, ‘m not gonna last.” He warns, knowing it’s been too long since he’d last had any privacy. 

“‘M not going to either,” you assure him, shaking your head to your empty room as if he could see you, “Feels too good, oh!” You gasp, your whole body tensing up as you crook your fingers up, expertly locating that sensitive spot within you. 

The two of you pleasure yourselves together for another few moments, heavy breaths and moans passing between the phones. Finally, Tom groans lowly again and swears through gritted teeth. 

“Fuck, ‘m gonna cum,” he pants, the slick sound of his hand streaking over his cock in the background nearly makes you unravel, “Cum with me, pretty girl, please.”

The whiny way he says please is your undoing and you finally break, calling out his name breathily as you arch against your sheets. Slick sounds fill your bedroom as you peak, breathless at the way your core clenches rhythmically over your fingers. 

Tom isn’t far behind you, his rough groans only adding to your pleasure. You whimper when he hisses out your name as he finishes, envisioning the way he paints his lower stomach with spend, cock twitching against his palm. 

You breathe heavily for a moment as you both come down before you dissolve into giggles, your sour mood from earlier almost completely gone. 

“Fucked you dumb n’ I’m not even there,” Tom gloats, sighing as he wipes away his cum with his boxers, too tired to get up and clean himself off properly, “You’re gonna make me blush, love.” 

“Tommy!” You groan playfully, admonishing him through a giggle, “You’re horrible.”

“You love it.” He laughs tiredly, yawning quietly. 

“Tired?”

“Yeah,” he huffs, the bed squeaking again as he makes himself comfortable, “Sorry love, s’been a long day.”

“I would imagine so,” you smile sadly still, twirling the phone cord around a finger, “I’ll let you sleep.”

“I’ll get to you tomorrow,” he promises, his voice heavy with sleep, “I swear, told you I’d be back for Christmas.”

“Tommy…” You sigh, glancing out the window to see snow still pouring from the sky.

“I mean it,” he murmurs tiredly, “A promise is a promise.”

You wake with a start, jerking up in bed as you look around blearily, unsure of what woke you. Your eyes narrow as you glance at the clock on your bedside table, too early still for even your alarm to be going off. 

You jump as you hear a knock from downstairs, someone pounding at the door. Rolling your eyes, you slip on a robe before making your way downstairs. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” You sigh, rubbing sleep from your eyes as you reach for the doorknob, tugging it open with a frown. 

“Wha–” You stop in your tracks, gasping loudly.

“Y’gonna let me in or are you gonna leave me out here to freeze my bollocks off?” Tom asks with a grin, laughing when you practically leap into his arms and pull him into a suffocating hug. 

“Tommy!” You gasp, clinging to him, “How did you, when did you?” You stutter, a million questions running through your mind. Finally, you pull back just enough to look at him, nearly crying as you at last look into his familiar blue eyes, “How?” You breathe.

“A very nice famer with a truck,” he laughs, holding you tightly to him, “Told ya I’d get home to you by Christmas.” 

Not being able to hold off anymore, you press your lips against his, feeling warm despite the cold.

tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @alerisc @fan-goddess @wickedfrsgrl @moonriseoverkyoto @echos-muses @schniiipsel @avidreader73 @marvelescvpe @imawhorecrux @grsveeth0m

(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)

#tom bennett #tom bennett x reader #tom bennett x you #tom bennett smut #tom bennett fanfiction #tom bennett fanfic #world on fire #world on fire fanfiction #world on fire fanfic #world on fire smut #wof #wof fanfiction #wof fanfic #wof smut #fanfiction #fanfic #smut #my writing #12 days of smuff

[ravewing]

did anyone else read that one wof fanfiction from like 2015 about like the dragon tribe that had black scales and like glowing crystal spikes that were any color except white and they could breathe in space and the mc met one with glowing white spikes or did i imagine that because its INGRAINED in my memory

#wof #wings of fire #wof fanfic #i think they were called spacewings but honestly its been 6 years so #it was called like dark in the light or light in the dark idfk #i cant find it i think i imagined it

[some-pers0n]

Hey guys I rewrote the Arctic death scene again for like the fourth time. Wanna read it?

Two of the three moons were full that day, with the third, Oracle, but a sliver of light among a sea of stars. Their pale glow trickled down onto the stage where Darkstalker stood. While the shimmer of moonlight against his scales was notable, nothing could compare to the innate aura of fear and disgust radiating from the kneeling dragon before him.

Arctic hung his head. His talons were unmoving, bound by invisible shackles. His breath was laboured and anxious. 

Darkstalker grinned at the sight of his father cowering. It was enthralling beyond any sense of the word. To see him quivering like prey finally captured and waiting for the agony of death to come.

"How are you feeling, father?" he asked, a coy smirk still on his face.

Arctic's mouth tightened.

"Let's try that again." Darkstalker cleared his throat. "Tell me, father, how do you feel?" His voice was stern, commanding.

"Annoyed." The words spilled out of Arctic's mouth. "Bothered by how you have to make a big show."

"Oh, terribly sorry about that. Shame, really. You don't want to be forced into a position you never asked for? My, what a tragedy. I'm certain Foeslayer could relate to that had she been here."

"Darkstalker," Clearsight began, "I don't think you should bother him–"

"I don't see why I can't." He glanced back at her. "I was only asking how he was. Is that too much for a son to ask?"

"You're torturing him..."

"Torture?" He echoed. "That seems much. I'm trying to make one last conversation with him before the performance begins."

"You don't have to do this."

"But I must. You saw him! You saw what he did to Whiteout!" He gestured to his sister. "She would've been handed off to some low-life IceWing and erased of any personality. And for what? So he could see Foeslayer again? She hates him. Everyone hates him." His snout curled. "He's better off dead; I'm simply kind enough to let others join in on the fun of killing him."

Whiteout flinched. She moved closer to Clearsight, murmuring words that Darkstalker couldn't hear. Her mind was a swirling storm of muted grey-green with streaks of silver and ebony.

He sighed. "I understand that it seems barbaric, but I promise that this is necessary."

"Is it? Is it really?" Clearsight's voice was sharp.

His eyebrows furrowed. "Of course. You'll see soon enough, my beloved." He raised his talons to brush her snout, but she stepped away. Her eyes were wide. Her thoughts raced. She was afraid. Afraid of him.

Fine. She could be difficult. There will come a time when she realizes the error in her ways. How she was blinded by her belief that Arctic was still deserving of redemption and forgiveness. She never could truly understand the pain that dragon had put his family through. What Arctic had put him through.

He scoffed and turned back around. By the time he had his little conversation, a crowd had formed. The passing NightWing citizens stopped and stared. They were waiting for a performance to begin.

"My fellow NightWings," Darkstalker called out to the crowd. "Today, I bring forth a traitor to not only our own tribe, but his very own kingdom. Gather round, as I would not dare to look away. No, these next few moments will dictate the choices made thousands of years from now. Like a rock tossed into a river, the fate of this IceWing will ripple throughout history."

That got the attention of more dragons. Soon enough, the flow of shoppers stalled as more and more gathered around the stage.

"Isn't this exciting, Arctic?" he whispered. "Turns out there's more than a handful of dragons who care about you enough to watch you. More than I thought."

Arctic stayed silent.

"Be that way then." He hissed. He raised his head back to the crowd. "Lovely night, isn't it? Each and every one of you are a beautiful piece of this marvellous city. Come now, don't you agree? Look to your left, your right, up, down, all around! These are your peers. Friends, perhaps to some of you. A NightWing like yourself."

He paused. "Now, tell me, who is not a friend of a NightWing? A dragon that, despite potentially looking friendly and innocent, will do nothing to tear down both you and the kingdom we graciously live under."

He snickered. "One dragon I could say is this one right here." Darkstalker swept his tail at the talons of Arctic, knocking him down. "You might have seen him before. Arctic of the IceWings. the runaway prince. The reason why our tribe is locked in a vicious war against the IceWings. Because of his impulsive, rash, and selfish deeds, our NightWings are sent to battle—families broken because of him.

"We have tolerated his presence enough. Some of you might think he was reformed. I can't blame you. It's difficult to understand what happens behind closed doors. Though, tonight, he had betrayed the NightWings." He gestured to Arctic. "Why don't you tell us, IceWing?"

"Tell you what, exactly?"

"You know what you did."

"I did nothing! I was going home. I was not betraying my tribe– this isn't even my tribe!"

"Answer me!" Darkstalker roared. "Answer. Confess. What were you doing earlier this evening?"

Arctic's mouth contorted. "I was taking my daughter to Queen Diamond. A peace treaty. I would hand over my daughter's hand in marriage and reintroduce animus magic back into the tribe...and in return, I would be a prince again. I would live in the castle. I would eat, drink, and sleep like a normal dragon. I would find out if my love was still alive."

"She was never your love. You hated her and she hated you." Darkstalker snarled. "Besides, that was not all, wasn't it?"

His lips struggled to keep close, but the words poured out of him. "I planned to draw and hand over a detailed map of the Night Kingdom. It would be in exchange for Foeslayer's life had she survived. I would have given everything to see her okay again."

Mumbles from the crowd reached Darkstalker. Gasps and concerns, both about the performance and the confession. How could a dragon do such a thing? Why wasn't the IceWing flying away despite being unchained? What was going to happen next?

"I assure you, NightWings, that the traitor did not reach Queen Diamond before I had stopped him. They do not yet know our location. However, we are not fully safe until this stain on our glorious kingdom is dealt with." He spat.

"How could a dragon do such a thing?" he started. "He admitted that all as if it were nothing. As if the livelihoods of you, your friends and family, and this very kingdom were little more than a statistic. He even brainwashed one of our own, his very daughter, to comply with such a plan!" He shook his head. "This traitor is the worst dragon to ever live. Do you agree?"

A mixed response. Some argued and debated on the nature of his choice. Foolish. They couldn't understand the intricacies. Others questioned the nature of Darkstalker carrying this out. Should it be Queen Vigilance? Where is she?

But most agreed. Between nodded heads and shouts for death, they stood alongside Darkstalker. The NightWings had given this IceWing, one of the dragons whom they had been at war with for years, a home in their very own kingdom, and how does he repay? He lies. He backstabs. He cheats. He betrays.

Darkstalker couldn't help but bask in the feeling of grandeur. A crowd of dragons all repeated back the thoughts he had all these years. Arctic was unforgivable. He was a coward. He was a traitor. There was no excuse for him to live.

These NightWings were all on his side. Was this truly what it was like to be king? To be worshipped and hailed? To bring justice and peace? It was an intoxicating feeling that surged through his veins.

He held up his talons. "Silence, NightWings!" he commanded. With that, the audience quieted themselves. "Thank you. Now, I believe it is time we dealt with this dragon."

He turned to Arctic. His face was a dark grimace. 

"Oh, come now. Have a little more of a cheery smile. It's your big day." He chuckled. "Now, admit that I am the greatest animus of all time."

"You are–"

"No, no. Not a whisper. Admit to the world!" Darkstalker raised his wing to the crowd. "Speak, IceWing. Say that I am the greatest animus of all time."

"You are the greatest animus of all time," he choked out.

"Now tell them that there is no dragon more powerful than me. No army that can best me. No queen that can kill me. Nothing."

Arctic winced as he spoke. "There is no dragon more powerful than you. No army that can best you. No queen that can kill you."

The crowd became more worried in tone. Hushed words of skepticism and worry. This was an animus on stage, ordering around and playing with the IceWing. Darkstalker couldn't care. He was having fun. Let their fear fuel his power.

"Now..." Darkstalker lowered himself to Arctic. "Say that you wish you were a better father."

A shocked snort burst from Arctic's mouth, one that grew into a bemused and mocking laugh. He looked dead into Darkstalker's eyes. "If I had been a better father, I would've strangled you the moment you hatched."

The night was still. The crowd was dead silent. Even the breeze of the ocean had been snuffed out. An unbearable quiet as Darkstalker stared into Arctic. Into his very soul.

Arctic ruined it. He couldn't stand to watch his father sit there any longer, smug and having had the last laugh. No. Darkstalker needed to win.

"Rip out your tongue." His words were frosted over with hatred and malice.

Arctic's eyes widened as his talons moved involuntarily. He could see them shake and twitch. He could sense the panic and restraint, and yet nothing could stop him from grabbing his tongue and, with one firm tug, ripping it out.

Horror emanated from the crowd. They too were afraid. They feared him. No longer did they feel the same murderous zeal and fervour as him, but rather disgust and terror.

It was like bringing wood to a burning house.

Darkstalker leaned closer to his father. His eyes were transfixed on the blue mass of flesh flopped gracelessly on the stage, cyan blood dripping down his mouth. "Had your fun?"

His silence was not out of defiance. Arctic could not form a sentence.

"Good. Now, tear out your heart. Show the world who you truly are on the inside. Pour your life onto the stage. For all to see."

#sp-writing #wof #darkstalker wof #arctic wof #wings of fire #wof fanfic #Took longer than I'd like to have written but eh who cares it's still 1.7k words #Better than writing no words again

[prophesykeeper]

Being deaf can't stop this dragonet! Algae likes to follow pods of whales and feel vibrations from their singing. He can only communicate in Aquatic, though other Seawings don't mind.

During water games at church camp, my friend couldn't wear her hearing aids. She would crouch down near to the speaker, with her fingertips touching the ground. It looked weird, but she was just feeling the vibrations of the music since she couldn't hear it that well.

#deafawareness #deaf #deaf oc #wings of fire #wof #art #wof fanart #my art #wof oc #wof oc art #wof fanfic #wof seawing #seawing

[chefbeepo]

GUYS I NEED HONEST ANSWERS AND SOME HYPE FRANKLY

Would you read a WOF fan fiction based off the idea of the DoD but with several changes to characters, including replacing the main 5 with my own ocs, changed plot points, different overall result and different politics???

I've been formulating this idea for a while and really want to make it but I feel low on motivation bcuz idk if anyone will even want to read it. So

*also sorry I tagged the DOD even tho they're alternate characters in this. I just want this to be as widespread as I can*

#wof #wof dod #wof starflight #wof sunny #wof tsunami #wof clay #wof glory #wof au #wof fanfic