#starry writes stuff

[starrypawz]

“Oh God, yes, right there— oh my God, just like that, please don’t stop.” “…Can you stop that? You’re making it sound like we’re in a porno and now I’m highly uncomfortable.” 

AO3 Random Dialogue Prompts

There’s a half naked goth sprawled over Nemo’s bed. 

“Alright,” Nemo perches on the edge of the bed and turns the jar of coconut oil in their hands, “You need me to rub this in?”

“Yeah,” Gerry (the half naked goth sprawled over Nemo’s bed) mumbles and looks up, pillow clutches in his arms, “Just a light layer,” 

“Alright,” Nemo unscrews the lid and gives a pleased hum at the whiff of coconut before they slip a couple of fingers in, less pleased at the texture before they turn their attention to the fresh black ink that marks his shoulder blades with the same eye design that sits over his heart. 

They gently brush over the inked skin and

“Sorry!” Nemo’s hand pulls back as he flinches. 

“I’m ok,” He shrugs, “Guess it’s still a bit tender,” 

“So…” Nemo pokes lightly, “Not my freezing fingers?” 

“Nah,” He sighs, “It’s… Actually kind of nice?” 

“Oh…” Nemo swallows as they feel him shift under their touch as they gently brush over his skin, “Good,” 

He stretches out more in a way that reminds them of a contented cat and Nemo bites down on an affectionate chuckle as they check over his skin, “They seem to be healing up ok-” 

“Early days yet,” Gerry groans theatrically, “The itchy phase is coming,”

Nemo gives a sympathetic, “Oof,” as they work. 

He flinches again.

Nemo pulls their hand back. 

“I’m fine,” 

“You’re,” Nemo gives a testing poke, “A little tense,” 

He snorts, “Are you that surprised?” 

“Should I-” 

“Don’t stop,” He clears his throat, “If you don’t mind?” 

Nemo gives another testing poke into the tense muscle,

“Oh,” He groans softly, “Right there.” 

Nemo slips into clinical reflexes that haven't quite gone rusty yet. Guided by the way he shifts under their touch and his murmurs of encouragement as they work their hands over his skin, soft and shower warmed.

His breath hitches and then comes out as a long, soft sigh as he relaxes into their touch. 

They press harder and he gives a muffled moan that Nemo does their best to pay it no mind even though warmth rushes to their cheeks. 

They do their best to keep their thoughts… clinical.

Think about the anatomy under their hands, nerves, muscles, ligaments, tendons, bones, how they all interconnect, how tension and pain is a common malady. They’re applying light massage, a well known therapeutic technique that relieves said tension and pain which is a common malady. 

He gives another soft moan.

Nemo swallows. 

They’re applying light massage, a well known therapeutic technique that relieves tension, doing so causes the release of various hormones, endorphins, serotonin, dopamine which are all known to induce pleasurable feelings. 

This is just a particularly sore spot.

His reactions are perfectly normal. That’s all. 

But under that is another set of thoughts, ones that remind them there’s a half naked goth sprawled over their bed and they have their hands all over him. 

And those are countered with the fact he’s their friend, and they’re just helping him with his new tattoo. And him being half naked around them is honestly pretty mundane at this point, and it’s not like they’ve never touched him before… 

And then that second set of thoughts comes back with a vengeance to remind them about how-

He moans again. 

Louder.

“Gerry!”

“What?” He mumbles into the pillow.

“You’re…” Nemo swallows, “Getting a little loud,”

He gives a muffled mumbled sound of confusion into the pillow and then looks up. 

Nemo sighs, “And… we’re not alone?”

(Thankfully said returning housemate had returned after Gerry was done with the shower, a small mercy) 

“Huh?” 

“Fuck’s sake,” Nemo groans, “Do I have to spell it out?” “Oh!” Realisation dawns on him and he buries his face back into the pillow with a mumbled, “Oh shit,” before the snorting laughter start

[icewindandboringhorror]

I made a few new wax seal stamps out of clay (like the ones I did for my worldbuilding stuff forever ago), this time just of random symbols that I thought might look good done in the style of painting over the raised part of the wax or etc. :0c Some of them aren't carved deep enough to really show up that well, but overall they worked okay for being clay lol

[starry-bi-sky]

Blood Blossom Au: before the nightingale sings

---------

for my batdad blood blossom au, the one where Vlad poisoned Danny with blood blossom extract and Danny ran away from him and ended up tumbling into the care of one Pre-Robin Battinson Batman :). A quick oneshot telling the tale of the tragic deaths of the Fentons

TW: Major Character Death Warning

-------

Not all deaths are created equal.

That is a valuable lesson in life to learn. One that Danny learns when he is eleven years old, standing in the pit of his parents’ creation; the culmination of their life’s work. The portal to the other side, the realm of the dead. To the infinite. 

He learns that when he’s eleven years old, in a hazmat suit that sags on him, and boots that clunk when he walks because the only ones that fit are his mom’s, and even those are too big. In gloves that he has to clench his fists in because otherwise they fall off. In goggles that slide down his nose even when he’s tightened them the farthest they can go. 

He learns that when he’s eleven years old, choking on giggles that harmonize with the laughter of his friends’ who stand at the mouth of the tunnel. Sam’s holding a polaroid in her hand. They’re just being kids. 

They’re not laughing when Danny’s hand hits the safety lock — the one with faulty wiring, the only one in the tunnel. The only one he could possibly hit. They’re not laughing when the portal buzzes to life, and the lights inside switch on row by row as the generator begins to rumble and hum. 

They’re not laughing when Danny dies. They’re screaming. They’re not screaming when he comes back.

Not all deaths are created equal.  

Some are poetic, beautiful. The satisfying close of a book as it comes to an end, of the hardback thumping soft against the pages like the sound of a door closing. A train run its course.

Some are violent; unsatisfying; unfair. The unexpected shattering of an egg as it rolls off the countertop when nobody is looking, the unmistakable crack as it falls to the floor. It is abrupt and messy. 

But most are just… unremarkable. Unintentional. Clumsy. 

Danny’s family dies one night in late January. He is thirteen years old, barely a month away from fourteen. It is unforeseen. It is preventable. It happens. 

It happens like this: 

Their water heater breaks one Monday in January. It’s old, sitting in the garage, and has dealt with nearly sixteen years of Fenton-grade chaos and shenanigans. Of parents tossing scraps and junk into the garage as brief storage to come back to later. Of illegal tune-ups on their vehicles that result in something exploding. Of little children running around and knocking things over, playing with poles and sticks they find on the ground, on the shelves. Of being lived and used.  

Something had to give. 

Jack Fenton notices it immediately when he comes upstairs that very afternoon — his children at school, his wife downstairs — to grab something from the garage. The very same scrap and used material they store like squirrels to use later. 

He stops what he’s doing to fix it.  

It wasn’t supposed to be permanent. 

Despite what many believe, Jack Fenton is not the idiot people make him out to be. He knows what he’s good at, he knows what he’s not. He knows he can be passionate and obsessive and single-minded about things. He knows that he is a scientist, an inventor; an engineer. 

He knows that he is not a plumber. That fixing water heaters is not something he knows how to do, not safely. And he loves his family. What he does is only meant to be temporary — a fix meant to only last a few days until they can call someone in who can fix it for them. 

So Jack Fenton futzes with the water heater, gives it a temporary stitch to last a short while, and reminds himself to call a plumber later that day to come in and fix it. He turns and leaves the garage with the part he came for —  a sheet of metal for his wife to melt down — and disappears back downstairs. 

He does not make that call; it slips from his mind. 

It is not his fault. 

One day passes, then two, then suddenly it is Thursday. The water heater has still not been fixed, the water heater has been forgotten. It is nobody’s fault.  

Danny asks his parents at breakfast if he can stay over at Tucker’s house for the night. Just one night. They’re going to study for their math test and then play video games until midnight, but he only tells his parents that first half. 

He’s been doing well in school. Really well — better than he has in a while. There’s been a delightful lull in ghost appearances for the last few weeks. The living don’t know why, but Danny does. The Winter Truce always calms the dead down for a while, something about how the Zone cleanses itself twice a mortal year and that fresh wave of ecto clears out the old and brings in the new. 

This year Danny got to participate. He’s feeling the effects of it too, and he’s been sleeping consistently well for the first time since the accident. 

It’ll never happen again. 

His parents agree under the condition that he doesn’t stay up late, and Danny harmlessly lies through his teeth and agrees. He goes and throws overnight clothes into his school backpack, and when he leaves for school with Jazz his parents are already departed into the lab. 

The last conversation he has with his sister is in her car on the drive to school. Inane, mindless conversation to fill the air and pass the time. Jazz comments on how relaxed he’s been lately; Danny tells her about the Winter Truce. She listens in rapt attention. 

She tells him that she’s glad to see him so well-rested. She thinks her little brother’s been growing up too fast these days. She thinks he’s been too tense. Too caught up with the spinning of the world around him that he forgets about himself sometimes. 

When they reach school, before Danny can get out of the car, Jazz looks to her little brother and says; “I love you.” 

Her little brother’s cheeks turn an embarrassed shade of red. He makes a scrunched up, grossed-out face, but can’t hide the smile pulling across it. “Don’t be a sap, Jazz. I’ll see you later.” He tells her, yanking his hood up over his head. She hears the bashful, ‘love you too’ before he walks away. 

That is the last conversation she ever has with her brother. 

Thursday is unremarkable, passing by in its normality as it always does. There’s one, maybe two ghost sightings; shades lurking around in curious infancy that are easily spooked away by the presence of a greater being. Danny doesn’t even have to go ghost. 

Thursday evening is even less so. Danny goes to Tucker’s house — Sam has a prior arrangement with her slam poetry club — and the two of them study for an hour before they toss their textbooks aside and reach for the game console. 

Danny sleeps in Tucker’s room with one of the extra blankets on his bed, curled across the room in one of the bean bag chairs. It shouldn’t be comfortable, but to Danny it is. He sleeps throughout the night, the portal shut down by his parents before they’d gone to bed. 

Early Friday morning, before the sun has even risen yet, before it’s even so much as a concept to grace the horizon, the water heater breaks again. It was supposed to be fixed. 

Carbon monoxide is a silent killer. Odorless and scentless, it kills within minutes. It fills the house like a shadow casting over the ground, creeping into the rooms. 

Danny’s family die in their sleep; painless and unaware. 

It’s not Jack Fenton’s fault. He didn’t mean to.  

Nobody wakes up with their alarms. 

Danny wakes up to Tucker Foley’s alarm on Friday morning, and he turns his head intangible and shoves it into the beanbag chair like an ostrich hiding its head in the sand. Tucker gets up before him, and throws a pillow at him as he reaches for the alarm. 

There’s laughter, messing around. The both of them get dressed, and Danny has breakfast with the Foleys that morning. He takes the bus to school with Tucker, and they meet Sam by their lockers. 

To him, everything is as normal as it should be. There are no ghosts for him to fight right now, school is as school does, and he’s on top of all his schoolwork. 

He does not see Jazz at all that morning, he doesn’t notice. Their schedules are so different, their routes on different paths, that it’s not uncommon for Danny to not see Jazz until he gets home some days. That’s if there’s no ghost attacks. 

At lunch, he gets approached by her friends. Worried creases between their brows, they ask him if he’s seen Jazz. She hasn’t shown up to any of her classes. She’s not answering their texts. It’s unprecedented of her; unheard of. 

Danny doesn’t admit to the concern that swells in his gut when they tell him this. He shrugs at them, and says he hasn’t seen her either. But it was probably nothing to worry about; she might just be sick and sleeping it off. 

He offers to text her and let them know if he gets a response, and that seems to ease her friends enough that they shuffle away in uncertainty. He keeps his word, and does exactly that. He pulls out his phone and opens her contact, and shoots her a message.

‘Where are you?’ 

He doesn’t get a response back, Danny is left on sent. He puts his phone in his pocket, and with a sense of unease creeping in the back of his mind, goes on with his day. He gets no response by the time the final bell rings; and he tries not to be worried. 

The house is quiet when he opens the door. Unusually quiet. He drops his backpack to the floor, it lands with a hearty thunk, and begins to take off his jacket. “Mom! Dad!” He yells. He hangs it up, and slips his shoes from his feet. “Jazz skipped school today!”

A laughable untruth that would get his sister all riled up normally; she should be able to hear him from the front door if she was in her room. The house just stays dead silent. 

He can’t even hear the usual banging and crashing from the lab. His unease returns. He reaches for the intercom that leads directly down to the basement, and presses the button to turn it on. A burst of static, and then he speaks;

“Mom? Dad?” 

Danny lets go, and waits for a response. He gets none back. That never happens, not when the house is this quiet. Not when he knows they should’ve heard him. 

Something sickly and fearful borns in the pit of his stomach, and begins to snake upward. He heads for the lab. The cool metal of the door is familiar in the grooves of his hand, and he doesn’t even need to think about the code as he punches it in;  he simply lets muscle memory guide him. It’s been the same since he was little. 

The door hisses as the pressure is released, and he swings the door open. He takes the stairs down two at a time. Something is wrong. His parents aren’t answering him. His feet pound against the metal. 

“Mom? Dad?” He calls again, more worried, more frantic. More scared. His voice echoes down the stairwell, and he reaches the bottom before it’s fully faded. The lab is empty. The portal is still shut down. 

It was four in the afternoon, they should still be down here. 

Danny races back upstairs, fear-raised nausea coiling in his throat. “This isn’t funny you guys!” He yells when he reaches the top, shoving open the door with more force than necessary. His head swims, his voice cracked. 

He checks the garage, the car is still there. 

“Mom!? Dad!” His voice bellows out throughout the first floor, loud enough that it bounces back at him and rings against his ears. He’s never raised his voice this much — mom would scold him if she heard him. But she doesn’t show up. “Jazmine!” 

Finally, he goes upstairs, and he can’t tell if what he’s feeling is anger or terror. Something is very, very wrong. 

He swings the door of his parents’ rooms open first, and there they are, with the lights still off and the curtains still drawn. As if they hadn’t left their bed all day. Some of Danny’s fear lifts from his shoulders just by the sight of them, but he’s still trembling. Something is still wrong — the room smells… off. Not good, not bad. Just… off. 

He swallows dryly, his throat still thick, and steps into the room. “Mom, dad?” They do not stir. “Didn’t you guys hear me yelling?” 

There is only room static. Danny’s heart shrivels in his chest with a tenfold return of terror, he feels ill. He remembers, just now, that they’re not heavy sleepers, and his dad should be snoring like a freight house. 

Danny reaches their bedside in seconds, hand outstretching for the covers, “Momma? Dad?”

Not all deaths are created equal. 

But many of them are accidental. Unmeditated. Shocking.

Danny Fenton finds his family dead in his childhood home. He runs to his neighbors in hysterics, inconsolable, in tears. Nine-one-one is called, but there is nothing that can be done. They were dead for hours by the time Daniel Fenton returned home. 

He sits on the front steps of the neighbor’s house beside FentonWorks, his jeans slowly becoming wet from the snow that was unable to be scraped off, and watches the paramedics cart out his family beneath white sheets. There are police cars blocking off the street, yellow tape blocking off his house, red-blue lights lighting up the block, an ambulance on the scene. He is wrapped in a shock blanket, and he is missing his jacket and his shoes. His tears are freezing onto his face, he can’t feel the chill. 

Not all deaths are created equal

But all of them are unforgettable. 

[starry-night-author]

June of Doom Day #18

"I'm fine." | Self-Defense | Allergies | Headache |

June Of Doom Prompt List @juneofdoom

cw: attempted murder

Hero soundlessly slipped into the room, softly closing the door behind them. It was nearly pitch-black, the door blocking out all of the warm, yellow light, leaving them in nothing but the dark blue shadows.

"Villain?"

The lump on the messy bed across from them shifted, curling further in on itself. "Go away."

"Oh, Villain, I'm so sorry." Hero moved to them, sitting on the edge of the bed. "I had no idea Superhero would try to pull something like that, I'm-"

"Go. Away." Villain growled. "I don't want to talk about it."

Hero let out a slow breath. "I don't want to leave you like this."

"I'm fine."

"You're not. You had your trust violated and your life put in danger, and it's- it's my fault. I'm so, so sorry, Villain." Hero reached out, resting a hand on the lump of blankets. "That was sick of Superhero, I will be talking to the agency about it-"

"They tried to kill me!" Villain sat up in a flurry of blankets. "You realize that, right?! They knew exactly what they were doing putting onions in there, that way they could've passed it off as an accident if I did die!"

"I know. I know Villain, I know." Hero reached for their hand, and Villain quickly pulled it away. "That's what's going to be hard moving forward, is they're going to deny they knew you were allergic. They can pass it off as an accident."

"Because they don't want the city to know they tried to kill me at a peace meeting." Villain pointed out.

"I know. But hey," they put a hand on Villain's shoulder, and this time they weren't pushed away. "I'm not going to let them get away with it."

[ssstarlighttt]

Sara has always had a knack for knowing what to gift others. Holiday shopping is typically a walk in the park for her each year. Today, she's knocked out her shopping in one go, managing to find gifts for everyone important in her life.

Well, everyone except for a certain prince.

BOOM happy fic exchange day! this fic is a gift for @anja-the-sane-panda through the 2024 just dance holiday fic exchange, hosted by @halfratsalready! you can read it here, happy holidays everyone!

[kindred-spirit-93]

jazzy!! & apollo

hello yall im back on my bs (biscuit soliloquy) with my wonderful oc jazzy and a modern au i came up with when i opened my eyes this morning lol. u can find a little lore on ma blog under the #jazzy tag :3

--

aight so for context a few months ago while deep in the trenches of my greek mythology obsession i made a minor underworld diety oc who goes by kore or jazzy. shes my favourite muffin and i love her.

and after reading one too many apollo fics here lmao i really wanted to explore his domains (which i find endlessly fascinating bc its all my favourite things in one: medicine art literature) and learn more about him as a god via a character study of sorts.

(ive yet to write anything for them lol but when i do it will be great :P)

--

anyway back to the story they are teachers!! bc im currently rethinking my life choices and having fun imagining what my life could have been like things went differently (11/10 recommend. great for the blorbos). babys first midlife crisis at the ripe old age of 21 lol

so without any further ado, them <3

HHHHHHHHHHHHHH MY BABIES

*slaps hands* aight so context and premise:

cant be bothered to come up with alternative names and clever refernces for everyone so theyre keeping their greek names lol.

not everyone in the pantheon will make an appearance, this aint keeping up with the olympians (until it is)

the setting is vaguely british lol bc its where i grew up and am more familiar with the system and the norms. ish

they teach both primary and secondary school students (this afaik doesnt exist in the uk but it does here so yeah. will elaborate later)

greek mythology adjacent at best i regrettably know very little of the mythos and my one and only reference is theoi. i will do better i promise. as soon as i graduate

in the mean time pls feel free to tell me all about ur fave myths and works and recommend stuff :D!!

--

art stuff, character design, notes

apollo has heterochromia :3 dunno if u can see it but his eyes are olive green (right) and a teal (left). representing the suns reach over land and sea. ALSO FRECKLES >:D

my girl jazzy has the most boring brown eyes ever. no pools of honey or flecks of gold. just good ol dirt brown. *foreshadowing*

short curly hair somewhere between brown and black for her, and floofy kraft singles waves for him XD

jazzy is a knitwear gremlin (like urs truly lol), 24/7 turtlenecks cardigans jumpers scarfs all of it. her hands (and extremeties) are always cold bc bad circulation and probably dehydration. shush

palettes are warm and earthy for jazzy (wow im so subtle) and cool celestial for apollo (and artemis hehe)

so thats mostly greens esp olive, brown and beige and a healthy sprinkle of rose. le aesthetic is forest/ gremlincore for my girl

and lots of blues esp navy and shiny silver and gold for chaotic academia sunshine boi (TIL astroacademia is a thing and like wow)

arts and moodboards and quotes in this century trust

jazzy is of average height (which to me is 160cm hhhhh and apollo is taller at 180cm. do ur own math we use metric in this household)

--

finally concept idea, plot if u will, notes and backgorund info too:

the first thing i thought of when i opened my eyes was literally apollo and his nine daughters the muses. let me finish

i wish i was joking lol it instantly gripped me but alas i had to go to uni and so it stayed on hold and i havent studied more that 3 pages bc im thinking about them

and by thinking i mean going over the same scene in my head and not doing somethinguseful like say expanding lore. as one does.

anyway yes we have apollo the girl dad of all time who has 9 wondeful daughters of varying ages from fist year of uni to toddler

still mapping out details like if from same mother or several relationships. idk what im doing pls respect my privacy at this time

apollo has 2 degrees bc its cool af to me (my dad has two masters and its been on my bucket list since. i dont know why i am the way that i am either) one in nursing and another in english literature (and a masters in translation bc i can)

he teaches english and history tho and the art afterschool clubs. yes clubs plural. i am insane and so is he.

jazzy is a biomed graduate and is currently pursuing a masters in forensic toxicology (sucks that i hade organic chem this would be fun to write) so she teaches bio. probably part time idk.

i will get to the details of lore and what theyre like and their work ethics etc but i is tired and id really like to finish some work before bed lol so goodnight for now and enjoy and feel free to ask stuff ig :3

[melverie]

HELLO?????????

[tankgotstuckinthecircusgate]

girl's honest desire to give moretti funeral business

[just-another-colin-kinnie]

Not a crook

[horatiocomehome]

ISAT is perfect for fandom activities, like it's got worldbuilding! It's got angst! It's got awesome characters and found family and banter! It's got ANGST! It has TIMELOOP! Did I mention the ANGST!

[detectivedarling]

Dreams and dead kids

I went through @starry-bi-sky's shorter dpxdc au's the other day, and fell too deep in love with too many of them. Here's something inspired by their Danny Fenton is Jason Todd au whose spooky elements and universe crossover gave me so many brainworms

Danny picks up Dick's phone call without looking. The ringtone is set for him specifically - everyone in his contacts have a personalized ringtone, so he doesn't need to blink the blood out of his eyes to know if one of his people is calling.

He doesn't start talking about the nightmares. Dick never does - he starts with something light, something interesting, something warm. But they always come up. "Free since Thursday," Danny rasps into the phone. It's Sunday. He can still feel the dreams in the back of his throat and against the curve of his ribs, tar thick and heavy. He doesn't think it will ever go away, not anymore. It's as much a part of him as his blood, the real thing not stained on green gloves and a yellow cape, as his ears and mouth and teeth, as the dark circles under his eyes.

"Seems they really are becoming less frequent," Dick hums from the other end of the country, soft and warm and comforting. "Good, that's good. I'm still looking into medication. I've found one that might work for you."

Danny leans his head against his phone. His body feels like one at war, stuck between night terrors and the fear-born insomnia that attempts to stay away from them. "We'll see," he mutters, low and tired.

"If it doesn't, I'll keep looking, Jay," Dick says Danny's name like it's the most natural thing in the world. "I'll get you sleeping again if it's the last thing I do."

In a little city in Illinois, with two adoptive parents working on a portal to the other side in his basement, Danny huffs a laugh.

"My hero."

-

Danny has an accident.

That phrase is so juvenile. Like he's a child that wet the bed. 

Danny had an accident. Danny was in an accident. Danny messed up.

He doesn't know what to call it, but he needs to find out. Tucker called it the incident, once. It's carried with a tone that implies something big, but in the bathos way, were you're pretty sure it hides an embarrassing joke. Sam calls it june, like it's 9/11 and only the date is needed to explain it. Jazz calls it neglect. Their parents call it an oversight.

Death, Danny can't call it. He can barely bring himself to joke about it. He told the doctor that surveyed his lichtenberg scars that his heart probably stopped and started, like a natural defibrillator. The doctor doesn't take it as the joke he had hoped it was.

The day I died, his lips form the words without sound, the portal, the pain, the waking nightmare.

The one good thing about dying is that his dreams have stopped carrying the same weight. There's little to fear from the pressure on his ribs and blood in his mouth when he's already felt his body break open and mold itself into something new. His vision breaks red in the low morning sunlight. With the memory of death seeped into his mind, he no longer wakes up heaving or choking, crying or with ribs breaking in on him. He no longer wakes up breathing at all.

He thinks his heartbeat hurts more than it helps these days. It's a pain to get it going again each morning. With the echo of ticking clocks in his ears and blood still staining unfamiliar gloves to the vision of mangled hands, with the reflection of a shock and mind melting heat and eyes covering every inch of the portal, with the memory of death, both foreign and too close to home, Danny wakes as the living corpse he's become.

I'm not dead lingers in the back of his throat. It's a lie. The doctor said a mantra could help to wake up from his nightmares, but that one doesn't work anymore.

"I'm alive," his hoarse voice whispers into his too dead and too alive bedroom instead, because that one is true.

Danny's reflection in the window looks at him with five glowing eyes, overlapping and breaking of his face. He'd joke that the house is haunted, but it's just him.

He starts breathing again.

[starrypawz]

AO3 What can I say I had an idea

On the shore of The Dreaming he senses something that ebbs and flows with the tide.

Whatever that something is very…

Small

Tired

With a broken heart… 

But the heart still beats strong. 

Curious. 

Gently he reaches out and

A crow? Most curious.

The crow, more than a little bedraggled, tilts their head as they stand.

“Caw?” (weakly) 

“Easy now,” 

Caw…. Caw?... Caw!  (Slightly panicked)

“No you are not, much longer though and you likely would have met my sister,”

Caw!! (Profanity) 

Caw (Apologetic) 

“That’s an… understandable reaction… although I will say she is actually… very nice.” 

Caw? 

“I am known by many names but… Often I am known as Dream,” 

“Caw!” (Introductory) Dream gives a faint smile, “I am aware,it is a  pleasure to meet you Monty the Crow” 

He regards the Crow who has just informed him that he is known as Monty (although he knew that already)  some more and then asks.

“What was your aim?” 

“Caw,” “London?” 

“Caw,” and then “Caw?”

“Unfortunately you didn’t get very far,” 

“Caw,” (Dejected) 

“Agreed, that was a rather foolish idea,” Dream tilts his head, “I must ask why did you undertake this fool’s errand?” 

“Caw?”

“I… can only sense fragments, you are rather weak right now,” 

“Caw,” (Panicked)

“Do not worry, you are safe here,” “Caw,” (Grateful) 

Dream pauses.

“So Monty the Crow what was the goal of your fool’s errand?”

“Caw?” 

“I only sensed fragments, you are… rather weak right now,”

“Caw,”

“You are safe here,”

“Caw,” (Grateful) 

Monty pauses and the way his feathers ruffle translates as a sigh before he takes a couple of hops that translate somehow as ‘pacing around whilst trying to get your thoughts together’

“Caw…” Another hop, “Caw… Caw…. Caw,”  Another hop, “Caw” (Dejected) 

“That… that is a rather noble cause,” Dream reaches out and then pauses, “May I?”

Monty nods. 

Dream lightly scratches him on the head, feather soft under his fingers and Dream feels a soft rush of affection run through him as Monty leans into his touch and ruffles his feathers and gives the faintest hint of a smile. 

“I… I sense you have not been treated kindly,” He offers his hand and Monty struggles to hop up. 

“Let me,” He soothes as he carefully guides him into his hand and lifts Monty closer to his face.

“I am sorry that has happened to you,” Dream stiffens, “Who… Who did this?” 

“Caw,” “A witch?” He pauses and… feels, “One named Esther Finch, I know of her and… I can sense she has met her long overdue fate,”

“Caw,”

“Maybe that offers you some comfort?” Monty moves his wings in a way that somehow reads as a shrug.

“I… I know what it is like, to be trapped,” Dream sighs, “Taken by someone who seeks power they do not deserve.. Let alone understand.” 

Monty tilts his head again.

“Tell me Monty, Tell me your story,”

“Caw-” 

“I am fond of long tales…” Dream smiles, “And we have all the time in the world whilst you are here,”

Monty ruffles his feathers and then 

“Caw-” 

And then after some time. 

“That is… quite the tale.” 

“Caw?” 

“Yes… now what,” Dream sighs, “I think I can aid you?”

“Caw?”

“Do not worry, I would not pull you into such a bargain, I would also not expect you to serve a new master so soon after gaining your freedom,” 

“Caw?”

“So…The Witch Esther Finch turned you into a human, tell me Monty do you wish to be back in that form?”

“Caw… Caw…” He pauses, “Caw?”

“I see… Understandable you do not want to be bound to one form… even if you found thumbs incredibly useful,” He gives an amused snort and gently scratches Monty on the head, “I believe… I believe I know someone who can aid you,” 

“Caw?”

“No he is not a witch… although I guess he is bewitching in his own way,” “Caw!” (Teasing) Dream swallows, “I am… incredibly fond of him.” Dream pauses, “You… you remind me of him, he is… an incredibly kind soul, eternally joyful,” He smiles, “Even if he is a little foolish at times, His name is Robert Gadling although he prefers to go by Hob, ” Dream pauses, “So Monty The Crow if you agree, once you awake you will find yourself in London,” 

“Very well them,” Dream pulls him against his chest, “Now rest,” 

Monty rests.

Hob awakes to early morning light through the window and realises he forgot to shut the curtains again as he winces  whilst in the background he can hear the ever present drone of the traffic of 21st century London. He finds his laptop in the bed and connects dots he was planning to grade just a couple of more papers last night, but judging from the Turnitin page that greets him when he wakes up the laptop that he’d fallen asleep about a quarter into grading the first one.

Later… later. Deal with that later.  At least two cups of coffee later. 

He’s just about to pass through to the kitchen when he notices something at the living room window.

Matthew? 

No that’s not Matthew.

Wait… that’s not a raven anyway, the beak’s the wrong shape and they’re too small that’s a… 

Crow. 

Oh. 

There hadn’t been A Visit last night (It’s actually been a while but not quite long enough that Hob is worried) but Hob had in that point where reality is a little… loose between waking and sleeping had heard a whisper. It’d been somewhat cryptic (He didn’t expect anything less) but the pieces start to slot together. 

Hob shakes his head with an affectionate snort as he lifts the sash window. It’s thankfully a warm morning. 

The crow tilts their head at him. 

“Well… come on in?” 

Hob takes a step back and watches as the crow hops through the opened window, carefully he shuts it behind them. 

There’s a pause for a moment before they hop from the windowsill and then

Falll  to the ground. 

Hob is caught off guard for a second before there’s a ruffle of feathers and then. 

Ah

So that’s why there’d been something about ‘spare clothes’ that’d sounded rather out of place coming from Dream. 

Hob now looks at the dark haired teenager who had been a crow moments ago who sits on the sofa. The borrowed t-shirt and shorts hang loose on him in a way that looks more ‘Handmedowns from an older sibling’ than ‘fashionably baggy’ 

The teenager looks up at him through curtain bangs with dark eyes that are bright and… oddly captivating.

Just like someone else I know. 

“So… Monty, right?”

Monty nods. 

“Dream?” They say, voice still croaky, “Sent me to you… somehow? Said you could help me?” 

“Hopefully?” Hob clears his throat, “So… are you hungry?”

“I’m starving,” 

Breakfast. Right. That’s at least a problem he can fix. 

“Ok,” Hob smiles, and hopes it looks less nervous than he feels. “I’ll go make us something and you can tell me all about… whatever’s going on,”

“Sounds great!,” Monty’s voice is bright, almost a little too bright for this time in the morning and gives him probably the softest smile he’s ever seen before Hob turns into the kitchen. 

What the hell have you gotten me into this time?

[the-starry-raven]

@forestshadow-wolf @queermentaldisaster I need some backup stuff to help with writing Soap for my comfort fic- do either of ya (or anyone else reading this) have anythings- I wanna make this goodddd-

Also gimme lovey nicknames/unique complements if you got them, this one's gonna be good (or at least I'mma try to make it good)

[creature-of-the-stars]

Weeds Among Stones: Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Wedding Bells & Warning Lights -> read here

Chapter summary: Letant and Edith spend quality time in close quarters, and Vreenak and Jo get troubling news.

No warnings for this chapter.

Tag List (please, let me know if you want on/off this list): @wafflingchemist, @starrynightgardens, @bigblissandlove1 @deepspacedukat @horta-in-charge @romulanhorsegirl @darkmattervibes , @indignantlemur

I forgot about how posting an announcement to tumblr was a thing, so sorry for the spam if any of you have already seen this come though via email (@starrynightgardens specifically, because I saw your review pop up in my inbox 🥺).

EDIT - Gif credit for Letant and Vreenak goes to: @deepspacedukat

[creatively-cosmic]

im twenty four pages deep into a slideshow of trying to document the full timeline of where every pokemon game falls in missing numbers and i havent even started writing notes yet

[astrxealis]

sorry to ffxivlovepost always anyway Man the way the devs & game did so good in making an mc that is Basically a blank-slate for the players, and there's so many opportunities to make your oc However you like but. the game itself adds so much story and character to that blank-slate guy. amazing