Archive of Our Own

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Thoughtful had always been taught that hybrids were a disgrace — an unnatural abnormality. And yet, the only hybrid he had ever met was the most wonderful, beautiful dragon in the entire continent — no, the world. Her name was Whiteout, and … she was extraordinary .

She was the only dragon that saw him — actually saw him. To anyone else, Thoughtful was just a glassblowing NightWing obsessed with scrolls and too compassionate to outsiders like Whiteout. Now that his tribe had declared war on hers, Thoughtful had never believed they’d have a future together. But now, with Whiteout by his side, and their little dragonet hatching from the egg in front of them, things couldn’t feel any more perfect.

“Twilight.” Whiteout whispered, her icy black scales shimmering like shattered glass as she held her dragonet up to the sun. “Your life holds much color, like a glittering rainbow. I love you so much.”

Thoughtful smiled. Everything was just … perfect.

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The snow began to fall heavier, the white flakes glistening in the morning dew. Hanukkah was always Wanda’s favorite time of year, but this one seemed even more special. Maybe it was because it was the first white winter in years, or maybe it was because peace had finally come to the world. Or perhaps it was because she wasn’t going to be alone this year.

Yes, Wanda would not be alone.

“Here, one extra-warm hot chocolate with extra marshmallows, extra cream and extra sugar.” Ava smiled as she set down two mugs on the coffee table. The window opposite their couch glittered with frost, but the view beyond it would always bring joy to Wanda’s heart.

A flowery meadow, peppered with yellows and pinks and blues, and blanketed with a layer of snow, the ghosts of spring — dancing hares and fluttering butterflies — echoing around it. A patio lay in the center, a swinging bench and a pile of frosty cushions ordered around the decorative stones.

Wanda turned, staring into Ava’s pale green eyes, and how they shone like a moon over a forest. Ava didn’t seem to notice, but as the Ghost watched the flowers stir gently in the breeze, Wanda couldn’t be more in love with her.

“Hold on, how many ‘extra’s can you possibly fit in one sentence?”

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“Uh … no, they’re more blue. I wish they were that color, honestly.” Rumi laughed as Zoey and Mira, who were sitting cross-legged on the floor opposite her, hurriedly mixed more baby blue paint into the pot, resulting in a shade closer to lavender.

The girls were trying to apply demon patterns — like Rumi’s — onto their arms with a cheap face paint they’d found in a nearby store; now frantically attempting to mix the different colors into the exact match of Rumi’s patterns, Zoey and Mira were dying with laughter. 

“It can not be this hard!” Zoey giggled, tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear, leaning back from the paint pot.

“Yeah, the color of these little patterns —” Mira pulled Rumi’s sleeve back further to emphasize her point — “must be the rarest in the world if baby blue and purple won’t make it. They’re literally the best colors.”

Rumi just smiled.

Her girls were the best. Nothing would change that.

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The hybrid prince had Umber head-over-heels.

Ever since Mulberry saved the MudWing and his sister from the deadly clutches of the kraken earlier that week, Umber found that he could not stop thinking about him. Would Mulberry like this? Would Mulberry do that? Would Mulberry try this? Would Mulberry want me doing that?

The hybrid’s scales shone like a forest in fall, his eyes lit up like a renewed ember, and his wings curled into soft points like leaves. His heart was solid gold and his disposition eternally compassionate.

Umber was scared that he was falling in love with him.

The sunrises seemed brighter when Mulberry was with him, and the forests seemed more vibrant. All his worries flew away when Mulberry was with him — when Mulberry was with him, everything felt amazing.

Jade Mountain Academy paled in comparison to the Court of Refuge. Curved roofs arched over Umber’s wings like protective guardians, and splashes of greenery playfully reached for his tail.

And he saw all this … because Mulberry had shown him.

He felt all this because Mulberry had helped him.

He … loved all of this because Mulberry was with him.

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Varang shot a gaze of daggers at the lush forests of Pandora from atop her four-winged ska’avum. The bright green foliage only served as a reminder of her loss, of how her home had been scorched by that which she had turned into her weapon, how her hatred of the Forest People had boiled down to hunting those who angered her, including the most dangerous members of the Omatikaya clan — the infamous Toruk Makto, and Varang’s own betrayer.

The intervening resistance had nearly forced her own Mangkwan from their most recent raid, and it was only thanks to Varang’s quick thinking that they were able to finish the organised attack.

Varang’s ska’avum turned jarringly in the air, the wind darting past the ten vanes of the creature’s wings. Varang growled as she spotted three blue ikran gliding through the blinding curl of the setting sun. Perhaps her wrath could be enacted sooner than expected.

With a sharp burst of speed, Varang and her ska’avum, with a horde of Mangkwan raiders trailing behind, rained a hail of death upon the na’vi of the forest, spilling innocent blood and taking their severed kuru … as a sick form of trophy.

Perhaps she would rip out their hearts as well. Neytiri had done the same to Varang once — only she had used words instead of blades, promises instead of violence.

Neytiri had once sworn that they were fighting for the same future — then she had turned, stood with the forest, and watched as Varang’s home was reduced to ash.

If this was the way of the Omatikaya, then Varang would answer them in the way that she knew … 

Death.

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There was more to life than stupid boys. 

That was what Max had taught Eleven, and what she still believed to this day. There were wonderful things, beautiful things, outside. There were strange things and there were stranger things.

So when Max and Eleven went to Starcourt Mall one sunny evening, stupid boys didn't even cross their minds.

Ice cream stall, fashion store, picture booth. Repeat.

That was their holy doctrine, a set of orders that they had to follow at all costs. Since Max had helped Eleven in finding her own style of fashion all those years ago, it felt even more special going back there with her. 

It was Valentine's Day that week, and Eleven thought she'd put some more thought in than usual, since Max was turning twenty this year. 

Eleven, wearing a black-and-yellow blouse, eventually found a bracelet made with a black metal, and she bought two charms to go with it: a silver skateboard and a gold walkman. She placed the bracelet into a fabric pouch before meeting with Max at the picture booth. 

With a shy smile, Eleven presented the bracelet to her. Max grinned back, slipping the jewelry onto her wrist instantly. She hugged the other girl tightly, whispers of thanks and love falling from her lips.

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Dart glanced around. 

There was nobody in the weird blue tunnel thing anymore.

Dart shook himself. Dart’s human would be back soon, Dart didn’t need to worry. Maybe Dart’s human would bring Dart more of the delicious yummy thing. Dart loved his human. Dart’s human was nicest one ever. (Even though Dart’s human once locked Dart in underground bunker thing, Dart still loved his human.)

Dart’s human had given Dart more delicious thing before he left. Halfway through eating delicious thing, Dart felt urge to run down tunnel thing. Maybe it was big scary spider cloud monster thing trying to control Dart again. Dart didn’t like big scary spider cloud monster thing.

Urge came again, hard to ignore. Dart still ignored though.

Few minutes later, Dart was just finishing delicious yummy thing. Dart hoped Dart’s human would be back soon. Dart missed his human already. 

And then pain happened.

As if Dart was being stabbed everywhere, same time. He felt the big scary spider cloud monster thing in his mind, his body, everywhere. Pain everywhere. Dart fell. Dart tried to reach for delicious yummy thing but too far. Maybe if Dart reached the delicious yummy thing his human would come back to save him from pain.

Pain.

Much pain.

Everywhere.

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“So, Wends—”

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

“Jeez, okay. Anyway, uh … Wednesday, I found this awesome thing on Pinterest. Here, it says ‘Prep and Goth pair’—”

“I can read, furbrain.”

“Sorry, sorry. ‘Prep and Goth pair matching profile pictures.’ See, I’m Prep, and you’re Goth! It’s perfect! And there’s even a little coffin on your one!!”

“...I don’t have a mobile device.”

“Ohh, right. See, that’s where I come in! We can get you a Pinterest account! Or Insta, Snap, or even Facebook if that’s more your vibe — no, wait, you’re definitely Twitter — what am I saying?! You’re an email address, defo.”

“Why are you assigning virtual sites to me? The only part about this I want to be associated with is your coffin. Or mine. Whichever comes first — which, at this rate, will almost certainly be yours.”

“What? Wends—”

“No.”

“—I’m trying to be a nice girlfriend here, alright? So just let me get you an email address, or G-Mail. How about ‘[email protected]’? Or perhaps, with your middle name, ‘[email protected]’? Or—”

“‘[email protected]’ sounds better. In my opinion.”

“... Of course it does.”

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With a gut-wrenching scream, Barbara Holland threw herself away from the terrifying monster. It took her three agonising seconds to find the ladder underneath the layers of black vine, but as soon as she felt the smooth metal, she pulled herself up, rung by rung. Nearing the top, she suddenly slipped. Her shoe came loose, and as she struggled up the ladder, she heard the flower-faced monster approaching, its limbs squelching over the empty base of the pool. Barb glanced behind her, her heart skipping a beat. 

The maw of the beast opened wide, ready to consume her, but Barb kicked out, and her shoe flew off her leg, spinning into the monster’s jaws; disoriented, its bony form thudded against the opposite wall as Barb, screeching at the top of her lungs, flung herself over the railing, skidding to the concrete floor of the patio. She found her footing and, without looking back, sprinted away from the pool. Meters of the gloomy, dark yard sped beneath her, white flakes swirling through the air — more black vines choked the ground like snakes throttling their victims. 

Once Barb was behind the treeline, she risked a look. The beast was emerging from the pool, its faceless head scanning the yard. Barb’s now-mangled shoe fell from its jaws. 

The monster’s gaze flitted over her, and she ducked. Yet, without eyes, how could it see her? Barb waited a minute, clutching the bush she hid behind. When she poked her head over the matted leaves once more, the creature had disappeared.

A crunch of leaves echoed behind her, and, her heart in her throat, Barb turned sharply, expecting a drooling flower of teeth waiting to gnash her to bloody pieces in a matter of seconds when —

A boy was standing in front of her, his red-and-yellow jacket dashed with a sort of mucus. His face was relieved, and he smiled at her, though a layer of fear hid behind his eyes. “Come on, this way.”

Barb breathed in shakily.

She had survived.

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“What do you think about Whiteout?” Jewel-eyes asked quietly, her two-toned lavender scales glittering in the twilight. Personally, the young NightWing thought that Whiteout was a perfectly … perfect dragonet, but many other students disagreed, and she hoped that her friends Vision and Morrowwatcher would side with her over the others. “The hybrid.” She added, for clarification.

“I think she’s nice!” Vision exclaimed, smiling a little too broadly, gesturing widely from the boulder above Jewel. The three NightWings had met in their usual spot, in a secluded courtyard, surrounded by flowers, by the coast of the Talon Peninsula. “I mean, she talks a little funny, but she’s nice!”

“Wasn’t she talking to us earlier?” Morrowwatcher asked through a mouthful of cheese. Jewel swore the dragonet ate too much of the stuff. “She said that you were yellow on the inside. Which I don’t get, because your scales are green.”

“Well, maybe it’s because you’re really energetic! Yellow’s a happy color, right? And you’re always happy.” Jewel-eyes smiled. Maybe the three of them should get to know Whiteout a bit better. She seemed like a lovely dragonet. Of course, Jewel certainly thought that.

Hybrid or not.

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Of course it was chasing her.

Why would it chase anyone else?

Kiri vaulted over a fallen tree as the ska’avum’s wingbeats grew louder behind her. Viperwolves and hexapedes darted out of her path — or the nightwraith’s — as she raced for the river. If she could get under the water, the ska’avum wouldn’t be able to reach her … right?

Her tsaheylu whipped around as she glanced back. The ska’avum had swept above the treeline, banking left to attack her from a different angle. Why had the creature chosen to go after her instead of the herd of young sturmbeest just meters downstream?

She lunged for the waves as the nightwraith swooped down, its dagger-like claws curling around her body. Kiri was thrown to the opposite bank, skidding to a stop by the rocks, as the ska’avum landed violently beside her, its many eyes swivelling to pierce her own. Its bone-white wings covered meters of the grassy ground, the hollow casque mounted on its head slicing through the air. It crept forward, teeth glistening in the fading light.

Kiri leapt to her feet, swinging her tsaheylu to wrap with the nightwraith’s as she spun onto the creature’s back. Taken by surprise, the ska’avum launched into the sky. Perhaps this was not the best plan.

But, then again, it was this or die, so … 

Kiri had been forced to bond with the rarest apex predator on Pandora.

She hadn’t chosen to.

And now she was going to be stuck with it for the rest of its life.

Hooray.

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The girl ducked as another spray of rubble crashed around her. Helicopters’ spotlights lit up her path like shining beacons, but that didn’t quell the girl’s fear, for far above the bridge loomed the winding, dark, serpentine form of Titanus Tiamat, her four pink petal-like appendages flaring wildly. The girl threw herself forwards, rolling behind the wreckage of a truck as the monster sprayed a sickly green acid over the remnants of the columns, the liquid’s touch corroding metal and stone.

Tiamat wound her body around the bridge, causing yet another violent shake to rock the structure. More pieces of wrought iron collapsed on themselves, blocking the road. The girl sprinted forward, desperate to escape the chaos, as fires lay blazing around her. 

All other people had evacuated the shaking bridge a while ago, and now it was just the girl and the Titan left, and Tiamat didn’t seem to be happy about it. As the girl darted from one form of shelter to the next, Tiamat tried to sabotage her efforts, but the helicopters circling the bridge distracted the Titan long enough for the girl to leap into the swirling waves beneath it.

She sure hoped that Tiamat wouldn’t be able to find her in the bubbling depths.

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“Turtle?” Peril asked, peering round the cave wall like a nervous periscope. Rain turned to vapor as it dripped onto her scales, only adding to the list of reasons she wanted to talk to Turtle this evening. She was going to ask him something huge. Something that might turn part of his soul evil. Something that would make her life better, but his worse.

Peril was going to ask him to enchant a stone for her.

Using soul-destroying animus magic.

“Yes?” Turtle padded over to her from the lake, droplets of water sliding from his patterned green wings. He looked so happy to see her, even though they had been talking only minutes before.

“Could you enchant this stone?” Peril asked hesitantly, hurriedly explaining before Turtle could reject her plea. “I just really want to be able to control my firescales so if you could enchant this stone so that, I don’t know, say something like, ‘I enchant this stone to give Peril the ability to turn off her firescales whenever she wants to’, or you don’t have to, if you don’t want to and I’m sure that you won’t want to and I am okay with that it’s just I’d really like it if you enchant this stone so that my firescales don’t hurt everybody and I’m sorry about your soul and everything and you obviously don’t have to do this I just—”

“I enchant this stone to give Peril the ability to control her firescales.” Turtle interrupted, his calm voice layered with kindness. He handed the stone back to her, which she hadn’t even realised he’d taken, before smiling. “I’d do anything for you, Peril.”

And Peril had never felt happier. 

She instantly stepped into the rain and watched as the downpour swapped between trickling down her scales and evaporating into the air. It felt so weird to feel anything that wasn’t rock against her body, and when she hugged Turtle, it felt like the best thing of all.

She even twined her tail with his.

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“She’s beautiful!” Sunny screamed, leaping towards them. “She’s just like me — Sand and Night!” The dragonet that was toddling between Moon and Qibli squealed as her father swept her up. “What’s her name? Does she have a name yet?” Sunny asked, excited, as Moon laughed.

“Not yet.” The NightWing glanced at her daughter with love. “We were hoping you might help us.” The young dragonet looked very similar to her mother, but for a trickle of gold scales running down her sides, and winding strokes of the shining color that lead to a barb at the end of her tail. Silver teardrop scales were flecked behind the dragonet’s eyes. “As you can see, she has NightWing powers. We aren’t entirely sure what they are yet, but we can be fairly certain it’s not mind reading. I think we’d have noticed that by now.”

“You should call her Pickles! Or Cactus! Or maybe something like … Twilight! Or Dawn! Dusk? Ooh, name her Sunbeam —”

“I like Dawn.” Qibli said, resting his snout against the dragonet’s.

Moon smiled, contemplating the idea. “What about Dawnseeker?”

Sunny grinned. “It sounds … perfect.”

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“We can’t go in there.” Will whispered, grabbing Barb’s arm. The two of them had managed to survive in the alternate, twisted version of Hawkins for three days now, and they hadn’t found anything. Anything that might save them. Anything that might help them escape. Anything except suffocating darkness and swirling white particles that tried to choke them.

The only positive of their journey so far was that they hadn’t run into the faceless monster again.

“Why not?” Barb asked nervously. She had been about to venture into a field of withered black crops. Endless scenarios echoed in her mind: hordes of flower-jawed beasts with claws like daggers and teeth like knives emerging from the ground, with an insatiable hunger for human flesh — which included herself and Will and all her family and Nancy and —

“That’s where the shadow monster lives.” Will visibly paled in the half-light, his grip on Barb’s arm tightening.

“What shadow monster?” Barb asked exasperatedly. Surely this would have been a useful thing to mention when they were exploring the hellhole they found themselves in for the past few days, no?

Will raised his arm shakily, fear dancing across his face like a circus of faceless monsters. “That … one …”

Barb turned slowly as streaks of red lightning flashed across the murky sky, lighting up the silhouette of a giant, spider-shaped cloud of dark particles. Its thin body stretched wide across more than three fields, its head turning ominously towards them.

A low growl spread across the town.

“Run.” Will whispered.

And boy, did Barb run.

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Perhaps it had not been the best idea to go to the ice rink.

Considering that she and Peter were the only ones at the place, Wanda Maximoff was feeling absurd levels of embarrassment. She might be one of the most powerful superhumans on Earth, but that certainly didn’t stop her from slipping on ice.

“It can’t be that hard!” Peter laughed. “Just … uh … slide your feet out — like this!” He glided away over the rink, leaving Wanda on her frosty bottom with a sour glare. “I can see that this isn’t your strong suit,” Peter looped around, offering his hand out to her.

In response, she got to her feet on her own, refusing to return his smile. “I don’t need help.” With a burst of red light, she sent him stumbling away, falling onto his back. “See how that feels, huh? Like it? Oh, hang on …” She brought her hands to her heart, a mocking tone overlapping her usual voice “It can’t be that hard! All you need to do is slide your feet out!” 

Peter chuckled, pulling Wanda down onto the rink next to him, kissing her cheek. “Maybe we can just stay like this, if you’re so—” he flashed a toothy grin — “incompetent.”

Wanda raised an eyebrow. “Uh … maybe not. My ass is getting cold.”

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I can’t believe that people like that, Rumi thought as the soap opera credits rolled. She never thought that she’d be a person who liked soap operas, or TV dramas in general, and she was right. Rumi muted the television and went to her bedroom, stroking Derpy the tiger as she passed him. About to flop onto her bed, she stopped suddenly as a voice echoed through the corridor. 

She groaned. “I swear I turned it off.” Rumi muttered as she made her way back to the screen, but the voice came again, this time from under the couch. What on earth was somebody doing under her couch? Why was somebody even in her lounge?

Rumi dug out her saingeom, which was glowing blue, and brighter by the second. “What the …” The glow became blinding, and Rumi dropped the sword, turning away as a shape began to form from the light.

It took her a few seconds to recognize the person that stood before her, and when she did, she felt sick.

It was somebody who was meant to be dead right now.

It was somebody who had sacrificed themselves to save Rumi.

It was … 

Jinu.

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“But … we’re not the same tribe.” Thorn stuttered as Stonemover took her hands in his. “We wouldn’t be accepted — our dragonet wouldn’t be accepted — Stonemover, I … I —”

“I don’t care what other people think.” Stonemover said with so much certainty that Thorn was compelled to run away with him there and then. “I just want to be with you. I want to have a family, dragonets, and … I love you, Thorn. I can’t stay with my tribe — I’m running away, and I'd like you to come with me.”

Thorn gazed into the NightWing’s eyes, the eyes that glittered with faraway stars and unspoken dreams. “I love you too, Stonemover. I will run away with you. As far as you want to go, I will be with you. All the way.”

He smiled — a broad, welcoming smile that bottled all of Thorn’s emotions — joy, fear, anticipation, excitement, love — into one gesture. “Then let’s go.”

So with her talons in his, Stonemover dashed into the half-light, the silhouette of Jade Mountain rising from the horizon as if reaching for the moons, the moons that cast a glow over the forbidden love of two dragons that were darting over the golden dunes of the Pyrrhian desert.

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Viper hated everyone, generally, and everyone hated Viper.

Generally.

But there were definitely a few exceptions to this rule — Fatespeaker, for one, of which she and Viper fell into the classic “Enemies to Friends” trope, and her parents, for two. Her mother, Hyrax, was the fiercest, most protective dragon that Viper knew, and she loved her for it. Her father, a timid, booktroverted hybrid (though his SkyWing traits were heavily recessive compared to his SandWing side) was the perfect comparison to his partner’s fire. And they both loved Viper more than she could ever realise.

And then there was Icicle.

Perfect, wonderful, ferocious Icicle.

Viper had met the IceWing at Jade Mountain Academy, a school for dragons and dragonets, big or small, which she had only attended due to her father’s insistence. Viper had loved Icicle almost immediately — both dragonets gave off a cold, unfriendly aura, but once they had broken through the other’s armor, they both realised that … 

That they were made for each other.

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Caitlyn brushed her midnight blue hair out of her eyes and sighed. She looked at the cookbook in front of her, and then to her girlfriend in turn. And then, Caitlyn looked at the absolute mess on her kitchen counter, which was supposed to have been a simple salad dish. To her credit, Vi at least appeared slightly guilt-ridden, but as it was, they still had no dinner, and their kitchen was still in chaos. 

“I was gone for — what?” Caitlyn said, exasperated. “Ten minutes?”

Vi came up to her and placed her hands on Caitlin's waist. “It’s fine Cupcake, we can remake it. I think we still have enough ingredients.”

Cait blushed at the touch, and picked up a cloth lying forlornly over the rack. She threw it to Vi, who caught it with expert reflexes. "You clean the countertop, and I'll try and salvage the leaves and dressing.” 

It was supposed to be a relaxing cooking thing for them both, their therapist had suggested domesticity as a remedy for trauma, but Cait didn't really know why she paid that infernal woman anyway, Vi had been quite vocal about her thoughts on the matter, and Caitlyn had agreed. 

But anyhow, she digressed. The kitchen wouldn’t clean itself. 

•❃°•°❀°•°❃•

With a last touch of seasoning, Cait brought the dish to their table, which was decorated with a pristine tablecloth her mother would’ve been proud of. She leant over the table to place it, and then sat down opposite Vi, entwining their fingers. “I guess we make a good team,” she quipped.

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“Maybe you should try to be less … mean to people?” Qibli asked quietly, Peril and Turtle nodding subtly beside him. Due to Winter’s cold exterior, barely anyone wanted to be anywhere near the IceWing and his friends, and it didn’t help that Winter was insecure enough as it was.

“What?” Winter scowled, shifting away from Qibli and the others. “I’m not mean.” The dragonets around him raised an eyebrow.

“Uh … yeah, you are.” Peril whispered. “You’re grumpy, too.” Winter huffed and launched into the sky. “Just proving my point there.” After a glare from Turtle, she chased after him.

“Ugh.” Qibli flopped onto the rainforest floor. He loved his boyfriend, deep down, but the IceWing could be a handful sometimes.

Chapter Text

Hermione entered the potions classroom, her stomach in knots. She had returned to Hogwarts for an eighth year, something she had played a part in organising, so the student whose education had been disrupted by the war could catch up on the learning they had missed out on. Usually, Hermione would be enthused at the prospect of more schoolwork, but Harry and Ron wouldn’t be there. She had asked, and was met with a less than eloquent, “More school? Hell no,” from Ron and what she believed to be a charmed automated response from Harry. They were both blatant disagreements though. 

So now, as she sat at an empty cauldron, getting out her equipment, she eyed up the rest of the class, which was sorrowfully empty — it consisted solely of Hannah Abott, Padma Patil, Ernie Macmillian and … herself. She could’ve sworn there was supposed to be one more, but — her thoughts trailed off as the professor at the front of the room tapped their wand against a cauldron sharply.

“Settle down, class, settle.” Hermione glanced around. Nobody was even talking. She doubted there were even enough people in the room to form a conversation, let alone one that needed ‘settling’.

“Today we’re going to be revising the three Principle Laws involved in Advanced Potioneering. Miss, can you give me one of them?” The professor was one that Hermione had never met before — Ministry volunteers had been brought in for her new scheme. 

Hannah smiled brightly from the rather empty front row. “Yes, of course, Professor Zephyr!” Aha! A surname, at least, Hermione thought as Hannah continued: “The first Principle Law of Advanced Herbology is —”

A thud echoed across the predominantly empty classroom, and the clatter of a wiggenweld bottle reverberated across the room. All heads in the seats — which totalled to about four — swivelled to face the last student in the Eighth Year, and the perpetrator of one potion spillage:

Draco Malfoy.