#steelbeakblood

[big-chicken-man]

Continued from here. @sympathyforthedamned

It was odd, really. Presented to Steelbeak was a golden opportunity on a silver platter: returning everything the old buzzard had said and done to him two-fold. One didn’t need the rooster’s aptitude for reading others to know what he was contemplating — in vivid detail no less. It would just be so easy, and the physical impact would be immeasurably satisfying. But, no amount of convincing could sway Steelbeak into truly believing that drawing the curtains on Bradford would provide more than a shallow, fleeting high.

“Ya know,” Steelbeak restored their eye contact. “You remind me of someone I knew. He had this real power thing goin’ on. Figured that as long as he was the big fish in his little pond, everything would go well. Turns out it did, he was the most powerful guy around, oh yeah…” He trailed off, gesturing to the air with a lazy hand twirl. “No one messed with him, no one called him names, everybody feared him, because he had the brain to match the brawn. If he didn’t use his fists, he had other ways of breakin’ people anyway.”

The pause that followed gave Bradford a chance to take in what Steelbeak was saying, and maybe connect a few dots.

“He got reeeeeal cozy with that position, I’ll tell ya. Believed that was the way he had to run things, live life, the whole works.” Slowly, Steelbeak’s brows furrowed and his frown deepened. He then turned away. “But one day, when he wasn’t watchin’ his back, wasn’t lookin’ at all the right pieces, he slipped, and you know what happened? Everyone under his thumb got their revenge, and let me tell you, it ain’t a sight to fall asleep to. When he came out, he was messed up so bad that he looked like a circus freak. Look up ‘pulverized’ in a dictionary, you’ll find a picture of him. But even then, that ain’t the worst of it.”

Steelbeak faced Bradford with a frown that he’d never given anyone else before. He then raised both his index and middle fingers.

“He dealt with two real problems that day. For starters, he learned that no matter how high up he was, he wasn’t invincible. But what really rocked this guy? His world was jacked. Everything he knew in his life, gone, ka-put, crashin’ down on hard enough to turn his bones to dust.” With that last word, the rooster slammed his fist on the table with force that left a print. The air was permeated with a deafening silence. This was the most verbose and eloquent Steelbeak has ever been.

“So… this chump had to really think about why everyone he had turned on him, why they were a buncha filthy traitors and cowards. Where did he go wrong? Did he cross a line at one point? Mess with the wrong person?” Though he sounded like he was asking for Bradford’s input, he continued.

“It wasn’t everyone else. It was him, Bradford. He messed up from the start. The idea that hey, by scarin’ people into submission, he’d finally get what he wanted: security and respect.” The buzzard was faced with a glare piercing right into his very soul. Steelbeak had been many things, but he had never shown himself to be this firm.

“What a great lie that was. Even with people under him, waiting for his orders, he had no one. All he had in life was their fear, and his fists. At the end of the day, he was running away from the truth. Inside all that muscle, he was just scared and alone, scared of getting hurt again, scared of being weak and losing what he wanted so badly. The guy from then on was just a loser, alone with nothin’ but his thoughts and scars to remind him of his bad choices.”

Steelbeak huffed out a quiet sigh, glare softening into an expression of both pity and concern.

“…Even when you were my boss, even when youse had control over McDuck’s fortune, you were alone too. You didn’t want to get hurt. I saw that from the very beginning, and even then, I couldn’t help but look up to you a bit. You’re real smart, real calculated, you know where to place the pieces. Heh, I might’ve taken some notes. But still, I knew what was goin’ on in there. I mean, I had every right to take out my anger on you countless times after what you’ve said and done to me...” The rooster’s eyelids lowered."

“But I couldn’t, not when what I saw in you was so familiar. We ain’t good people, Bradford, we’ll never be heroes like the McDuck clan. You found out you wrong in the end, and you made some messes you can’t take back. But...that doesn’t mean you gotta be alone — not anymore.”

His words were progressively growing warmer in delivery, exposing yet another side of the rooster not seen by anyone in FOWL, or their enemies.

“We don’t got a big family or big circle of friends, so...look, I’m making a big gamble here, but ‘ey, if you wanna give it a shot?” Steelbeak raised his shoulders in a slow shrug.

“I’ll make the gamble for ya.”

[big-chicken-man]

“Hi Steelbeak! You look thirsty! Need some water?” Note: as a prank, fart powder has been put in the water.

"Actually, I was thinkin' splatter art and boxing to let off some steam!"

"Youse got a five second head start.”

[big-chicken-man]

Small Headcanon:

If Steelbeak ever says, "I don't like your tone, pal" or starts a sentence with "I don't like..." at all in a cold voice, that is your one and only warning to shape up before he snaps something the wrong way or makes use of a firearm.

On the flipside, if those exact things are said playfully, run. He's about to give you The Arms. Those he spends time with the most are always in danger of getting it with little room to escape in time, even with a headstart. Threatening and giving The Arms are his ways of saying he likes you.

[big-chicken-man]

🍵 (sympathyforthedamned) (he's being nice don't make him pour it on you)

{Tea-lightful!} - Closed

@sympathyforthedamned

Making this a continuation from: X

Bradford couldn’t be blamed for his stern tone with Steelbeak the night before. Not only had the large man gotten himself injured from a backstabbing client, he let his pride take priority over his own safety. Rather than calling the buzzard the moment he was safe, he instead braved the rain and injury and stumbled home. Steelbeak considered himself lucky to have even made it to the elevators in the lobby. But his luck didn’t take him as far as he wanted. He let Bradford see him downed, bloodied and soaked wet.

HIs gumption was called into question as he got up to his feet and limped toward a better resting place in the penthouse. A reddened hand on his shoulder and the limp from his left leg were obvious clues as to the result of Steelbeak’s most recent scuffle. The procedure to aid himself would be simple: get to the bathroom to wash off the wounds and everything would be okay. Except that didn’t happen, and he barely managed to catch himself on the back of the couch before he fell to the unforgiving floor. He gasped out a curse and clenched his eyes shut.

Steelbeak then sat up against the back of the couch, conceding to both his fatigue and Bradford’s wishes. “Fuzzard. I— shit— need your help. Hah, I’m tired…”

Those were the details most vivid to him before they became a blur.

Steelbeak lied in bed, gauze wrapped around his shoulder and a portion of his leg. Attempts to recollect more were fruitless; the exhaustion caught up to him after the buzzard took over. Outside of what he said at the couch, his last memory was Bradford patching him up and getting him to the bedroom to rest. His head and throat joined the ensemble of pain, conducted by the bad cold preventing him from doing much more than shuffling in the sheets. Where was the older man anyway?

He opened his mouth to call out for him, but every word was replaced by a violent cough, each one making him wince. Screw it, it wasn’t even worth trying to speak when Steelbeak knew that every syllable would hurt and come out an ugly mess. Plus, he could already hear Bradford scolding him for his string of bad decisions. At this point, Steelbeak didn’t know what hurt the most: his wounds, his cold, or his pride. Not that it mattered, when he was going to face the buzzard one way or another. No beating around the bush, he was beyond ashamed.

Another fit of hacking caught Steelbeak off guard, and he covered his mouth with his good arm, which concealed the paced tapping approaching from the doorway. Raising his head after wiping his eyes gave Steelbeak a view of Bradford walking into the bedroom, a mug nestled in both of his hands. The steam rising from its contents lead to Bradford’s tightened brows and tired eyes. The buzzard was sleep-deprived, and seeing that made the rooster look down to the floor. But even then, Bradford’s feet stepped into view. Steelbeak gave up running away with his gaze, feeling as if he had no choice but to meet the buzzard’s stare, and then his harsh words.

But instead, he watched Bradford extend the mug to him. Carefully, Steelbeak took it into his large hands. Lavender met his nostrils while he stared into his wobbling reflection. Not wanting to be rude and do nothing, he raised the mug to his mouth, and downed a small gulp. It was… delicious, and ridded his throat of some of the raspiness plaguing his voice. He set it on the nightstand after a few coughs.

“Look, I ah, mm…” No excuses, he reminded himself. “I got backstabbed by my client, got into a scuffle with ‘im. I won, but, ya know…should’ve called ya when I had the chance. I’m sor— ah?”

Bradford had climbed into bed, and onto Steelbeak’s body to use his bare chest as a pillow.

“Hey, hey, I’d rather you be cold t’me, than give you the cold.” Steelbeak said, stifling a cough halfway through.

“It’s impossible for me to get tuberculosis and rabies.” Bradford's tone lied between tired and deadpanning.

Steelbeak paused. He didn’t know Bradford’s immune system was that strong. “Well, anything I can do to make it up to you?”

“…No more of that work until you’ve fully recovered from your wounds.”

“But, we got bills.”

Bradford narrowed his eyes. “Steelbeak. Please.”

“What? It’s not like we’re made of mon—“ Click. The last horse crossed the finishing line.

A sigh fell out of the buzzard. “Listen, you’re going to finish your tea, and I’m going to take care of you. Please, let me help you from now on. Okay?”

The corners of Steelbeak’s lips curved to a grin. “Okay, it’s a promise.”

[big-chicken-man]

❰❰ PANIC ❱❱ (sympathyforthedamned)

{Self-Indulgence, Baby!} - No Longer Accepting

@sympathyforthedamned ❰❰ PANIC ❱❱ - sender comforts the receiver as they have a panic attack or get overstimulated

Among the body's basic needs lied rest, such was the truth. To Steelbeak, he found it to be luxury. From his underground days to his time at FOWL, achieving a great night's sleep was akin to finding a gemstone: rare, and something to be treasured. After he accepted Bradford into his home, counting sheep lost its difficulty, and waking up feeling refreshed became the new rule rather than the exception. People often took what they had for granted once they got used to constant presence. Not for Steelbeak, for he never let his view of sleep as a luxury slip from his standards. Not even when he and Bradford eventually began sharing the same bed.

FOWL's demise meant Steelbeak was gifted a new avenue to lead a freer, more wholesome life if he so chose, but that didn't mean he could escape the odd nightmare. The procedure was the same every time: wake up with a jolt, see Bradford sleeping soundly beside him, and then close his eyes to try again.

Not tonight.

One moment he felt the weight of Bradford's head on his chest, and the next,

He couldn't move. All he could do was open his eyes to gather information. A lone light illuminated all of six feet around him fading into a pitch darkness that threatened to swallow someone whole. The rooster attempted to speak, but his jaw felt like it weighed a ton, and disgruntled moans seeped through his nostrils. "Tell me, Agent Steelbeak," a feminine voice taunted, "without my little operation, my... gift to you, what would your name be, hm?" From her cold cadence and accent alone, whom it belonged to needed no introduction. Panic swept over Steelbeak like a tsunami, yet naught more than a sigh left him. Beads of sweat traveled down the side of his face.

His eyes darted around to no avail, leaving Steelbeak with increasing despair as seconds ticked. A metallic set of claws from in front of him snatched his beak from the black abyss, crushing it like a spent soda can. With mighty force, it yanked, and yanked, and yanked, giving the rooster whiplash with each pull. Steelbeak couldn't feel pain, yet he couldn't scream, only huffing in panic while he felt skin detaching from metal. First it was the top, then the sides... He needed to reach for his pistol. All he had to do-- "STEELBEAK." He popped open his eyes, met with the anxious gaze of another and the feeling of clawed, but feathery fingers grasping his shoulders. His body felt weightless as he heaved for air. Steelbeak then checked for his beak with one hand before he grabbed the sides of the now relieved buzzard in front of him. "Are you--"

"She's gone, right?"

"What? Steelbeak--"

"She's dead, right?"

A short pause, and Bradford understood. The memory of the Solego Circuit's red flash replayed itself in his head, leading to his eventual nod. "Yes. I --"

Steelbeak ensnared Bradford in his large arms, to which the buzzard was quick to return the favor, palming the rooster's large back in slow circles.

"Good, good, good. Just...good...good! Glad she's gone!"

Bradford didn't want Steelbeak to say any more. True to their relationship, words were rarer in exchange for unspoken understanding and connection with one another, and right then was no different. Steelbeak didn't need comforting words, and Bradford was well aware. Adjusting his head, he pressed his ear over the rooster's pounding heart. They didn't know how much time had passed, nor did they care to check. All they knew was that after a long moment of silent intimacy, Steelbeak let go of Bradford with a stretched sigh. "Do you want me to bring you a slice of the cobbler?" Bradford offered, the ends of his jaw creasing into a warm grin.

"Heh...yeah, please. Thanks, Fuzzard."

[big-chicken-man]

Alone: ████ Her██

Steelbeak’s eyes popped open as he shot up, adrenaline coursing through his veins and beads of sweat on the side of his head. Both of his hands rushed to his beak, granting him a sigh of relief when they felt cold metal. Large fingers ran down its curved shape until they reached feathers, addressing renewed concerns of detachment. No longer was he laying on an operating table, but his own bed, with a comforter embracing his form instead of unforgiving chains. His gaze fell to his phone on the night stand. Just past two in the morning. Great. Steelbeak stood up after wiping the sweat from his head. He needed something to drink, even if that meant forfeiting his comfortable position.

Knitted eyebrows soured his expression as he made his way to the kitchen. No matter how much he tried, Steelbeak had no success staving off the nightmares. What was worse, even if they had become a broken record, each time was just as frightening as the previous. First, the cold slab of metal against his back. Next, the realization he was bound by cuffs. Then, her disembodied voice taunting him. Finally, a metal claw yanking at his beak, crumpling it like a soda can. All that, while Steelbeak couldn’t do anything but heave his chest and watch as his beak was torn from his face.

The things he would’ve done to watch her body evaporate in the Solego Circuit. Reducing her intelligence wasn’t enough, nor was laughing at her. Steelbeak wanted to watch the woman crash and burn in the flames of her own mistakes in gruesome detail. But that privilege was given to Bradford, and with him being gone as well, Steelbeak couldn’t ask him what it looked like when he discarded her existence. Regardless, it was Steelbeak that was alive, while that woman was gone without a single soul to mourn her.

Good.

Moonlight helped Steelbeak reach the cabinets in his kitchen, where he withdrew a tall glass and set it underneath the water dispenser built into his fridge. It was after two fills that he was satisfied, setting the glass on the counter. Those that had known him in the past were no stranger to his wrath, but hatred was an emotion quite rare for Steelbeak. The day he lost his beak was a harsh lesson in humility, but it was a lesson that taught him to keep his cool and stay collected, no matter how much he was tested. And yet, somehow, she found a way to stab at him over, and over, and over again. While others called Steelbeak an angry thug, she reduced him to a stupid animal more times than he could count. She bailed him out of St. Canard Prison, but he suspected that was an errand for Bradford, not a choice she made because she saw potential in him. Back then, Steelbeak wouldn’t have needed the Intelli-Ray to articulate his feelings about her.

He walked toward a large window, overlooking the sleeping city from his high vantage point. Credit had to be given where it was due, though. She was a woman that manipulated Bradford and pushed him to the edge and fiddled with the Third Eye Diamond. Behind that annoying grin was a brain wealthy in potential, and it was because of her craftsmanship that Steelbeak was able to sharpen his own mind and become a far more potent threat to the McDucks. But, he didn’t need boosted intelligence to notice how hellbent she was on her villain-theatrics. All too often, instead of getting the job done, she threw all common sense to the wind to revel in her flamboyancy. She blew Bradford’s cover, or at least, that’s what he heard. If that was true, there was no telling how many times she held the buzzard, and FOWL, from achieving their goals.

In the end, she was the stupid one after all. What a waste of IQ.

A smirk crept on to Steelbeak’s face as he turned around to head back toward his room. Deep down, he was still afraid of her, but knowing that she couldn’t hurt him anymore provided him solace. Maybe he’d see a shrink about the nightmares one of these days, yet… he suddenly felt that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t have to worry about them as much anymore.

"'Night, Heron."

[big-chicken-man]

"Let me tells you somethin'. When you're a guy like me, or some other person on that kinda life, you don't let yourself get too close to anyone. You live two lives, and if you're lucky, they don't touch."

"But that ain't the case. Sometimes, you might need to make somethin' look like an accident, and for all you know, your crosshairs are on ya best friend. Ya got a choice to make: the life of your buddy, or the folks you signed your life away to. Either way, someone's gettin' put in a casket, and then the reality of your choices hits you like a train if the bullet doesn't first."

"Life isn't somethin' to take lightly. It's precious, and rich. Some of us live good ones and get good stories to tell. Some of us sprint through it, chasin' after the next big thing when really, that thing won't matter in the end. When your heart stops beating, and your brain stops dreaming, all you are is a memory in the world, and whatever power, money, or fame you have won't matter." "Between youse and me, I'm lucky things worked out for me the way they did. They say knowledge is freedom, so ain't it a funny thing I was set free at the library."

[big-chicken-man]

🌟

...Okay, this is an awesome question and I wasn't really expecting it. I've never answered something like this so here goes!

[Accepting up to two more asks for this meme.]

I'm going to say you'd need:

- A firearm

- A feather (or equivalent if not avian) from someone you love or hate

- $250+ bottle of whiskey

- An oz. of your own blood

- A pair of dice

To start, I think he'd totally be one of those demons that you can bind to yourself. Similarly to how he is a mobster that was hired by FOWL, summoning him and going through with the contract would mean that he can't hurt you, and vise versa. You'd have to find a way to undo the contract with some artifact or spell.

He'd be there as something of a servant or bodyguard, always hiding within your shadow or someplace else like in your head until summoned or on his own choice. Most things you ask him to do, he'll do it. If you want him to take someone out and make it look like an accident, he'd do it. If you want him to mess with slot machines to go in your favor, that works too. However, he's still Steelbeak, so...you can expect a lot of rebellion.

He'll still poke fun at you, spare no sarcasm, and if he grows to like you enough, seduce you whenever he wants. Even if he's bound to you, there will be a constant power struggle between you and him, and for most cases, he refuses to see you as anything higher than an equal. At the same time, since he's kind of your permanent partner and roommate in a lot of ways, he's likely to warm up to you over time and maybe even befriend you.

"Who knows, maybe you and I can become best pals, heh heh heh."

This sounds like something to explore a little further in some sort of AU, but I'll probably keep this idea for Discord RPs or something.

[big-chicken-man]

Have you ever killed anyone?

"I've talked about something like this before, so I'll say this: Execution in FOWL wasn't as often as some former Eggheads might say, but when it happened, Heron was the one who liked to carry it out. Youse could say compared to her, I was the 'good cop' when I wanted to get information."

[big-chicken-man]

❰❰ DYING ❱❱ 👀

{Self-Indulgence, Baby!} - No Longer Accepting

❰❰ DYING ❱❱ - sender finds the receiver near death

Well that was strange, Steelbeak hadn't shown up to their hang out spot at the cafe on time. This often wasn't problem since the rooster was sometimes caught up in his line of "work," but he always let Lola know when he was going to be late, along with what she should order for him ahead of time. The text never came. The rabbit understood that as routine as Steelbeak was, he wasn't infallible...but her gut told her that something wasn't right. She sent another text, but wasn't even graced with a "Read" notification.

The sound of a wailing siren passing by only to abruptly stop rather than fade away didn't do her any favors either. Snatching her things, Lola sprung from her seat and dashed out of the establishment, following the direction the siren was heading.

The sight wasn't pretty.

Just down the street, pairs of red and blue lights pierced her retinas, allowing small windows of clarity. Police cruisers bordered off an intersection, while in the middle of the commotion was not only an ambulance, but also two additional cars. The front of one was crumpled, its windshield and headlights sprinkling glass all around the vehicle. The other was hard to make out since it was thrashed and upside down. Lola advanced forward.

Her heart plummeted when she recognized that it was Steelbeak's, adrenaline tightening up her chest. She sprinted ahead, ignoring the pleas of cops telling her to stay back. The driver's door was opened, providing a dollop of relief to Lola in knowing he was at least out of the wreckage. However, the sounds of wheels squeaking and crunching asphalt made her perk up, and turning around made her eyes widen in horror.

Placed on a stretcher was none other than Steelbeak, drenched in his own blood. She called his name, but got no response. Darting eyes revealed that along with a dented beak, shards of glass sunk into his torso while his leg was bent the other way. She called his name again, but her attempt was in vain. A large hand grasped her shoulder from behind, making her convulse as she backed away and demanded information from the cop. Hearing the woman say the driver of the other car was under the influence was enough for her to piece everything together. Along with her anxiety came the concoction of melancholy and fury, blood boiling in ways she never thought she would ever feel.