#falcon chirps

[falconscales]

I gotta look for rocks and stones. I want to give my partners pretty stones that remind me of them.

[pyro-peregrinning]

🪶seeing a lot of species transition goals so thought I'd throw mine into the ring ^v^

like most others are saying, permafangs. i need these asap, for all of our euphoria

angel bite piercings for my tomial teeth

makeup, lots of dark eyeliner/shadow, lipstick, maybe some freckles

wing tattoos(as cliché as they are), and at least one centipede

nail strengthening vitamins/supplements(they grow in fast which is great but they're quite delicate) + black nail polish(maybe even those cool talon acrylics)

adding more meats(fish and red mainly, already eat a lot of white) and fruits to my diet, start foraging

rounder glasses/prescription colored contacts(need these anyway), maybe even lasik

fingerless gloves

CAPES!!!

working more on vocals

getting houseplants

loft bed with green and brown sheets/blankets. nest on top, den on bottom!

building up the muscle in my back and chest as well as endurance

hang-gliding at least once

I would say body hair, wardrobe, and hair but I've already got that down!

[pansexual-chocolate]

@rosie-dear-rosie tagged me in this game. They are an amazing writer so please read their fics and they have such a great blog.

honorable mentions because I can only do 12 Donna final fantasy x/x2 Rose quartz (Steven universe)

The beyonder (Moon girl and devil dinosaur)

Aloysius Fogg (Undeadwood critical role). Bilquis (American gods) So many characters I am hooked on and love so much. But they aren't recent characters

tagging: @six2vii @xshingie @angel-hawthorne @sunshine-hime @jemgirl86 also whoever wants to play

[botanikos]

Stolas has a delivery!

A bouquet of blue Stargazer Lillies and a new book arrives with a sweet apology note, apologizing for the distance between them and a promise to make it up to him. No name was written, but the eye of Horus indicated its sender.

Overcome with J O Y, the prince emits a series of soft sounds. His heart was aching, a bleeding thing in the absence of his beloved falcon! It had been some time since he last saw Horus, and while Stolas understood the importance of his responsibilities — he still felt a very selfish desire to covet the other's attention and existence. He gently buries his face into the bouquet, admiring their beauty. Fingertips trace the symbol, familiar to him now. He was forgiven — always. And would absolutely be held up to his promise upon return.

[i-love-you-just-the-same]

bear hybrid! price who stalks around your house at night, protecting you from whatever else might be lurking in the woods. you don't know that he is of course, but you should be more thankful when he shuts and locks your windows when you're asleep. occasionally you see him lumber on the edge of the forest, minding his own. he doesn't want to scare you, but he wants you to admire him, too.

wolf hybrid! simon that follows you everywhere (from a distance and he rarely lets you touch him). you were frightened at first of the big bad wolf, but when he takes you away from snakes and other dangers in the woods you learn to leave out some scraps for him. (he sleeps on your front step. won't enter the house yet.)

fox hybrid! johnny who regularly sneaks into your house to play in your blankets. the wildlife here is so friendly you're shocked, shouldn't they be frightened of you? however he sleeps under your bed and he's fine unless you try to kick him out. red fur is on everything, he seems unusually close to the wolf that looms around. loves scratches to the ears!

falcon hybrid! kyle who hovers in air around your house. he finds little trinkets for you and leaves them on your porch. he mostly hangs around price, but he will chirp greetings and steal bird feed from your feeders.

they protect you in different ways, trying to worm their way to your affections before they bed down in your abode for winter.

[impish-baby]

What do you think about harpy Dads who just lost their chicks to hunters and find little reader in a tree and they're just like you're my baby now!!!!

Harpy dads..

Their babies are gone. Every single one. Just like that.

Not a single egg was spared. The nest that his love spent so much time making perfect utterly destroyed.

He can't get Velo to eat. He can't convince him to drink. The only thing he'll do is sit in what remains of their nest holding any pieces of shell they could find no matter how small.

Gale can not bear to watch him waste away like this, maybe the heads of the hunters will bring some comfort.

And so the falcon with his keen eyes is sweeping through the outskirts of the forrest, determined to find a trail. Humans are clumsy, idiotic beasts. They've had to have left some trace behind.

It's there up in a tree that he spots the first one. They aren't very old, barely into adulthood it seems. Not that it matters to him.

A powerful beat of his wings is all it takes for him to land on the same branch they're sitting on, for creatures that act so mighty, humans only take an instant to be fearful of something bigger than them.

Gale wasn't even going to waste a second, raising a taloned hand ready to seek out his retribution, but he blinks and there is no longer a human.

The fluffy down feathers make his breath hitch.

A fledgling. Staring up at him with eyes brimming with tears. As if his heart wasn't broken enough.

He's cooing before he knows it, this time reaching out delicately to hold them.

"By the gods.." they're perfect. They don't fuss at all, simply limp in his arms, a baby. After so much was stolen. A blessing.

He gets home the quickest he ever has, and it still isn't fast enough.

Velo hasn't moved an inch.

"Love? Oh my love.." Gale kneels with the chick cradled in one arm, gently lifting his husband's chin. "Look, won't you, please?"

The smaller harpy's face remains blank, as frozen as he's been since the incident until the fledgling chirps so quietly it's bearly audible.

That does the trick.

He's nearly clawed when his love grabs them from him, Gale doesn't care at all, it's the most he's seen him move willingly in weeks.

Velo clutches them to his chest, shoulders shaking with broken sobs. It's gut-wrenching. Gale drapes himself around them both, taking a shuddering breath. His family. If anyone steps one foot too close, he'll make sure they bleed out into the grass.

[freebooter4ever]

#❤️❤️❤️❤️#wait but if this is on the haus attic wall has jack seen it? would he realise what the 90 means?#i don't think 90 would ever stop reminding him of kenny so he must at least consider it right?#oh man now i want a fic where jack learns about patater because of the poster ransom made him look at

in my unwritten fanfic i came up with an excuse for this: tater was also born in 1990 and went through the same draft as jack and parser. thats why tater thought he could get away with this brazen display :P because he just tells people its his lucky year

ransom has this blown up poster sized on the haus attic wall

[just-aake]

Everlasting Devotion - Part XI

Pairing: princess!Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Sequel of Boundless Devotion Series. MedievalAU. With her coronation over, Natasha is now the queen of the Romanov Kingdom. However, the position comes with challenges from both old and new enemies as Natasha tries to maintain the peace while also navigating her relationship with you.

Masterlist Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12

Warnings: light angst, violence, death

Words: 2513

The three of you navigate the quiet alleyways, shadows stretching across the cobblestones as Redwing glides ahead, scanning the area for Sitwell. 

The tension between you and Natasha lingers in the atmosphere, though you’ve made no effort to address it.

Instead, you keep a deliberate distance from her, your focus locked on the path ahead, and Natasha feels the sting of your cold shoulder intensely.

She knows she mishandled things—should have told you about having Sam and Redwing keep an eye on you—and now she’s left to wrestle with how to make things right.

A quiet sigh escapes her lips.

The sound draws your attention, and for a brief moment, you glance back at her.

Natasha straightens, her heart flickering with hope, but the moment is fleeting. 

Once you see she’s relatively okay, you quickly shift your focus back to your conversation with Sam, effectively shutting her out again. 

“So, how far can Redwing fly?” you ask, tilting your head as you watch the falcon hover effortlessly above.

Sam perks up immediately, his tone turning proud. 

“Oh, he can make it all the way to the Mar-vel Kingdom and back in a day. No problem,” he boasts, clearly delighted to share the falcon’s capabilities.

Your expression softens into genuine interest as you nod, absorbing every detail Sam shares.

Natasha watches you from a step behind, the faintest smile softening her expression despite herself.

She’s always admired the way you connect with others, your genuine curiosity and openness drawing people in. It’s a quality that makes her heart ache even more at the thought of you feeling shunned and ridiculed recently. 

To her, it’s unfathomable how anyone could associate you with Dreykov’s scheming persona.  

Your thoughtful hum pulls Natasha out of her musings.

“And he can find anyone?” you ask.

Sam nods with certainty.

“Greatest tracker I’ve ever worked with.” 

As if to prove his handler’s point, Redwing emits a short chirp and begins circling a spot some distance ahead, drawing all of your attention.

Sam glances back at her with a serious nod.

“Found him,” he states simply, quickening his pace toward the location to scout the area. 

You fall in step beside Natasha, keeping your word to stay close to her, though you maintain your pointed silence.

Natasha bites the inside of her cheek, glancing at you from the corner of her eye. 

With Sam far enough ahead, she seizes the opportunity to address the lingering tension. 

Natasha takes a deep breath, steeling herself as she nudges your shoulder lightly.

“Y/n,” she calls softly, her voice a quiet plea.

You don’t respond, your gaze fixed ahead, and Natasha’s heart sinks. She takes another breath, her words tumbling out earnestly. 

“I’m sorry,” she begins. “I should have told you about Redwing. It’s just…” She hesitates, searching for the right words. “Ross had his men following you, and I knew he wouldn’t stop unless there was some kind of surveillance to replace his.” 

Your eyes narrow slightly at her words, though you still don’t look her way.

Natasha hurries to clarify, her voice faltering.

“Not that you need to be watched,” she says hastily. “I just wanted to make sure you were safe. That’s all. I swear.” 

Her voice falters as you continue to remain silent, and she sighs heavily, running a hand through her hair as frustration and regret simmer within her. 

“I really am—” Natasha freezes mid-sentence, her words catching in her throat as she catches the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

Her eyes narrow in suspicion.

“Wait a second…” she mutters before letting out an exasperated sigh. “At what point did you forgive me?”  

You finally look at her, a playful glint in your eyes. 

“At the first ‘I’m sorry,’” you admit with a shrug.

Natasha exhales sharply, shaking her head. 

“You were messing with me this whole time?”

“Maybe a little,” you confess with a soft chuckle. “I told you, it’s cute when the charming princess gets flustered.” 

Natasha rolls her eyes, though a faint blush dusts her cheeks. Reaching out, she catches your hand, stopping you and turning you to face her.

“You know,” she mutters, a teasing smirk playing on her lips, “having your queen grovel for forgiveness might be grounds for punishment.” 

Laughing lightly, you step closer, leaning into her body, your voice dropping as you reply in a challenge.

“Then punish me, my queen.”

Natasha’s breath hitches for a fraction of a second, the warmth in your tone and the proximity sending her heart racing.

But before she can respond, you step back with a knowing grin, your eyes sparkling with mischief. 

“You’re unbelievable,” Natasha mutters under her breath, though the smile tugging at her lips betrays her true feelings.

“And you love it,” you quip before stepping to follow Sam toward Redwing’s signal.

Natasha huffs, shaking her head as she refocuses on the task at hand, though a faint, lingering smile refuses to leave her face.

The alley stretches ahead, cloaked in dim light and deepening shadows as you all silently approach the narrow entrance where muffled voices echo from within. 

The three of you press against the wall, staying hidden. 

Sam raises a finger to his lips, signaling for silence as he leans forward, peeking cautiously around the corner.

“It’s Sitwell,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “And he’s not alone.”

Natasha creeps forward to peer around the corner, her sharp gaze taking in the scene as the lord’s voice becomes clearer. 

“It’s not my fault that Commander Hill took over Rumlow’s operations before I could!” Sitwell’s voice is frantic, a mix of frustration and desperation. “She locked everything down.”

“And what of the weapons?” a second voice asks, calm yet menacing. It’s muffled, belonging to the cloaked and masked figure pinning Sitwell against the wall. 

“I—I don’t know where they are!” Sitwell stammers, his voice trembling.

The figure’s grip tightens as they brandish a knife, the blade gleaming faintly in the low light.

“We had a deal,” the figure hisses, their tone laced with quiet fury. 

Sitwell fumbles frantically, producing a glowing stone similar to the one Natasha had seen before at the tavern. He offers it to the figure, his hand shaking.

“Wait!” he pleads. “I can get you more! Rumlow wasn’t the only one who knew the man who made them—I do, too.”

The figure hesitates, taking the stone and examining it. They motion for Sitwell to continue.

The lord swallows hard, seizing the chance to plead his case.

“Rumlow had a deal with him. He was supposed to deliver secrets about Dreykov and Romanov’s Widow operations in exchange for the weapons,” Sitwell says hurriedly. “But he double-crossed him and used it for himself. Now, only one person can give him what he wants.” 

“Who?” the figure demands.

“Lady Y/n—she’s the one he’ll trade for,” Sitwell blurts out, his voice shaking.

Natasha stiffens, her head snapping toward you. Her expression hardens with a mix of alarm and fury.

Sam clenches his jaw, his focus shifting to her as if awaiting orders. 

Natasha looks between you and the alleyway, her mind racing, before coming to a decision.

She gestures for Sam to take you away.

With an acknowledging nod, Sam starts to nudge you back, but you shove his arm aside when you realize that she intends to stay. 

The masked figure tilts their head, processing Sitwell’s claim, before their attention snaps to the faint movement from your group.

Their gaze locks on Natasha, their body tensing in readiness.

In an instant, they shove Sitwell to the ground and bolts.

“Secure Sitwell!” Natasha commands Sam as she charges forward after the fleeing figure.

Natasha closes the distance quickly, her movements precise as she grabs the figure’s cloak, yanking them back.

The figure stumbles but smoothly pivots on their heel, delivering a swift kick toward Natasha’s head.

Natasha ducks under the attack, but with surprising skill, the figure follows up quick with a sharp kick aimed at her torso. She blocks it at the last second with her arms, but the impact forces her to stumble back. 

You’re immediately at her side, steadying her with firm hands.

“Thanks,” she mutters breathlessly, her eyes never leaving the figure. 

The cloaked individual looks between the two of you cautiously before they suddenly lunge, their knife flashing as they swing at Natasha with calculated precision. 

Natasha pushes you away from her side as she sidesteps each swipe, narrowly dodging the blade.

Grabbing the figure’s wrist mid-swing, Natasha twists sharply, forcing them to drop the weapon with a metallic clatter. She traps their arms in a hold, locking them in place.

“Now!” Natasha shouts to you.

Understanding her unspoken command, you move quickly, delivering a powerful kick to the figure’s side. The impact forces a grunt from them as Natasha releases her hold, letting them stumble back into the wall. 

The glowing stone slips from the figure’s hand, falling to the ground.

The moment it hits the pavement, a loud crack resounds, and an intense, blinding light explodes outward, flooding the alley with a searing brilliance.

“Get down!” Natasha yells, shielding you with her body as the light engulfs the area.

The overwhelming brightness disorients you both, your vision obscured for several long seconds. When the light finally fades, Natasha blinks rapidly, her sight still hazy as she surveys the alley.

But after a quick scan, it’s clear that the mysterious individual is gone.

Natasha curses under her breath when there’s no trace of where they went. Only the faintly glowing, fractured stone remains on the ground, pulsing weakly with light.

“Damn it,” Natasha mutters, frustration evident in her tone.

Your hand comes to rest on her arm, grounding her for a moment.

She turns to you instinctively, her eyes darting over you, scanning for any sign of injury. Her hands come up to cup your face, tilting your head slightly to inspect every angle. 

“I’m fine, Natasha,” you assure her softly, gently pulling her hands from your face and placing them back at her sides. 

The warmth in your touch lingers even as you step back, creating a subtle distance between you. 

Your eyes flick briefly to where Sam stands, your awareness of the others pulling you back into your carefully maintained composure.

The sound of a struggle draws Natasha’s attention to where Sam restrains Sitwell, who thrashes ineffectively in his grip.

“Unhand me!” Sitwell shouts, his voice sharp and panicked.

Natasha stalks over to the squirming lord, her presence looming with command.

“Who was that?” she demands, her voice cold and threatening.

Sitwell recoils at her tone, his earlier bravado crumbling into fear. 

“I don’t know!” he exclaims. “They’re just…some black market arms dealer. Rumlow had a deal with them.”

Natasha’s expression hardens, remembering the way Sitwell targeted you at the council meeting, making you experience all sorts of discomfort as he questioned you. 

“All your talk of loyalty to the kingdom, yet here you are—a traitor.” 

Her words cut like a blade, and Sitwell visibly flinches.

“No, Your Majesty,” he pleads, desperation creeping into his tone. “I was trapped in Rumlow’s deal. When he didn’t fulfill his part, they came for me. I had no choice.”

“That’s a pathetic excuse,” Sam scoffs, tightening his grip on the struggling man.

Natasha steps closer, her icy glare silencing any retort from Sitwell.

“If you want even a chance at leniency, you’ll tell me who Rumlow was working with. Who made these weapons?”

Sitwell hesitates, the weight of her demand pressing down on him.

Finally, he opens his mouth to answer.

But before he can speak, a sharp whistling sound cuts through the air.

An arrow buries itself in Sitwell’s chest. His words die on his lips as his body crumples to the ground.

Natasha’s head snaps upward, her sharp gaze locking onto a shadowy figure perched on a rooftop above. 

The figure’s silhouette is menacing, their face obscured, but Natasha doesn’t miss how their focus shifts directly to you.

“Natasha,” you whisper, your voice tinged with worry as you instinctively grab her arm, tugging her back. 

But Natasha immediately moves to shield you, pushing you behind her protectively.

Her eyes narrow dangerously as she glares up at the figure.

For a moment, they linger, their presence a silent threat, before disappearing into the darkness.

Only once Natasha confirms the area is safe does she drop her hand from your side.

Sam kneels beside Sitwell’s body, his expression grim.

“He’s gone,” he confirms.

Natasha clenches her fists, her frustration mounting.

Sitwell’s death has left more questions than answers, and her mind churns with thoughts of who these mysterious figures could be.

Before she can voice her thoughts, she notices you moving away from her side.

Natasha turns to see you kneeling beside the fractured stone, its faint glow drawing your attention.

The light pulses weakly, almost hypnotically, and your hand hovers inches above it. 

Natasha remembers her earlier experience back at the tavern when her hand had brushed the similar stone on the attacker’s glove—the flashes of the worst moment of her life and the fear that had gripped her mind and heart.

“Y/n, don’t touch that,” Natasha warns, stepping forward and reaching for your arm.

The moment her fingers graze your skin, your reaction is sudden and uncharacteristically harsh.

You swat her hand away with surprising force, startling her.

Natasha pauses and pulls back from you, her eyes widening in shock. 

“Y/n?” she calls again, softer this time, her voice laced with worry as her eyes search your face.

For a brief second, your expression is distant, your eyes unfocused. Then you blink rapidly, as though shaking off a haze, and your gaze shifts to her, confusion flickering across your features.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, your voice tinged with genuine puzzlement at her expression.

Natasha’s lips press into a thin line, her sharp eyes scrutinizing you. 

“You pushed me away when I tried to stop you,” she says cautiously.

“I did?” Your brow furrows in surprise, and your gaze darts back to the now-dimming stone. Its glow fades completely, leaving only the cracked surface behind.

Natasha watches you closely as you stare at the stone, your expression unreadable.

The silence stretches between you, heavy with unspoken questions.

“Y/n?” Natasha says softly, her hand reaching for your arm again.

This time, you don’t pull away. You turn to face her, your eyes meeting hers.

“You don’t remember?” she presses, her voice gentle but firm. 

You hesitate for a moment, your hands fidgeting nervously in front of you at her words, but then you shake your head lightly and give her a reassuring smile.

“I'm sorry, my body must’ve still been on the edge after everything that just happened,” you reply softly.

Natasha studies you for a moment longer, unease flickering in her chest.

Whatever had just happened, it wasn’t normal like you’re suggesting. And as much as she wants to press further, she holds back, not wanting to push you too hard.

“That’s enough for today. Let’s head back,” she finally says, her tone steady despite the worry lingering in her gaze.

You nod silently in agreement before making your way out of the alley. 

But Natasha lingers in place, turning her attention back to the fractured stone on the ground. Her mind races with the mystery of its power—and the brief, unsettling moment when it seemed like you weren’t entirely yourself.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12

a/n: And we're back. 😁 Time for more mysteries, secrets, and challenges for the two. Thank you for your patience and for reading!

If you asked to be tagged and I missed it, please let me know again.

Taglist : @midastouch013, @2silverchain, @dvrkhcld, @observeowl, @x-drowned-x, @fireandblood-3, @natsxwife, @leequifey, @blacklightsposts, @srt-sah, @scar-letwidow, @likefirenrain, @autorasexy, @natsbiggestfan1, @lex13cm, @iheartjohansson, @tofu9162, @unexpected-character, @natashasilverfox, @acciowriting, @qtreesfanstuff, @mrsrushman, @inarayofmoonlight, @viosblog112, @inarayofmoonlight, @maximoff-jp, @natashasilverfox

[falconscales]

My kin sideblog that has become me posting stimboards for two weeks in a row and then not posting for months at a time

[pyro-peregrinning]

shoutout to ✨️him✨️

[void-of-unparalleled-chaos]

Danny "Commit To The Bit" Fenton decides that his next course of action is to modify his gas mask to look like a plague doctor and starts perching in building rafters like someone straight out of Assassins Creed to fuck with people. As such, we end up getting scenes like this:

*Tim, Duke and Jason sitting at the dining room table, minding their buisness*

Tim: "Does anyone... does anyone else feel like they're being watched...?"

Jason: "Well now that you mention it..."

*LOW STATICKY HISSING*

*Everyone looks up*

Two bros, chillin in the batcave, 0 feat apart cuz they’re best friends

Also because Danny weighs like a wet baby crow in ghost form and he likes to have his Perch.

Duke would sooner take up Condiment King duties than turn him down

[demonic0angel]

May we get a story for your animal au? Maybe deer danny/cass, or wolf jazz/jason, or just the phantom family dealing with the fact they are animals? Anything your brilliant brain can comeup with.

(Taking a different route with this one lmao)

Damian walked in through the door. "Hello, Father. Hello, Richard."

"Hello, Damian," Bruce said, not taking his eyes off of the newspaper.

When he looked up, Damian had slipped through the doors and to his room. Bruce looked at Dick, whose mouth was completely open as he stared after where Damian had disappeared.

"... Dick?" Bruce asked.

Dick turned to Bruce slowly with wide eyes. "Damian just brought a bird, a snake, a deer, and a wolf into the manor."

".... WHAT?!??!"

————

The entire family congregated around Damian's room, which was locked.

"Damian?" Dick asked, very sickly sweet. "Could you open the door for us?"

"Who's us?" Damian asked after a long moment. There was some shuffling and clacking noises like he was rearranging the room.

Jason pulled up his sleeves at this point, but Duke and Tim quickly held him down, resulting in some muffled cursing and more scuffles. Bruce pinched his nose.

"Uhm. All of us. Damian! We're really worried, I think I saw a wolf and a snake enter your room? Dami? Please open the door," Dick said desperately.

Damian gave a long, audible sigh, and then said, "Give me a moment. I'll open the door in a few minutes when I'm ready."

Dick put his head in his hands. It was Bruce who asked, "Are you safe, son?"

"I'm fine! They're docile and quite nice. You're all worrying for nothing."

True to his word, the door opened a few moments later and they all poured into his room, where they gaped at the sight of the animals around his bed.

A white deer with large horns sat at the foot of his bed, looking at them with wise, green eyes. A peregrine falcon perched on his headboard, chirping. An enormous, black wolf prowled closer and brushed against Damian's side, almost making them all jump, which was only worsened when they realized the other black thing around his body was a large king cobra, hissing softly.

"Damian?!" Dick nearly shrieked. "That's a—"

"King cobra? Yes, I am aware. These four were traveling together around Gotham Academy while I was studying, so I went to see them and earned their trust. I asked them to follow me home and they have agreed. So here they are."

Jason blurted out, "Are you fucking crazy?" And Tim and Stephanie rushed to agree, already reaching out to pull Damian away from the wolf and snake.

Damian pulled away from them with a huff. "It's fine! I am alright! They are obedient and won't attack me. Look." He pressed a hand to the wolf's snout and pushed. Said wolf was so large that its head reached even higher than Damian's gelled hair.

It didn't move when Damian pushed at it, but when he insisted, it then gently toppled over with a huff, like the way an overgrown dog could be pushed to the floor.

Damian beamed and bent down slowly, as to not dislodge the cobra around his neck, to furiously pet and stroke the wolf. Its fur was so thick that his hands sank straight through, which only delighted him more. The wolf's tail wagged and then the deer approached with a gentle rumble, also wanting pets.

The falcon wasn't far behind, flying towards them with a screech before landing on Damian's shoulder gently. The cobra didn't even twitch, just flicking out its tongue.

Damian beamed again. "See! They're very docile!"

"This entire family is crazy," Duke muttered, and the rest of them could only mournfully agree, watching as their little brother was starting to fall in love with four random, dangerous, wild animals.

It was too late. They were now pets.

[botanikos]

Upon Stolas' return to his room, he would have smelled the incense long before opening the door.

His room is lit with candles, gently perfumed with jasmine and a fresh breeze. In his luxurious bathroom, the tap turns off as the tub finishes filling. It is full with rich bubbles, little purple petals fluttering to the surface. Horus was there, but he's unfortunately had to attend to important business. He wanted to make sure Stolas had a relaxing evening to himself. By the tub, on a stool, is a tray of sweets and a refreshing fruity non-alcoholic drink along with a piece of paper with a single, hand drawn heart in gold, that says "Enjoy~" underneath.

Exhaustion is etched into the owl's features, taking shape in his frame as shoulders slouch and posture crumbles. His hat is tossed onto the bed, and the cape is released, draped haphazardly over a small decorative screen. The incense and the cool breeze are a balm against the day's work.

He breathes in deeply, talons clicking against the floor as he approaches the tub. His washroom is a disappointing sight, as it awaits him in its emptiness. There was only one being he wanted to see now that his work was done with. But of course, their schedules didn't always align, and duty called. However, the familiar presence that once filled it does not go unnoticed. He plucks the small card up, holding it close to his face as his eyes close. A soft and appreciative sound rose in his chest. He traces the heart with a finger and smiles. He was almost certain this was the love composers wrote songs about; the kind that was sweet, exhilarating, mysterious, and tender. It was a shame his falcon wasn't there to join him.

Stolas undresses, slipping into the bath with a groan. He reaches for the beverage, sipping from it before nearly submerging himself entirely. How he survived before Horus was honestly beyond him. He would have to show the other demon just how much he appreciated him. There were a vast number of ways to do so, and Stolas already knew a few he'd like to offer. . .

[lsunstreakerl]

wing!famiglia, 2k, GP POV. some things are different- but some things stay the same. (hi! I describe the accident in more vivid detail than I do in the original famiglia, because I'm writing from GP's POV.)

The rain is slamming down in harsh sheets, pasting Gianpiero's feathers down, and his heart is pounding as they pull over to the side of the road, sprinting towards the crash site.

There's cars strewn across the road, twisted metal scattered around them. His hands are shaking, trying to figure out where he needs to go first. There's so many, too many to handle at once, he needs to-

There's a rasping cry from a van, warbling and distressed. It's rolled over, resting on its a side, a mangled mess. Gianpiero runs over, cupping his hands around his eyes to try and see better in the dark, slamming to his knees to try and look inside.

There's bloody feathers coating the car, dark brown and maroon, and Gianpiero feels bile rise in his throat at the twisted bones rising from the man in front of him, shattered and pinched at unnatural angles.

There's a deep gash in his forehead, blood dripping from his mouth and nose, and his eyes are unfocused, one pupil larger than the other. He makes another desperate rasping noise.

His arms are curled around something, cradled tight to his chest, and Gianpiero's heart flips into an ugly pretzel when he hears a soft chirp.

"I'm here, I'm- I'm going to get you both out of here-"

The man lets out another wheezing cry, wet coughs rattling his chest, blood coating his teeth.

"My son..."

Gianpiero can't save him. He's not sure anyone could, but-

There's a fledgling in there.

He shuffles forward on his knees, reaching in through the shattered windshield, and the man drops his arms, head falling to the side with another wheeze.

There's a boy, one wing tucked tight around him, the other resting unnaturally to the side.

The man's fingers land in the boy's hair, weakly ruffling through it, but his eyes drag to meet Gianpiero's, piercing even in their final moments.

"My champion,"

He hacks again, and the fledgling flinches, curling tighter in on himself.

"My Max."

Gianpiero is going to be sick, can't bring himself to meet the eyes of a dying man as he carefully gathers the boy in his arms.

Max.

The fledgling cries out, hands darting forward to tangle in Gianpiero's shirt, and then he's latching to his chest, desperately chirping, pleading for reassurance.

He still has soft hatchling feathers, smeared red, and Gianpiero supports him with one hand, the other coming up to curl gently behind his head as he coos softly, backing away from the car.

His wings are heavy and waterlogged, but he strains his back lifting them anyways, wrapping around the fledgling to shut out the rain.

He doesn't look at the dying man again.

------

The fledgling's name is Max. He's 14, a falcon subspecies, and he's probably never going to fly.

His right wing is shattered, needs hours of corrective surgery that Gianpiero doesn't think twice about telling them to move forward on.

His blood type is A-, he's small for his age, and he's-

"...most likely imprinted on you, Mr. Lambiase. Fledglings at that stage, after a traumatic event, are going to look to the nearest adult to take care of them, and there is a very good chance he's picked you."

Gianpiero blinks at the social worker. First responders wear masks and helmets to avoid accidental imprinting, but Gianpiero hadn't-

He hadn't thought about it. Hadn't allowed himself to consider the idea that there was a fledgling- barely a fledgling, still with fuzzy little hatchling feathers- in that wreckage.

"I, uh,"

He pulls his wings tighter against his back. The warm blankets have helped to dry them back off, but he tries his best to be spatially aware of his surrounds- having a heron wingspan isn't always a helpful thing.

"I need to call my boss."

------

Max is 16, speaks softly, and doesn't fly. He's had more operations than Gianpiero likes to think about, but he won't even try, refuses to even visit common lift off areas.

Gianpiero wouldn't dream of pushing him- they utilize non-flight spaces as much as possible, and they live on a lower level accommodation, which was both cheaper and easier to access than where Gianpiero had been before.

Most people don't like being so close to the ground. GP doesn't mind- his subspecies means he likes to use his legs, and Max needs the accessibility.

He still works out his back and shoulders. Gianpiero has quietly wondered about it before, why Max chooses to train his flight muscles with no intention to ever use them, but he's never asked.

It's Max's business.

------

Max is 19, leaving Gianpiero's nest for his own place not too far away. There's a light brace fitted around his right wing, overlapping carbon fiber and intricate pulley systems to allow full supported range of motion.

He still doesn't fly.

He'll go up higher into buildings with Gianpiero now- they can frequently utilize skyways and platform spaces up in the sky, as long as Max doesn't get too close to the edge.

He's still Gianpiero's tiny little fledgling, and he still fits perfectly under his wings.

"Dad, you are a heron, I'm always going to fit under your wings."

"Exactly."

------

Max is dating a dove. A high profile, flirty, racing driver dove.

Gianpiero has never approved of anyone less in his life. He'd been a fan of the songbird from uni, now that had been a nice boy.

Apparently, Max and the dove- Charles- have history. Gianpiero doesn't care for him at all, and certainly not for the way he leaves feathers everywhere, bright white against the couch cushions.

------

Charles isn't terrible. He's grown on Gianpiero like a leech, and he's preformed the miracle of at least getting Max within a few meters of a lift-off range before he'd backed out.

It's more progress than anyone else has been able to make.

They've been dating for a few years now, growing into their twenties. Gianpiero sometimes looks at Max and sees a small bloody fledgling, has to bundle him in his arms and wings until tears no longer burn hot on his lash line.

Max tolerates it.

------

They're at a FIA event, all dressed up for hours of self-absorbed speech giving, something Gianpiero has learned to tune out while still looking like he's listening.

Max had taken a few years to catch on, but he's getting better at it, although he still looks annoyed if a camera ever lands on him.

They're mingling up on the aerial platform, and there's drinks flowing, which is a safety violation that's not usually an issue- but the F3 drivers are here tonight, so everyone is being responsible.

They're supposed to be, anyways.

Gianpiero has spotted more than a few young drivers with drinks they shouldn't have, and he's trying to keep an eye out, but there's so many of them- they're playing some ridiculous game of catch, small wings flapping around as they trip over their own feet.

Hugh pulls him into a conversation with a Ferrari engineer, and his attentions drifts.

It's fine.

It's fine until it's not, fine until there's a terrified screech, fine until he snaps his head around just in time to watch a fledgling fall over the edge, time slowing down.

The F3 drivers should be able to fly and glide short distances. They can't pull a recovery dive, not at this hight, not inebriated. Snapping out their wings- it would tear their muscles, snap their joints.

They need- Gianpiero unfreezes the same time as everyone else, darting to the edge- it's been three seconds, four seconds, they need an eagle or a vulture, six seconds, seven seconds, they need-

They need speed, need someone who can make up those seconds, they need-

A flurry of brown and blonde darts past him, arcs gracefully over the edge before wings tuck in, and the towers emergency lights flash on.

There's a small blur dropping fast.

Max is moving faster.

Gianpiero feels like he's going to throw up when the blurs collide, heart in his throat when Max doesn't immediately flare-

He's still diving, but he's extending his wings slowly, twisting into a arching upward curve, bringing himself to a speed manageable by species other than falcons, and he's curving back towards the tower.

Someone has corralled the other fledglings, and they're trying to clear a space for Max to land- a landing that will undoubtedly be messy, because he's never done it before.

Max finally flares closer to the tower, wings snapping out fully behind him, fledgling clutched tightly in his arms as he lands in a staggered run, crumpling to his knees on impact.

Gianpiero is at his side in an instant, hit with a wave of complicated emotions-

Max has his wings curled tightly around the F3 driver, cooing gently.

Gianpiero had done that once.

Someone has gotten the medical team, and they're making their way onto the upper deck as Max uncurls his wings- it doesn't escape Gianpiero's notice that his right side moves stiff and slow.

There's a flash of vibrant white in the corner of his eye, and then Charles is crouching next to them as well, cooing softly to coax the fledgling out of Max's arms.

It's careful work to disentangle them, but the fledgling finally works with them, moving over with the medical team.

Gianpiero wraps his arms around Max gingerly, wings curling over them both, giving Max the privacy to drop his head onto his shoulder.

"Max,"

Max makes a soft noise, and something hot and wet drops onto Gianpiero's skin.

"Hurts, dad."

"We'll fix it."

He'd worried, as soon as he'd seen Max flare his wings- he has anchors and stabilizers in the muscle and bone, but the speed of the dive, the force of the flare-

There's a chance the muscle is shredded.

Max buries his head further into Gianpiero's shoulder.

"It felt so nice, for a second."

Gianpiero tightens his wings, nudging the sides of their heads together.

"I'm sorry, Max."

Sorry that none of them had gotten off the platform sooner, sorry that Max had put the pieces together faster than the rest of them, done the math in his head, sorry that all the surgeries in the world will never fully repair his wing, sorry that he'll never experience flying the way he should-

He's sorry for all of it. If he could cut off his own wings, give his boy a chance, he would. He'd do it in a heartbeat.

He squeezes the back of Max's neck gently.

Max sniffs, sitting back up as Gianpiero slowly lowers his wings.

"Is Kimi okay?"

The F3 driver is tiny- Gianpiero had heard gossip about one of the junior drivers being a pygmy owl, and it must be this one- but he's standing on his own two feet, dutifully listening to the medical team.

"It looks like it."

Max's shoulders slump in relief, but his right wing stays hitched up behind him, trembling in place.

Gianpiero opens his mouth to say something about it, but a brilliant white wing extends underneath the curve of Max's sharply angled one, offering a rest.

He shares an appreciative glance with Charles, unspoken that in this they're on the same team.

They always are, when it comes to keeping Max safe.

Max laughs softly, looking at GP.

"Maybe if that German hospital had a songbird you could've not ended up baby trapped by imprinting."

Gianpiero narrows his eyes, feathers bristling.

"Don't say that. I could never regret you, Max. I wouldn't have wanted someone to pull you away- imprinting goes both ways."

Hadn't that been a surprise, the first time someone had offered to watch Max while Gianpiero went to a meeting and he'd puffed up, wings spread wide threateningly.

The first few years had been a learning process for them both.

He leans forward, knocking their heads together briefly.

He's so proud of his boy, all grown up and out of the nest, and he hasn't quite processed yet that Max had flown.

"But maybe no more jumping off buildings? I'm getting too old for you to be doing that to my heart."

Max grins weakly at him.

"I think the fledgling rescue thing just runs in the family."

It's not the worst family trait Gianpiero can think of.

"Maybe it does."

[larluce]

The Arthurs and Merlins I created celebrating Valentine's day

Guide so you don't get confused:

Merlin and Arthur from my Time travel AU will be: Merlin🌳 and Arthur🕐

Merlin and Arthur from my Merlin as a shapeshifter falcon AU will be: Merlin🦅 and Arthur🦅

Merlin and Arthur from my fic "The Dragonlord's son series" will be: Merlin🐉 and Arthur🐉

Emrys, Merlin and Arthur from my fic "From the Grave to the Cradle" will be: Emrys🧙‍♂️ , Merlin⛏️ and Arthur⛏️

Merlin and Arthur from Merlin arrives in Camelot with a baby AU will be: Merlin🧑‍🍼 and Arthur🧑‍🍼

Merlin and Arthur from Deaf Arthur AU will be: Merlin🦻 and Arthur🦻

Emrys🧙‍♂️: (with a boring voice and expressionless) Welcome to this wonderful especial. 😒

Arthur🦅: Why is he hosting? He sounds so...

Merlin🦅: Dead?

Arthur🕐: He is the oldest. Have some respect.

Merlin🧑‍🍼 and Arthur🧑‍🍼: (Arrive, Arthur carring Biddy in a baby carrier)

Merlin🧑‍🍼: Sorry, we're late. (elbows Arthur) I told you to not give her cake! 😠

Merlin🐉: Oh, how cute! 🤗 (runs to see the baby) Whose baby is this?

Merlin🧑‍🍼 and Arthur🧑‍🍼: (at the same time) Ours 😊😊

Arthur🐉: You are parents?! 😨 But you look so young...

Merlin🦅: So? We are even younger and we are parents too.

Everybody else: What?! 😨😨😨😨😨😨

Merlin🧑‍🍼: Really? 😃 That's great! Then your baby can play with ours.

Arthur🦅: Babies. They are five.

Everybody else: FIVE?!!!😱😱😱😱😱😱

Arthur🧑‍🍼: And where are they?

Merlin🦅: Let me called them (calls out) Guardian! Rain! Blizzard! Brave! Wary! Come meet your new sister!

5 young merlin falcon: (fly until they perch in Merlin🦅's arms and chirp) Sister! 😄😄😄😄😄

Merlin🧑‍🍼 and Arthur🧑‍🍼: ...

Merlin🧑‍🍼: They... they are...

Arthur🧑‍🍼: Birds.

Arthur🦻: (signs to Merlin🦻) I think I didn't read their lips correctly. Did they just say those birds are their children?

Merlin🦻: (signs back) No, you didn't read wrong.

Merlin🦅: So, can they play together? 😃

Merlin🧑‍🍼: Uhm... sure.

Emrys🧙‍♂️: (conjures a children's playpen)

Arthur🧑‍🍼: Oh, thank you. (puts Biddy in the playpen)

Merlin falcons: (fly inside the playpen)

Merlin🦅: Do not scratch or peck her too hard. Her skin is fragile and soft.

Merlin falcons: (chirp) Yes, Mama 😊😊😊😊😊.

Merlin⛏️ and Arthur⛏️: (10 and 12 years old repectively) Can we play with them too? 😃😃

Arthur🧑‍🍼: (shrugs) Sure. Why not?

Merlin⛏️ and Arthur⛏️: YAY! 😄😄 (Enter the playpen)

Merlin🐉: Why are they still children?

Emrys🧙‍♂️: The author hasn't updated our story in a while.

Merlin🌳: Alright, now that the children are entertained. Let's get back to what we were doing.

Arthur🦻: And what are we doing? Sorry, I'm kind of new here.

Arthur🕐: This is a Valentine's especial, so Arthurs and Merlins from different universes came here to celebrate our love. 🥰

Merlin🌳: Awww you are such a corny idiot (kisses Arthur🕐's cheek)

Arthur🦻: (blushes) Wait... you are ALL couples? ��

Merlin🦻: (blushes furiously too)

Merlin🐉: Well, besides child Merlin and child Arthur over there, yes. Why? Are you not?

Arthur🦻 and Merlin🦻: (as they sign at the same time) NO!😳😳

Emrys🧙‍♂️: (whispers to Arthur🕐) It seems the author hasn't developed that part of their story yet. They are pretty new indeed.

Arthur🦻: (could easily read his lips) Not yet? What do you mean by that?

Arthur🕐: Nothing! Valentine is also to celebrate friendship. And you are friends, aren't you?

Arthur🦻 and Merlin🦻: ... yes?

Emrys🧙‍♂️: Great! so... LET THE CELEBRATION BEGIN! (makes heart shaped fireworks appear in the sky and then tables with flowers for each couple appear) Each Arthur take your respective Merlin and sit.

Merlin🌳: (To Arthur🦻, before he goes to his table) I love your accent 😊. Are you from other country in your story or something?

Arthur🦻: (embarrased) Is... not an accent... (goes to his table)

Merlin🌳: (looks at him confused, but then goes to his table)

Emrys🧙‍♂️: Now. (turns to see the audience) While they enjoy their romantic dinner, the public will decide. You can ask questions to any of the Merlins or Arthurs that are here or even made them do the dynamics you like. Be my guest! What will be your first request?