#Empty Nest? This bird can *fly*.

[talvin-muircastle]

Their Great Adventure Begins!

Tomorrow, @chaos-and-cake heads off to college.

It's not like they are going to be across the country. They are going to be across the county. Just a few miles as the crow flies, bit longer when you take into account a river between us and the insanity that is Philly Traffic. But they are going to be living in the dorm, figuring out their own problems most of the time (though we are always right here!), and truly being an Adult.

Yeah, I'm normal: I fret and worry about how this is going to work out. The university overall seems a good one without any more than the usual number of little snafus and miscommunications that such always have.

And I ask myself: have I prepared them for this Great Adventure? Well, even before they were born, I kept close a copy of Robert A. Heinlein's famous quote, as spoken through his character Lazarus Long:

“A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects.” - from Time Enough for Love

To my knowledge they have yet to change a diaper, but neither had I before they showed up, and they have at least the same degree of resourcefulness I have, if not greater. Plan an invasion? They have planned as staff for two weeks of LARP camp, and remember it's all logistics. Butcher a hog? I feel they could if they had to, given the appropriate text to hand, certainly they do well with butcher knives. Conn a ship? Kayaking serves, here, I think. Design a building? They are majoring in architecture. Write a sonnet, they could, but they'd probably hate it. :) Balance accounts, they do that. Build a wall? Master of the power tools, this one. Set a bone? Not realistic, but first aid training. Comfort the dying--yeah, had to. Take orders, Give orders, done both in multiple venues. Cooperate, Act Alone, does well with either. Solve equations, AP Calculus anyone? Analyze a new problem, this is where they excel. Pitch manure, well, had to deal with similarly nasty jobs. Program a computer, learned a bit, learning more. Cook a tasty meal? Since age eight. Fight efficiently, Die Gallantly, may they never need to, but I am confident they can if they must.

In short, I feel we have raised the beginnings of a competent adult, one who can spin their own yarn, knit their own socks, build their own bookshelves and other furniture, and research the hell out of anything if they set their mind to it, not to mention work with a room full of hyperactive middle schoolers and keep them as on task as you could expect. (Hey, that's hard!)

So I will turn to another author as I consider what comes next: Walt Whitman.

I am the teacher of athletes; He that by me spreads a wider breast than my own, proves the width of my own; He most honors my style who learns under it to destroy the teacher.

The boy I love, the same becomes a man, not through derived power, but in his own right, Wicked, rather than virtuous out of conformity or fear, Fond of his sweetheart, relishing well his steak, Unrequited love, or a slight, cutting him worse than sharp steel cuts, First-rate to ride, to fight, to hit the bull’s eye, to sail a skiff, to sing a song, or play on the banjo, Preferring scars, and the beard, and faces pitted with small-pox, over all latherers, And those well tann’d to those that keep out of the sun.

Good luck, o child of ours. You'll do fine...and we're right here if you need us.

[sp0o0kylights]

Part Two

Gareth Emerson had no clue what the hell Eddie was thinking. 

There was “adopting lost sheep” as he called it, and “being the nest baby birds needed before they fly” for some of the other poor, mid-year transfers, and all of Hellfire was used to both these adoptees. 

People showed up, always looking a little hesitant, always a little careful, and all of them were welcomed until they found their place in Hawkin’s High. 

This though? This was neither of those things.

No, what Eddie had done was taken a wolf, or a--fucking tiger, that had gotten hurt fighting other fucking tigers, and decided to keep it as a pet. 

Even if said pet was looking very pathetic, with a face full of bruises that apparently, Billy Hargrove caused.

That did not make sitting across from the fallen King and current senior, Steve Harrington, any easier. 

Judging by the rest of Hellfire’s constant uneasy glances and uncomfortable, awkward joking, no one else was comfortable with it either. 

Except of course, for Eddie. 

“Dude can we like, talk for a minute?” Gareth asked, motioning at Jeff and Grant to distract Harrington. Not that it was hard, the jock was too busy staring at his pathetic packed lunch to notice much. 

(The guy brought soup to school and was drinking it cold. What the fuck.) 

“Ga~ary.” Eddie sing-songed, but it was in warning. 

A warning very much ignored, as Gareth stood, and moved to tug Eddie up with him. 

“Now, Eddie.” He said, his own tone a manic, if suppressed version of his own warning.

Gareth was not known for keeping his temper, but he also wasn’t keen on getting his ass kicked this early in the day if Harrington took offense. 

And considering they had all finally caught a look at Hargrove, and the way he fucking stopped and turned on his heel the second he saw Harrington, there was no doubt in Gareth’s mind that Harrington could kick his ass. 

Even in his current, beaten to shit state. 

Eddie huffed a dramatic breath, making sure at least some of his hair moved with it, but stood nonetheless. 

“I’ll return shortly, friends!” He called jovially, before letting himself be dragged backwards several feet. 

Just fair enough away where they could still see the table, but not be heard. 

Particularly not by any invading jocks. 

“What were you thinking!?”  Gareth started, hands crossed over his chest tightly.  “You didn’t even talk to us first!”

“Garebear, look at him.” Eddie said, placing both hands on his friend's face, turning it to look at Steve’s hunched form. 

“Those big, sad, puppy-dog eyes.” Eddie continued, leaning in to whisper in Gareth’s ear. “The pathetic way he slouches.”

 Eddie leaned even closer, lips tickling Gareth’s ear and making the latter swat at him. 

He dropped his hands to Gareth’s shoulders, shaking him lightly. 

“His giant empty house we can use for Hellfire meetings.”

“Is that seriously why you dragged him over here?” Gareth demanded, a little louder than he’d meant too, if Eddie’s abruptly tight grip was anything to go by. 

“Of course not.” Eddie scoffed. “Rumor has it the guy throws money around for his friends and if we play our cards right, we can be the receiving end of that gravy train.” 

Eddie grinned theatrically while he said it, staring into Gareth’s eyes like his smile alone would convince him to play along. 

It was the fakest thing Gareth had ever seen on his best friends face. 

“Don’t bullshit me man.” He said quietly, eyes narrowed. “What’s the actual reason you decided to go against your own doctrine and adopt Steve Harrington, of all people?” 

Eddie’s eyes flicked to Harrington and back. “There’s no other--”

“Eddie.” Gareth snapped, a flash of his temper breaking through. “You’re my best friend. Don’t fucking lie to me like that.” 

“Has anyone told you you’ve been using the word ‘fuck’ a lot, Gare?” Eddie muttered, but it was more subdued, the playful mask falling from his face. 

As a matter of fact, Ms. Click had called him out on it that very morning, but Gareth knew better than to admit that and derail this conversation. 

“Edwin Dale Munson.” Gareth growled, enjoying the way Eddie flinched from his full, government name. 

“Sssh!” Eddie dropped his hands from Gareth’s shoulder to wave them in his face. “Fine, fine, look. Rumor has it he got cheated on, blew up his friendship with Hateful Hagan and Cocky Carol, and then took a beating from Hargrove. All in the same like, week.” 

Eddie tugged at his hair, the movement harsh. 

“I found him walking home in the dark the other day. Said something was wrong with his car, but Gareth.” Eddie paused, gnawing on his lower lip, before he stopped close once again, voice barely above a whisper. 

“I had to coax him in my car and when he got in he kept flinching.” 

“Flinching.” Gareth repeated. 

“Like I was gonna hit him or something.” Eddie explained. “Worse Harrington’s house was dark when I got home. I mentioned to Wayne it didn’t look like anybody lived there and he said he was surprised anyone did. He thought the Harrington’s moved.” 

“Okay.” Gareth said, not quiet following this part of the conversation. 

“He thought they moved because some coworker of his wife worked for them as a house keeper or some shit. Said they bought a place in Chicago. She helped them pack.” 

Another look, but this time Gareth had picked up on what was happening. 

The flinching. 

Not going with his parents.

Staying in Hawkins, when Harrington had a chance to get the hell out. 

It didn’t paint a pretty picture. 

“Shit.” Gareth said finally.

Eddie nodded. “Exactly.” 

Together, they turned to stare at Harrington, who had hunched further into himself now that Eddie was gone from the table. 

“If he turns on us I’m blaming you.” Gareth grumbled finally, and tried not to let the smile that broke out on Eddie’s face effect him. 

“Glad to hear you’re on board, Garebear.” Eddie said, patting his shoulder hard. 

“You’re a fucking teddy bear, you know that right?” Gareth continued as they turned to walk back to the table.

“Shut your mouth.” Eddie fired back. 

“I don't think I will. In fact, Harrington!” Gareth spoke the jock’s name loudly, making the dude jerk and spill some of his soup. 

Bruised eyes looked up at him and Gareth fired a smug right into Harrington’s face. “Wouldn’t you agree that Eddie here is a giant teddy bear?”

“Don’t answer that.” Eddie cut in, as Harrington blinked slowly, a puzzled look overtaking his face. “Gareth here has a big imagination.”

“Let the man give his own opinions. I’m sure he has some!” 

Steve looked between them. 

“I think I’ll plead the fifth.” He decided on. 

“Smart man.” Jeff muttered, causing the rest of the table to snicker.

For the first time since he sat down, Gareth witnessed a small smile appear on Harrington’s face. 

[ataraxiaspainting]

Yan Phantom Troupe + Hisoka + Illumi / Darling Asking “What Am I To You?”.

Warnings: Yandere themes, stalking, kidnapping, implied violence, not SFW implications for Hisoka because he’s a creep (and a mention of M*lluki in Illumi’s section I’m sorry for your loss) and also for Nobunaga because he’s bleh, Nobunaga threatens to take out your teeth for biting him it's up to you whether or not to believe him, and manipulation.

Word Count: 4.5k. (literally how lmao)

*~*~*~*

Chrollo

“Hm…” The sound goes on for much longer than what you would have liked or at the very most could handle without sneering, the crescendo in his voice rising and rising like tulips sprouting from soil. “Hm…”

His tone was barely a whisper at first, but it soon evolved like some hideous, god-forsaken species outcasted to a deserted island or planet. If you did not have your forks and knives taken away for trying to pick and cut off the cuff and chain attached to your ankle, a consequence from last week’s horribly executed escape attempt, you would threaten to stab your eardrums if he didn’t actually answer your question. But part of you thinks that he would only find it funny, and simply hum for twice as long as he has already planned to. Or would he be petty about it, and a second cuff and chain will appear on your ankle along with having your only friend, a silver spoon, taken away? With Chrollo, you do not think you will ever be able to fully tell.

“Please answer me,” You decide on responding with a musical note of your own, a drone. It seems to be the safest option, all things considered. You stare at the soup in front of you instead of at him, playing with the idea of counting the precisely cut vegetables and small rings of pasta. You would have entertained the thought of throwing the boiling bowl at him, but you now know that his speed is beyond what you could ever hope to achieve. 

You would never get that far, would you?

You would have to wait until he is gone for the time being to even be able to step on the welcome rug by the door. You managed to convince him to finally buy you hairpins yesterday, and they are safely tucked away in the corner of the table next to your side of the bed, hidden underneath a pile of neatly folded silk pajamas until further notice. 

“Well, what do you think you are to me?” He asks, brushing his foot against yours underneath the dining table. It takes everything in you not to move your chair away. That would only make things worse, wouldn’t it? Or would this just further make him see you as an adorable little thing because he knows you would not get that far, not with the cuff and chain on your ankle and the several locks on the door and him here right in front of you? 

Again, you cannot tell. When can you ever? Could anyone ever read him, you wonder?

His porcelain dish is already empty, with but a few drops of red broth and a few herbs swirling about. He moves his chair forward and gently grabs your hand, his thumb massaging circles into your palm. You don’t know whether or not to answer his question.

This life is like a torturous game of chess, and you aren’t a player at all. It is up to Chrollo to decide whether or not you are worthy of being a pawn or queen or king, and where you go.

Is this all you will ever be?

His fingers rise to your cheek as he stands up, the touch so light it is hard to decipher the intentions of it. Comfort? Ownership? A statement?

Without thinking, you shut your eyes and lean into it. You coo. You coo like a dove, a baby bird, something so small and fragile in the face of a predator that wants nothing more than to take off its wings so it can never fly away. Perhaps the predator in question is the parent of the chick, never wanting it to leave the nest and explore the big, scary world.

Is this all you ever will be? A helpless, silly little thing stuck way up high with no way down, something cute and small that needs to be protected and cared for because they cannot take care of themselves? 

You finally look up at him and he leans in then. He coos back at you, and you want to go back to closing your eyes and trying to stop hearing whatever he will say as a response to your refusal to answer. But you can’t.

So, you think of an answer, something that would make him happy but also not have you speak too long because you don’t want to speak at all. You just want this to be over with, you just want Chrollo to for once respond to your question instead of rebutting with one of his own.

You don’t have a choice, as always.

“Something to possess,” Your voice is soft and hoarse because you never use it aside from when you cry. “Something… someone to keep for your pleasure and your pleasure alone.” He coos again. It is sweet and sticky and latching onto you like thick honey or candy. 

“You’re halfway there.” There is an unspoken praise in the air, one so nectarous it’s suffocating and you almost can't breathe. It is like Chrollo’s hands are on your throat, squeezing and squeezing until you pop like a balloon. There is no escape.

He turns and gets his fingers off your face, but the feeling of freedom is quickly taken away by the sound of Chrollo’s footsteps approaching you. 

“I suppose I see you as both above and below me at the same time.” He says. You want to run but he’ll catch you in no time before you could even execute the idea.

He is behind you now, grabbing your arms and tugging as your chair squeals and squeaks like a lamb cornered by one who will soon sell its tender meat. You want to scream like one because you too are cornered by someone who will never let you out of here alive.

One of his hands smoothly moves up like you are a violin, lightly pinching your chin and forcing you to look up at him. You just hope there is no encore after this. You hope that in the future there are no such things and that he will just answer your questions and be done with it, but that is so foolish of you, isn’t it?

“You are human and have humanity,” He murmurs, his eyes wider and more intense than you ever had seen them before. “And I would love nothing more than to steal that away.”

Nobunaga

“You’re so silly, you know that?” You recognize the rhetorical nature of the question and choose not to answer. This causes Nobunaga to toy with the thigh-high socks he insisted you wear after returning from another day of thievery.

Every time you tried to express yourself verbally, you were met with a laugh, a gentle touch, an embrace, a peck, or... something far more dreadful than any of those gestures. You preferred to steer clear of that type of affectionate act for as long as you could, even if it meant just a few days. It would be a noteworthy achievement. Of course, Nobunaga's libido would never wane, as he shows no mercy unintentionally to you and intentionally to anyone else in his life.

The way your food is placed on pink plastic plates with little sections of where to put vegetables and where to put a small dessert for a job well done of eating all the food, which is always raw or burnt to a crisp. The pastel frilly clothes you’re forced to wear always show too much skin. The threat to remove most of your teeth if you bite him again. The way he keeps touching your thighs, pinching and groaning and-

Nobunaga never answers your question, resuming to hand-feed you some severely undercooked cookies he baked himself. Well, you scooped the dough at least, and that’s the most you’ll ever do in the kitchen while you are held captive.

Still, raw cookie dough is better than burnt in your opinion.

Just like delusional Nobunaga is much, much better than angry, heartbroken Nobunaga.

Your broken pointer and middle fingers are proof of that.

Feitan

“...”

He blinks; once, twice, thrice… and then you stop counting. It’s pointless anyhow, he is most likely not going to answer your question yet again.

As anticipated, Feitan walks away wordlessly, descending to his basement without a single step on the stairs being audible.

Just as you believe he has vanished, he creeps up from behind, clutching an object in his palms, causing you to nearly shriek. He would find amusement in that if you did. Whenever you engage in any action he deems foolish, he chuckles. It is the closest semblance of happiness you have witnessed from him, his snickering. 

“...Here.”

With trembling hands, you accept the concealed object from his grasp.

“...Well?” Feitan asks, raising his eyebrow, his coat hiding what is most likely a smirk of some kind. “Like it?”

Huh? It's... a ring, from a fancy jewelry shop that you had been setting aside money for. This shop happened to be the priciest in the city you grew up in, with all of its items being highly sought after.

“I do.”

Happiness is like the rarest star in the universe to you now, and you will never let it go, now that you have it once again.

“...Glad.”

After a few moments of silence, Feitan is the one who speaks again as you stare at the jewel’s beauty.

“Do you want the finger that came with it?”

(machi, hisoka, phinks, shalnark, franklin, shizuku, pakunoda, bonolenov, uvogin, kortopi, and illumi under cut!)

Machi

Somehow, Machi’s posture becomes even more tense. But it does not stop her from still pouring the pot of instant ramen into your plate, though hers remains empty.

In silence, she puts some edamame, still cold from the fridge, on top, along with some spinach and carrots.

With her bare hand, she pulls out one of the soft-boiled eggs from the bowl of ice water, rolling it on the table until its shell cracks and she takes it off. She then, along with the egg and vegetables, puts some seaweed on top.

When you lean in closer to the utensil drawer, Machi opens it before you can.

She doesn’t ask you which chopsticks you want. She already knows your favorite one by now. The wooden ones with purple handles with white rabbits on them. Hers are plain.

She puts yours in one hand and your food in the other, walking to the kitchen table and putting both down. It’s winter now, and so she makes you drink tea nonstop and thus has a cup of it in front of your chair too.

“…Do you think I hate you?” Her voice, while still cold, has an emotion in it this time; worry. “I don’t, I really don’t. I promise you.” With that, she cracks the other boiled egg and puts it into her empty bowl. “I promise.”

You feel horrible for asking. You just wanted to know. You never know what she is thinking, that is why. But you feel horrible. Now she does too. Both of you, here, in silence, pondering whether or not the other despises you.

“I know, I just… wanted to make sure.” You don’t know if you are lying, and neither does she.

She takes good care of you. But she also ties you up when she has to leave, and one time she had to take out the syringes when you got too aggressive.

So what exactly are you to her?

Hisoka

Hisoka, still standing over your sitting form, puts his right hand on you, squeezing it just barely enough for it to sting.

“Aw, come on [First], lighten up.” If it were possible, with his words Hisoka grows twice as large as he was before he said anything. “I still have lots to teach you.” He chuckles as his long nails, sharp enough to be daggers or a ferocious beast’s teeth you think, dig further into your shoulder. The message is clear. You’ll never be rid of him, as much as you try to.

Even now, when you move to a secluded village on the other side of the country, for just the slightest chance he would leave you alone.

Your basket of berries and herbs is still next to you, a reward for all the foraging you did just before Hisoka showed up again.

“I did your leaf-in-water test already for you.” Just before you ran for the hills, you finally gave into Hisoka essentially begging you to test what kind of Nen user you are, claiming that you were now his pupil. “The water tasted sweet. I’m a Transmuter. That’s what you wanted to know. There is nothing else you can do for me, you know I am no fighter.”

Hisoka nods, and you think that this is it. Maybe he will finally leave you alone and you can go about your life without knowing anything else about Nen. But instead, Hisoka sits next to you on the grass.

He takes a berry from your basket and squeezes it between his fingers before it turns into a sticky mush.

It’s red.

“I know, but there are other things I can indeed teach you, can’t I?”

You don’t want to know what he means, you don’t want to know what he wants to do to you, but before you can stop him he is already on top of you, pushing you behind the bush you were picking rose petals from. You kick and scream at him to let go and cry, but he, as always, is so much stronger than you’ll ever be. 

“This will hurt for a bit, but I promise you’ll feel very good, and you’ll want more.”

Phinks

Phinks stops pressing the buttons on the remote and stops reading the little synopsis on each of the shows he was thinking about watching with you, or each of the movies. You were not paying attention, instead looking at your fingers and playing with the dry skin by each nail.

He sets it aside, placing a hand on the back of his head and gently scratching. His gaze falls to the floor, and you follow suit.

He exudes nervousness. This comes as no surprise, as Phinks has always been one to shy away from openly displaying his romantic desires, as odd as it were to you when you were first brought here.

“Uh. Why do you ask? Isn’t… it kinda obvious? Um… you know I’m not exactly cut out for all this sappy bullshit… I… I… Um. Just… just forget it, okay? Just know that I see you as my partner… Wait, oh God, that sounds so bad…”

He keeps stuttering as he tries to explain everything. But, as funny as it would have been if you had known him outside of being your stalker and now current captor, his words only make you feel more hopeless.

Shalnark

He puts down his phone and stands up from his armchair. You’re in your pajamas, the fluffy pastel pink ones, standing in the doorway to Shalnark’s office area, where there are many computers and such on the walls and his large desk.

“Aw!” He murmurs, then gently pinches your cheeks upon approaching. He playfully rubs his nose against yours. Trying to distance yourself, instantly regretting seeking an answer of any sort from him, yet as always, his overpowering strength prevents any escape.

“C-Come on, Shal…” The nickname sometimes works when you ask for some dessert or a game of some kind, so maybe it will work in a situation like this too. “I wanna go to bed.” You nearly whine as he stretches your cheeks out further. 

“But I still haven’t answered your question, sweetie!” He exclaims.

“F-Forget it.” You mutter, looking to the side. “It’s fine. Really. Get back to work.”

But he does not let go.

“Let me answer! Hmm… you’re so cute, like a kitten. You sure snuggle against me in bed like one!” Shalnark chuckles, and you can smell a mix of coffee and oranges in his breath. “So maybe… that’s the best analogy for it?” Some mint too. “Something to cuddle with? Something to keep safe.” He boops your nose. “Something too silly and adorable and airheaded to live on their own.”

You’re not sure if his words are supposed to hurt you or cheer you up.

“Yeah, I think something like that works!” After what seems like an endless amount of time, Shalnark releases his grasp on your face. “Just look at you.”

“O-Okay.” You murmur, turning away and attempting to make a beeline for the bedroom, regretting ever opening your mouth. “Sorry for asking. Good night-” Shalnark grabs your arm, making you stop moving before you even start. 

“Come on, cutie! Spend some time with me. We can even play Wild World together again!”

He points to your 3DS, a rose gold color, and then to his, which is dark violet and covered in stickers referencing popular memes he saw on the internet. At least he has never made you see some particularly gruesome scene in the horror games he plays late at night out of impulse.

Franklin

As your words hang in the air, a silence so profound that you begin to question if he even registered your message, you find yourself fixating on your unfinished meal. Contemplating the merits and drawbacks of broaching the topic once more versus letting it go, you suddenly hear him put his cup of coffee down with a clatter as he almost slams it by accident.

“Where did this come from?” He asks. His tone almost seems concerned, you think, concerned for how you think of him when he is always so quiet or concerned for how you think he thinks of you, that one day he will simply not come back and find someone else more willing.

Franklin does not seem angry, not that he ever was. He is trying to appear neutral, to not scare you, like you were some sort of stray cat who he has yet to earn the trust of.

Though you don’t bite or scratch, you do hide from him.

“I… just want to know why you did all… this.”

Your eyes go everywhere, from the pots of plants he brought you recently by the barred windows to the blinking light above the stairs he promised to fix soon to Frank Herbert’s Dune laid across the couch next to your blanket. 

“Franklin, since you claim to care about me… why can’t I go outside and be free?”

After a few more moments of silence, you look up at Franklin. He looks remorseful almost, from his visible frown to his eyes almost being closed to the way he does not look at you. Something akin to pity blooms in your chest.

“...Because unfortunately for both of us, I am… selfish, and you are too much for me to lose.”

Just like that, the pity dies similarly to the vase of flowers in the middle of the table.

Shizuku

You don’t know whether or not she will respond while knowing what you are and what she is. A captive. A captor. But you doubt it because every time she comes back she thinks you are here of your own volition and that you love her just as much as you know her.

Sometimes, you wish that you did, because whenever she sees you she looks at you like you were a gift that she had wanted for years.

Sometimes you wish that you did because that would make things oh so much easier for you. She sometimes forgets you are here, sometimes still goes to your actual home, and panics when she sees you are not there.

Shizuku merely chuckles, hugging you tighter. Perhaps she even forgot the slap she inflicted upon you earlier today for daring to say that you hate her, making you fly across the room.

“My love of course, silly!” Sometimes you hope that one day you will forget everything too because you envy Shizuku for never being cautious.

Pakunoda

“[First]...” Pakunoda’s eyes meet your own, one of her hands holding onto a chocolate-covered strawberry from the box she just got. Her other has a presence above one of your own, a presence so light you hardly recognize it is there.

She looks regretful and concerned.

The look fills you with so much guilt you immediately apologize and put the back of your head on her lap once again. It always works.

“You do know I care about you deeply, right, beloved?” Her long nails glide over your hair, making you close your eyes to calm yourself. You hope that look is gone because you aren’t sure how much longer you can take it before you break under its pressure fully. “I really do.”

You know she does, but it does not make the first days of your capture, which feels like an eternity ago, feel any less real, as much as Pakunoda denies the more horrifying parts of it all.

“I know, Paku.”

She smiles at the nickname.

The strawberry approaches your mouth, and you bite into it. Dark chocolate, you think this one is. Pakunoda loves her strawberries, but she loves parfaits just a little bit more. Maybe, to get her to forget your question, you can ask her to get some and feed them to her. 

Soon, you fall asleep. Pakunoda opens her book back up after closing the box of sweets. 

With one hand she caresses your hair, and in the other, she turns the pages of her novel. She loves evenings like this.

“I love you…” She murmurs, brushing some of your hair out of your face. “One day… you’ll love me too, fully, right?”

Half asleep, you agree without thinking. Once again, she smiles.

Bonolenov

With a sigh, he turns his head, momentarily interrupting your question. However, he quickly resumes dancing before you, delighting in your observation of his favorite pastime. Although you are unsure of the specific style of dance he is performing, you are confident that Bonolenov will soon enlighten you, taking the opportunity to boast about his expertise in this particular art form.

Listening to his animated explanations is always entertaining. His frequent rants make you feel as though he is a close friend rather than your captor if only that were true. Despite the circumstances, he treats you with kindness and respect. He believes that housing you in his home is an honor and privilege, a sentiment for which you hold some gratitude.

“A lover, because I do love you. You are simply wonderful to be around, after all.” In an alternate existence, were he not involved in criminal activities such as theft, kidnapping, stalking, and multiple murders, you might have developed an affection for him. This is due to your awareness of his deep affection for you and the kindness he exhibits towards you.

So you say such.

Bonolenov stays silent for a little while after that, along with the dancing that he often enjoys doing. Instead, he gazes through the windows, adorned with steel bars, and tenderly places small tokens that he knows bring you joy upon the table in the kitchen.

Uvogin

“Huh?”

Uvogin stops punching the claw machine, turning to you. It’s a mess, all because you said you wanted a corgi plush from it. But is it your fault, when you wanted to win it fair and square?

Maybe it’s not. Maybe it is. You know Uvogin is never one to have coins in his pockets. But, then again, he always seemed to have money when he was placing bets with Troupe members, especially with that Nobunaga person.

He seems confused, albeit he is hiding it behind a smirk. In one of his hands, covered in little shards of glass, is the stuffed animal you wanted.

“Come on, [First]!” He laughs, delusionally proud of himself. “I’m your boyfriend!” He wasn’t, but you would never voice that.

“...I-I know. But still… Do you like me?” You make an effort to convey your thoughts in the most diplomatic manner possible, being cautious not to provoke Uvogin's anger. Despite never having witnessed Uvogin's wrath, you remain steadfast in your desire to avoid it at all costs.

His smile widens.

“Of course I do!”

He presents you with the cuddly toy, having meticulously removed all the splinters of glass embedded within it.

“Do you really?” You ask, thinking of the time he threatened to break your legs if you ever attempted to run away from him again. He wasn’t even angry as he said the threat. 

At another one of your questions, Uvogin says yes. But does he really? Or are you just something to hoard?

Do you really want to find out, you wonder? 

Your heart tells you you don’t.

Kortopi

He turns his head, confused. It is one of the few expressions you can decipher from Kortopi because of the many strands of hair covering him. At the sight, you bow your head down.

He steps forward, and you step back.

He stops moving. So do you.

He retreats. You don’t speak for the rest of the day. You were used to it though. Kortopi hardly ever talks to you, but you don’t think he means it to be rude.

“Everything.” He mutters, standing above your bed. You sleep so peacefully, something you never were when you were awake. “You are everything.”

Illumi

Gently, he puts his teacup down with a little clatter of the saucer as he does so.

“Do you think I see you in a bad light, [First]?”

You simply look down at your teacup, smelling the lavender and chamomile to try to calm down a bit before answering Illumi.

The query has plagued your mind for an extended period. The exact duration remains elusive, as the days have merged into an indistinguishable blur. No matter your actions, pain will be inflicted upon you by someone, regardless of your conduct. Perhaps it will be Illumi's mother, administering a slightly sublethal, tasteless toxin with a syringe. Or it could be Illumi himself, subjecting you to days of confinement in a food and water-deprived closet. Regardless of your behavior, the inevitability of suffering looms. 

With the intent of prolonging your exposure to the morning birdsong and granting yourself additional time in the garden, you opt to respond.

“N-No.” You lie. “You… keep me around to be molded into your perfect spouse, I know that, it is just… just…”

His smile sends chills down your spine, surpassing even the terror of Illumi's younger brother once launching into a lewd tirade about you in your presence.

“That is all there is to it; nothing more, nothing less.”

You sip the tea finally, and the burning sensation in your throat does not bother you anymore.

[espionn]

SkyWing tribe sheet!

my computer always fucks up colors in export for some reason and its really obvious with these guys :( i promise they're more saturated my computer just sucks

anyway i really liked doing these guys, skywings are fun and i think they have a lot of potential. enjoy!

Physical Appearance + Traits:

-SkyWings, as their name suggests, are dragons made for the wind and sky. They are better fliers than any other tribe, with enormous wings and several birdlike features. Some can fly for more than a day without landing, and even when they aren’t flying they make their homes at the peaks of mountains, with the entire world beneath them.

-They are quite large, taller than any other tribe, with long necks, long tails, and regal figures. They don’t have any obviously deadly weapons, but they have no clear weaknesses either; they are generally successful dragons.

-Their coloration consists of almost entirely warm colors, specifically red and orange. Yellows and golds are sometimes seen too, and more uncommonly, purples and browns. Their colors are bold and striking; they are one of the few Pyrrhian tribes that has no need for camouflage. 

-Young dragonets are hatched with a coating of feathers, particularly on their wings, necks and tails. Most dragons simply shed their feathers as they grow; some, though, carry a few into adulthood, usually lining their wings or making a thin ruff around their necks. These feathers are often even brighter than their scales.

-SkyWing horns are a mark of pride, and they continue to grow for as long as they live, meaning some of the oldest SkyWings have horns that resemble enormous and heavy antlers. Sometimes their horns are decorated with wires strung with jewels.

-SkyWing fire is the hottest and most powerful fire any tribe can produce. At its hottest it scorches through bone, and it can be used with accuracy from a long distance. It is their main weapon in combat, and quite a devastating one if their opponents don’t know how to properly fight it. They also use it for a number of other things, though. (More on this in the “society and culture” section.)

-Their wings are stronger than those of most tribes, allowing them to temporarily use them for balance rather than their front legs. This lets them hold and work on things more easily. (This headcanon belongs to @sidyashchiy-na-plakhe!! i saw your post and really liked it, hope you dont mind me adopting it)

-Not dissimilar to SandWings, they have darker streaks near their eyes to help with the glare of the sun when they’re flying, often facing the horizon directly.

Life Cycle:

-SkyWings are hatched in clutches between one and five, although four and five are a bit less common than one through three. SkyWing parents are not involved much with their dragonets. By tradition, they lay eggs in nests high in the mountain peaks, and return occasionally with food once they hatch. The rare unlucky SkyWing newborn may be snatched up by a large bird, but they’re big enough that it isn’t usually an issue. They are also hatched with disproportionately massive wings, big enough to make the fall less likely to be lethal if they fall before they learn to fly.

-Once the dragonets are large enough, though, or once they get hungry enough to search for their own food, they will leave the nest, often simply jumping out and letting the wind carry them, learning to properly fly quite quickly. Once parents notice that the nest is empty, they simply stop bringing food. They will never know who their dragonets are, but SkyWing superstition says all dragonets will eventually make their way to the kingdom, where they will be made a part of the tribe. And, truthfully, they almost always do.

-This practice, which some tribes find strange or even barbaric, is seen by Skywings as an important part of their life and tradition. Each of them took the same journey, and so did the generation before them, so they have faith that it will continue to work out well. It’s in their nature to leave their nest and find the kingdom, and it doesn’t result in enough casualties for them to try to halt the tradition. The only dragons this practice does not apply to is the royal family, for the sake of tracking bloodlines.

-By the time they are entered into the wider kingdom, dragonets usually know how to hunt and avoid danger, so all tribe life offers them is the ability to meet other dragons and find work. There isn’t much of an education system in place, with the exception of mentorships for some careers, such as metalworking, and military training. If they take part in work for the kingdom, they’ll have societal benefits and a secure place in the tribe, and most end up in that position eventually. But there are always a few SkyWings who simply live on the outskirts, uninterested in the larger tribe.

-They don’t form many close relationships, being fairly solitary dragons as soon as they leave their siblings. They do not very often form genuine romantic relationships, but marriage is fairly common simply as a formality or political maneuver. Royals in particular almost always get married, though they don’t usually form natural bonds with their spouses. The only responsibilities parents have is bringing food to their nest until the dragonets abandon it.

Culture and Society:

-SkyWings are proud and solitary; these things combined have given them a reputation of being rude, aloof and uncharismatic. They are powerful fighters and fliers, but their strength is not in diplomacy. Their kingdom norms, though, which allow every dragon to simply utilize for the tribe whatever talents they may have, at their own leisure and for whatever profit might be available to them, suits them well and has made for an uncomplicated but successful society. (This is excluding a few periods such as the reign of Queen Scarlet, who reshaped the tribe into something more dictatorial.)

-They are generally quite matriarchal; every tribe has a queen, but SkyWings tend to have a more overall unbalanced system. Females are a bit larger than males and are usually in higher positions of command.

-Fire is extremely important to SkyWing culture - it produces light, warmth, and without it they would be much less deadly in combat. It has its place in almost every tradition and is used in almost every career path. 

-They are the most superstitious tribe in some ways, their lives dictated heavily by tradition and spirituality. The way dragonets are raised is one example; there are countless others, including funeral rites that involve burning, gladiator fights performed for glory, a general belief of night marking bad luck, and others. 

-Continuing on this note, SkyWings - though most would never admit it aloud - are almost universally afraid of the dark. The caves and caverns in which they live are always warm and well-lit, via torches lit by their own fire, and they are almost exclusively out by day. They worship the sun and daytime, believing it to chase away the shadows in its glory. NightWings, for similar reasons, tend to be unnerving to them.

-And to elaborate on gladiator fights: The arena near the palace was originally constructed for SkyWings to prove their prowess by fighting other SkyWings and completing various challenges. During these fights they would wear a special set of ceremonial armor, which they could then keep if they succeeded. (Scarlet, of course, transformed this arena into a convenient way to execute prisoners, and later Queen Ruby reinvented it completely by erecting a hospital where it had once stood.)

-In general, SkyWings are one of the only tribes to wear armor, and the only tribe that has used it for entire armies during war. A particular emphasis is placed on wing armor that allows for comfortable flight while still protecting the wing membranes, as a flightless SkyWing is considered as good as dead by its tribe.

-Jewelry almost always involves precious stones, particularly rubies, diamonds and citrine. It’s very common to have these jewels embedded in scales; some royals have done this with such excess that they appear to have crystals growing out of them.

Diet: Carnivorous. They eat birds, mountain goats, deer, and occasionally fish, rodents or whatever else they can catch. Sometimes raw, sometimes scorched. They don’t typically make full and elaborate meals like other tribes; the only common seasoning they use is salt. Other than the rare use of herbs for flavoring, they eat no plants at all.

[larluce]

Merlin as Arthur's familiar/Arthur's shapeshifter falcon AU

@dsabian , @theroundbartable , @theplatanitosqueal , @stressed-but-chill , a little more of bird Merlin ^^ ❤️

LINK TO THE OTHER PARTS: PART 1 , PART2 , PART 3 (You're here) , PART 4

Morgana: (puting a red neckerchief with Camelot's simbol on Merlin's neck) There you go! Now everybody will know you're the prince's royal pet and no hunter will kill you by accident.

Merlin: (turns from his bird form to his human form) I'm not a pet! (Pouts) But I like it. I always felt my neck empty in my human form. (Plays with the neckerchief happily)

Arthur: How did the neckerchief get bigger? (To Merlin) Did you do that?

Morgana: It was me actually. I put a spell on it so it'll adapt to Merlin's shape and it won't fall off when he flies.

Merlin: Awww. Thank you, Morgana 😊.

Arthur: Wait. You did magic here?! 😨 Morgana that's dangerous!

Morgana: I was careful. Besides, how do you expect me to learn to control my magic if I don't practice?

Merlin: She does have a point (turns around and exclaims happily when he sees a merlin bird landing in the window) Claws! (Changes into his bird form to greet him and flies to land beside him)

Morgana: (confused) Claws?

Arthur: (annoyed) That's the bird's name.

Morgana: I thought birds didn't have names?

Arthur: Merlin put him that name.(exclaims when Claws pecks Merlin's feathers) What is he doing?! 😡

Morgana: He's just cleaning his feathers, relax. There's no need to be jealous.

Arthur: I'm not jealous! And Merlin's feathers are always clean. He's doing this on purpose. He wants to... to mate with him!

Morgana: Right (rolls her eyes). Oh, there’s something in Claws' claws. (Watches as Claws gives Merlin a dead sparrow) Awww he brought Merlin food.

Arthur: See!

Morgana: He's just being nice.

Arthur: (mutters to himself) Merlin prefers larks anyways.

Merlin: (flies to Arthur and changes into his human form and says excited) Claws wants to show me his nest!

Arthur: (fakes surprise) Oh, really? (Looks at Morgana significantly)

Merlin: Yeah, is not far. Can I go?

Arthur: Absolutly n-

Morgana: Of course, Merlin.

Merlin: Yay! 🤗 I'll be back soon. (Changes form and goes flying with Claws through the window)

Arthur: (looks at Morgana with crossed arms) 😑

Morgana: Okay. Maaaaybe he does have other intentions with Merlin. But what is it to you anyways?

Arthur: It's wrong!

Morgana: Because is a male?

Arthur: Because Merlin is not really a bird!

Morgana: But he thinks like one.

Arthur: He shouldn't! What if that bird forces or presses Merlin to mate with him? Merlin's not ready! He told me that himself, but I doubt these animals know anything about consent!

Morgana: Arthur, Merlin is literally one of the most powerful magic creatures that exist. He'll be fine. (Sighs) Why can't you just admit you have feelings for him?

Arthur: (sighs suddenly sad) It's... It's not right.

Morgana: Because he's a man?

Arthur: No! Morgana you said it yourself, he thinks like a bird most of the time. I'd be taking advantage of him. And what kind of relationship can I give him? A life of hide and fear by my side? If he even wants a relationship at all, he doesn't even understand what romantic love is.

Morgana: Well, he did ask you to mate with him.

Arthur: Yeah, how romantic. 😒

Morgana: Mating for birds is not just sex, it's partnership. He may not understand the concept of "romantic love", but that doesn't mean he can't feel it.

Arthur: How are you so sure about that?

Morgana: Let's put it like this. Despite thinking like a bird most of the time, Merlin hasn’t felt attracted or comfortable enough to mate with any of the birds he met. Yet he asked you, a human, if you could mate with him. Not a bird, YOU, because he felt comfortable with YOU and attracted to YOU. Don't you think that means something?

Arthur: (Blushes) He... he trusts me more than them. That's all.

Morgana: Yeah, keep telling yourself that.

[angeart]

hhau rescue rambles - part I

>> hhau masterpost here << [cw besides the usual mess and violence: animal death mention]

It’s been months since the latest hermit got saved, and over a year since Hermitcraft imploded. There’s only two people to go: Scar and Grian. And they can’t seem to locate them at all. But they can’t stop looking. They can’t, they won’t. 

The rescue party is comprised of X (voidwalker), Doc (creeper), Ren (wolf), Impulse (partially demon), Cub (vex), Gem (deer), and Pearl (moth). Thanks to X knowing how to navigate and survive the void, they are able to get a void vessel (a sort of ship) to base in as they go around scanning different worlds and scouring for information. 

Until they come across a world that reads as permadeath, and somewhere in the world files, X flags Grian’s and Scar’s name. Not as players; there’s no list available here. What comes up is the wanted poster. It doesn’t have a date stamp. It could be months old, and they know Scar's track record with dying.

Still, they have to try.

They search for a place that seems to have good resources and Cub, Gem, and Pearl get dropped down. They’re equipped with bracelets that they can activate to send X a signal to teleport them back, and two extra for Grian and Scar, if they do find them, but they have to gather any other kind of equipment, including armour and weapons, on their own.

They quickly realise comms don’t work on this world, and as the player list is also non-existent or corrupted, they are going in blind.

Well… almost.

They use Cub’s vex bond with Scar to pick a direction to head in.

--

Grian and Scar, in the meanwhile, are not having a Good Time. 

Some awful things have happened prior to this, namely the ending of the Summer house arc. To quickly sum it up, Grian and Scar went up north, for as long as they could. Away, away, away from everyone. Until it felt like maybe they’re far away enough, and they tentatively set up a house. Which turned into a nest. Which turned into a semblance of permanence.

A lot of things went on here. Days turned into peaceful weeks and, tentatively, they started thinking that maybe they can start planning some kind of future here. They planted crops. Scar re-learned to glide with his torn wings. Grian unfurled his wings and re-learned the feeling of flying through the sky. And they found a bird friend! (A real, living bird in this world!)

The reality caught up to them eventually. 

Nobody’s really seen Scar or Grian for a while, but the avians in this world have dull wing patters, for survival reasons, and so Grian is really special. And the hunters don’t want to give that up. The reward on the wanted poster gets upped, and now the fever pitch to get this avian rises. The hunters go further. In bigger groups. Greedy and determined.

They find the nest house, empty at the time, and they burn it down. 

Scar and Grian come back to find it in flames, and to find themselves unsafe and hunted once again. All of a sudden, they have nothing again. The fire licks high, turning everything to ash, to a distant cheering and hollering of a party of hunters. There’s no sign of their bird friend.

(Grian finds him later. Dead, with wings cut off. The only creature that resembled him; the bird he befriended, the proof that a winged creature could exist here and survive. Ripped to pieces. Echoing the only fate that is bound to await Grian as well.) (It was a sun conure parrot, bright and beautiful.) 

The hunters are on their tail once they realise that Scar and Grian are here; that it wasn’t just some temporary base that’s now abandoned. With no remorse and still too much cheer, bloodthirsty and unstoppable, they go after them. 

Scar’s blood is absolutely boiling and he expects Grian to ground him. To talk him down. But Grian’s mind buzzes, looking at that bird, and— He’s as down to fight as Scar is. Because anger is easier than grief right now.

He’s so tired of grief. 

So instead, Grian goes angry and feral. (The other option is to fall apart, and he can’t.) 

They tear this particular hunting group apart, and it’s meant to make them feel better, but it doesn’t. It feels like a necessity; like just one more step towards survival. They loot what they can, and they continue moving, realising that stopping anywhere to do more than just survive is a moot point. They’re not going to outrun this. They'll never be allowed to stop. They’ll be hunted forever.

(Grian will be hunted forever—)

The word gets out, and more and more hunters arrive, wanting the trophy of violet wings and the wanted reward for themselves. It’s a sport to them. A way to get rich. Like a gold fever, they continue tracking Grian and Scar, relentlessly hounding them down.

There are times when things go worse in these encounters. Grian gets his wings grabbed and attacked, and it sends him spiraling back to never allowing anyone—including himself—to touch his feathers. (He was doing better and now it’s all gone.)

They internalise many horrible thoughts, during their run. It’s been a year-worth of culmination of awful events, a year worth of pain and fear and loss. 

For Scar, as a vex, he’s been expected to be a monster from the start. And all he wanted here was some peace. To be with Grian. He wasn’t allowed it, but now he finally got a glimpse at it—at what could’ve been; at who he wanted to be from the beginning (who he’s always been)—and it’s violently taken from him. So yeah, fuck it. If they want a monster, he’ll be a monster. 

(This leads him to thinking that he shouldn’t be trusted with soft things anymore, Grian’s feathers included, especially as Grian gets ground-bound again and starts pulling his wings tightly against his back and flinching at the mere implication of touch.) (It hurts to witness, after what Scar’s seen: Grian, freely gliding through the sky, violet feathers catching sunlight.) (He was allowed to preen them, tentatively, slowly, gradually, a couple of times.) (Not anymore. Not anymore.)

 Grian keeps thinking about the bird, and how they’re the same. He’s seen the brutal display, the way the wings were taken. He can’t quite stop thinking about it. 

But it’s more than that. He’s also thinking about [redacted]. About anything winged being doomed. About what happened with the vexes. It all spins and spins and spins until he can’t see himself as anything but harbinger of death.

The hunters wouldn’t care to go this far for one vex. They only go because of his goddamn feathers.

Naturally, this topples into him thinking that Scar will be safer and better off without him. They’ve been running on sleepless nights and exhaustion, trying to get away to no avail. They’re tired, and things are looking dire, and— Grian wants it to stop. He needs Scar to be taken out of this equation, separated from this fate. He needs him to be safe. (He can’t bring death to Scar.)

Grian can lead the hunters the other way. They only really care about him. ([redacted] already proved that point, after all.) 

So one night, Grian sneaks away.

He presses a soft kiss to Scar before he goes. (It’s a farewell kiss.) Scar is asleep, only kind of waking up to it—just that groggy, sleepy “mm?” Grian kisses his forehead again, oh so gently, and murmurs the quietest “Love you. Stay safe for me.” To Scar, it just feels like a dream, and he dozes off again, none the wiser.

The next morning, Scar wakes up to Grian gone.

For a while, he doesn’t even remember that hazy interaction from the night, but then he does remember, all of a sudden. An absolute vertigo slams into him, panic flooding his veins as he stares down the empty, quiet forest.

And this is when the Hermit Rescue Party finds him.

They only find Scar.

They only find Scar, and they instantly try to take him off world.

-- part II here

[nothing-personal-posts]

"I'm The Crazy One?" (Batfam x Batsis) Final part

Summer: There is a saying. "Die a hero. Or live long enough to become the villain" You refuse to be both. No, you decided to be vengeance itself.

CW: Mental health issues, torture, stalking, violence, mentions of death, cursing, past trauma, mentions of self harm, underage drinking, bad ending

Tag list: @rosecentury @agent-nobody-knows

People call Superman, Batman and The Flash, hero's. While Joker, Luthor and Deathstroke are called, villains.

Rather simple to simple minded people.

But do you want to know the difference between these hero's and villains?

The Hero's have an unsaid code for no killing, a common moral honestly. Because thats not what heros do. Hero's protect, symbols for safety, peace and hope. So they take down the bad guys, and put them away.

While the Villains, they have no code, no morals. They simply want to control, spread chaos and dispare to whomever and whenever. They are killers. So when they are put away to prison or whatever, they brake out. And kill again, spread chaos and dispare to whomever and whenever, again.

And the hero's come to put them away. . . again.

It is a cycle, an unending loop that only stops for a second before starting up again.

But how do you end this cycle? This, usless and rather annoying cycle. Well, it's simple. Take down the Villains. Officially.

Now, some must be thinking. That the hero's can't do that, it was just mentioned that hero's don't kill!

Yes, the hero's can't kill. And simple minded people never really think of putting the Villain's to death due to the huge amount of reliance on the hero's.

So who has the guts to kill a villain, to willingly rid the world of a killer whilst becoming one themselves?

Luckly(and rather sadly), the answer to that question. Is Y/n.

A young girl who had suffered by Jokers schems. A young girl who prays for the night tarrors and panic attacks to stop.

A young girl who sees the man in her dreams, in the mirror, in the dark corner of her room at night. Hears the man's laugh when it gets far too quiet.

You wanted it to stop. To end it all. There were two options you had. End it yourself, or end it yourself.

You took the first option, which lead you to the top of a building. Half empty bottle of tequila you stole from the cellar and nearly dried blood staining your sleeves.

You stumble while aproching the edge. Humming and giggling at your scrambled thoughts.

Mumbling lyrics to a song you had forgotten the name of. None the matter, not like you needed the title of that name anytime soon.

You took one last gulp from the bottle in your hand, finally finishing it. You peeked over the edge.

"That. . . looks far." You hummed and dropped the empty bottle. Waiting till it crashed to the ground. Once you saw the bottle scatter into peices. You hummed and smiled drunkenly.

You stood on top of the edge. Spreading yoir arms open like a bird about to fly out of the nest. Before you even jumped.

You were tackled. Taken far away from the edge.

"Owwww! That hurt!" You pout and whined. You looked up to the person who had tackled you, and instantly smiled and started to giggle.

"Oh Du- ops. Bat signal! Hehe, you saved me~" You were about to say Duke's name. But reminded yourself that he was in his suit.

Duke took in your condition and frowns. He sighed and spoke "Batmans going to kill you." Duke can already hear Bruce's words of displeasure. God, Dick too.

You began to giggle "Silly~ Batman doesn't kill~" you started to giggle even more. Before slowly stopping ". . .batman doesn't kill. . . ."

"You know what I mean--" you blocked out Duke's words.

Because here, is where you relized that Batman- Bruce wouldn't kill Joker. Not for you. Not for anyone. Batman wouldn't permanently take down the one who had caused both you and Jason the worst event in your lives.

And it hurt you. Angered you. You weren't angry at Batman. Just angry that you relized no one could kill Joker. No one.

A few weeks of after that event. You were thinking. And thinking whilst in the condition you were in, wasn't really good.

You had decided to go for option two. End it yourself.

And to do that. You had to make sure that Bruce wouldn't be suspicious of you.

"I think. I need to go back to the mountins. . ." You gave Bruce a speach of how you know that you need help. Need to be alone with your thoughts and learn how to overcome them.

Bruce, of course agreed. He was proud that you made this decision yourself. And not having him painfully send you away unwillingly. You would of course had a tracker on you. Just in case.

You were saying your goodbyes. The last one being Damian. Whne you stopped at Damian. You couldn't help but to get emotional and hug him tight as you felt tears building up.

Damian was your little brother. Even with no blood relation, that is what you saw him as. You always wanted a younger sibling, the thought of spoiling them and protecting them was something you felt proud of.

And now, your leaving him. Knowing what your doing, you mostlikely will never see him after what you are going to do. Probably brake his small heart and trust after too.

But hey, this was for him. For all of them.

You got to the mountains. You took the tracking chip out of your arm and left it at the temple. Took out the tracking devices in your phone, cloths and other things you needed.

You were back in Gotham. And suprise suprise. The Joker was out of prison.

You sighed in disappointment. In your new suit, watching over the city. Knowing you cant act now. No, you had to wait. Watch, and gain the information you need.

So you watched.

Observed every criminal related to Joker. Every gang, every dirt cop every think that you could know about the Joker. You did this for half a month before finally taking action.

You were in the Joker's hideout. Hiding in the shadows. Eyes never wavering off from him. You wanted to do it now. Kill him. Make him suffer. But you couldn't do that. Not yet.

Just a few more hours. A few more hours till he leaves and is unguarded.

Once the Joker was away from anuone else, out of his safe zone. You striked.

You landed on the ground near him. The Joker turned to see someone who was in a suit and mask. He couldn't identify the age nor gender of the person.

The Joker laughed at you. Started up witty comments about how you must be someone who admires the Batman.

You walked closer, fully engulfed by the dark of the night and the shade of another building that blocked the street lamp.

The eyes of your masked glowed a neon purple. You tilt your head, a clicking sound coming from your ask.

Without warning, you grabbed the green haired man by his face and smashed his head against the brick wall.

You assalted the man for a good minute before dragging him by the hair to a dark corner.

The last thing the Joker remembers before knocking out, is your glowing eyes and that clicking sound.

Phase one was to observe and gain info. Check.

Now, phase two. Stalk the Joker and his every move and attack him when he's alone and defenseless. Continue to do this till he doesn't feel safe in places he's supposed to be, with people who he trust.

Unknown to you, phase two was working after showing up to Joker three other times, he's been seeing those glowing eyes in the shadows when you weren't even there.

And when it got too quite. He would hear that clicking sound. It was driving him more crazy then he usually was.

You had fun. Your not ashamed to say it, that you enjoyed watching him show sighns of suffering from afar. Hurting him in unexpected ways that made you smile.

There were times when you would unexpectedly run into your family. Batman tried to take you in, but you escaped. Giving him no words but a head tilt and the clicking sound you make.

It wasn't long till the media took wind of you. Your actions and swiftness reminded others of an owl. So they so cleverly called you "The Owl"

You decided, that youve had your fun. And it was time to end the loop.

So, for your last visit to dear old Joker, you attacked him in his hideout. No one was there. Just him.

So you tied him up, dressed him in his most classic clown clothes. Added a little flower in his chest pocket for decoration.

You circle around him, making those same clicking noises. Watched him replace his fear with weak chuckles and empty threats that turned to bribes them back to threats again.

He was a mess.

He watched as your suite suddenly popped out claws. You hummed and got closer to the man. The look he had on his face made you chuckle. And for the first time, he heard your voice.

"Why so serious?"

You laughed after saying those words. Because, it was something the Joker himself used to say.

You got closer to his face, lifting your claws to the each end of his lips.

"Come on now. Give me a big smile~" Your claws dig deep into his pale skin, slowly tracing the red paint that formed a smile and forcing his lips to go upward as well.

"Ah! Look at that. Such a dazzaling smile. . . now, let's keep that smile there."

You pulled out a big needle and thread thick enough to go through skin.

You took your time sewing up the smile so it could stay still. You hummed to a melody that just stayed in your head. Happyily sewing like you were patching up a doll, blood trickling sowing the man's face, mising with his sweat and tears

You leaned away and smiled under your mask.

"All done!" You made your hands clap rabidly in an excited and hyped gester.

Something wasn't right. The air in Gotham has been stilled. Like the big crimes and crimanals hace been put on a pause.

And Bruce noticed this quickly. And it has something to do with this: Owl, person.

They showed up out of nowhere. Beating some of the criminals half to death, and drag said crimanals so they could, 'play' with them. The only reason Bruce got this information was because of Selena.

She watched one of Owl's attacls go down. And it was brutal.

Even Damian, at school. All the kids talked about was 'the Owl' and how cool they were. Besides from that, Damian found out a few rumors.

How the Owl might be female. And how the Owl might be conected to the Joker going missing.

Yes, missing. The Joker hasn't been active ever since you came into his life. But the public doesn't really know your the reaon why Joker has been inactive. So the assumed he had gone missing.

But, most of the big bad guys in Gotham know. . .they know why. They had many reasons not to interfere.

And now, they will never even think of it.

It was all over the news.

Joker found dead on the outskirts of Gotham

The details, were probably too much for a lot to take in on the condition of Jokers body. Or what was left.

It wasn't long till Bruce and the others found out it was the Owl who had done it. And saddly for them, took less time to find the now poorly hidden identity of the Owl, for the Owl had finished their main goal. And no longer cared.

You were on a balcony in the Wayne manor. Thw last place the others would think to find you. But Bruce did. It seemed like he always knew.

Dick and Jason were right behin Bruce as the three watched you stare up into the sky.

"Y/n." Bruce spoke. Your lips curled into a smile.

"Batman. . ."

Bruce frowns in your response. "Did you do it." His voice firm. You frown. Was that seriously the first thing dear old pops say to you?

You began to chuckle out of frustration.

"Do what?" You turned around and gave them an innocent look.

"Kill Joker!" Jason shouted. Dick was there to hold Jason back just in case. You leaned on the railing and crossed your arms.

". . . You mad Jay? Don't worry. Made him suffer before killing him." Yeah, like that would make the man any happy.

You began to chuckle to yourself. "You guys wanna know something funny" yoir chuckling slowly ecalated to loud laughing.

"He called me-- he called me Crazy!"

The three watched your laughong combined with small sobbing. It was sad, and deeply discerning.

"I'm the crazy one? After all the shit IM CRAZY!?"

It seemed like everything was hitting you all at once. Falling to your knees. Your laughter being overtaken by crying.

Bruce sighed and went over to embrace you in a hug.

This had them thinking. Maybe they were too late. Maybe they never truly saved you that day. The you that they knew, had already died without them knowing.

[ashleyrowanthewriter]

That Dream Again - Life and Times of Ashley the Crow (Crow HRT?)

Next

*************

I felt the warmth of the sun rays on my feathers as I was waking up. My murder flew to the ground looking for breakfast. I’ve found some tasty looking fruits and I called my compatriots. I saw a friend finding some nuts so I brought him a rock to crush them. The feast was plentiful. It was time to scavenge for needles to build fortifications on the nest. The murder took off into the air and started the search. I tried taking off too, but no matter how much I tried moving my wings, I could not take off. I tried and tried to no effect. And my murder left me.

I woke up with heavy breathing. In the same bed as always, in the same body as always. No beak, but a human nose. No talons, but human feet. No feathers, but human hair. No wings, but human hands. Some tears appeared in my eyes, but I quickly wiped them.

I looked at the clock. It was 2 AM. I knew I should sleep more, but I doubted I’d be able to. Then I remembered that I had a guest.

My girlfriend Arja was sleeping in the other room. She was far into her dragon transition to the point that she could only sleep on my couch. I went to the guest room. Arja woke up a bit right as I opened the door.

“Are you sleepwalking?” Arja asked.

“No,” I said. “I just had… that dream again… Can I sleep with you tonight? If I fit on the couch of course.”

Arja moved a bit to the side. “Sure, come here,” she said.

“Thank you.”

I snuggled together with Arja. Her scales felt warm like a cup of tea in an Autumn afternoon. I felt it was just what I needed.

“Have you been having these dreams a lot?” asked Arja.

“A lot more since I moved,” I said. “Maybe it’s my brain that is finally allowing this feeling.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Arja asked.

“You know I can’t become a crow!” I said. “That stupid fish heart of mine will not transition properly! I’ll die before I can fly!” I was on the edge of crying. “Sometimes I want to jump. I don’t care if I fly or not. But at the same time I don’t want to fall.”

I think I scared Arja. She embraced me tighter. She put a hand on my heart.

“I understand you want to listen to this,” Arja said and moved her hand to mine. “But if so, don’t listen to this!”

I felt better and genuinely smiled. “Thank you!” I said.

We kissed each other and fell asleep.

In the morning I woke up to an empty couch. I looked around the room looking for Arja. I’ve found her in the kitchen with a bowl of fruits and nuts.

“How was the night, my little bird?” Arja asked.

“Much better,” I said. “What’s with that bowl if I may ask?”

“I thought I could pay you back for all the stakes,” Arja said.

I was really happy.

“You didn’t add any sulfur?” I asked, referencing an inside joke.

“I would never!” Arja said.

We laughed and I started eating my breakfast. It was a nice morning. A much needed high after a sudden low. And I was grateful for knowing Arja.

*************

So here we are! I've finally wrote my own crow HRT story. And I guess I've managed to unintentionally subvert the genre. But since the OG uses their series to express their feelings on transitioning, I can do it with my feelings on being trans with a heart defect. Maybe someone feels similarly. It would get less lonely.

Anyway, I hope you'll like it! There will be more stories, but they will be more episodic than a typical animal HRT series. Unless it turns out my heart defect doesn't prevent me from transitioning somehow! Then I'll start crowing up as soon as the real me starts girling up.

Anyway, shout out to everybody who might need it!

Aha! And the title of the series lost the poll, but I grew to feel it would be appropriate. Sorry for disappointment.

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

With Grace, Bow

Commissioned by @turbulentscrawl

Rated Mature (to be safe) | Warnings: Drunkenness, Student-Teacher dynamic, googled Italian (sorry in advance)

Ao3

Antonio Paganini, you have known him for a few years now being roommates and all. He is an interesting person, one with skeletons in his closet and a demon at the door. You were nervous around him at first, unsure how to start a conversation with him. It was upon the mutual interest in music that he started speaking with you, he was the one who approached you while you were trying to play the violin. It was the first time you had ever seen him look so at peace, his face always has sadness written all over it. 

In that moment you saw a man in love with his craft and willing to share it. The closer you became to him the more you found pieces of a man in need of succor. Something inside of that man is broken beyond repair, or maybe it was ripped out of him leaving a void of emptiness. Antonio Paganini is the greatest violinist to ever exist! Yet, he seems so very far away, somewhere dark with a ball and chain keeping him in that abyss. His melodies are sad if one listens carefully like the cries of a trapped bird with clipped wings.

Being gentle with him is an option, one you took but quickly learned he needed a firm hand against his backside at times. The dynamic between you both shifted one day when your mother had sought out her ‘lost child’... You were thrown out by your father when he found out his child wanted to go into the arts rather than business. You have a talent and you were firm about using it to enrich the world!

Your father called you delusional and kicked you with nothing but the shirt on your back.

When he was ‘dying’ he begged you to come home and got your mother involved to try to get you to come home. You sent to him one sentence in a letter: I will come home when you are cold in the grave. 

And well, he is very cold in the grave and you inherited half of the wealth from your other sibling (who is currently going to medical school, also against the shared father’s wishes). 

With the money you have, you are glad to pay the violinist his due! A better apartment, and a new violin (only to be used once you have progressed past using the novice one).

Yet, you know it is not enough for him to be comfortable to just teach you, he needs to be out there like a bird fresh from the nest… Only he… Maybe it is not your place to judge but he acts also pompous when you find him a place to perform.

You thought you were helping, helping get used to flying but all did was land you in the current position of being livid, the livid that is mixed with hurt and self-disappointment.

As you stand in front of the man playing, you do not watch and clap at his performance, no, you just feel sorry for the fool. Your fool, your teacher, someone you know not to look up to but admire. There are few people gathered around him watching in awe of his performance, few have even dropped a few coins or dollars in his violin case—the fact he can play while drunk is a testament to his skill and muscle memory.

Still, you are very cross with the sight. Has lost his mind to be a drunken fool in public!? Besides the possibility of being arrested for public drunkenness, he should be at that performance you were hoping to see him in.

“Antonio!” He stops as you stand in front of him, “What are you doing!?” Quickly stopping his arm from moving and pulling him out of wherever his mind was.

“My friend!” Throwing his arms open, you dodge the violin bow before he leans forward, drunkenly draping over you, “Where have you been?” His words are not as clear as he may think. He stands up suddenly with a smile wide on his face. “Join me! Oh, where is your violin?” Is this man serious!?

“In the hall wondering when you were taking the stage.” Crossing your arms and with furrowing brows, you are going to ignore that last question with a wave of your hand.

He shrinks a bit as your tone makes it crystal clear you are more than disappointed with him. With the group looking on at the potential unfolding drama, you grab his violin case, closing it. “Home. Now.” He can carry his violin on the way.

“Evening.” Curt as Antonio is dragged behind you as you take him by the hand, the crowd leaving with nonsense grumbling. “I can’t believe you would do this!” Say under your breath. The Violinist is rambling, you are not paying attention to him, then you stop when feel his weight getting heavier to pull. “Antonio?”

He drapes over you, his hair smooth against your face as laughs the way you hate, self-deprecating. You know Antonio can be a mean drunk, you have seen it at a pub one time a fight he was not in the wrong for but the viciousness he showed was not called for. Now he acting affectionate, needy like a cat, and you wish you could give it to him. But you are mad! You remind yourself that your teacher has fucked up because of his damn pride.

“It's cold.” His arm wrapped around you, his face rubbing against yours and you swear if he was not holding his treasured violin, you would push him into the snow!

“Of course it's cold!” Glancing behind you then realizing, “Where is your coat?” He only dressed in his performance coattail suit. The burn of your cheeks hidden by your scarf, he cold but you are not giving him anything! Stupid winter, stupid snow, you want to cry in frustration. Drunken idiot! Wintertime is the best time to get booked for performances! During the holidays everyone loves to see Christmas plays, musicals need musicians! And the orchestras always need the best of the best.

“I gave it to a poor lad I passed by,” Dragging out the last word, “Poor thing.” He has no idea that nothing he is saying makes sense.

“What am I going to do with you…” Exasperated.

The trek home was long because Antonio was comedically dramatic and you were worried about him falling over. At least the brisk way partly sobered up the man but God above you needed some patience. He stumbles inside first, you take his violin and gently place the poor thing on the table in the living room— You pray the instrument is not worn from being in the cold for so long. The case is placed next to it.

The violinist stumbles around talking about needing a brandy. You scowl before grabbing his arm and tossing him on the couch, he looks confused but remains in that spot as you take off your coat, scarf, and gloves then place them in the appropriate area. This gave you time to name the many reasons why you should not murder Paganini.

“Don’t be rough, alunno.” Being tall, he looks silly on the couch with one leg on the other cushion and his other leg stretched out on the floor. Antonio holds his head before slumping further until he lies completely out on the couch.

“Pride before the fall, maestro. Pride before the fucking fall!” He turns around slightly as you are going on one of the lectures. Yes, the dynamic between the two of you is teacher and student but feels more like an old married couple constantly bickering. 

“I'm sorry.” He sounds pitiful, not in a cute way, drunk and sad. Rare given he usually is the violent type. “Don't be upset with me.” His hand reaches out for you as you go to him. “Mi alunno.” You remove his shoes, each one drops to the floor. Antonio sits up to caress your cheek, “Scusami tanto.” Slipping into Italian knowing how charming it sounds to you.

Not now though.

“No. No, you messed up! I waited for you! Do you know how scared I was? Thinking how maybe something happened to you along the way! They demanded compensation for the embarrassment and I had to cover for you!”

Yes, you are yelling at him! Rightfully so.

“Scusami tanto.” Deeper his head is on your shoulder as the hand on your cheek moves to your neck, his thumb rubs against your throat, “You do so much for me.”

“I do… Happily.”  Because he is just an old bird who is struggling to fly and keeps falling but you are there to catch him no matter what. Love does that, makes people stupid and helpless.

“Alunno,” His breath is hot on the other side of your neck, “(Name).”

“Not while you are drunk, maestro.” You lay him down under before laying on top of him. The couch is small but it somehow works, “I'm still upset too.” Playing with his hair.

He holds you–No– He clings to you like a lifeline, his hands latching onto your body as he seeks both your warmth and comfort.

Tomorrow he will get a proper earful while recovering from a hangover, then he will have to make up for the performance he missed.

There is pride, he should have been paid better than the chump change they offered.

There is greed for he wants more and they do not deserve his skills.

There is wrath which in this case is the righteous anger you should have.

There is sloth, he is not lazy he just refuses to do more work than he needs to do for something like that performance (he wonders how well did you do? He did say you were ready to perform if you practiced more).

There is gluttony as he drank enough to have him act shamefully.

There is envy towards you that keeps him with a roof over his head, and food in his stomach, and you allow him to do what he loves and does best. He wishes he could give you more but his debt to you by now is far too great to ever repay you.

And finally, there is lust. The sin the demon feeds the most on while around you, his student. You love him, it is clear in all your actions. The one night you shared over too many glasses of wine, the messy kisses, and the way you would moan both his title and name had him struggling to hold back that demon edger to devour you.

He is a sinful man, flawed, broken; but even with all those things he has enough virtue to do right by you.

[lelanida]

Let's open our wings and fly as high as the eye can see. Let's dive into the white fluffy clouds. Let's relax on the flower meadows and mossy stones. This kingdom steals the hearts of travelers with its beauty and ease. It overshadows the featureless dunes of Isle of Dawn. Welcome to the world where the ancestors achieved harmony with the beings of light. Welcome to the Daylight Prairie.

This place greets us right after we have recieved our cape. The Daylight Prairie seems to be an ideal realm, an ideal habitat for creatures of light. And I can't disagree with that. This place, unlike all other kingdoms, literally screams harmony with light. It is on the Prairie that we see butterfly catchers, bird nests and bells leading us. It is in the Prairie that Days of Nature are held, which are entirely dedicated to unity with the beings of light. In addition, the Prairie contains a large number of symbols of the Megabird herself. Gold, flowers, birds and bells. It's probably surprising to hear this from me, but the Daylight Prairie was the capital of Megabird worship. The spiritual center of her entire cult. And I was ready to believe it.

There was not a single evidence of the presence of another entity or another type of energy in this realm. The Daylight Prairie is perfect in its own... "lightnessness".

A mysterious altar, closed with 8 locks. This is a very strange, paranormal place. Skykids run through it in a hurry every day, not considering it necessary to enjoy the atmosphere of this place. But there is something fascinating about this location. It's magical. Maybe it's the isolation of this place, or maybe it's the difficulty of getting there. Anyway, all my life I considered this place to be an altar for Megabird. Eight pedestals, displayed in a circle and decorated with gold ornaments. Well, that's clearly Megabird. Everything was working out. Until two curious spirits came to this place with the intention of holding a festival here. And what happened next turned everything around.

The sounds of laughter and bells ringing. They have awakened this place from a long slumber. The empty altars lit up with new colors, releasing a column of energy unprecedented up to that moment into the sky. It wasn't a Megabird. We are too familiar with her handwriting to confuse it with someone else's. In the days of Color, we were dealing with something else. Someone else.

Prismix. Their name is Prismix. They are a little spirit of love and fun. A nymph or a satyr, if you transfer it to Greek mythology. They are active only during their holiday - Days of Color. This festival is held at the very beginning of summer, when nature is at its peak and the sun shines brightest in the sky. This is a celebration of love. Love for family, soulmate, friends and, of course, for yourself. The Primix awakens once a year for this celebration. They sow joy throughout the festival, and when people leave their altar, they peacefully falls asleep in it. Until next year.

The cults of Megabird and Prismix did not conflict with each other. Because the cult of Prismix did not exist as such. Prismix didn't need anything like that. They were never a full-fledged deity. They can't even leave their altar. All this spirit wanted was to bring smiles to the faces of the people of the Prairie. What a naive wish.

When Alef arrived on the Prairie with the desire to get rid of all the other gods, Ayin thought about it. Is it worth killing Prismix? He has done nothing to deserve such a fate. Instead of killing them, like the Four of the isle, Ain suggested a more peaceful way to get rid of this creature. There is no need to try to forcibly lock them in the altar if you can just not wake them up. It was a very neat decision. All the symbols of Prismix were removed from their altar and safely hidden. And the altar itself was closed with 8 locks and forgotten forever.

But now Prismix has awakened. And they hasn't changed. They are still cheerful, naive and happy. It doesn't matter to them who stands in front: a living person, a dead spirit or a child of light. Everyone deserves to be happy. I don't think Prismix's little head is designed to understand the horror of what happened in this world. 

 

After all these years, they finally had friends. The two spirits that had accidentally awakened them. Now they have become their prophets, and year after year they return to this place with new ideas to make the Days of Color unforgettable. And the elder of the Daylight Prairie, through his slumber, hears the laughter of little Prismix, and thinks how things could have turned out differently.

[breannasfluff]

The next morning, it takes twice as long for Wild to pry himself out of the pile of birds. Even if there’s a rock digging into his knee, the instinct to burrow down and stay nearly outweighs it.

Let’s go, feathers up! Time’s call has the flock launching into the air and Wild is happy to fall in behind Legend. They won’t be flying for long before they have to land and walk to avoid battling the winds.

The sun is warm, offsetting the sharpening chill in the air. Four once again joins them at a lower altitude, despite having to flap more to stay aloft. Hyrule grumbles and shifts a little further away, but the rest of the morning passes with ease.

“Why do we have to walk over the mountains?” Sky holds his wings a little higher to avoid snagging feathers on the rocks. “It doesn’t feel windy.”

“True, but the locals said gusts can come up unexpectedly. It’s not safe for us to fly here. The raptors might be suited for it but…” he trails off with a glance at the passerines.

Wild sniffs and flaps a wing for balance as he climbs. Sure, some of them aren’t made for handling high winds, but they probably won’t be bashed into the rocks! Flying would be a lot faster.

“Time,” Wind wails, likely having the same idea. “My feet hurt! I keep having to pick my wings up!”

“My primaries are going to be ratty,” Warriors chips in, although he seems more resigned than upset.

The kite heaves a sigh, his own wings hunching closer to his ears. “It’s not ideal, I know. But we’ve walked before when we weren’t sure of the area or someone was injured. We can do it again.

“That’s not when we were walking uphill!”

“Farore’s glowing asshole, I thought you were heroes!”

“Legend! Language! Don’t teach Wind new swears!”

The vet hisses and clicks his teeth, following it up with a rude gesture Wind copies and aims at Sky. The frigatebird slaps his hand down and shoots Legend a dirty look.

Giving up on the group, Time turns to keep trudging up the winding hill.

It’s late afternoon and the rocky cliffs of the mountain pass rise sharply above them. The winds pick up the higher they go—one moment calm and the next catching feathers and trying to push them into walls.

Hyrule and Wild give up and huddle close to one edge of the path. Legend and the others determinedly battle the wind. Then it’s gone again.

“I guess I can see why no one flies in these conditions.” Twilight steadies Four, who’s off balance from the last gust. “A bird could get pretty hurt in conditions like this.”

Wild continues to scan the higher rocks, looking for…something. What, exactly, he’s not sure, but instinct urges him to keep his head on a swivel. It’s another five minutes along the path that he sees it.

A cave, higher up and set into the rocky cliff. Far enough from the ground not to worry about predators or monsters. High. Secluded. Possibly empty.

With a chirp of delight, the magpie launches into the air. As soon as he starts to rise the winds of the pass grab at his feathers, but he pushes through. A moment of awkward hovering shows the cave is empty and he dives in.

Flock, come, cuddle-nest!

Time’s screech is ignored as Hyrule, Legend, and finally Four flap their way up and into the cave. Well, Four is shoved in by a gust—he’s lucky not to catch and tear a feather.

Read the rest here!

[sp00kymulderr]

chapter 1

Warnings: None for this part, 18+ for the series as a whole

Pairing: Ezra x ofc

Word Count: 1.4k

Summary: Escaping a world that offers nothing but hopelessness, Mireya starts a journey to a new beginning. On the transport where her voyage starts, she meet an intriguing man with his own dark past. He might just be an important piece to finding the way to the new life Mireya has always dreamt of. Or perhaps he’ll be her undoing.

A/N: You may have seen this before, but it was deleted. I'm trying to write more of what I love and I have always loved this story, thank you @chronically-ghosted for inadvertently reminding me of that. Set before Prospect. Part one is really just an introduction, and a very limited introduction at that to our oc because of the nature of the story.

The small, elegant Cerphain soars along the dangerously rocky coastline of Zjara’s outer-lands with a grace few other creatures can manage. The bird flies free; weaving amongst the jutting rocks of the cliff-face where it nests, then sharply diving to skim the water for sustenance. It’s black feathered wings spread, catching the wind to guide it on it’s way wherever it wishes to go.

Mireya Seda had always envied those birds, watching them from her one spot of solitude on the whole miserable planet of Zjara – once a world of natural beauty full of creatures like those birds, now a barren land turned grey and cold by it’s uncaring inhabitants. Every night for years and years the young woman had dreamt of flying, of sprouting wings and finding her way out of the arid commune with the ease and grace of a Ceprhain.

There was never anything for someone like Mireya on the planet, she had known that for all the cycles she had been there; no warmth, no hope, no soul. Just the grey, rocky plateau and the waning moon peeking through the never-ceasing thick blanket of clouds. A place of purgatory with it’s vicious icy rivers and the bleak landscape of a dying place.

It had been that way since she arrived; eleven years old when she had been sent to the commune. Now twenty-four, every day of that time Miyera had only wished to escape.

So she found a way out, a way to fly even higher than the birds. Running away with a clear path of chaos left behind, destroying what had held her in place for so long. No more fear, no more duty. No more. Paying her way on to a visiting shuttle that would dock to the Deonida - a long distance hauler - and take her across the system and away from the miserable bone-deep cold of Zjara and it’s people.

It’s funny then, Mireya thinks, that the hulking metal transport that will take her away from purgatory feels almost as claustrophobic and caging as the settlement did. Somehow after a week on the ship she feels more jealous than ever of creatures who don’t have to rely on the suffocating, behemoth vessels to find their place.

The Deonida is huge and oppressive in it’s structure, but it’s the only hauler that could traverse across the system all the way to Tereverus in exchange for her hard earned credits. With all she has to her name – credits earned in secret through various skills cultivated in years of captivity – Mireya can afford to pay board on the ship, a bunk in a cabin shared with too many others, and a one-way journey to a world with endless potential and a future that could never be dreamt of in Zjara. A chance of freedom, if she could only make it several weeks on the labyrinthine transport full to the brim with wayfarers just like her – looking for their new start.

One of the few blessings of the grimy, overpopulated Deonida is the observation deck. Often empty - the vast expanse of stars seemingly unimpressive to the drifters who spent their lives travelling through space – the large windows with a narrow metal bench facing them is where Mireya finds herself more often than not, in some state of wistful meditation that helps focus on what’s to come instead of where she is stuck for the time being.

She sits silently and watches the stars in quiet wonder. It makes her feel so small – a speck of dust on a map so vast and encompassing that she might vanish to thin air in a moment. It’s often like that on the hauler too, left to her own devices and only interacting when trying to find a crew she could go to Tereverus with, on Zjara she learnt well how not to draw attention to herself and that modest manner meant she was left alone for the most part now too.

It’s a shock then that when Miyera is standing at the window, hand pressed against the thick, cold glass as she wills herself to feel some peace amongst the beauty outside it, she is lulled out of contemplation by a deep, distinctive voice of a man.

“I wondered if we might cross paths here soon...” he starts, making the woman gasp lightly in surprise. Turning she finds the source of the words to be a man with tired, brown eyes and a mess of dark brown hair – an unusual tuft of blonde at the front. He looks worn and weary, but greets with a surprisingly pleasant smile. It is unusual, for the occupants of this ship.

“Oh?” Mireya responds gently, pleased beyond expectation to be able to share words with someone after what felt like years of silence. On Zjara, it was rare for her to speak.

He nods, looking surprised for a moment before speaking again.

“I noticed you in the mess...you’re not the usual type to...well, I suspected this might be your first ride aboard a long-haul transport?” he queries politely, sitting on the bench as she turns towards him. “Very few spend their time observing the cosmos after their first passage”

His demeanour is non-threatening. Pleasing, the way he leans back with his legs outstretched as if he is completely relaxed in her presence despite their being strangers. There’s a certain and clear charm to him which to Mireya can only translate as friendly – after all he is the first person to speak to her about anything other than shuttle maintenance. Somehow, and perhaps naively, she feels an air of calm wash over as she contemplates the stranger.

His clothes and shoes are clearly worn-in, he doesn’t own many more, and she quickly notices the calloused, overworked hands when he rubs his fingers against an itch on his neck. He’s handsome, but not in an obvious way like the clean-cut folk from Central. A wanderer, almost certainly a prospector – dirt under his fingernails and caked in to the tread of his boots.

Immediately it’s clear this is a man who knows the stars and his place in them, and she can’t help but find herself intrigued.

“I travelled long-range once before, when I was very young. The stars were like magical beings to me, they still fascinate me now. I never really got to see them on…on my home planet” the words are barely more than a whisper, looking away from him as she thinks back to the long, long journey from Central to Zjara as a child. How different things might be if she had never had to take that trip…

The man continues to watch, a crease between his eyebrows as he sees Mireya’s expression change following those words. Does he see that pain? The shake of her hands before she’s clasping them behind her back? No one can know where she came from, not until that place is far far away.

“How many times have you been on board?” Mireya asks the man quietly, trying to distract from the change in demeanour. “Does it always feel this…this…lonely?” the last word a whisper.

“Far too many to divulge. Travelling long-haul can be a laborious task, I’m well aware of that” The man’s voice has a pleasing lilt, an odd accent she doesn’t know. “If you ever need a companion to ponder the galaxy with I’d be pleased to offer some succour”

A soft sigh, barely heard, escapes her lips. It’s easy to be alone but being lonely is another beast, snarling and ugly, one which she spent far too much time with on Zjara. Perhaps this unknown person will make escape easier on an anguished mind.

“I...I’d like that…” Not without hesitation but the words come out quick.

“Ezra” he offers his name and extends a hand.

“Ezra” Mireya murmurs back, a pleasant sound from her lips.

Sitting besides him, she turns her gaze back to the glowing specks surrounding on all sides while he begins to tell her some fast flowing tale about his experiences amongst them. And while she listens with rapt attention, Mireya can feel something intangible rise within her soul – regardless of who this man is, his presence seems to be a catalyst for something spectacular to begin in life.

All at once Mireya understands that, finally, this is the start of her story.

[evolutionsvoid]

They wish for birth, but know not how to foster it. They wish for young, but have no want in raising them. Their kind seeks to continue, but this path is forged upon the backs of others. Their wants and dreams, congealed into reality, and left upon the doorsteps of others, so that they may unknowingly fulfill it for them. Fly forth, little ones, with eggs of dreamed futures and fancies of legacy. Seek those who await their own young, and leave this insidious seed in their place. For within them it will grow, and what is birthed will not truly be their own. The unwitting hosts may believe they see hope and legacy within this newest child, but the future that rests in their hearts is meant for another. For years, they shall wait and grow, feeding upon the care and love of this ignorant parent, until the day comes when they must take flight. One day, the bed will be empty, the house will be barren. They will search for their child, cry their name and tear through anything to find them. But it will be for naught, as this offspring was never their own, and it does not wish to return even if it could. It has finally made it to its real home, where it can join the many others and dream new futures into reality. 

-------------------------------------------

Week 2 of Funguary is "Demonic," and I chose the Bird's Nest Fungus for this one!

[writingquestionsanswered]

I have this problem that finally showed up after many years, I'm a few chapters away from completing my book. After almost 5 years writing this through happy times and sad times, I'm finally done! Yet, I can't move on. Instead of being happy to finally complete my passion project, I feel myself grieving the eventuality. I spent years building my world, story, characters etc... and now I don't want it to end, I don't want to complete it. Suffering from success if you will.

Do you have any tips on this fear of completion? My book is set up as a stand-alone, so making a sequel wouldn't work.

Have you ever had this "completion grief" and if so, how did you move on from it?

Thank you

Dealing with Creative Grief When Story is Done

It's normal to feel grief upon completion of a story, especially one that you've been working on a long time and/or has been emotionally demanding. Here are some things you can do to help work through this feeling:

1 - Be Proud of Your "Baby Bird" - Your baby bird has flown your now empty nest, but take a moment to recognize the beauty of this moment... this project you've worked so hard on is now complete and ready to fly away. You've done everything you can for it, so now it's time to let it spread its wings and live a life of its own. As much as it's sad, it's exciting, too. And it's a huge accomplishment!

2 - Find Closure with Celebration - Many creatives find celebration a helpful way to find closure when a project is finished. This can be something small, like ordering pizza or enjoying a glass of champagne, or it could be something bigger, like having a nice dinner out with friends, or even throwing a little party. Having any sort of event to mark the occasion can help it to feel more final, but in a way that is happy and comforting.

3 - Start a New Project - With one project finished and out in the world, you may find it helpful to start planning a new project, or at least start thinking about one. Throwing that leftover creative energy into something new helps with that sense of emptiness, distracts you from creative grief due to the finished project, and heals your heart with enthusiasm for a new world, new characters, and new plot.

4 - Schedule a Future Visit - Sometimes it helps to plan to revisit the completed project in some way at a future date. That could be reading it at some point, if you're able to read through finished projects and enjoy them. It could be creating a collection of mood boards for the story and characters and sharing them with your readers. It might be doing a reading of the first chapter on an Instagram live, or--hear me out on this--writing a companion story. Now, I don't mean writing a sequel or even a story that you'd share necessarily, but more something for yourself, kind of like fan-fiction of your own work, just as a way to get into your story and revisit the characters and world. And truth be told, if you plan to do this--say on the six-month anniversary of when your story was finished--it will give you a sense of the story living on that will help you get through your grief now, but by the time you get to that point, you probably won't need to do it anymore.

5 - Wait for It To Pass - Of course the hard thing about any kind of grief is there's not a whole lot you can do to make it go away. For the most part, you just have to acknowledge that it's there and give yourself the grace needed to get through it. Most of the time, it passes more quickly than you might expect, and you'll be onto something new in now time.

I hope that helps!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[caffeinetheif]

Farm Chores 

@drunk-on-lemonade​ you are so right and you need to say it louder. This idea is so funny and I had so much fun writing it!! Thank you for indulging me in my desire of going back home to my family farm lol.

Pairing: Lucifer x GN!Farmer!MC

Warnings: None, other than Luci beefing with a chicken lol

Lucifer had become curious about your homelife when you mentioned that you missed seeing your livestock. He had asked you questions about it and you revealed that your family owns a farm with beef cattle, chickens, and even a few acres of corn and soy bean fields.

On a whim, you invited him to come along with you up to the human world when your parents needed you to keep an eye on the farm. Much to your surprise, he agreed. He never seemed like one that would be interested in learning about rural living.

Which is how you got into the current situation of making Lucifer dress in grubby farm clothes.

“MC, why exactly are you having me put on... what did you call them?”

“They’re called muck boots, Lucifer,” you grin, “you’re coming to do chores with me, after all!”

“And what are these ‘chores’ that we’ll be doing?”

“We need to feed the cattle and give them hay, check for calves, and feed the chickens. We’ll also need to collect eggs. Since it isn’t planting or harvest time yet, we don’t need to worry about going to check on the crops.”

You slip on your own muck boots and tuck your pants into them to keep them clean. Lucifer follows your lead and tucks his own pants into his boots. You grab two pairs of leather working gloves and hand one to Lucifer before walking towards the chicken coop.

Lucifer admires the land that your family’s farm sits on. The wire fence that stretches over each wooden post that surprisingly contains the 50 head of cattle. The free-range chickens that carelessly wander the land without a worry. Lucifer can understand why you miss this aspect of your life so much.

His train of thought is broken when one of the beef cows bellows at the two of you. With her is a little black calf, practically a carbon copy of the mother, nursing and occasionally headbutting its mother.

“Lucifer?”

“What is it, MC?”

“Would you mind getting the eggs while I start putting hay out for the cows? There should be a wire basket outside the coop for the eggs.”

As much as his pride hates to be told what to do, he nods. He supposes it isn’t so bad if its you. He finds the basket you mentioned and opens the door to the coop. 

Lucifer is greeted by a cacophany of squaks, warbles, and clucking from the chickens in their nesting boxes. Several chickens flee from the coop, sending wood shavings and feathers flying through the air. Once the shavings and dust settle, Lucifer squats in front of the nesting boxes. He empties each nest one by one and gently places the eggs in the wire basket. As he reaches the last box, there is a hen stubbornly sitting in it. She glares daggers at him, feathers fluffed up and emmiting a bizarre croaking noise. 

He reaches towards her so he can move her out of the box, but yanks his hand back as she crows loudly and pecks at his hand.

“Pesky bird,” the demon grumbles, “I need to grab your eggs, now move.”

Again, his hand reaches for the eggs below her, but is met with a sharp beak once more. This happens for a few more attempts before he decides to take one of the leather gloves and use it as a blinder for the hen. Ever so slowly, he slips the open end of the glove over her head. She pecks at the glove a couple times, but her grumbling quiets down.

For the final time, Lucifer reaches under her and succesfully retrieves all the eggs that she was sitting on. He has never been so relieved that you weren’t next to him. He snatches back his glove and glares at the hen. If chickens could talk, he is sure she would be hurling curses at him.

When he finally exits the coop with the eggs in tow, you’re finishing up setting out hay for the herd of cows surrounding you. You turn to look at him when you hear the door shut.

Cheekily, you call out to him, “That took you a while! What happened?”

Crossing his arms, Lucifer grumbles, “A chicken wouldn’t move. She was in a rather sour mood, as well.”

You laugh, “Ha, that must’ve been Roberta! She’s probably broody.”

A fierce flush crawls up his cheeks as you laugh at him. Next time, you’re going to collect eggs.

[seriowan]

please can you write a fic where tech takes dear reader bird watching (or...like...whatever the star wars equivalent of that is) i crave wholesome fluffy goodness after.........THAT

{ doves - tech x gn!reader } · warnings: none, just fluff and suggestive implications at the end · word count: 981 · a/n: SOFTNESS. FLUFF. DELUSION. just for you and your comfort ♡ love u moonie!! · radio: the sun is in your eyes, jacob collier

Sunlight kisses his face like golden fingers against his skin. There isn’t a cloud that can overshadow the peace in his eyes. Nothing but contentment while he watches the skies. With a hand on his chest and the other on his stomach, he lies in a rare bed of ease. 

   Relaxed by the sun’s warmth, the cool winds, and the gentle tickle of grass against his legs, Tech sighs gently through his nose. 

   “Have you drawn your birds yet, mesh’la?”

It’s a serious question, but the way he says it in the faintest jesting tone has your cheeks flushing red. 

   You look down at the empty pages in your sketchbook, clearing your throat. 

   “No,” you reply, setting your pencil down against the spine before closing the journal. “And I don’t think I’ll be seeing any of those doves. It might be too late in the day.” 

   The slight disappointment in your voice causes Tech to sit up, brows pinched in concern. “Perhaps you will have better luck tomorrow if we leave earlier in the morning. The rainbow doves leave their nests near dusk or dawn and it is midday.” 

   You shift, sitting crisscrossed on the blanket, and glance up at the sun with closed eyes. Its warmth beats against your face, gentle and comforting. After a moment, you sigh. “Maybe it’s best if we just move on. If the doves won’t come out on the sunniest day in the week, I’ll doubt I’ll get lucky tomorrow.” 

   “Mesh’la.” 

   You look at him, furrowing your brows when you notice him staring behind you. Slowly, you turn, eyes widening at the sight coming from the colorful trees in the distance. 

   Rainbow feathered birds come fluttering out from the shelter of the trees, the faintest sound of dove song greeting your ears like a hello. The sight of multicolored birds soaring into the sky is so beautiful that you nearly forget why you’re birdwatching in the first place. Quickly, you grab your sketchbook and begin to draw the scene, acutely aware of the blanket’s rustle. 

   Tech’s hands snake around your hips, hauling you in the space between his legs. He hooks his arms around your waist, chin settling on your shoulder as he watches you sketch. You feel the beat of his heart against your back, causing you to smile at the welcomed distraction. 

   “You’re hovering,” you murmur in a teasing tone. 

   He hums, adjusting his goggles. “I’m observing. Your artistic skill is fascinating.” 

   “Fascinating?” You giggle, brushing eraser shavings off of the paper. “Thank you. I love being fascinating.” 

   “You’re more than fascinating, mesh’la,” he adds, tightening his arms around your waist. “You are passionate and kind and I find your adoration of birds to be endearing.” 

   You smile, cheeks flushing red with a blush. “Can I tell you something?” 

   “Of course.” 

   With a stroke of your pencil, you finish the sketch and hold it up. With the birds flying across the sky, it looks as if you took a picture of the moment and put it on paper. “On this planet, the doves mate for life. They usually find their partners five to seven months after leaving the nest to live on their own and once they mate, they stayed paired for life.” You turn to look at him, catching the faintest trace of adoration in his eyes. Shy words leave your lips ever so slowly. “Will you be my dove?”

   “Your dove,” he echoes in amusement. The look makes you giggle while you lean back against him, allowing him to take the sketchbook out of your hands. Tech eyes your drawing with a gentle gaze, lip twitching up in a small smile at the sight of your work. 

   “I would love to be your dove, cyare,” he says sincerely, gently thumbing the page. “My only request is that you draw me onto one of these pages among the other birds.” 

   At this, you move off of his lap and sit in front of him, eagerly snatching the book out of his hands. Pencil in hand, you face him and give him a cheeky grin. “Get comfortable, dove. This’ll take a while.” 

   “You’re being awfully eager,” he noted, smiling. “You’ve thought of this before, haven’t you?” 

   “Drawing you?” You chuckle shyly. “Maybe. I’ve just never mustered the courage to ask.” 

   “Well,” he grunts, lying down on his back to face the sky. After adjusting his goggles, he places his hands on his chest and looks at you, arching a brow. “Now you do not need to ask.” 

   You watch him with eyes full of love as he relaxes against the blanket. The sun’s golden hands gently cradle his cheeks until they turn pink, his eyes fluttering shut at the light. The wind combs through his curls, ruffling them up as his chest rises and falls with a deep breath. 

   “Hey, Tech?” 

   “Yes, dove.” 

   You lean over to curl a stray hair around your finger. It falls against his forehead and you smile at how cute he looks. With a lean, you press a gentle kiss to his lips and smile when he returns it without hesitation. When you pull away, he gives you a pleasant but questioning gaze. 

   “You’re… you’re beautiful.” 

   “Ah,” He clears his throat, shyly looking away. The only sign that gives his true feelings away is the flush of his cheeks, now red. “Th-thank you, cyare.” 

   “Always,” you murmur, brushing the curl away before sitting back. “Now, sit still. I need to get every detail.” 

   “I’m still.” 

   “You’re fidgeting.” 

   “That is not something I can control.” 

   “Then go to sleep.” 

   “If I could, I would attempt to-” 

   “I can tire you out.” 

   Your suggestive comment causes him to turn his head swiftly, lips slowly curling up into a small smile. “Finish your drawing and if we have time-”

  “Alright, alright! I’m going as fast as I can-!”

taglist? taglist.

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