Embarassing Side Blog

See, if the Literal Only Way To Get Primals is breeding, and Primals are only valuable on a “matchy”/”pretty” dragon, then a lot of players are going to carefully craft breeding pairs that make the most out of a possibility of getting a Primal.

This tendency has, anecdotally, made it steadily harder and harder to find starter dragons if you enjoy weird combinations (read:fandragons and dragons as art projects), since fewer players are smashing together long-ranged pairs and enjoying what gets spit out, and probably because more players are tied up with obnoxiously long-term specialized projects if they’re trying to breed for any eye type.

Notes: This fic would not have been possible AT ALL without Liz ( @caprelloidea) she has been with me for every single word, every single flail and anxious moment and I love her more than anyone. And it definitely would not have happened without the amazing and wonderful comments and messages I have received from you ll. This fic is so important to me and I’m so happy it was important to some of you too. I love this fandom so much. And I’m so sad this is over. I hope you enjoy this final chapter. 

Thanks to @thesschesthair for her amazing banner. And all my love to @odonoghues for this incredible gifset that made me cry and THIS incredible gifset that made me cry again.

Thanks to @gentlesleaze​ for this amazing and inspirational edit, one of the pictures is now the background on my phone and it makes me so happy all day long. 

Summary: When his ship crashes onto a secluded island after a storm Killian “Deckhand Hook” Jones finds himself the unlikely companion to the dark “goddess” who inhabits it. A fairy tale in five parts.

Rating: Explicit for very obvious reasons. Violence. Angst. 

Word Count: 35K+ (omg)

Part One Here     Part Two Here     Part Three Here    Part Four Here

ON AO3

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It was like falling into a dream, Killian thought, one moment feeling absolutely ridiculous staring into the center of an odd assortment of twine and shells, the next suddenly standing, feeling hard ground under his feet. He huffed out a breath of amazement and looked around.

The world was dimmer somehow, edging wisps of smoke hung heavy in the air, curled and wrapped around everything like ink. He turned, confused.

It was a cottage of some kind, the smell of baking bread and woodsmoke filling his nose. Not a cottage, a bakery he realized, rough wooden shelves held stacking loaves and delicious creations of flour and yeast, small cakes and pies lining the counter. It appeared empty, and he wondered if perhaps there hadn’t been some sort of mistake.

“Lily! Lily no,” came a hissed whisper from outside. He swiveled, just in time to see shutters swing open, the dark head of a pretty young girl peeking inside.

“He’ll be back soon, come on,” the girl said. “Help me up!” She laughed, grabbed  the sill and pulled herself inside with help from behind, necklace dangling, hair falling into her face. She righted herself and turned, reaching out to assist her companion.

“We have pies in the castle,” the other girl insisted climbing inside as well, bright blonde curls trailing down her back. Killian’s heart gave a stutter against his ribs.

“Emma,” he whispered, though the girls gave no notice of the sound. A thin wisp of inky black twined around her form, haunting her, even then.