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#and a big bird with a broken wing
ky-landfill · 1 year
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leverage-ot3 · 11 days
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worm-wood-words · 4 months
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No thoughts only characters with wings
#specifically thinking about kahns wings (since one of his parents had them it makes sense he'd develop them though they look#different from most being a lot more bat like than bird like) anyway thinking about how he's first seen with them described as#'not big enough to be useful but there might still be time' (note Arvel's race basically all have wings but only a fraction of them#develop wings big enough to actually fly with and they're kind of an upper class of an upper class because of that even though#it's really just genetic happenstance and even if a person's whole family has usable wings you randomly might not)#anyway the next time he's seen they're broken and twisted to a point where Len thinks it might be best to just cut them off (obviously#he doesn't do that i don't even think he could) and by the end he can actually use them. in ranged combat at that#i dunno i just kind of like them externally showing character progression. also thinking of all the little moments that#he'll try to hide behind them out of fear or embarrassment and how Len basically thinks that's the most adorable thing anyone#has ever done (and yeah yeah whatever i also think that's a cute trope) then again Kahn could do war crimes#and Len would probably still love him#maggot original#and yeah yeah whatever it's cringe or whatever. granted he's not the only character with this design though it is far from#the norm for social reasons (that reason being that most people with his parentage are either#aborted. killed as infants or just abandoned to die. either due to the...yikes ways they're conceived or the parents just#not wanting a 'freak' for a child. yeah fun stuff)
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clockwayswrites · 3 months
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Not So Imaginary
Parts 1-3 Parts 4-6 (posted part 6 last night in case you missed it) cw: medical care, references to Ethiopia, references to experimentation
It said a lot about the way that things had been going for Jason lately that even half conscious he recognized the low machine hum and carefully filtered air of a Watchtower Medical room. The familiarity of the space helped gloss over any panic about his missing memories of how he ended up back in medical again as awareness came back to body. Leg and an arm still broken, ribs still cracked, just about everything else sprained; he couldn’t have been out that long. He flexed his good (better) fingers around the hand that held his.
“B?”
His mouth tasted stale in a way that made his face scrunch up in a grimace.
“Just me, ‘wing. B is doing research, but he was here till about an hour ago,” Dick said.
Jason gave a long hum instead of trying to talk again, at least not until Dick had let him have some water. The straw was pulled away a lot sooner than he was happy about, but at least some of the stale taste was gone.
“What happened?”
“According to Raven, you’re, um, no so imaginary friend absorbed some of your life force.” Dick’s hand tightened almost painfully around Jason’s fingers for a moment. “You’ve been out for about a day and a half now.”
“Mmm… must have needed it then. Must’a been hurt,” Jason mumbled around a wide yawn.
“Jay.”
“Names, Dickwing,” Jason said just to be an ass. “’Sides, little sleep never hurt.”
“A little— you were basically in a coma!”
Jason yawned again and finally peeled open an eyelid. “’M fine. How’d they even do it?”
Dick tilted his head. “What?”
“The whole…” Jason gave a little wave of his and Dick’s hands. “Vampire schtick.”
“They didn’t drink your blood!” Dick actually looked a little horrified at the thought.
“Just my life force, yeah, sure, but how?”
Dick huffed and leaned back in his chair. “Raven says you have a soul bond or something with this— with your friend. It’s how you knew they were in danger.”
“Me too.”
“What?”
“How they knew I was in danger too. I’m okay, big bird, just… little worn out. I’ll be okay. They saved me and I saved them, ‘s what we do,” Jason said. He felt his words were a little weakened by the need to close his eyes again, but he was really tired. “Don’t be mad at them. They’re why ‘m alive. Jus… jus’ needed my help to be okay too.”
“Yeah, okay little wing, you have a point.” Fingers carded carefully through Jason’s hair and he gave a pleased hum. “You just get some more rest. I’ll let the B man know you woke up. It’s all going to be okay.”
Of course it was, they had found his friend.
He’d just get a little more rest and then he’d go see them.
Just a bit more.
---
AN: Apparently once I started writing my brain wanted to do more of this! This was supposed to just be a little poll fill, you know. Now it's over 5k. And so it goes! But Jason and Danny are closer to meeting properly!
Stay delightful, darlings!
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Return to sender (dc x dp)
There was a box set right in front of his door. That was already pretty unusual, since Danny had just moved in, and and gotten done with boxes and he knew he hadn't had anything delivered here.
"Let's get you inside," Danny muttered as he got his key out of his pocket.
Unlocking the door, he picked it up and made his way in. He set the box down on the small kitchen table before grabbing a knife from the cabinet. He sat down and set to cutting the tape along the opening.
Peeling back the flaps, he took a peek at the contents only to be faced with a mound of yellow and black sparkly tissue paper, with a letter on top.
"What do we have here?" he muttered to himself, as he took the envelope out of the box.
Ripping it open, he got a small greeting card out. It had a yellow smiley face on it with the word "Smile!" printed above it. He flipped it open, and his eyes fixed on the printed text that said "Because today is your day!" Underneath it, written in chicken-scratch was written the following: "Looks like the bat has a new signal. At least mommy and daddy won't know how fast you replaced them!" it was signed with a simple J and yet another smiley face.
Danny frowned. "Weird."
Then, he peeled back the paper to find a taxidermied yellow-and-black bird Danny couldn't recognize, with its wings broken.
"This is definitely not mine," Danny said as he looked at the bird. Hopefully the real owner of this wasn't going to be too disappointed it had been this damaged in transit.
Danny took up the box to look at the delivery address, only to find that while this was for his apartment, the name of the receiver was marked as "Duke Marlon Thomas". It took one quick google search to find a phone number. Danny thanked whoever the sender was for including a middle name as it narrowed the search greatly. Dialling the number, Danny got up to get himself a glass of water. As he got the glass out, the line connected.
"Hello?" he heard a surprisingly young voice say. Well, assuming apparently made an ass of Danny. Maybe taxidermy really did appeal to all ages.
"Hi, my name's Danny. I think I got your package by accident."
"My package?" The guy on the other side asked, perplexdely.
"Yeah, a big box with a bird in it?" Danny answered. "Listen, man I'm sorry, I think the wings broke during transit, I swear it was already like that when I opened it-"
"What bird?" Now the guy sounded even more confused.
Well now, Danny was starting to get confused. "A taxidermied black-and-yellow bird?" Danny sounded out, then he grabbed the note and let his eyes go over it again. "There was a note too, I opened it, sorry about that." Danny winced, before trying for a joke to hopefully get the guy to soften up on him. "Whoever that J- friend is, he's got a weird sense of humour."
"J- friend?" the voice on the other side of the phone said. Guess, the joke hadn't gone over well, because his voice had gone tense.
"Yeah," Danny answered withholding a sigh, damn his curiosity. Opening other people' letters was not only a gross invasion of privacy but also a federal crime. Hopefully the guy wouldn't stay mad too long. "It was signed with the letter J and a smiley face."
"Whoever you are," said the guy, and the urgency in his voice had Danny straightening up. "You need to get out of here right now."
"What-?"
Just then, the door to Danny's apartment was blown open.
"I hope you're ready, birdie," a voice outside sounded, before a spindly man in a purple suit, green hair and sickly-looking skin walked in.
"Because you and me are going to have so much fun."
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linked-maze · 12 days
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.:It's about Time:. part 1
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A story behind how Navi and Time found each other! enjoy!
It was a cold hazy morning in the forest, after a whole night of rain. The small beam of light from the morning sun was shining through the leaves, warming up the air that was fresh and with an earthy smell. A tiny blue fairy emerged from a hole in a great redwood tree. Butt in the air, she yawned and stretched her whole fuzzy body, shaking the sleepiness out of her and flapping her wings awake. She raised her snout to sniff the air and letting out a sigh of relief. After months of winter, spring was finally settling in, and Navi couldn’t be happier about that. The forest was alive with all her favorite snacks, spiders, grasshoppers, and more! So, no time to spare! She set out to search the environment for some breakfast.
Navi flew through the cold air, the sun hitting her from above. The floor of the deep forest was filled with big old stones with beautiful carvings all over the place with moss and ferns covering the ground completely. A river close by, water flowing steadily. Navi took a glance for any danger in the area, but all seemed fine. She decided to start her hunt here. Flying down to land on some of the wet stones, almost slipping but caught her balance. She skipped along from stone to stone, stopping a bit to sip some water from a nearby plant that was dripping from the rain. Then, in the distance before her, she saw a delicious grasshopper! Navi ducked down quickly, and without making a sound she sneaked up to the prey behind the ferns, slowly approaching, ready to pounce any second now. However, suddenly a disturbance from the distance echoed throughout the deep forest. The grasshopper hopped away in fright. Navi attempted to go for the kill, but it was too late. It got away. “Tch…” Navi sighed in disappointment. She flew up to one of the tree branches high above, away from any danger. What in the world was that sound? Monsters did live in these woods, maybe it was one of those awful wolfos striding around the area, looking for their own prey. Or maybe it was one of those atrocious stalfos beating up a tree somewhere for fun. Suddenly the sound was back! It sounded like thunder rumbling! This was no wolfos or stalfos. This was something huge and dangerous. Navis curiosity got the best of her, and she set out to solve this. Navi got closer and closer to the mysterious rumbling. She flies above an ancient, overgrown temple ruin. Walls, Pillars, and statues broken down over time, greenery taken over the place completely. She has been here many times for the amazing apple trees that grow here. It has always been such a peaceful place. But not today, birds flying away in flocks, frightened by the ruckus. It sounded like a huge fight was going on!
Navi quietly landed on one of the big ancient statues, hiding behind it to get a peek in on what was going on, but nothing could have prepared her for what was making all that sound. It was a Goron! Out in the middle of the forest throwing around huge rocks, destroying them into small pieces. The Goron looked angry yet saddened, mostly getting his frustrations out. What was a Goron doing so far from home? Was he lost? Did he lose something? Whatever it was, he was making a commotion. Navi rolled her eyes. She had no time for this. She was about to set off again, but something stopped her. She took a glance at the Goron. Something about him seemed familiar but she couldn’t put her paw on what it was… it was like she had seen those eyes before, the right eye barring a huge scar across it. Navis memories sparked for a moment, the eyes resembling her dear old friend, but there was no way this was Link, this was a Goron. Navi felt a little bad stalking this poor Goron. So, she decided to let him be. He clearly didn’t want to be disturbed. Why else would he do his outburst deep in the forest far from home. Besides, Navi still needed some breakfast. She set off as quietly as she came. Back home, Navi was digging for worms in some dirt right underneath the redwood tree. It was no grasshopper and Navi loved the hunt of it all, but it was tasty, nonetheless. continued her day with small tasks and gathering fresh leaves for her nest. Walking down to a little puddle nearby to wash her paws clean after an evening of work, she couldn’t stop thinking about the Goron. And Link… it has been years now, but she still missed him deeply. The day she left him after completing the Dekus trees dying request, she was supposed to move on with her life. Finally reuniting with her great fairy and all her sisters in the forest. Living life with all her sisters was nice but she felt empty inside every single night, wondering what Link was up to and if he was okay… so one day she decided to go look for him! The hero she was meant to be with! But… he was nowhere to be seen. No one in Hyrule knew where he was. But that didn’t stop her! She searched for days, weeks, months! But with no luck… It was like he was gone… dead. Navis hope grew thin over the years, and she settled down in the deep forest, Abandoning her quest. But no matter what she did, she could never let him go in her heart.  The day went by, and the sun started to set at around dinner time. Navi laying at the opening of her redwood tree hole, still in thought, and was not feeling like hunting. She felt restless and couldn’t focus. So, she decided to go to sleep early this time. Letting her mind rest. to be continued~
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charnelhouse · 1 year
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Thoughts on “you couldn’t care less” “oh, I could” and “once I start I can’t stop” (especially for a big guy like ghost) together or separate both wreck me
A/N: Ghost x F!Reader (Red Fox). Trauma. Mentions of torture.
She throws it at him, spits it like a feral cat. “You couldn’t care less, Simon.”
He gapes at her, blood encrusted in the folds of his suit. Corpses littering the floor. “I couldn’t care less?” he echoes, tone stained with incredulity.
As if the evidence of his care isn’t at their feet.
She turns away from him, staggers slightly to the side before righting herself. She’s wounded and she won’t let him touch her. A pretty bird with a broken wing. His fury rages anew. It builds like a brushfire, and he wants another neck to twist. They had hurt her, and they had paid the price.
“What has two legs and bleeds?” she rasped, raising finger guns and pretending to shoot. She was slumped against the cement wall, crimson spit pooling to the floor.
“Red,” he growled, stepping forward with the keys to her cell door. The relief in his voice was muddied by his fear. Irritation was always his backup. “Not the time.”
“It’s me,” she murmured, exhausted and fragile and half out of her mind. “I think they hit a lung.”
It’s whiplash. Her joking to her shutting him out? She’s galloping toward hysterics, her fingers trembling as they loosely grasp the handle of the gun he had shoved into her hand. Fox had been ambushed and taken as a hostage. It was Ghost who had run after her, not caring that Price had firmly told him no - you're compromised in this particular situation.
“I just...” Ghost begins before trailing off.
He just what? Murdered a whole room of people that he was supposed to keep alive, but they had attacked Red, and he wasn’t capable of playing nice. Not when it came to her. “They tortured you,” he offers lamely. It’s the truth. He knows all about torture. It’s the mental shit that’s the worst, being used and shoved to the bottom of the barrel until there’s no light left.
“You jeopardized the mission,” she argues as she kicks one of the guards’ heads to the side. It’s limp, a water balloon filled with clay. She stumbles again and Ghost shoots forward, arm winding around her waist to hold her steady. “They’re all gonna blame me.” She places her palm on his tac vest, spreads her fingers. “I got caught. You killed them all. Fuck." She sounds resigned and bitter.
“I did,” he replies flatly. “My decision.”
Her lip trembles, her teeth clicking in her mouth as they start to chatter. A box of jumbled bones. She’s going cold and Ghost realizes that she’s in shock and perhaps that is why she’s making zero sense.
“You couldn’t care less because-because you shouldn’t care like this,” she tries to explain. “They’re gonna say you did it for me and I was weak and caught and forced your hand-”
“I did do it for you,” he replies simply, picking her up into his arms. Price is barking something into his earpiece and Ghost knows he’s going to get hell; he may even be put on leave for what he did. “They can say whatever they want.”
“No,” she protests, pushing away from him, but she’s so frail that it barely registers. A butterfly landing on his shoulder. She chokes on a sob and starts to cry and if that doesn’t kill Ghost, he’s not sure what will.
He bites his tongue, attempting to control himself from reacting. Her frustration, her tears, distress him and if she could see the expression behind his mask, she’d understand. Of course, I bloody did it for you.
However, she needs his kindness now. She needs to bash herself against him until she can no longer hold her weight. Douse her anger. Douse her resentment at herself because surely this is about her. She's mad at him for risking his own reputation to save her life.
"Simon," she sputters, and his name plops out wet. Helpless. Her breasts hitch, her heart thumping fast - too fast.
“Hey...hey...easy there, duchess,” he soothes, dropping his brow until it’s fastened against her own. “Breathe with me. We got Evac coming.”
“But...it's not...”
“No more of that,” he hums before inhaling and exhaling at a slow, even rhythm. Her ear is firmly planted on his chest, and she curls her finger around one of the straps of his tac vest. She clings to it. Her hairline is beaded in cool sweat. Blood in the air. He swallows thickly as he feels her attempt to follow his pace. “That’s a girl. Just like that. Breathe. You’re safe.”
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sillysaysnonsense · 1 year
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(Design is going under construction)
Ok so I was working on commissions and I got very distracted. The character I was drawing got me thinking and pondering. Scheming and planning and now I'm here.
So let me introduce you to... 🥁🥁🥁🥁
The angel bois!
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For the sake of the story, this au will be called Heaven's Fugitives. I'll explain why in a bit but I wanna talk about their designs first 👐
They are conjoined in this au, two halves of a whole. You see their weird neck? Yeah, they just kinda twist it around whenever the other wakes up so the other can go to sleep. I've been leaning on them being humongously tall. Like, tall enough that their wings could probably cast a shadow over an an entire city tall because y'all know I like big bois but maybe I should go for 8-9ft? Maybe they can grow if they really need to?? Idk.
Oakakejeddnsjaoen I'm really proud of their colors I cannot stop looking at them! Growing up I've always liked how the angels on my churches windows had different colored feathers on their wings. As cool as white angel wings are, my heart belongs to colors.❤️🧡💛💚💙💜 My nani had a statue that looked a lot like Sun does here so I was basing him heavily on that. Frshshr he looks so pretty✨
Okok time to explain them a bit.
Sun & Moon are guardian angels, having only been guarding one person ever; you.
Angels in this universe are bound by rules. If these rules are broken, then will form dark markings you see on the DCA.
Now, the boys didn't do anything morally evil or cruel but they did break a very big rule. They kept this crime of theirs secret for as long as they could hide the marking on their bodies, but of course, something so obvious can't stay hidden for long and they were arrested(in a sense.)
They managed to escape their prison. However, it didn't go down very peacefully and they had to fight their way through. They escaped very injured and tired but they managed to get to you. Or, well, your yard.
So y/n being y/n you took in the freaky-looking bird thing that fell from the sky and convinced yourself that it was just a weird animal as you tended to it's...quickly healing wounds...All you really needed to do was clean them and wrap the bigger gashes that were taking longer to heal.
When they wake up, and after you have a mental breakdown, they tell you the basics of their situation and who they were to you but they don't exactly tell you everything just as I am now. They keep a LOT of secrets from you 👀👀👀
I have many plans for y/n heuheuheu. The boys hide out with you and I can't decide if y/n lives in the city and was taking a vacation in the woods or if y/n should be living in a small scattered town. I'm leaning towards living in the town but logically it would make sense for the boys to hide in the city because angels are very cautious about being around humans and prefer to steer clear of large cities like that so they probably wouldn't go looking for our bois there. But how are you gonna hide these guys in a studio apartment fff.
In this au y/n's a cop. What kind? I have no idea but it fits for the plans I have for them 👀
That's all for now. It's gonna be 4 in the morning in a sec I need sleep
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indyanapolis898 · 3 months
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A Tale of Two Tombstones
bruce wayne x f!reader
Synopsis: Batman needs a break after endless nights of work. He decides to visit his parent's grave as Bruce Wayne, where he's able to open up to his parents and someone else.
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The roaring of his motorcycle halted as it pulled into its intended parking spot. The rider slid off the bike, falling heavily onto the dusty ground of the cave in which his headquarters resided. 
A few grunts escaped his lips as he lay idly in the dim lighting of the cavern. Batman moved his gloved hands to his face to remove his dirty cowl, bloodying his gloves in the process. His messy, damp hair covered his forehead; the sweat combined with the blood on his face and head. 
He took a few unsteady breaths, trying to gain his composure. He'd finished another late night of work at the cost of his physical health. His body armor would need serious work and repatching. He blinked a few times, shutting his eyes to sleep for a few minutes.
***
Bruce Wayne opened his eyes, shifting his body, which resulted in a painful shout.
"Hey, easy there," said a concerned Alfred, rushing to the operating table in the surgery room- located in the south wing of Wayne Manor. 
"Where- what-," Bruce breathily mumbled. 
"I found you in the cave after the computer alerted me of your presence. You took a heavy beating. I stitched up most of your wounds, but you've earned some rest, Master Bruce." 
"No. I-" Bruce cut himself off with ragged coughs. Alfred sat the bed up and raised an eyebrow with an I told you so, look. 
"Fine," Bruce finally accepted his fate and lay back on the pillow to rest more.
*** 
Bruce garnered a total of eighteen hours in and out of sleep, healing very slowly from the brutal fight he'd gotten into in a gang-filled subway station. They had tech and brute weapons that Batman hadn't seen before. They were strong enough to plaster him and his suit. The gang was still on the loose. It was plaguing Bruce's weary mind, but he knew he was in no state to get back into crimefighting. 
Sometimes, while laying in bed with his eyes open because his mind wouldn't stop running, Bruce wondered if his thoughts would ever quiet down. The only thing that could help was getting things off his chest. It was a temporary high; however, his ego and insecurity kept him from sharing with Alfred. That's why, with Alfred's permission, Bruce found himself limping to the mansion's garage in a simple gray sweater, black trench coat, and jeans. His hair was messy and unkempt, only kept out of his face with the pair of sunglasses that rested on his forehead.
Bruce entered one of his vehicles, a black SUV with tinted windows, and let his driver take him to the Gotham Graveyard. 
***
After a morning of light showers, the sky had cleared up into a baby blue. Bruce struggled out of the car, leaving the driver to wait on the curb outside the cemetery. It was an empty scene. Rows and rows of headstones sat under a canopy of trees with no people to visit. The graveyard resided in a more rural area of the city, so the memorial area was quiet besides the occasional squawking of birds and the wind rustling the autumn-kissed leaves.
Bruce stepped onto the damp, all-too-familiar grassy path leading to the headstones of his late parents. 
Their monuments were big and overly fancy. The cleaner Alfred hired twenty-six years ago still came every month to polish and clean the headstones. In honor of the Wayne's, a bench sat on the side of the stones, so Bruce sat there, idly taking in the silence. 
Breathe in, breathe out.
Speaking in a tranquil but emotional voice, Bruce began to talk to the air, confessing how he missed them, his beloved mother and father. 
"...and that's why I came. I just needed to talk. I needed to be in your presence again. I believe Alfred still cries over you, Father. He acts strong, as you taught, but deep down, he's like me: broken."
"I wish I could be fully capable of feeling, but all I think about is the injustice and monstrous side of the city. The city that took you two away."
Bruce stared at the ground, trying to focus on the words he was saying when a leaf crunching from behind alerted him to whip around. 
A woman, maybe five foot, stood behind him, wide-eyed and embarrassed. 
"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to startle you..." she caught her breath, most likely at the realization of who she was talking to, but regained her train of thought. "My mother... her grave is just behind them," she explained, gesturing to a headstone behind the Wayne's. 
Heather Lycona. 
Bruce resorted to nodding in reply. The woman approached closer to the headstone but stopped, clearly wanting to say something the way her mouth opened and closed. Bruce cocked a brow. He decided to attempt to be conversive. "How?" he nodded his head at her mother's gravestone.
"What?"
"How did she pass?" he tilted his head. She clutched the ends of the scarf she was wearing, a shade of black to contrast the white dress under her jet puffer coat. 
"Oh, um, gang violence. Three months ago, Mom was out at night just trying to get groceries, and, she um..."
Bruce nodded in indication he understood. "Mine as well."
"I know- I mean, I know the story, of course," she awkwardly laughed as a buffer. She looked around and then back at Bruce sitting on the bench. "I'm sorry for intruding on your moment. I-I can come back later."
Bruce shook his head wordlessly. "No, that won't be necessary. I did what I came here to do," he answered raspily. 
"May I sit?" 
Bruce didn't expect the woman to want to be in his presence any longer, yet he wasn't against her sitting with him. Her eyes could tell a story, one that he wanted to hear. His eyes traveled to the open space beside him, barely nodding at it. 
She sat down on the wooden bench, breathing in the mossy air. "There's something about the cemetery that's so peaceful. Everyone says it's scary because it's the resting place for hundreds of people, but I believe it's just a reminder of all the lives that came before us. Everyone is just asleep here, and we sit with them."
Usually, Bruce wouldn't be a fan of the conversation, yet he decided that she was intriguing, a type of thoughtfulness he appreciated. 
He hummed at her words. "Bruce Wayne," he introduced even though she knew very well who he was, leaning back into the bench. 
"Y/N Lycona." 
"Why did you visit today?"
"Sometimes I just enjoy being around her. It's peaceful here."
"I understand."
"What about you? Why did you visit, Mr. Wayne?"
He glanced at her before looking back to the swaying tree branches. "Same as you," he breathed out. He wasn't sure why she was asking him. Not that Bruce believed he was too good to answer questions, but because he'd assume she wouldn't be interested in him. Usually, people were interested in his position. 
"Do you ever feel they were the only people who understood you? I feel like that with Mom."
Bruce nodded, barely moved his gaze to her, then studied her with his signature deadpan expression. Bruce picked up once again on what he'd thought earlier. Y/N seemed warm, like in the right situation, she'd open up. She probably thought a lot. The woman stared off at the trees like he'd been earlier, looking deep in thought. 
"Your mind... is it always running?" 
She quietly sniffled in the chilled air. "Yes. I got approved for the investigative division of the GCPD. I want to help find and eliminate the gangs of Gotham. I don't know what my mother would've wanted me to do for her case, but I know she wanted me to help bring justice to the city. She got me through school for criminal justice. It's what I wanted to do from the start, but it was for the sake of others. Now, it's all for her- for her justice."
"You seem very driven, detective. I hope you do what you set out to do," Bruce stated. 
"If I can contribute to bringing criminals and killers to prison, I'll do what I must. I can't just watch someone turn into the next Heather. Gotham needs change." 
For the first time in a while, Bruce's lips slightly twisted up. "Then we are very alike." 
The two sat in comfortable silence for ten minutes, occasionally making small comments. 
Bruce decided he'd stayed his welcome, opting to stand up suddenly. He nodded down at Y/N. "I give you my best wishes on your assignment. I'll be using my resources to continue assisting the work," he said, his tone void of emotion, but they could both tell he meant it. 
"Good to talk to you, Mr. Wayne."
"Bruce is fine," he mumbled audibly, turning to leave. 
"Thank you for understanding. You don't say much," Y/N chuckled, "but I could tell you understood me."
Bruce gave a close-mouthed smirk, walked out the gates, and got in his car. 
"Thank you for your patience, Gerald."
The driver nodded and drove the pair back to the manor. 
Bruce came out of his visit knowing two things: 
First, he'd have to visit the cemetery more often. 
And second, as soon as he could get back his vigilante work, he would thwart every gang he could get his hands on. If it would help fulfill Y/N's goal, he'd devote all his energy to it. 
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dopscratch · 3 months
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my ideas for all the little voices in his head hehe
they are all birds with teeth because i love birds with teeth and the narrator is a bird with teeth
more explanations and rambles below the cut
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Voice of the Broken: a killdeer because of that little faked broken wing they do idk the vibe of a guy who only wants to surrender kinda fits the go-to escape option of pretending to be injured
Voice of the Contrarian: he's a bat because of course he's going to break the rules because he can :)
Voice of the Cold: a vulture because of his complacency with death
Voice of the Cheated: a goose because he has the anger hehe
Voice of the Hero: a jay because i see the the long quiet as some sort of jay and the hero is the closest to his base being since you always start with him
Voice of the Hunted: a falcon because he's got hunter vibes but he's not big and strong
Voice of the Opportunist: a pigeon because pigeons are crafty and idk the vibes fit for me
Voice of the Paranoid: a canary because of the whole early warning system in the mines thing hehe
Voice of the Stubborn: a cassowary because VIOLENCE
Voice of the Smitten: a lovebird for obvious reasons
Voice of the Skeptic: i struggled a lot with him but eventually did an owl because of pure vibes and the sort of observant and wise nature of owls that can be construed as like. a source of caution and skepticism
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snakeredbirdbatkatana · 5 months
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Part 1 Protective Nightwing
Dick Grayson has been a hero longer than most have he's made a reputation for being kind understanding silly he's overlooked but he was the first Robin. He trained under Deathstroke, beaten Batman and for every two that forgets one remembers.
When it comes to his brothers he will always be dangerous ready with his escrima cracking. One such instance was Black Mask.
Jason knew he might have overshot this one, a gun fight with over fifty of Sionis men. He's sweating he can't dodge he might be slightly scared he can feel that this is bad. Before he can think He's already on the Bat channel. An interesting convo he had with Little Red fresh in his mind.
He speaks shoving all of his fear sounding as pathetic as he can praying this works.
Dickie I'm scared there's too many help.
He hears his brothers intake of breathe as he growled sending all of the hair on Jason's neck up.
I'll be right there Little Wing just wait.
His brother descends before Jason can blink. All of them are down blood pouring out bones broken and there is Black Mask sobbing for mercy.
Nightwing is giggling as he shocks Mask he can smell the burning flesh and as much fun as it was to watch he can feel blood pouring from his shoulder and he really wants to pass out.
And well he never denied being Dramatic
Big Bird my shoulder he says as he falls into his brothers arms.
He got fussed over and coddled for 2 weeks but more importantly Black Mask pissed himself the next time Hood ran into him.
No wonder the baby birds always shout for big brother He wonders if it works on Deathstroke?
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logo-ssspathosss · 5 months
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team bolas rojas gas masks designs??
in THIS day and age?????
it may be more likely than you think..
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this was my first time drawing a series of different gas masks, no idea if they’re accurate at all, but it was really fun!!
**notes & closeups under the cut :-D**
it’s a lot of notes so be prepared for an info dump.
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NOTES:
Philza: honestly, what more is there to say than “CROW MAN!!”? aside from his goggles being glow-in-the-dark, theres not much more to the mask design. however, i decided, “hey! this is purgatory! i can fuck up these characters!” so, he has a ripped ear(?)wing and messily cut back hair. (i didn’t pay too much attention to the hair in this design, i was mainly trying to get the gas masks down, but maybe i’ll go further into later.)
Cellbit: this is definitely one of my favorites, he looks pretty scary, i would NOT stop my car if i saw him on the side of the road. its based off of a cat mask(obviously) and a painted white streak goes through his mask, inspired by his hair. i didn’t include it, but circles in the goggles are supposed to retract with different emotions (kind of how cat’s eyes do, saucer and dagger pupils.) he’s also covered in blood because he’s going through it lore wise.
Slimecicle: ngl, it was my first time drawing code charlie(other than all the wips i have that i’ll never finish),but i think he’s pretty spooky. his mask is the worst quality, like it USED to work well until he wore it out. thus, there are broken air tubes that let the gas in. (he should probably get those replaced.) the holes for his horns are kind of like an airlock, so the gas can’t enter through them (phil helped him make it.) however, it makes it difficult to take off.
Baghera: baghera’s mask is kind of built like charlie’s, except in much better quality. aside from the loose air tubes, the mask almost goes all the way around her head, not letting even the slightest bit of gas in. theres also a plastic duck beak on top of the regular breathy-thing(i have no idea what i’m doing, so, no, i don’t know the technical term for that) to give it the “bird touch.”
Jaiden: jaiden’s mask was FUN. like i kinda went overboard. i did these all on different days, and this was the night after the big egg battle day. i saw she had fnaf bonnie ears along with her bird gas mask, and said “ok cool. i’ll add that.” she has the same feather/beak thing i gave to baghera. also, hair-wise, she gets a hair bun and her brown roots showing through(we love messy haired cubitos ^^)
Foolish: foolish was interesting, not sure i like the final product, but i’m tired, so it’ll do. his mask is based off of a lemon shark. he gas glowing green eyes and golden splotches on the leather. the air tube foolish has is REALLY long. like unnaturally long. so he wraps it around his neck to get it out of the way. the other members are extremely concerned it’ll choke him one day, but foolish thinks it’s cool and will scare other teams away. kind of like a “yea, i’m crazy, i could choke and die at any minute, and i don’t care.” phil, being the protective father figure of the group, does not like this at all.
Carre: and finally, we have carre. ah, sweet, sweet carre.(he is my favorite.) his mask is based off of a snow leopard because i hc he’s half feline. carre has the lightest, and most simple mask, since it’s entirely plastic, and more so based off of skiing or snowboarding goggles.
ANYWAY, i hope these notes make sense, excuse my rambling about silly designs, i tend to doodle messily, and not really have a plan when i draw, lol.
thanks for reading, BYE!
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hopepetal · 8 months
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Masterlist
Read on AO3!
Part Eight!
Reblogs and comments are much appreciated! :)
@applestruda
CW: broken bones and blood
Many thanks to Elle Periwinklemoonlight for giving me several ideas for this chapter, and Mochi for helping me with some of Mumbo's dialogue <3
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Mumbo had always liked sunsets. 
He'd never been that big a fan of sunrises. Don't get him wrong, they were pretty and all! But the only times he had been awake to see the sun rise at all was when he had been up all night working on some sort of contraption. The early morning light had forced its way through any crack it could find and pulled Mumbo's attention away from his work, alerting him to the fact that he'd lost track of time and was about to have a very bad day. 
(Look, his stomach was sensitive! If he didn't get enough sleep, he'd get all nauseous and lose his appetite the next day. One would think that would be enough of a reason to not stay up all night, but there was a difference between being smart and making smart decisions.)
Anyway! Where was he? Oh, right. The sun. Fascinating thing, really. Some might even call it essential! Most people would, actually. Mumbo certainly did. 
Sunrises had always been something Mumbo only saw every once in a while, and dreaded every time. The first rays of light peeking over the mountains were a taunting reminder of one's folly. And with the rise of the sun came the song of the birds, declaring in their high pitched tremolo that it was time to wake up and go about one's day. 
Scar had asked Grian what the birds were saying once, over their lovely lunch which was actually just breakfast for the late risers. Grian had given him the most deadpan stare Mumbo had ever witnessed (and that was saying something– he'd known Doc, after all). “Just because I'm an avian doesn't mean I can understand the birds, Scar.”
Scar frowned, giving Grian a confused look. “You can't lie to me! I just heard you talking to the chickens, mister.”
Grian's look became much more pointed. “What chickens, Scar?” he asked sweetly, in the tone that held threats hidden under the surface. 
Scar's eyes widened almost comically as he immediately tried to backtrack. “Oh! No! Nooo, no chickens here. None at all! What chickens? I've never seen a chicken. Ever.” He looked over at Mumbo, before leaning forward and stage-whispering to Grian, “I think I fooled him.”
Mumbo had chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “Scar, I'm sitting right next to you,” he pointed out. 
Scar blinked. “Oh. Well! Nonexistent chickens aside, Grian, you still haven't told us what the birds are saying.”
Grian had stared at Scar in silence for a full five seconds before sighing deeply. “They're laughing at me for not getting enough sleep to deal with this.”
“See!” Scar smiled triumphantly, looking over at Mumbo. “I told you he could talk to birds!”
“Pretty sure he's just lying, mate.”
Grian lazily waved his spoon in the air. “I don't know what you're talking about, Mumbo. I never lie.”
Scar's eyes shone. “Now, if my time as a businessman has taught me anything, it's to tell when someone is lying. And that, my dear Grian, was a big ol' lie.”
Grian's eyes narrowed, almost imperceptibly. “I'm going to bite you.”
“That's a lie!”
Grian then lunged across the table and tackled Scar to the ground. Mumbo shrieked, nearly falling off the bench with them. “Oh, goodness, don’t break the man, G!”
Grian didn’t even have a chance– Scar pinned him to the ground with a triumphant whoop, laughing as Grian squawked and flapped his wings helplessly. “I win! Haha! You are not immune to the good times!”
“What does that even mean?” Grian shot back, unable to stop himself from laughing. “Scar, get off me!”
Scar stood, brushing the dirt off of his pants. “Aww, G, now I’m all dusty! Dusty and sweaty! Eugh!” He moved to take his shirt off, and Grian shrieked.
“Scar!” Grian shot up and smacked Scar’s hand. “Put your clothes back on!” 
Scar whined, pouting slightly. “C’mon, G! I didn’t even take anything off��
Mumbo groaned, putting his head in his hands. “I miss Impulse and Pearl.”
Sunsets were different. 
Mumbo… didn’t really know how to describe it. In the same kind of way people liked going to bed more than they liked waking up, Mumbo enjoyed sunsets far more than he did sunrises. Sunsets were calm, whereas sunrises were frantic, harried. They were a declaration of the day ending, and that rest would come soon. They were an end to the scorching hot temperatures of the summer and a prelude to the cool kiss of the night’s breeze against his face. Not to get all poetic and everything, but they just were nicer. 
He enjoyed how the sky would be painted in oranges and pinks and purples, and how slowly the knights would gather together on the more clear nights to sit under the stars and talk. He enjoyed how in those moments they were all at peace and happy, and how they cared so deeply for each other it felt less like a group of friends and more like…
Family. 
That’s what it was.
Sunsets reminded him of family.
Not this sunset, though.
As the sun slowly set, and shadows grew to cover the whole land, Mumbo felt… different. As he rode alongside his fellow knights (his friends, his family), he couldn’t shake the feeling of urgency that usually accompanied the rising of the sun, rather than the fall. This sunset was not something of love and rest.
This sunset felt like a warning. 
They were running out of time. As the clock ticked, as the sand fell through the hourglass, a sense of impending doom settled over each one of the knights. Mumbo, in his often anxiety ridden state, was no stranger to the feeling that sat tight in his chest and caused his heart to race, tearing air from his lungs in sharp gasps. 
Scar, riding near him, glanced over and saw the poorly concealed panic on the man’s face. Urging his horse closer, he got Mumbo’s attention with a soft ‘psst!’ 
Mumbo startled, torn from his thoughts as he so often was. He met Scar’s gaze and gave him a nervous, half-hearted smile. Scar could, most likely, see past any pretense he was putting up. The man was good at what he did– good at reading people, good at looking for certain nonverbal clues that cued him into what the person was actually thinking. “Hey, Scar.”
Scar reached out, holding the reins in one hand as he gave Mumbo a pat on the shoulder. “You doin’ good? You’re not looking so hot.” 
Mumbo sighed, looking away. “I’m… I dunno, Scar. I just… goodness. This whole thing is so… it’s overwhelming, Scar. What are we even supposed to do?” He laughed, a tense sound. “It’s– it’s just… it’s not something we can just… it’s not simple, Scar. We can’t just solve it with some redstone, or some crazy invention– this is so big. And I don’t– I don’t know how to fix it.” 
Scar pressed his lips together into a thin line. The setting sun cast long shadows over his face, the little light remaining creating dappled patterns on his skin as it filtered in through the trees. He thought for a moment before speaking. “Mumbo, you don’t have to know how to fix everything. You know that, right?”
Mumbo let out a strained laugh, his grip on the reins tightening slightly. “Well, Scar, mate, isn’t that kind of… my job? You know, brilliant redstone inventor over here, coming up with solutions is my whole thing. It’s not like I could… well, I have to make up for my lack of physical prowess somehow.”
Scar shook his head, chuckling softly. “Oh, Mumbo, Mumbo, Mumbo. I’ve been there! I get you, I really do. You know, back in the day, I had a bit of a job myself. I was a businessman, Mumbo Jumbo! And a very good one at that. And my job was to sell things to customers! And…” he frowned, cutting himself off sharply. “I don’t know where I’m going with this. Man, Cub’s so much better at this than me.”
Mumbo felt himself relaxing slightly, the tension slowly being let out of his body. He smiled, giving Scar a half-shrug. “Cub has a lot of skill, that’s for sure. Plenty of experience to go along with it, as well.” 
Scar nodded, and let silence fall over them for a moment before taking in a deep breath. “So, Mumbo, what I was trying to say… I guess, you don’t need to solve everything? I mean, none of us have any clue what we’re doing. Kinda.” He thought for a moment. “That’s not it. What I’m really trying to say is that we’re all in this together? It’s not your job specifically to figure it out alone. Impulse is our friend, and… we all really care for him.” His voice trembled slightly as he finished, eyes darkening. “I hope he’s safe.” 
Mumbo furrowed his brows, concern shining in his eyes as he looked over at Scar. “You doing alright, mate?” This whole thing had been hard on all of them, but something seemed… off… about Scar. 
Scar blinked, and shook himself out of whatever sort of trance he had been in with a slight jerk of his head. “Oh! Yes, don’t you worry, mister. I’m doin’ just fine over here! Just thinking about the scolding I’m gonna give Impulse when we get back home.” He flashed Mumbo a bright smile, and Mumbo let it rest.
He knew that smile was forced. He knew when the cheerful persona of Scar’s came out to play. He knew, and yet… what could he do? Mumbo wasn’t good with words. He was probably the worst out of the knights when it came to social interaction, and that was saying something given they were practically hermits outside of the occasional job they’d pick up and shopping trips. 
So Mumbo did what he did best.
He let his body go on autopilot, and got lost in his thoughts.
At the front of the group, Grian and Pearl were talking in hushed voices. Grian remained stubbornly in his watcher form, despite Pearl’s insistence on taking a break and letting his eyes rest. He’d given her a look, feathers rustling irritably as she spoke. “Stop nagging me, Pearl. Gosh, you’re starting to sound like Timmy.”
She let out an indignant sound, glaring at him. “I am not! And it’s not nagging, mate, you’re going to give yourself a headache with all that looking!”
Grian scoffed, looking away. “It’s called watching, thank you very much. And you’re the one who’s gonna give me a headache, with all your talking! I know what I’m doing Pearl, I’m not a baby.”
“Well, you’re acting like one,” Pearl shot back. “I’m right here, Griba. You don’t have to be hyper vigilant, or whatever it is you’re doing.”
“And what happens if I don’t?” Grian snapped, his voice dropping slightly. “What happens if I lose sight of the demon and Impulse, what if–?” he cut himself off, taking a deep breath, “Pearl, I need this,” he admitted, voice low. “If I don’t keep my focus on this, I think I’ll go crazy, Pearl. I’ll get all… you know me, Pearl.” Desperation seeped into his voice. “I don’t– it doesn’t matter if I get a headache or strain myself or, anything, really! But I can’t…”
Pearl sighed. “I know. I know, Griba. I’m just worried. About you, about Impulse, about this whole Watcher thing, about… well, everything. It’s just such a big mess, y’know? And we’re all tangled up in this big web and…” She laughed, shaking her head. “It’s pretty overwhelming. Just… we gotta also take care of ourselves, mate. We won’t be able to do anything if we run ourselves ragged before we even get to Impulse.”
Whatever Grian was going to say in response was interrupted by the sound of rattling bones and an arrow flying right by his head, narrowly missing. He shrieked, wings flaring out as the horse beneath him startled. He grabbed the reins and pulled back, stopping the horse from bolting, though it still took a few steps forward.
“Skeleton!” Pearl called out, though the announcement was unneeded. “Stay on your guard!” 
The undead’s bones creaked as it came into view, appearing from under the trees. Normally, along more well-traveled paths, the surrounding areas would be lit up enough to stop the mobs from spawning, and the frequent patrols would be enough to discourage them from wandering too close. Unfortunately for the knights, they were traveling through an uninhabited area with no path in sight. They could handle the mobs just fine, but it certainly made traveling a little more difficult.
Scar drew his crossbow, fingers brushing over the enchantments carved into the material, and nocked a bolt. “I got it!” He drew the bolt back and fired, the skeleton collapsing into a pile of bones with a rattling groan. “Yes! Hotguy strikes again!”
Grian would’ve rolled his eyes if he could. “You and that Hotguy thing, I swear…” His feathers began to settle back down, and he folded his wings behind his back. “Right, then. That’s probably our cue to stop for the night.”
“We’re stopping?” Mumbo asked, slightly confused. “Why?”
Pearl sighed, dismounting. She gently stroked her horse’s neck before answering Mumbo. “As much as we’d love to get to Impulse as soon as possible, we can’t be riding through the night. The horses are tired, and we need time to rest and recuperate as well. I…” She looked over at Grian, watching him dismount as well. “I don’t want to stop. I really don’t. But we have to.”
Scar nodded. “Makes sense! Gotta be our best selves if we’re gonna deal with that demon guy!” He dismounted, Mumbo following a moment later. “Mumbo and I can go light up some of the surrounding area while you two make a fire and deal with the horses?” he suggested.
“Good idea. You have those…” Pearl gestured vaguely with her hand, trying to think of the word. “...magic torches? The fancy ones, so ya don’t burn down the whole forest?”
“I never leave home without them!” Scar grabbed Mumbo’s arm. “Come on, Mumble Jumble, time to light up this forest!”
Mumbo yelped as he got dragged away, casting one last terrified glance at Grian and Pearl before disappearing into the woods with Scar. 
“I swear,” Pearl chuckled as she dealt with the horses, “he never loses energy. I’ve rarely ever seen that man get tired.”
Grian busied himself with clearing a small area for a campfire, using his bird-like feet to help dig up the grass. “Scar’s… definitely something,” he agreed, shaking the dirt off his talons before hopping (not walking– hopping) awkwardly over to a tree, his wings flapping slightly to help balance him. He began to snap some smaller branches and twigs, gathering them in his arms. “Dunno what we’d do without him. Without any of them.”
Pearl smiled sadly, giving one of the horses a soft pat before walking over to help Grian with his task. “Barely feels like any time’s passed at all, yeah? Since we first met in that old town.”
Grian laughed at the memory, shaking his head. “You’d just crashed into the ground. Still had no clue how to use those wings of yours.” He glanced at the colourful moth wings that were folded delicately behind Pearl’s back. 
She was scared, Grian could tell. Wide eyes that were the same blue of a storm-promising sky and filled with barely held back tears. She was scraped up and bruised from her fall, the wings trailing behind her seeming unnatural and unwieldy. 
Grian didn’t ask questions. She needed help, and that was all he needed to know.
Later, he would hear stories of feathered golden wings, carrying Pearl through the sky alongside her flock. He would listen in from behind a door that hadn’t been completely shut as she told Jimmy what it was like to soar high above endless fields of sunflowers and wheat, racing her flockmates at speeds she would never again be able to achieve. 
Grian and Jimmy had lost their flock when they were young. It was no wonder that Jimmy was interested in Pearl’s memories of her flock, who had treated her with kindness and love. Flockless avians were often unable to defend themselves and died without the protection a flock was supposed to provide. 
Jimmy and Grian had been lucky enough to find an old town nearby, with inhabitants who were more than willing to let them in. They’d made a life for themselves there, when Pearl had come crashing into their lives.
“I broke my leg,” Pearl recalled, wincing slightly at the bittersweet memory. “And you and Tim helped patch me back up. And then I just never left.”
“I’ve cursed that day ever since,” Grian joked, yelping when Pearl elbowed him. “Hey! Not cool!” he squawked as Pearl giggled softly. “I wonder how Tim’s doing right now,” he added after a moment. “Do you think he misses us?”
Pearl raised her eyebrows. “Grian, we do visit him. He’s doing just fine, you saw for yourself. Got a whole new bunch of friends and everything!” She examined Grian’s face. “Oh, you’re not upset he didn’t join us, are you?” she teased lightly. “You know Jimmy would hate the outdoorsy life we’ve got going on. He’s perfectly comfortable where he is.”
Grian sighed, turning and hopping back to the area he’d prepared for their fire, beginning to place the sticks down. “Can you grab some rocks?” he asked, “I hate not being able to fly. Walking is so hard.” 
Pearl laughed, setting her sticks down near Grian before starting to search for smaller rocks. “You do look cute though, hopping around like a little birdie. Oh, don’t give me that, you know it’s true!”
“It’s humiliating is what it is,” Grian muttered, “Mumbo and Scar are never gonna let me live it down.” 
“Good!” Pearl chirped, bringing back the stones she had collected to make a circle. “You deserve it, honestly.”
Mumbo’s shriek rang out through the forest, startling the two. Grian nearly fell over from how much he jumped, eyes going wide from shock. What made the shriek more concerning was the explosion that followed soon after, and Pearl was about to charge off into the woods before Scar yelled, “Just a creeper! We’re good!” his voice tiny from the distance. 
Pearl shook her head, sighing softly. “Those two are going to give me gray hairs early,” she murmured fondly.
“You’re not the only one,” Grian muttered, earning a laugh from Pearl. “What?”
“Maybe if you’d stop being such a scaredy cat–” 
“I am not–!” 
Despite their bickering, they were able to get the fire going before Scar and Mumbo came back, looking a tad singed but none the worse for the wear. 
“Area is successfully lit up!” Scar proclaimed. “We should be safe from all the spooky things out there now. Should be.”
“We’ll set up a watch nonetheless. Better be safe than sorry,” Grian decided, as Mumbo and Scar joined him and Pearl at the campfire. “I’ll go first, because there is no way you’re waking me up once I’m out.”
“I’ll go second then,” Mumbo volunteered, “if no one else wants to,” he added after a moment.
Pearl shrugged. “I’ll take the third shift, then, and Scar can go last?”
“Sounds good to me!” Scar agreed, and the knights fell into silence.
As the makeshift campfire crackled softly, spitting sparks into the night sky, the knights lingered for a while around the small source of warmth and light. For a while, there was a somber sort of quiet hanging over the group– silence settling in the empty space that Impulse usually filled. 
Grian, still in his watcher form, leaned forward to gaze into the fire, light reflecting off eyes as black as the night sky. Scar glanced over, and despite everything, had to suppress a giggle.
Clearly, he didn't do that very well, and Grian looked up at him with a slightly confused expression. “Are you alright, Scar?” he asked, and Scar couldn't hold it in anymore.
He giggled, reaching out and patting Grian's face. “You look like a kitty cat!” he exclaimed, “with your big ol' eyes and everything!”
Grian blinked. “I'm sorry, what–” 
Pearl started laughing. “I guess we didn’t have to worry about them being scared by our other forms then, huh!”
Grian’s face flushed a light pink, and he shooed them all away. “Oh, go to bed! I’ll wake you for your shift, Mumbo!”
The other three dispersed, laying out the sleeping bags Pearl had thankfully thought to pack. Better to be over prepared than under, in her opinion. 
Sleep came surprisingly quick, though it seemed like she had just closed her eyes when she felt Mumbo’s gentle hand on her shoulder, waking her for her shift. Pearl blinked away the sleep in her eyes and quietly thanked Mumbo, before taking a seat by the slowly dying campfire. 
There wasn’t much to do during a night watch, other than to sit alone with her thoughts. And that’s exactly what Pearl did, until she thought of something too important to leave floating in her mind.
The plan was for Grian and her to expel the demon from Impulse using their own magic. But where would the demon go after, when it had been forced from its host?
Pearl quietly walked back to her sleeping bag, opening the small pack she had set beside it. She rifled through the contents for a moment before pulling out a small, clear cut crystal. She’d gotten it so long ago she’d forgotten how it came to be in her possession, but it would work just fine for what she was thinking of.
Walking back over to the campfire, Pearl shifted into her watcher form, holding the crystal in her hand. Sitting down, Pearl closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, feeling the magic of the world around her. Another breath, to feel the magic buzzing in her veins. In and out, once more, and she began to imbue the crystal with her magic.
It was a simple enough task. All Pearl needed to do was prepare the crystal to bind the demon to it with her magic. Once the demon was expelled, it would be a simple enough task to pull it into the crystal. And then, as long as she kept checking on it from time to time and strengthening the binding magic, the demon would remain sealed away.
Deep breaths. In, and out.
Pearl let the magic flow through her and into the crystal, caught up in the feeling of casting. She didn’t do it often, not like this. It was nice to finally use her magic again. She didn’t even realize how much time had passed until she felt a hand on her shoulder, and Scar’s quiet voice in her ear. She opened her eyes to look at him, continuing to cast as she did. “Oh! Scar!” She kept her voice down, aware of how close they were to the two who were still asleep. “You good, mate?”
Scar nodded. “I think it’s time for my shift,” he explained, glancing toward the sky, “and also, I felt your magic. Whatcha doin’, Pearl?”
Ah. She had lost track of time, then.
Pearl finished casting, tucking the crystal into her pocket. “Just makin’ a lil magic crystal thing. For later,” she explained. “Sorry for not waking you up. Or… kinda waking you up? Since you sensed my magic and all? I guess?”
Scar shrugged, smiling slightly. “Nah, don’t worry about it. I got plenty of rest. Which you should probably try to do as well. Big day tomorrow.”
Pearl stood, shifting out of her watcher form. “Right, then. Have fun with your watch shift, Scar. And I’ll do my best. G’night, Scar.”
“Good night, Pearl.”
The morning came too quickly, and not quick enough at the same time. There were few attempts at conversation as the knights began to break down camp, kicking dirt over their small fire and packing up what little they had taken out. Grian, who had shifted into his “normal” form to sleep, shifted back into his watcher form and took a minute to relocate Impulse and the demon.
“I can’t see him, exactly,” Grian explained to Scar and Mumbo. “It’s a bit blurry, I guess. I know where he is, I can see the magic around him, but I can’t really make out small details like his face. I don’t really know why, but that’s just how it works.”
“Sooo… like looking through a really bad spyglass, then,” Scar concluded, earning a sigh from Grian. “What? I’m right!”
“I guess,” Grian admitted as they mounted their horses, “but that’s kinda like comparing a bow to Mumbo’s rocket launcher. They do kinda the same thing, but one’s a lot more complicated and powerful.”
Scar hummed thoughtfully. “I see… well, as long as it works!”
Grian remained in his watcher form as he led the tense ride through the forest. The sky above was streaked with clouds that occasionally would cover the sun and cast the land below into shadow. As the knights got closer to their destination, the trees began to thin out, promising open fields up ahead.
“You’d think he wouldn’t have gotten this far,” Grian muttered to Pearl, “but humans have so much endurance. It’s fascinating. And somewhat annoying.”
Pearl hummed softly, her gaze fixed straight ahead. “I’m worried for his health. I’m honestly doubting the demon cares too much for Impulse’s well-being, and I don’t think it has to deal with the negative effects of what it’s putting Impulse’s body through. If that makes sense.”
Grian nodded, his eyes focused not on what was in front of him but on something– someone– far away. “Demons don’t feel exhaustion or hunger, do they?” he asked, speaking mostly to himself. 
“I think some do,” Pearl answered, “but not this one. Since it’s only in the blood, y’know? And it’s only borrowing… Impulse… so that’s not it’s… well. Body, I guess.”
Grian suddenly stopped, causing Pearl’s horse to almost run into his. “We’re dismounting here,” he called back to the other three. “Impulse is just up ahead, in the fields beyond the treeline.” He dismounted carefully, tying the reins to a sturdy branch. “Right. Let’s go over the plan one more time. We’ll find Impulse and confront the demon. Pearl and I will begin casting while Mumbo and Scar keep the demon busy and stop it from running off. Once Pearl and I start casting, we won’t be able to stop until the spell is over. So if something happens– if one or both of you gets injured, let’s say– we won’t be able to help.”
The others dismounted with serious looks on their faces, tension hanging in the air so thick one could almost cut it with a knife. Scar glanced over at Mumbo, who looked several shades paler than usual. “I’m the best at physical combat,” he began slowly, “when I go vex, at least. I’ll do my best to keep it from attacking you or running away, without hurting Impulse too badly.”
“The demon will be attacking to kill though, won’t it?” Mumbo asked, wringing his hands together as he looked between the other knights. “It won’t fight fair just because we are.”
Scar laughed sardonically. “Oh, I’m not gonna be fightin’ fair, mister. I’m just not gonna strike lethally, is all. But you’re right,” he added after a moment, “the demon is gonna try to kill us. And it’s– it’s strong. We know this. But the other option is letting Impulse die, or lettin’ someone else die in his place.”
“Impulse would never forgive us if that happened,” Mumbo pointed out, “and, well, given the other option is his death…” 
“We can’t give up,” Scar finished, earning nods from the rest of the group. “We’ll get Impulse back. We have to.”
Pearl looked over at Grian, shifting into her watcher form as she did so. “Right, then. Time to head out?” 
Grian nodded, clenching his hands into fists. “Time to head out. Let’s go save Impulse, guys.” 
The sun peeked out from behind the clouds as the knights made their way out of the forest and into the wide open field. The wind rustled the grass around them and blew through their hair, and carried with it the promise of a fight. 
Grian had shifted out of his watcher form if only for a moment, just to make travel on foot easier. He was, after all, not suited for walking with those bird feet of his in his watcher form. He carefully ran his hand over his wings and plucked three loose feathers, silently handing one to each of the knights. A promise. No matter which way this went, he’d be with them.
The knights each tucked their feathers away, Pearl reaching out to take Grian’s hand in one of her own and giving it a light squeeze. We’ll be okay, the action said, I’m here. 
The knights continued to walk through the field, walking over a small hill when Grian suddenly stopped, his wings extending slightly so as to stop the knights who were walking behind him. “...I see him.”
And there he was.
Impulse stood in the field, facing away from the knights, slightly below them where the ground evened out after the hill. He seemed unsteady on his feet, the sword in his hand dragging against the ground as if he had unsheathed it only to forget why he had done so, and lacked the strength to fully pick the weapon back up. 
And his hands… even from a distance, Grian could tell that Impulse’s hands were covered in blood– some dried, some freshly spilt. He… couldn’t think about that. They didn’t have the time to. Not now. 
“Impulse!” Pearl called, her voice strong and steady. Grian wished he had the strength to do what she did. “Impulse, we’re here. It’s okay.”
Impulse startled, nearly dropping his sword as he turned around sharply. And finally, after so long of trying to find him, the knights were able to see his face.
He looked gaunt, scared. The bags beneath his eyes were a testament to the exhaustion that plagued his body, and the shake in his hands matched the fear in his eyes. That wasn’t the worst of it– twin horns poked up from his hair, unnatural and out of place. Mumbo sucked in a horrified breath at the sight, paling and covering his mouth with one hand.
“What–” Impulse’s voice sounded strained, raspy– “what are you doing here?” Tears filled his exhausted, scared eyes. “Why did you follow me? I could– I could hurt you!” And suddenly, it wasn’t Impulse anymore, but red eyes and a straightened back and steady hands that belonged to the demon. “Yes… why did you follow him? Don’t you know?” it mocked in Impulse’s voice, smiling. “He can hurt you pitiful little things.” 
Scar’s eyes shone a brilliant blue, the colour fleeing from his hair as he glared at the demon that wore Impulse’s face. “What have you done?!” he yelled, his hands clenching into fists. Sharpened claws pricked into skin, drawing small beads of blood, but Scar didn’t even feel the pain. That was Impulse. Impulse was hurting and it was all because of that demon, the demon that stood in front of him and smiled at Scar with a face that wasn’t its own, that it had no right to use. 
“Oh!” The demon tilted its head to the side. “Oh, nothing he didn’t ask for.” 
Eyes filled with rage, Grian shifted back into his watcher form. “Scar! Mumbo!” he called, and the fight began.
Scar held himself back from going full vex at first, throwing himself at the demon. It hadn’t been expecting the initial attack, stumbling back several steps before pulling itself together. The shock didn’t last long, and the demon was soon fighting back with a fierceness that Scar did his best to match.
Grian looked over at Pearl, meeting her eyes. “Right then. Let’s end this.”
Standing side by side, the two siblings fixed their gaze on the demon in their friend’s body. The magic that swirled around him was wrong, unnatural, evil– and it was their job to fix it. Pearl reached out and took Grian’s hand in one of her own, giving him a nod. They both stretched out their free arms, and called upon their magic.
The clouds darkened as the very magic that flowed through the air began to change, as if even the sky stopped to focus its attention on the two Watchers. The ambient magic flowed around them like a gust of air, rustling through Grian’s feathers and Pearl’s hair. 
Grian's wings extended to their full span, and Pearl's followed suit, snapping open as a glowing purple eye appeared behind them. The wind picked up as the grass around the two began to glow as well, the broken portal symbol of the ancient Evolutionists appearing at their feet. 
Faces set with determination, the two began to cast.
Scar did his best to keep the demon’s attention on him as he fought. It was much different than normal fights– his goal was to keep the demon from running off, all while trying to dodge the blows that were aimed to take his very life. Scar felt the vex magic inside him boiling in his veins, begging to be let free, to run wild and take over his mind. He stubbornly fought it back down– he was in control, not the vex. He wasn’t ready to go full vex again. Not yet.
Unfortunately for him, the universe didn’t care if he wasn’t ready.
The demon, by possessing Impulse, had gained every bit of the man’s strength and skill. And given the strength-enhancing magic it likely held, it was no wonder that Scar was struggling. The demon attacked again, and Scar wasn’t able to get out of the way in time. He took a heavy blow to the side and stumbled back, losing his footing on the uneven terrain and falling to the ground hard. 
Mumbo stumbled back as the demon suddenly turned toward him, fumbling to quickly draw his sword in order to block the sudden attack. He strained under the pressure of the demon bringing Impulse’s full strength to bear, his arms shaking as he tried to push back. “Scar!” he yelped, “Scar, I can’t–”
The demon brought the sword down, and it was only Mumbo’s quick thinking of jumping to the side that kept him from dying instantly. The blade still sliced into his arm, and Mumbo let out a frantic scream that made whatever restraints Scar had holding him back shatter. Mumbo dropped to the ground, blood flowing freely from the wound, and Scar…
Scar snapped. 
Not in the same way he had before, not at all. He was in control, and could feel the power of the vex flowing through his body as natural as the blood in his veins. Power buzzed behind his eyes as shining vex wings appeared behind him, and he shot up, taking a few steps forward before attacking the demon, the overwhelming need to get it away from Mumbo singing in his movements.
The demon turned to attack Scar, and he dug his claws into its chest and pushed it back as hard as he could, almost throwing it with how hard he shoved. He’d clearly underestimated his strength, as the demon flew back and landed hard on its arm, the sickening gunshot snap of a bone breaking making Scar wince.
And for a moment, the scream that tore its way out in response was purely Impulse, his voice unchanged by the timbre of the demon’s. For a moment, it was just Impulse, only Impulse, and guilt swept through him like a torrent. 
But then it was the demon again, pushing itself back up and switching the sword over to its left hand, shining red eyes glaring at Scar as it shifted into a fighting stance once more. “Well? Fight me, then. See how long it takes for your precious friend’s body to break down and give up.” 
Scar’s eyes narrowed. He glanced over to where Mumbo was, clutching his arm close and watching the fight with wide eyes. He’d be alright, and that was what was important. Lifting his gaze once more, Scar met the demon’s gaze. “Impulse is stronger than you’ll ever be. You’ll be long gone before he ever breaks down,” he spat.
The fight didn’t get a chance to continue– with a shout, Grian drew Scar’s attention back to him and Pearl. The magic around the two siblings had become wisps of purple light, swirling around the two as they casted. Scar knew with uncanny certainty that the spell was almost complete.
The demon did as well, judging by its roar of anger. “No! I will not be defeated by pathetic little mortals–!” 
Scar saw it attempt to go for Grian and Pearl and dashed forward, throwing himself at the demon and bringing it and himself crashing to the ground. He winced at the impact, mentally making a note to apologize to Impulse later, when they were all safe. 
“Scar!” Pearl yelled, and Scar took that as his cue to get the heck away from there.
He jumped up and scrambled away, uncaring if he looked a little undignified in the movement. He made it to Mumbo and collapsed by the man, bleeding and gasping, and turned just in time to see the spell hit its mark.
The demon screamed, an awful sound that tore into Scar’s heart, because it was Impulse, it was Impulse’s voice and Impulse’s face and Impulse’s body but it wasn’t Impulse at the same time. It wasn’t Impulse, and the eyes that bore into Scar while it tried to stand and was inevitably forced to its knees were not Impulse’s.
And then they were.
And then it was over.
Pearl pulled out the crystal from her pocket, drawing the demon’s essence toward her and binding it into the crystal. The once clear gem turned a scarlet red, and once she was certain it was sealed away, she slipped the gem back into her pocket.
A weak sob tore its way from Impulse’s lips as he gingerly held his broken arm in his other. He squeezed his eyes shut, shrinking in on himself, and for the first time since Grian had met him, Impulse seemed so small. 
Scar stood shakily, helping Mumbo to his feet as well. “Okay… okay, okay,” he breathed out, making sure Mumbo was really alright before turning back and forcing himself to walk– walk, not run, he’s scared and hurt right now– to Impulse, kneeling by him. “Hey, Impulse.” He could see the other knights approaching in his peripherals, but for now he stayed focused on the injured man in front of him. “Hey.”
Pearl settled in the grass a little bit away, still leaving enough room to give Impulse space as she shifted back into her normal form. Grian followed suit, tucking colourful wings behind his back and sitting next to his sister. “Hey, mate,” Pearl started gently. “Can ya hear us? We’re here.”
Impulse let out a broken sob, shrinking in even further on himself. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and the words were so quiet they were barely audible. “I’m so, so, sorry.” Hot tears slipped down his cheeks, mixing with blood and dirt. 
Scar shared a look with Mumbo, before turning back to Impulse. He tried to keep his eyes from drifting to the horns that stuck up from the man’s head, and focused more on his face. “Impulse… Impulse, it’s okay. We’re okay. Can I touch you?” he asked, waiting for confirmation before reaching forward and carefully, as though Impulse were made of glass and would shatter at the slightest touch, drew him into a hug.
Impulse began to weep freely then, and Scar felt himself slowly relax out of his vex form, the colour seeping back into his hair and skin. He kept his arms around Impulse, murmuring soft comforts that had once been said to him.
It wasn’t long before Impulse passed out, from the exhaustion and exertion combined with the sheer pain and shock of the day’s events– of the weeks he had been dealing with the demon inside of his head alone. It had been exhausting, overwhelming, and Scar didn’t blame him in the slightest.
The journey home would be a long one, and the road to healing stretched out seemingly for an eternity. But the knights were no stranger to traveling, and this was just another path they would have to walk down.
Together. 
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astarionsilverbough · 6 months
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“Darling.”
And it’s Different, when it’s for him.
Because, you see - Astarion calls everyone ‘darling.’ Even Shadowheart (though for a while that one is a bit… cruel).
And everyone gets a different version of the word, of course - and variations of it for different circumstances and events. So far, Gale has the most variations of the term - Halsin’s kept count. They range from affectionate and fond to absolutely poisonous and sometimes dangerous. There are, by Halsin’s count, thirteen versions of ‘darling,’ for Gale (who, again, is Astarion’s best and most steadfast friend - though Astarion would wrinkle his nose at the term).
But when it comes to him?
When it comes to him, there are three. Three variations of ‘darling’ that no one else - not even Gale - gets.
1.) Utterly and absolutely… soft. Oh, but it’s so soft. Often it’s used only in private - in moments when Astarion can cup his jaw or slide into his lap and murmur it against his lips. Halsin can think of two times Astarion has used that ‘darling’ in front of everyone else: the first?
When they (‘they’ being Astarion, Gale, Shadowheart, Lae’zel and Wyll) had found Halsin broken and alone in the Underdark after he’d carved through the goblins alone.
It was the first time the two elves had seen each other in two hundred years and five months. Through the haze of drow poison and blood loss, Halsin had heard the sun.
“Halsin. Darling.”
Achingly soft and so beautiful. A calloused but gentle hand cupped his chin and Astarion - older and more magnificent than Halsin remembered - had swum into focus above him.
Oh, but how he’d fallen in love with the man all over again in that moment… The thrill of it had been just as intense as it had been the first time, when they were younger and more afraid.
That was the first time he’d ever heard the soft variation of ‘darling’. Two hundred years and five months after the last time he’d seen Astarion Ancunín, who was more magnificent than he remembered but smelled exactly the same and could outburn the sun.
The second had been -
“I have to do this alone, Astarion.”
The darkness was like ash clinging to his skin. Karlach had been throwing stones into the abyssal waters; Gale was pointedly trying not to listen while Shadowheart was watching them like a vulture about to clean a carcass.
And oh, how he’d been terrified. To wander the Shadowfell, nothing to go on but a glimmer of vengeful hope and the scent of lavender… would he ever see the sun again?
Would he forget what gold sounded like?
But then -
Astarion’s plush lips part and his brow creases, brilliant sunset eyes big and glistening. For a moment, Halsin expects - well. Nothing good, that’s for certain.
A foolish thing, to try and predict the heat of the sun.
A nimble hand slides over his chest and catches his chin. The next thing he knows, he’s being kissed with tongue and fang. Solar flares explode in his lungs and Astarion thumbs over his cheek.
“Come back to me, darling,” he says.
It is a command, gentle and easy. Soft in the way that inspires hope somewhere inside his bones.
Not a hint of worry. Trust him - he knows what the worried variant of ‘darling’ sounds like.
Speaking of which:
2.) Astarion trusts Halsin in a way he isn’t sure how to hold; he feels a bit like a child cradling a bird with a wounded wing in his palms. One wrong move and that wing could shatter and leave the little bird he seeks to protect incapable of flight.
He doesn’t use the worried variant of ‘darling’ when Halsin is about to or has already attempted something foolish or heroic (see: ‘darling’ variant no. 1).
Astarion’s concerned and slightly lilting “darling,” comes when they’re in situations and he needs Halsin to look exactly where he’s looking at that very moment. It is a precise and hard-learned code, one that Halsin is more tuned into than even the method by which nature forms the reality around them.
It starts immediately: they’re in the Underdark and Halsin is still aching from the effects of the drow poison and the blood loss, and he can feel Astarion’s presence like sunbeams on his skin.
But even as he’s so acutely focused on Astarion’s presence, he’s still aching from the effects of drow poison and the blood loss, and so when Astarion’s sharp and tense “darling,” comes, he looks around just a little too late.
The Spectator catches them by surprise. Somehow, they survive the fight.
Halsin is looking at Astarion with every snapping “darling” he utters, now.
But even as the worried variant of ‘darling’ is the command he exists by and the soft variant is the one that sends heat through his bones and burns them gold, the variant of ‘darling’ that Halsin adores the most is -
3.) Sheer, raw fury.
It has only been used with such enchantment once. So far, at least. Who knows what the rest of the eternity he intends to spend beside the moon-kissed elf will bring, but so far…
So far it’s just been -
“Be well, then, darling.”
And oh, the way it had seared across Halsin like a lash of flame! How it had made his soul twist and his heart stop, commanded still by the sheer weight of the viscerally vitriolic venom in the word.
There was to be no doubt, then. A mate he was, and a mate he would always be. Some part of Halsin was snatched away in that moment. It fused with Astarion’s shadow, and there it would stay until he was led back to the young elfling.
The compass to lead him home.
Because this variant of ‘darling’ - this horrible, wrenching barb of a thing - had been shot at Halsin after he had told a twenty-year-old Astarion that:
“I cannot give you what you seek,” after a quiet and heartbreaking:
“I love you. I’m - Halsin, I’m… in love with you.”
And he’s over a hundred and Astarion is twenty and even if he’s everything Halsin wants, it’s not time. Not yet. The seasons need more time to show Astarion what the world can offer. He needs to taste the fruits of many before he settles on his favorite.
So:
“Oh, my little star,” Halsin had said in elvish; “I cannot give you what you seek.”
It was like watching the winter freeze settle in. It was seeing the sea go black before a storm; it was the flicker of divinity in the pit of Halsin’s belly and the hunt at the height of the season. It was every perfect and horrible thing all at once and Halsin loved this creature more than the earth beneath his feet.
“You are so young - there is so much you’ve yet to witness, experience.” He’d taken one of Astarion’s hands. It had been limp, cold. He’d kissed it anyway and stepped back. “And I must go my own way for now. Don’t worry. You’ll see me again, little star.”
And it was silent then, the kind of silent that made Halsin’s skin pebble with gooseflesh.
Until:
“Be well, then, darling.”
A dismissal. Inelegant and so wrathful. A blessing lain on the path beneath his boots. The sun blazed so hot it carved itself into his soul and stole a piece of him away.
It has not rejoined him. That’s alright; he feels it whenever Astarion is near, and these days it’s rare when he isn’t. Halsin is his sword and shield, the crown on his head and the throne beneath him.
And when the word comes this time - “darling,” - it’s just for him, spoken against the shell of Halsin’s ear as a damp, fresh-from-the-bath Astarion settles over his thighs and slides his arms around Halsin’s neck. Heat lunges up Halsin’s spine and he frames Astarion’s slender waist with keeping hands. So lost in the taste of the man’s skin, Halsin barely notices he’s been talking at him until Astarion gently tugs at his hair.
“Halsin, darling.”
His ears perk up. That’s a new one - slightly exasperated, clipped and somewhat offended in a small, quiet way. A vulnerable way.
“Were you even listening to a thing I said?”
Stomach clenching, Halsin slides his keeping hands over Astarion’s flanks and scans his face. He’s pouting. This is a new face, a new variant. Halsin’s nerves align and he cups Astarion’s chin.
“Forgive me,” he says soberly. “I was lost in thought. Tell me what I missed - speak to me, lover.”
He jostles Astarion a bit and the elf’s expression softens just before he arches a brow and tips back with a shrewd, playful glare. Halsin keeps him supported with a big hand at the base of his spine and chases a hopeless kiss he doesn’t get on a whim.
“And what, pray tell, was so important it stole you away from me?” Astarion demands, fingertips guarding Halsin’s lips.
Halsin smiles against his touch. “You.”
And when Astarion’s expression changes, it makes Halsin feel like spring. Those sunset eyes go dewy and Astarion’s body melts against the strong plain of his own.
“You,” he mutters against Halsin’s lips, “are a menace, darling.”
And he’ll never tire of it - never tire of learning every cadence this man can shape. Maybe one day he’ll earn more variants than Gale - for now, he’ll settle on keeping the Different ones, the ones no one else gets to hold.
There is no greater honor.
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theflippinvoid · 2 months
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When birds learn to fly, they instinctively spread their wings every time they fall. It started from a short fall, like the nest to the branch it settles. And then to a slightly lower branch. It helps smooth the fall and stop them from immediately die from face planting to the ground so hard. And then they will try to flap their wings, further slowing down their fall. And then, as the wings gain more strength, they will stop falling and start flying. Wings finally strong enough to push the air around and lift them up
Phil is a grown bird, he had flown before. He already knows how it feels when his wings successfully catch the winds and allows him to glide down to the ground. He knows how it feels when his muscles are strong enough to do a big swoop, strong enough to flap and lift his body up in the air.
I wonder what crossed Phil's mind when he fell down that wall. I wonder if he tried to flap the wings, but then he felt how his wings still weren't able to catch any wind, the air slipping through the broken feathers. That the muscles aren't as strong as before, they haven't gained the full strength after weeks of disuse. That even spreading the wings mid-fall took extra effort, and that it didn't even slow his descent
I wonder what he was thinking right before he fell into the lake. What he felt right before losing consciousness
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cuckoo-on-a-string · 2 years
Text
Younger Gods: I
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Younger Gods Master List Dream x fem!reader (unnamed)
Dream is protective of his ravens after Jessamy, and he's still bad at listening. The reader finds this out the hard way.
Warnings: extremely mild gore/injury to animal, language, Dream is his own warning
A/N: Playing a little fast and loose with dream physics, but we're just here for a good time, right? I read the comics an age ago, and thought I might as well pop back into the fandom for a quick swim after falling in love all over again via Netflix. Aiming for 5 chapters, but we'll see where this takes us.
*Remember, to like is kind but to comment/repost is divine.
**If you'd like to join the taglist, please let me know in the comments!
Chapter 1: Just don't bite me
“How did you get here?”
She stared at the injured raven hopping across her garden like it might open its beak and speak. Give her some answers. It’s eye fixed on her, pinning her even as it fought gravity and pain, flapping with a wing bent the wrong way.
Glossy black feathers hid the blood it left on the long grass. If it didn’t move like something hurt, didn’t struggle to hold up its broken wing, she’d never guess it had crashed into her little world by accident. Which brought her back to the question.
It fluffed the feathers around its neck in an attempt to look bigger, croaking as it shuffled farther away. Soft thunder purred in the clouds, and the steady rain dripped from the tip of the raven’s beak. She held up her hands. Sank low on her heels, as near to the raven’s level as she could reach without falling flat on her belly. If that’s what it took to earn its trust, though, she’d get a little muddy.
For all that it was uninvited, the bird was her guest now, and if she didn’t take care of it, it could never leave. Maybe it would haunt her. Maybe she’d just feel guilty as hell.
“You’re hurt.”
The raven twitched, its head tilting three different ways, studying her expression from varied angles, like it would reveal malicious intent in the right light. He could look all he wanted, but she needed to get him out of the rain.
She started unwinding the thick, knit scar from around her neck, speaking low in an effort to keep the bird calm. “I have something that can help. It’s just a salve, but you’ll heal much faster, and I’m sure you’d like to be on your way as soon as possible. But I’m going to take you inside first, so you can get warm and dry. The rain never really stops.”
Prepared with the folded cloth, she crept forward a few steps, giving the bird time to move away. When it didn’t, she closed the distance and muttered, “Just don’t bite me, okay?”
“No promises, witch,” the raven said.
Her hands stilled an inch away from his feathers. So, he was magic. Magic and rude as fuck.
She spluttered, “I’m not a witch.”
“Yeah?” The raven looked up at the clouds and down at her cottage. “Well, this place is weird. And so are you.”
“It was the best I could do.” She carefully wrapped the scarf around him, mindful of the bad wing – and the beak. “Sorry it doesn’t live up to your standards.”
Her first guest, and all he could do was insult all her hard work. He scoffed but held still in his swaddling as she pulled up to her chest and tramped back inside.
It wasn’t her fault it rained all time. Well, technically it was, actually, but she liked it. The water looked beautiful running down the windows, and the cozy fire glowed bright enough to warm a soul when the trees rustled in the wind. With rain hushing over the roof and a whisper of distant thunder to keep her company, she never felt lonely.
Tasteless corvid.
She set him down by the fireplace while she chose a good blanket to craft a makeshift nest. Only when she’d stripped off the scarf and moved him to the softer resting place did she tug off her own drenched sweater, shivering until she found a good replacement. Her wet hair clung to her neck as she pulled a sweater three sizes too big over her head. The sleeves dangled past her fingers, and she shoved them up past her elbows in thoughtless habit.
The bird hadn’t taken his eyes off her, but he still mustered enough faith to thank her. Sort of.
“This is… nice.”
It sounded like an olive branch, so she took it as one. The one room cottage was her haven. Even if it looked small and worn, she found it warm and soft, kind in the way a home ought to be.
“I like to think so.”
She moved to the workbench under the window that looked out to the garden, where she’d been sitting when the raven dropped out of the clouds with an all too human cry. Her fingertips ghosted over herbs and pots and potions as she looked for the little vial she wanted. She only finished it a week ago. It would take three months to make another. But that was alright. No one else really needed it.
When she knelt beside the bird, vial open and ready to drip over his injuries, he clacked his beak at her.
“Not a witch, huh?”
The wing felt so fragile in her hand. She couldn’t let him distract her. “My mother was. I’m… weird.”
“You can say that again.”
“This might hurt.”
“What do you -?” He broke off in a sharp caw, instinctively jerking away as she pulled his bones straight.
“Sorry, sorry. The worst is over now, I promise.”
He had a wonderfully colorful vocabulary for a raven, and he shouted a few rainbows while she wrapped his wing in the best position to heal. The white gauze practically glowed against his onyx plumage, and he looked just a little more pitiable.  
“Sorry,” she repeated.
The bird shook himself, stretching and folding his good wing three times to push away the pain.
“Son of a bitch,” he hissed. “Fucking damn. Teach me to pay attention. Kids and their fucking rocks.” He’d been staring into the fire as he recovered his equilibrium, but once he could pause his cursing, the bird looked back at his host.
“Name’s Matthew. What do I call you, weird girl who isn’t a witch?”
She shrugged. “Whatever you like.”
“I was asking for your name, lady.”
“I don’t have one I can give you.”
“That’s not helpful.” He looked around the room, probably on the hunt for something to critique, and although his beak opened, it snapped shut again when he looked back over his shoulder. He stared at her in the firelight, but not at her face. “What happened to your neck, lady?”
Her hand flew up to cover the scars, a landscape of smooth, raised, and sunken marks ringing her throat. She’d forgotten when she took off the scarf. Horror and humiliation twisted in her stomach, and she was wildly aware of being ugly and vulnerable in the same breath. Instead of answering, she rushed back to her closet, pulling out an even longer knit piece than the one she’d wrapped the bird – Matthew – in outside.
He picked up on the subtext, deflating a little and pointedly changing the subject.
“How long will this magic potion of yours take? I need to get back to the Dreaming. My boss is waiting for me.”
The scarf’s tail dropped from numb fingers, one loop short of her goal, left to trail on the ground as she wondered how the fuck her day could get any worse.
“The Dreaming?”
“Yeah. Know of many other realms with talking ravens, lady?”
“No,” she admitted, cursing herself in the privacy of her own thoughts. “It will take a couple days for you to fly again, I think.”
“That’s no good.” Matthew pecked at his bandages, and she rushed over.
“Stop that. You’ll make it worse.”
“Can’t fly with this,” he said, mouth full of gauze.
“You can’t fly without them, either,” she said gently.
Giving up with an enormous sigh, the raven wriggled down into the blanket and glowered through the window at the continuous rain. A little bolt of lighting reflected in his gleaming eye, like an idea sparking to life.
“Your weird little house is pretty close, you know,” he said. “To the Dreaming, I mean. I bet you could walk there.”
“It takes a day to walk in or out.”
“Why?”
“Because I made it that way.”
“Oh, you’re definitely weird.” He paused, like he was finally noticing the blanket nest and the empty vial glittering by the warm flames. When he spoke again, he sounded the slightest bit contrite. “Weird but nice. And I still need your help.”
“I don’t want to go to the Dreaming, Matthew.” She couldn’t bring her voice to carry more than a whisper. She was so afraid of her dreams she didn’t even sleep anymore. Not much. Walking into the fertile fields of the Dream Lord’s imagination…
“You don’t have to go in,” the raven insisted. “Just get me to the gates and I’ll be someone else’s problem. I promise.”
She couldn’t answer. She really didn’t dare. The laws of hospitality urged her to pick up the bird and carry him wherever he wanted to go, and he made it all sound so reasonable, so easy. Just a stroll and a hand over to a friendly face eager to welcome him back. It wasn’t, though. Oh, the walk was fine. She came and went from her hideaway world all the time, but her heart thrummed in terror to even think of the Dreaming. Was she really so close? Her home didn’t feel as safe as it had that morning. The security of the cozy storm left something wanting now. None of this was designed to keep other entities out. It was just… out of the way. On the other hand, if she left the bird – one of Dream’s ravens! – here to recover and his master came for him, it would never be a sanctuary ever again.
Maybe… if she was quick…
“I’ll –” Her voice broke. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I’ll try. I’ll walk you to the gates.”
“Thank you.” At least he sounded like he meant it. Lack of gratitude wouldn’t change her mind at this point, but she appreciated it. Walking twelve hours with a rude bird muttering under his breath didn’t sound like the fun kind of adventure.
None of this sounded like the fun kind of adventure.
Fun adventures involved late night diners and questionable life choices after two bottles of wine.
“My master needs me,” Matthew said, like he still needed to prove his point.
That was fine. That was great. Dream would be missing his raven soon. She was tempted to take a faster mode of travel, but she wasn’t sure what that would do to the raven, so she hurried to gather everything she’d need for the walk instead. Tall rainboots, a hooded jacket, and two shawls. She wrapped one around Matthew to keep him warm and tied the other around herself like a sling. With the bird nestled close to her natural warmth, she charged back into the rain. She didn’t even take the time to bank the fire.
Matthew, apparently, decided her rush was entirely for his benefit. “Thanks for this. I mean it.”
She paused at the edge of the garden, standing in the gap in the stone wall as she studied the horizon, looking for something to tell her where to go.
“Which way to the Dreaming?”
Matthew fidgeted and jerked his beak at a random point. “There. I can’t see it, but I can feel it, you know?”
She didn’t know or she wouldn’t have asked, but her breath was better saved for walking. Nearly running, she sped through the emerald green grass and low white flowers in the verdant moss. She didn’t look. Didn’t appreciate. Didn’t stop to touch, or pick, or smell. If she had the stamina to run the twelve hours, she would.
Pattering rain sounded louder inside her hood, and the sky broiled with clouds promising a real storm.
Maybe he could hear her heart pounding by his ear, or he finally realized she was moving awfully quickly for someone who didn’t want to go on this trip in the first place. Whatever his inspiration, Matthew dragged their conversation back from the dead to persuade her she’d made the right choice as she forded a narrow stream.
“You don’t have to be afraid of Dream,” he said. “If he’s upset, it will be with me. You’re doing me a favor.” He paused, struck by a new through that almost immediately spewed out his beak. “You’re not old enemies or something, are you?”
“No. I’ve never met him. I’d rather not meet him today.”
Matthew croaked. “Why not?”
Sometimes the truth was the simplest path to peace, and she’d like the bird to shut up for a while. “I have bad dreams. I don’t want to get any closer to them. Thanks.”
“You know, he could do something about that.”
“I don’t like favors.”
“But I’d argue he owes you one.”
“I’d argue that I don’t care.”
More croaking, this time accompanied by rustling from his safely bound wings. She remembered ravens were in the business of knowing things, watching and listening until they could deliver a secret whole and unbroken to their master. Her cagey replies must bother him on some deeper level.
“So why are you doing this? You clearly don’t want to.”
“Because you were hurt. You needed help. And I don’t want your master to come looking for you here.”
He cast incredible side-eye for a creature wrapped in home-knit outerwear strapped to a stranger’s chest.
But at least he shut-up.
It was the perfect landscape for long walks. She’d designed it that way. Gently rolling hills melted into copses of trees just too small to be forests but deep enough to lose the daylight below the tangled canopy. Any other day, she’d enjoy this trek. But now she wondered if she’d ever be able to enjoy it again, knowing which direction the Dreaming lay and how close it pressed to her border.
She slogged up the hills and slipped down the muddy sides, careful not to tumble and crush the fragile bird she carried against her chest. She slipped through the woods, ignoring the sweet smell of old loam and dried leaves. When the heavy rain came down in a curtain as the crested the last hill, she pushed through that, too.
The raven stayed awake for the entire trip. She shaved a full three hours off her usual time, and she reached the end exhausted. She should’ve packed a stimulant. Maybe an energy drink. Maybe a potion. Something. She had to get herself back home after this.
A field stretched to the cusp of oblivion, a black void at the edge of the turf her mind fought not to notice. She walked to the edge, slowing until she came to the brink, and then she had no ideas.
“I don’t see anything.”
“Well, you’re not a raven,” Matthew said. “I see where we need to go. Just trust me. There’s a path a few feet to the left.”
She shuffled obediently to the side, but she still saw nothing.
“Just take a step,” the bird insisted. “I’ll guide you through it.”
She didn’t want to. Every instinct from every element of her pedigree screamed that this was a Bad Idea. Relying on blind faith and a raven’s intuition might lead her into the Dreaming, but she bet she’d have a long fall someone with wings wouldn’t consider a problem. Some little oversight would swallow her whole, and nightmare would eat her alive, or she’d be trapped in her own night terrors.
“Why don’t I just leave you here?” She could hear the panic in her wobbling pitch, and her trembling hands banished any doubt as she reached for the knot in the sling.
“I thought you didn’t want Morpheus to come looking for me in your weird little bubble realm.”
She closed her eyes. Drew a shaky breath. No, she didn’t want that, but would it be worse than voluntarily stepping into that darkness? The raven couldn’t protect her. He wouldn’t even know what was safe for her, really. He was flying on a lot of assumptions, and she didn’t want to pay the price for his optimistic naivety.
“I don’t know what the void will do to me,” she confessed. “I’ve never actually… touched it.”
“It won’t do anything,” the raven said. “And it’s so thin you won’t even notice. The Dreaming is right there.”
Fucking hell. Her hands seized air, opening and closing like she could snatch courage out of thin air. Damn it all.
She lunged into the thing she didn’t even want to look at, and for the barest moment, she felt it. Nothing. No pulse. No breath. No thought or feeling at all. A gap stretched between past and present, like she’d been snuffed out – or never began to exist in the first place.
Then her momentum carried her through in a boggling mess of physics, and she was somewhere again.
Air punched into empty lungs, and she stumbled, nearly falling to her knees as light, sound, and her own heartbeat returned.
“Whoa! Hey! Watch out for the water!”
Matthew’s shout brought her eyes down, and she saw dark waves lapping at her feet, sucking them into the black sand as the foam tried to climb up and over her rain boots. The fact that sea foam was trying to do anything clued her into the water’s threat, and she darted away with her newly-beating heart in her throat.
“Well done. You see? Not so bad. You’re fine.”
It had been one of the worst experiences in her fucked-up life, and she might’ve told him so if she had the breath. Instead, she barely managed to mutter, “I think I hate you.”
“Nah.”
She stopped to push the last of the void from her lungs, sucking in oxygen like she’d never tasted it before, and the sensation stirred several memories she couldn’t take time to stop and fight. Not on the shores of the Dreaming. Not so close to the Lord of Nightmares. She wrestled them down, threw other thoughts and needs over them like a rug over a stain. Her horrors would have to wait until she slept again, and she planned on putting that off for a long, long time.
When she felt ready and able to move again, she asked, “Where to now?”
“The gates,” he said, like he thought she was the stupid creature alive.
She looked away from her feet and finally noticed the looming doors further down the beach. Silently, she had to agree that she was, in fact, incredibly stupid. They were hard to miss, taller than a skyscraper, carved over in faces, beasts, and scenes she didn’t recognize, gleaming like aged ivory. Beautiful and awe-inspiring in the way an angel or the Milky way inspired reverence and respect. Something a little too vast for her to grasp, but towering over her regardless.
Yeah. Time to get this over with.
As she power-walked across the cold sand, shadowed by the rocks piercing out of the waves, she unknotted the sling and pulled Matthew out of his cocoon.
“This bus has come to the end of its route,” she said. “We hope you’ve enjoyed your trip.”
The raven cackled, trying to stretch his wing in spite of the way she still cradled him. “You find a sense of humor in the void?”
“No, just a sense of relief. Seriously. Watch where you’re flying next time. I won’t have another healing salve like a gave you for several months, so if you do this again, you’re fucked.”
“Thanks for the pep talk.” He was all but straining forward in her hands, eager to get home, to complete his mission and reassure his master that all was well. “You sure you don’t want to meet my master? Or Lucienne?”
It didn’t matter she didn’t know who Lucienne was. She didn’t need to meet any more dreams – or servants of dreams. “Very.”
“So, you’re just going to ding-dong-ditch Dream of the Endless?”
“Yup.”
“Suit yourself.”
The sand made it harder to keep her pace, sliding away under her heels, sapping her strength as she hurried to drop her guest off at his front door. Waves of power rolled down from the high wall, and she felt trapped against the tide of Dream’s domain and the dark ocean lapping up the shore behind her. Everything looked grand and stark. She didn’t belong with her green boots and her rain-slicked jacket. The hood had fallen back, and a damp strand decided to stick on her cheek. With her hands full of bird, she had no way to pull it off.
Cold, wet, disheveled.
Tired.
Afraid.
She was ready for this adventure to end.
“How are you going to get back through the void?” the bird asked.
She shook her head, amazed. “You just thought to ask that? Never mind. I have a shortcut.”
“What kind of shortcut? Why did we just walk for nine hours in the rain?”
She plucked at the end of the second shawl, the one she used to keep him warm on that nine-hour trip through the storm. Such gratitude.
“Because I didn’t know what it would do to you.”
“I can survive the void, lady, you think your shortcut’s tougher than that?”
How far away was the damn gate? Would this beach never end?
“All that matters,” she panted, “is that you’re going home. I’m going home.” She turned the bird in her hands so they were eye-to-eye. “And we will never have to see each other again.”
Sounding more human than ever, the bird tutted, but whatever he wanted to say was swallowed in a sudden, sharp wind.
The austere stillness consumed itself in a rage, lifting black sand and sea spray into an impenetrable haze. One second, she could see the gate. The next, she could barely see three feet in front of her. Shielding her eyes from the sand with one arm, she instinctively tucked the bird close, bending over him protectively. The grit gave the wind claws, and it lashed her bare flesh raw.
What have you done with my raven?
The question pressured her from all sides, a crushing, physical weight ringing in her ears as it forced her to cower in on herself. She couldn’t answer. Couldn’t breathe. Matthew squawked and fluttered in her arms, flopping free with half a scarf still wrapped around him, tangled in his claws. “Sir, wait! Sir!”
The raven’s call settled the hurricane, but the overwhelming pressure remained. The lingering effect of the voice pressed against her soul like a death knell as a figure gathered itself, standing between the two travelers and the gate. The raven struggled towards the tall, dark shape, and she all but slapped herself in the face in her fight to get the dust out of her eyes, nose, and mouth.
Matthew called the newcomer sir.
She was peering up at Dream of the Endless.
He knelt to accept the bird, face dark as a nightmare. Long, pale fingers explored the broken wing. When they pulled away, a few rusty crumbs of blood clung to the pads, and eyes burning with angry stars lifted to pierce her.
He asked again, “What have you done with my raven?”
This time the voice was a voice, not a force of nature. He sounded like smoke and sand, deep and sure as the ocean at her back. That voice might scour her away like a rough patch in his perfect Dreaming, and nothing in his tone said she was welcome.
Now she felt like the raven – a little bird with a hoarse cry and hollow bones all too easy to snap.
“You hurt something of mine.” A snarl carved into his face, and even as Matthew squawked for his lord’s attention, the Dream Lord reached out.
His shadow stretched long and dark from his feet, against the light. It crept towards her, darker than the black shore, and she stumbled over her own feet as she backed away, landing hard on her hands.
“I didn’t,” she whispered. Her voice was long gone. It fled and left her to die whimpering and pathetic, the traitor. Scrambling back as the shadow approached, she shook her head. “Please, don’t.”
Cawing and flapping, Matthew shouted, “Sir, stop!”
The shadow slowed, just for an instant, and she leapt to her feet. Tears burning her eyes from fear and grit, she ran three steps back, never daring to take her eyes off the threatening Endless. She clawed into her own mind, grabbing for the half of herself she preferred to leave wandering the sky over her cottage. A rumble drew Dream’s eyes to the dark clouds gathering at the edge of the Dreaming, and she saw his eyes flick back to her just as the lightning struck.
Her summoned bolt traced down to catch her up in a flash of burning light. The crackle was almost unbearable, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and Dream’s shadow was still snaking after her.
She wasn’t there when the shadow reached the place she’d stood. The lightning blast reached through her to the ground and then back up into the clouds. It took her with it.
An echoing strike deposited her in the cottage garden.
She fell to her hands and knees as the power zapped away into the sky. Mud squished up between her fingers, and she shuddered in place, too busy shaking to move. Rain rolled down her face, cleaning the salt of sweat, tears, and sea. Her limbs felt impossibly heavy after weightless, electric travel, and she bowed to the animal urge to just freeze in place for a while. She needed to think. Maybe then she could remember how to stand.
An Endless wanted her dead. Dream, no less. She had more reason than ever to stay awake. Maybe she could find a trick to avoid sleep forever.
But his raven knew where she lived, and it wasn’t a long trip.
She needed to run.
Chapter 2
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