Thank you for the tags @rooks-dagger & @juniper-and-dragonthorn <3 i really did not think i was going to do this tag but then inspiration struck me and i couldn't stop so here we are
Text generator i used is HERE, and HERE is a secondary one(:
I will pass tags to @necromanticsoul @seaglassmelody @handsignals @biowaredisasterbisexual @gingervitus @tkwritesdumbassassins @augustnugs @master-of-the-elements & @ratbagjasper (and i tried to look, but if any of you have done this and i didn't see, please feel free to tag me in it!)
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okay i'm back for real. @rooks-dagger tagged me in their nevember texts and you should go check it out! I'll pass this tag onto @mythals-whore, @gingervitus, @wolfsong-the-bloody-beast, @flowersforthemachines, @maagisterpavus, @casa-dei-corvei, @lemondelighted, @bronzieinthedas, and @biowaredisasterbisexual (to do when ur not busy <3)
Thank you for tagging me, @babydinosaur930, @spillingteanotpermitted, and @lucretiouswept! ♥
I think this could be how their latest chats look like.
Hazel bonded with Kieran, a friend's broody warlock OC, over some stupid joke she randomly told him. Now she just keeps throwing them at him whenever she comes up with something new.
Féline's phone sure would constantly be broken or gone missing, she'd have a new number every few days, and Rugan got really lucky to even have her latest number, I'd say.
That's Hazel to said friend's OC,
and Rugan to Féline:
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Gale would send Ila some inspirational messages from time to time. Trying to cheer her up a little. This time he kinda messed up, but it was exactly that what made her smile the easiest that day.
Not that Mereth would actually be texting anyone.
He'd be someone to refuse getting a phone in the first place, refusing to be available like this to anyone.
Even Gortash, who is the only one who could even expect an answer from Mereth, would be left on read for weeks on end.
So here's Gale to Ila,
and Gortash to Mereth.
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Right- I'm so terribly late with this... I'll just tag my tag list.
Maybe y'all would like to do this again? Either way, feel free to leave me a link or tag me in the post you already have made for this.
“I was a little snake when my masters built walls and citadels to protect the hatching lands. Thank you for helping the old one see another heartbeat at the end of her days.”
“I don’t believe it happened,” Emmy pressed the bundle to her chest. The child in the tissues moved. It... she reached for the warmth, as if she felt the proximity of the scales of the dragon's body. Only the tail, which was already covered with keratinized scales, showed up. It won’t be long before they stretch out and get stronger, turning into spines or a fin.
Emlyonormu was relieved when she felt the beating of life in her hands. This burden was replaced by a new one, filled with anxiety about responsibility. And the awkwardness of some moments.
. . .
“There are children by nature, Emlyonormu from the Bronze Dragonflight. And there are children from the heart. You have the right to give this one her first name.”
The brood mother raised her cane in a trembling hand, as if blessing both Emmy and this child. The dragoness looked again at the fabrics under which the tiny creature was hiding. Heat was brewing within her. With every second, with every breath, the newborn absorbed the life of Azeroth.
Emlyonormu raised her palm and gently touched the bundle of fabrics with her clawed fingers. She made her decision.
“Eliot, she…”
“Yes, this happens.”
Tiny paws and a head appeared in the light. Hands and head. In the form of a mortal.
“I heard that sometimes they take on the guises of those who have been closest to them for a long time,” Eliot began to wail, stroking Emmy-Lee’s shoulder, but then looked at her with a stern look, “This is an unconscious step. But not evil.”
“But in the egg…”
“She was an ordinary dragon. Who knows how such a small portion of water from the Halls could have affected her. Really, Emmy, the child has just appeared, and you are already so strict with her!”
Emlyonormu pursed her lips, looking at the girl in her arms. Everything about her was mortal, but the scales and compaction of future horns covered everything human and elven, leaving no doubt. The child shrank and wrinkled her tiny nose. She was Green, and she was already having her first real dream.
“Well, what name will you give her?” the mother of the brood had been waiting for this day for so many years that she did not want to delay the most important thing.
“Fir,” Emlyonormu answered easily. She was almost sure that it was the girl herself who suggested this name to her, “For now she will be a little Fir.”
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“Are you truly in such deep disrepair that you cannot manage a single knock?” Rhinn asked, not bothering to turn from the partially disassembled hand scattered across their workbench. “I do not ask for much, I think.” They picked up a delicate steel phalange, squinting at it through their thick goggles before gently brushing the dust from the sockets.
Archangel grunted wordlessly as he ducked into the cabin, closing the door behind him with a small click of the latch. “Why bother? You knew I was coming.” He disdainfully kicked the snow off his feet to melt on the floor.
Rhinn sighed, biting their lip behind their mask to keep from smiling. Receiving confirmation that his total disregard for basic courtesy was amusing to them could only encourage him. “Fortunately for you, I have almost completed my task here. I will be only a few minutes longer.” They inspected the phalange one final time before slotting it back into its place on the cool metal palm.
After a few seconds of silence, they glanced over their shoulder to raise a brow at him. “Were you going to stand behind me like a vengeful ghost for the evening, then? I cleared your table earlier. There is a place for you to sit while I work.”
Archangel stared at them for a second longer, the end of his tail flicking. Finally, he wordlessly crossed the room to collapse onto the long table in the center of the room. It was covered by a thick cloth tarp to protect the old wood from his metal frame, and a somewhat threadbare oil-stained rag was carefully folded and laid at one end to provide a soft place to rest his head. Ridiculously sentimental and foolish, of course, but the gesture was…appreciated, all the same.
After glancing over to make sure he was comfortable, Rhinn turned their attention back to their work, humming softly. Rebuilding the hand now would be a fairly straightforward process and save them the trouble of finding or replacing lost components later.
Laying on his chest, Archangel crossed his arms under his chin and watched them. Their quiet humming and the gentle click and scrape of their tools was soothing, and he found himself relaxing as he watched their skilled hands at work.
About ten minutes later, Rhinn slotted the final piece into its place. They straightened, stretching their shoulders and back to loosen the knots beginning to form. “I thank you for your patience, my friend. If I had lost my place, I would have wasted time finding it again in the morning.” They paused, waiting for his customary grumble or growl to interrupt them. Met only with silence, they furrowed their brow and turned around in their chair.
Archangel’s face was tucked into his arms, using them and the worn rag as a pillow. His optics were completely dark, the typical orange glow absent, and the whirring of his internal mechanisms was almost inaudible.
They chewed on their lip, considering. Automata generally did not require rest, but Archangel was unique. They had seen him fighting his exhaustion often enough to know that he needed to shut down to give his mind a few hours to sort itself, even if his body did not share the same need. However, the sulking and aggressive posturing after an unexpected crash was undesirable, to say the least.
Rhinn slowly turned back to their workbench, tail flicking. They cleared their throat loudly and straightened out their tools. They very pointedly did not swivel their ears back to catch the sound of him startling awake, his throat clicking desperately for a few painful seconds as he fought to regain his composure.
“I have finished my task here. Thank you for your patience, my heart,” they said, again, finally turning to look at him once they were sure he had reoriented himself. “Is there anything you would like to do before we begin?”
Archangel, now sitting with his legs crossed at the ankles and his tail draped across the table at his side, gave a lazy shrug with one shoulder. “Been waiting long enough already. I’d rather get this over with, if it’s all the same to you.”
“Forgive me,” they said, tilting their head with an amused glint in their eye. “You know how particular I am with my work.”
He grunted wordlessly, shaking his head. Reaching up to his shoulder, he released the hidden latches securing his pauldrons and set them down while Rhinn gathered their tools and moved their chair closer to the table.
Once they were settled, Rhinn picked up the pauldrons, one at a time, and carefully inspected the ornate pieces for damage or dirt before placing them on the floor, out of the way. Gesturing for him to lean down, they reached around his frame to detach his breastplate for inspection. His optics flared briefly as their fingers traced his sides and they smiled brightly, thankful once more for the mask obscuring their face.
After setting the breastplate to the side, they turned their focus to the plain grey plates that composed his chest. They traced the seams with a gentle hand, once again looking for damage. Satisfied, they pressed the center of his sternum, a hidden button cracking open the panels and spreading his golden ribs like wings to grant them access to his delicate circuitry.
Archangel watched them silently, suppressing a shudder as his chest cracked open and he felt their nimble fingers darting along the vital wires inside. He thought briefly of asking them to take their knife and slice through them, one at a time, until he was left paralyzed under their blade and his heart was carved out as a trophy to rust, forgotten on a shelf, but ultimately decided against it.
“You have not been caring for yourself, Archangel,” Rhinn said, deftly reattaching some loose connections. “I tell you why it is important and yet you still do not listen to my words.”
Archangel ignored them, focusing instead on their hands in his chest. This was a familiar conversation, one that had occurred many times over the years, and he wasn’t particularly interested in hearing it again.
Seeing his refusal to engage with their scolding, Rhinn sighed. They finished their inspection of his internal components and resealed his chest. Gently nudging his side, they sat back as he rolled over to give them access to his shoulders and the armor plating on his spine. Running their hands over each vertebra, they carefully cleaned out any trapped debris that could impede his motion or damage the wires inside.
Pausing over his lower back, they frowned. “What happened here, love?” They traced the shattered metal, careful not to cut themself on the torn edges.
Archangel’s throat clicked, and he hummed to himself. “A…miscalculation. Nothing more, hunter.” He did not try to look at them over his shoulder.
Rhinn frowned harder, detaching the broken plating and setting it on the table to the side as they prodded at the damage underneath. “This will take some time to replace, I am afraid.”
“I can wait.”
“Good. I would not see you do anything rash out of impatience.” Rhinn busied themself with the initial repair work on his spine. “Will I be able to contact you when I have the replacements in hand?”
“It’s not like I have anywhere else to be, hunter,” Archangel said, finally twisting to look at them over his shoulder. “Haven’t had a job in a while.”
“Mmm. I question how you got this, then,” Rhinn said, swatting at him for moving. “But I suppose I will allow you some secrets, as you are so fond of them.”
Archangel laughed quietly. His throat clicked again, once, twice, and he shook his head as he returned to his previous position. “Maybe one day I’ll talk.”
“I doubt I will live to see the day. I know you, Archangel. Do not forget that.”
a lil' off script but hey! why not 🤭 [ 📲 • sms from: Isabel to: Oakley] Girl, who does that loser think he is?? Need me to roll up in the middle of the night and help you bury him? I know a spot😏
