#……😈

[whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk]

Begged & Borrowed Time (xxiii, ao3)

Chapter twenty-three: In the aftermath of the attack on Velaris, Cassian can’t quite shake the feeling that something is drastically wrong, and below the wall, Nesta lies awake at the Archeron manor… (Prologue // previous chapter // next chapter)

The blood still stained his hands.

It lingered in the gaps between his fingers, smeared across his knuckles, a mixture of silver and red that was a testament to too many lives lost. 

Lives he’d tried to save. 

His armour had long been discarded, but the scent of smoke still clung to Cassian’s hair, his skin. The city was in pieces, all broken stone and shattered glass, and too many cries of grief still punctured the silence, too many screams still tearing through the streets as the citizens of Velaris began to understand the scale of the devastation.

The fires were out, at least.

But an acrid taste coated his tongue even now, hours after the fighting had finished. They had been confined to the theatre district mainly, small blazes that - thank the mother - hadn’t had a chance to spread too far. But still— ash had drifted across the city, and the stone pavements that had been worn smooth with time were roughened now, scarred in too many places. And as midnight came and went, Cassian had been out on those streets, salvaging whatever was left of the City of Starlight.

They all had.

And only now, as the clock inched towards four in the morning, did Rhys’ Inner Circle make it back to the townhouse, each of them dirty and bloody and covered with ash.

None of them had the strength to wash away the grit of battle.

None had the energy to magic it away, either.

Cassian looked at them in turn now— his family, each of them as drained as he was. Mor’s golden curls were in disarray, her leathers torn at the knees. Rhys’ eyes were as dark and as empty as a chasm, no stars glittering there at all now, and even Amren’s face had turned ashen. Whatever well of ancient power she drew from, it had apparently run dry after she and Rhys had fixed the wards, constructed new ones - stronger ones - and tested them until they were sure they would not break. Silver blood was splattered across her cheek, and the string of diamonds she wore about her neck - because of course she hadn’t taken the time to remove her jewellery before heading out into the streets - was dulled by a thin coating of ash, greyed by the smoke from the fires Hybern had set. 

Az sat silently, cleaning silver blood from Truth-teller’s blade as a frown settled deep between his brows. He and Cassian had both flown over the city until their wings could take no more, assessing the damage and putting out those wretched fires, and with both feet on the ground now, the Spymaster was quiet. The azure blue of his siphons was flat, dim— as empty as Cassian’s, the glow reduced to a weak, barely-there flicker.

His shadows were gone, too. 

All of them— dispatched across the city and beyond to keep an eye on things as the High Lord and his most trusted took a moment to breathe. 

And on the sofa beneath the window, Feyre Cursebreaker sat motionless.

Her hand was encased in Rhys’, their fingers woven so tightly together it was a wonder their knuckles weren’t white. Slowly, rhythmically, Rhys stroked his thumb across the back of Feyre’s hand— broad, soothing, strokes that Cassian knew were the only thing keeping his brother grounded. The Attor’s blood still marred Feyre’s skin, and her hair was still tangled from the free-fall that had sent the creature to it’s death, but when Rhys angled his head to the side to glance at his mate, for a moment the stars in his eyes attempted brightness despite the dark. 

And beneath the grief and the despair, Rhys didn’t bother to mask the awe and adoration that consumed him every time he looked at her.

Cassian might have smiled softly, had he not been so weary.

Archerons, he thought wryly. So fucking brave they put the rest of us to shame.

In his exhaustion, he must have let his mental barriers slip, because Rhys snorted.

That’s true, he said inside the cavern of Cassian’s mind. 

But Cassian didn’t respond. He only tipped his head back, shattered, and tried to find the strength he needed to ask the questions that were hanging off his tongue— ones he didn’t want to ask, but ones that needed to be voiced, even if none of them had an answer. 

“Velaris might be secure for now,” he began darkly, his voice a low, exhausted, rumble, “but for how long? The queens know about us now. How long until they sell the information to the other courts? Or till Hybern uses the Cauldron against us?”

He was met with silence.

But what was there for any of them to say besides I don’t know?

Rhys let out a breath, one that was so heavy, so weary, Cassian almost winced. But it was Feyre who broke the silence.

“We need to destroy the Cauldron,” she said, her voice quiet but far from feeble. 

Rhys nodded, but his violet eyes were shuttered. Cassian didn’t need to be a mind reader to know that the destruction of Velaris would forever lie heavy on Rhys’ shoulders, the blood staining his hands. Tension gathered at his shoulders, and when he spoke his voice was grim, flat.

“So we go to Hybern,” Rhys said tightly. 

Feyre hesitated, bit her lip. “We can’t all go,” she pointed out, her voice dropping low as guilt flashed across her face, like she resenting adding to Rhys’ burden. “Who will defend the city?”

Amren didn’t miss a beat. “I’ll stay here.”

Somehow Cassian found the strength to lift his head an inch from the headrest of his chair, but even though he opened his mouth to protest, Amren didn’t blink. She didn’t look away from Rhys, from the ash-streaked hair that fell haphazard over his forehead.

“I am the only one of you who might hold the city until help arrives if we are attacked again,” she said steadily. When Rhys’ throat bobbed, she shook her head. “Today was a surprise— but the new wards we built will not fall so easily.”

Mor sighed, heavy, resting her cheek in her palm. “So what now?”

Amren shrugged. “We sleep. We eat.”

And with the tell-tale snick of a blade sliding back into its sheath, Azriel finished cleaning Truth-teller. Though he had been silent, he spoke now with finality, in a voice that was rough at the edges— strained and begging for retribution. 

“And then we retaliate.”

His words hung in the air. 

Retaliate. 

Yes, they would retaliate. They would have their retribution, their revenge. They would pay Hybern back tenfold for the destruction they had unleashed today. 

Cassian could only nod in agreement, his head falling back against the headrest once more as a piercing headache flourished between his temples. Unease still sat heavy in his stomach, and there was a lingering anxiety he couldn’t quite shake. Whatever it was that had apprehension cresting within him like a wave, he couldn’t put his finger on it.

As Amren got to her feet, Cassian only swallowed against the nausea. Ash lingered in her black hair, the crown of her head dusted with white, and as she announced that she was going back to her apartment to continue searching for a way to destroy the Cauldron once and for all, Cassian couldn’t even open his mouth to say goodbye.

His throat felt like it was closing.

The battle calm that had settled over him earlier had long since receded, and in its wake he was left with this— burgeoning anxiety and a kind of fear he couldn’t name and didn’t understand. 

Velaris was secure, the wards were up— and yet still it felt for all the world like there was something wrong, something vital he had missed.

He barely even noticed as Feyre and Mor took their leave too. Mor pressed a hand to his shoulder as she left, her fingers curling in a silent farewell, and when they were gone, Cassian dragged a hand down his face. 

Across the room, Rhys closed his eyes and let out another heavy breath. He rubbed his jaw, a crease in his brow. 

“I wonder if we underestimated Hybern,” he said slowly.

With effort, Cassian snorted. He’d thought the same when he saw the queen’s body on the bridge, her eyes torn out.

“They know us, know our weaknesses far better than we know them,” Rhys continued. “We don’t know where this king came from, don’t know his background or how to predict his movements. We don’t even know his fucking name.”

Az scowled in the darkness. He’d been trying to find all of this out for months now, to no avail. Hybern was an isle wreathed in mist and smoke, one that kept its secrets close. Cassian had scouted the place out twice, and each time it’d had the hairs on the back of his neck rising. Not even Azriel’s shadows had been able to make sense of it. All they knew was that there was a sea door that might grant them access to the castle, that the Cauldron was inside, on the lower levels somewhere, and that the guards were on a two-hour rotation. Az’s shadows had picked all that up from standing sentinel outside the castle, but getting in… no, even they hadn’t been able to do that. 

“I feel like we’re going into this war blind,” Rhys said, his voice a quiet whisper.

Cassian’s face was grim, because— fucking hell, what else did Hybern have in their arsenal? He thought of those stone manacles, how they’d already brought Rhys down once, had shattered Cassian’s shields. And today had only been a skirmish. The real battles were yet to come, the real war yet to be fought, and they had no idea what else Hybern was hiding, what other tricks the king might use to bring them to their knees. 

Unsettling, to say the least.

That ominous, dark feeling in his stomach surged, and Cassian shifted in his chair to try and bank it, but it only blazed harder.

“When Amren figures it out, we’ll be in a much better position,” Azriel pointed out.

“And how close is she?” Cassian asked, suppressing the lump in his throat.

Rhys shrugged. “Close. She thinks we might have something in a day or two.”

At that, Cassian nodded, rubbing his temples with his thumb and forefinger. He didn’t know what else to say, what to do, and as the clock ticked on the mantle, a heavy silence came over the sitting room, settling like a shroud. After a long, drawn out moment, Rhys stood. 

“I need—” He shook his head, ran his fingers through his hair. “I need some air.”

Az nodded.

It didn’t need to be said that Rhys wanted to be alone. Five hundred years had taught each of them how to read one another like a book, and with the way Rhys sighed as he got to his feet, with that haunted look in his eyes, both Azriel and Cassian knew to leave him be.

And perhaps they should have retired to the House of Wind once he’d gone, but… neither of them moved. 

The silence shifted, deepened, so complete that Cassian could hear the wind outside, and—

There.

There it was again, that twist in his gut. Beneath the fatigue, the lingering exhaustion, it was some instinct that had yet to settle, still on high alert. He might have brushed it off, but… no. In the silence and the dark he could tell now— this was something else. His tongue felt heavy, his blood felt cold, and there— right there, right where his heart was, there was something squeezing tight, like a vice that stopped him getting his breath. 

Something was wrong.

“Az,” he said quietly. “I don’t think this is over.”

His brother shook his head. “The wards are up. You heard Amren.”

“Something’s wrong.”

“They won’t take us by surprise again, Cass.” The shadowsinger’s jaw was tight, his lips pressed thin as his scarred hands flexed on the arm of the chair, fingers curling into a fist. No, Azriel would not be taken unawares again. He’d taken the attack on Velaris as personally as any of them. “I’ve had shadows on the coast all night. Nothing out there moves without me being aware of it.”

But Cassian shook his head. “I just—” He rubbed his chest, where the ache had grown sharp. “I can feel it.”

Az shrugged. “Probably adrenaline left over from the attack.” He offered him a small smile, one that tried in vain to lighten the atmosphere. “After all, it’s been a while since you’ve fought in battle. You’re out of shape, general.” 

Any other time, Cassian would have laughed. Flipped him off. Thrown out a leg and kicked Az in the ankle. Any other time, the teasing would have been welcome. But—

“That’s what I thought at first,” Cassian countered instead, that feeling growing teeth now, clawing him apart from the inside out. “But I don’t think so.”

There was a pause. 

Azriel opened his mouth, but it was clear he didn’t know what to say. They had all of them learned to trust Cassian’s battlefield instincts over the centuries, but this was something else. Something he couldn’t articulate, and it wasn’t Velaris in danger now. No, as Cassian felt his heartbeat stumble, he knew it was something much farther south.

“Send a shadow beneath the wall,” he whispered. “Check they’re alright.”

Az sighed softly. “Have you heard something from the men down there?”

No— no, he hadn’t. And that wasn’t a bad thing, was it? They had nothing to report. But—

“I just know something isn’t right, Az.” Gods, his chest was twisting, knotting itself. And then it yanked, a determined pull on the bond, like it was trying to get his attention. “It’s Nesta,” he added, his voice threatening to crack. “Please. I have a bad feeling and I can’t— I need to know that she’s alright.”

There was another moment of silence.

“Please,” Cassian said again, and this time his voice did crack. “Just send one shadow— just to her house.”

He was all too aware of what he was asking. 

Azriel had all of his shadows out patrolling the city, spread thin across the coast to ensure nothing slipped past them in the night. Cassian wanted one of them to be pulled away and sent down below the wall, when it was better used up here, defending the city until the sun could rise again. 

And Az was tired— they all were. It was why Cassian wasn’t flying down there now to find out himself. He couldn’t. He didn’t think he could even make it upstairs to his bed, and Azriel was the same. They weren’t just exhausted— they were emptied of energy entirely, so completely sapped of strength from those long, long moments where they’d defended Velaris alone. 

A shadow was the best Cassian could do. 

At last Az’s face softened. “Alright,” he conceded.

With a flick of his fingers he dispatched a shadow, and then— all that there was left to do was wait.

It took a while— ten minutes, twenty, thirty, Cassian didn’t know. He’d stopped keeping track of time.

And when that shadow slunk across the floor, all he knew was that his heart was in his mouth. A chill crawled up his spine, a breathless kind of concern forcing its way through his veins, and in the moment that Azriel was quiet, taking in whatever it was the shadow reported, Cassian could have sworn time halted altogether.

The silence stretched.

Endless.

And then, at last, Azriel spoke.

“There’s nothing,” he said calmly. “The Mandray house is quiet. The men you sent are still there, hiding unnoticed at the perimeter. The shadow didn’t go inside, but it seems that everyone under that roof is asleep.”

Cassian swallowed.

But in the place where he expected relief to swell, there was nothing but a hollow ache, a distant kind of drumming. That feeling in his chest didn’t vanish. But if the shadow Az sent below the wall said everything was fine, and the Illyrians were still keeping watch, then…

Fucking hell, maybe he was losing his touch.

Perhaps it was the way he’d fought a battle in Velaris today, the one place he’d always thought would be safe. Perhaps it was the way he’d watched Feyre fall to the earth, to the streets that even now were still coated with red, fae, blood. It had thrown him, made him doubt everything and had concern blooming in places it didn’t need to be.

Nesta was safe. 

Nesta had his men watching over her.

So, reluctantly, Cassian let it go.

In the darkness, as he closed his eyes on that armchair, too tired to climb the stairs and fall into a proper bed, he repeated it until he could feel sleep beginning to drag him under.

Safe.

Nesta was safe.

***

Below the wall, in Nesta Archeron’s darkened bedroom, the silence echoed.

Well.

In her borrowed bedroom, the silence echoed. 

She couldn’t sleep, her ears ringing with the quiet, and in her thin, threadbare nightgown, she turned uncomfortably in a bed more than big enough for two. The weak moonlight streamed through the windows - past the curtains she hadn’t bothered to draw - and glanced off the gilded sconces that held unlit candles, the vast dressing table that should have held glass bottles of perfume and yet stood empty.

Once, she’d been comfortable with finery. Accustomed to it.

Now she felt as out of place here as she did in the Mandray estate.

Her mind wouldn’t quiet. As she lay in the dark, her thoughts wouldn’t still long enough to let her sleep, and maybe it was something to do with the dagger she kept beneath her pillow and the piece of string tied around her wrist, the glass beads and the little silver star winking at her in the darkness. 

No, she didn’t quite know where home was anymore, but if she had to guess… well, maybe they were a good place to start. 

After all, over the past two days she’d had a lot of time to think about what she would do when this war was over. Where she would be, and which side of the wall she would find herself on. Though it had seemed abhorrent to her not too long ago… the land above the wall suddenly seemed to hold far more promise than the land beneath.

She shook her head now, shifting her gaze to the ceiling. All moulded plaster-work and painted cornices. 

Two days. 

She had been here two days, and Elain’s dreams were getting worse.

It didn’t matter that Nesta slept in the room next door. Didn’t make any difference, either, that when Nesta had ventured into the village and handed over five gold coins at the apothecary for cold remedies - for believability, Elain had insisted - she’d also picked up some chamomile and crushed lavender and tucked it beneath her sister’s pillow.

Elain still emerged from her bedchamber each morning with pale cheeks and shadows beneath her eyes.

They come for us, Elain whispered at breakfast, when Nesta asked what haunted her the moment she closed her eyes. All claws and teeth and darkness, shattered glass and screams. 

Nesta didn’t know what to say anymore. All she could do was pat her sister gently on the arm, and wonder whether it might help if she started sleeping in Elain’s bed, so that there was someone beside her when she woke. Suddenly it felt like it hadn’t been a lie at all when she’d told her husband Elain was ill. 

“Elain is sick,” she’d said briskly when she returned to the Mandray house to pack her things after the meeting with the queens. She’d hoped to leave a note for Tomas on the table and slip out without seeing him, but he’d caught her in the bedroom they shared, putting nightdresses into a canvas bag. 

She hadn’t looked at him— at the green eyes and dark blonde hair of the man she’d married. But Tomas’ hand had darted out as she folded shifts into her small bag, fingers closing around her wrist and pulling, hauling her forwards as her shift fell from her hands. His grip had tightened, and Nesta had been shocked at first, blinking in surprise. Oh, Tomas had been cruel in so many ways, but never like that. Never like his father.

“Don’t forget that you’re my wife,” he’d hissed, “And don’t think I won’t find out if you’re lying.”

His eyes had dropped to the bracelet on her wrist, his lip curling. It was clear he hadn’t bought her tale about the bracelet being a gift from Elain. Clear, too, that Tomas thought Nesta was spending these days in another man’s bed— another man’s arms, and she’d shot him a look that might have scorched the flesh from his bones had she the power. The audacity of him to accuse her of lying— when he spent most nights in the bed of some poor, unsuspecting tavern girl.

She had wrenched herself free, hoping the friction burned his palm as much as it did her wrist. And when she looked at him, Nesta had seen only a pitiful, wretched excuse of a boy, parading as a man. 

Hatred had burned in her veins, and she’d thought of how Cassian had wiped her tears in front of those queens. How there had been such breathtaking conviction in his eyes that she hadn’t doubted him for a second when he said he’d go to war for her. 

The thought of it - of him - had made her sneer right back at the man she’d married in the hope of salvation. 

“If I’m lying?” she’d shot back, looking at Tomas with a kind of contempt she was’t able to mask any longer. “Elain knows about you, you know. About the girls you bed from the tavern.” 

Her voice was just as flat as his, just as acidic. In all the weeks since Elain had told Nesta she’d heard of Tomas’ antics in the village, she hadn’t said a word. She’d been content to let him carry on, because after all, if he was in someone else’s bed it meant he wasn’t in hers, but now— 

Nesta had had enough. 

“If you think she or my father will be giving you so much as a single copper from their coffers ever again, you’re mistaken.”

Tomas had scowled, eyes darkening with a kind of vitriol that made every bone in Nesta’s body rattle with contempt.

“Then you’ll be suffering alongside us,” he’d retorted. “When we starve, you starve. When we freeze, you freeze.”

Nesta didn’t say that she had no intention of remaining his wife beyond Elain’s wedding. None at all. No, as soon as her sister was settled, as soon as Nesta was certain that Greysen wouldn’t turn out to be just like Tomas…

She was leaving.

No, instead she laughed, and when she spoke she made her voice cold and cruel. “You forget, husband, that I have starved before. I survived too many winters with no food and no fuel for fire to fear it again. Your threats are as empty as this marriage.” She finished packing her bag and smoothed a hand down her skirts. “You don’t scare me, Tomas.”

He had huffed, fury seeping from his every pore, but Nesta had only brushed passed him and tossed over her shoulder, 

“I’ll be staying with my sister for the rest of the week at least.”

And now she lay in her bed at the manor, idly twirling a piece of her unbound hair around her finger. 

Distantly, she could hear voices. 

Earlier, when she’d looked out of the window, she’d seen the moonlight glance off the edge of a bottle, saw green and blue stones gleaming through the trees— siphons, just like Cassian and Azriel’s, though none in that shade of ruby that made her heart beat faster.

The warriors Cassian had sent were drinking— glamoured, she supposed, so none but she could see or hear them, but drinking nonetheless. Their laughter echoed through the woods that bordered the estate - raucous, like this was a game to them - but she supposed that even tipsy warriors were a better defence than nothing, and anyway, she doubted they were really needed. It was to make Elain feel better more than anything, to help her sleep soundly as much as the lavender Nesta placed beneath her pillow.

It was clear the Illyrians outside didn’t expect trouble.

Nesta didn’t either, and as she closed her eyes against the night, she felt sleep beginning to creep up on her at last. She let herself drift, thinking of crimson siphons glowing at the edge of the estate instead, dreaming of wings silvered by the moon and hazel eyes made gold beneath the starlight. He made her feel warm, safe, and—

Suddenly, she darted awake.

There was a change in the air, something she could sense but didn’t know how to name.

It was quiet.

The voices at the edge of the estate had gone silent, but the hush that crawled through the Archeron manor was not empty.

It was the kind of quiet that was wrong somehow, the kind that her blood turning to ice in her veins. Her hair stood on end, and her heart hammered in her chest as she pushed herself up onto her elbows. Her ears strained for any kind of sound, but there was nothing, not even the wind rattling the shutters outside.

It was a careful silence.

A deliberate silence.

And then—

All at once the quiet was rent apart, and in the darkness, Nesta Archeron heard the sound of breaking glass, the slamming of a door—

And her sister’s screams.

Taglist: @hiimheresworld @highladyofillyria @wannawriteyouabook @infiremetotakeachonce @melphss @hereforthenessian @c-e-d-dreamer @lady-winter-sunrise @the-lost-changeling @valkyriesupremacy @that-little-red-head @sv0430

[jdotsodomite]

i hope you write (i hope we both write)

[murdrdocs]

mmmm thinkin abt mike struggling to be quiet when you’re fucking. SMUT 17+

you were watching abby that night, and as soon as mike got back from work he was on you. peppering kisses along your neck when you were around the corner just out of abby's line of sight, rubbing little circles in your thighs at the dinner table, sweetly asking you to stay longer even whenever the lights were off and abby was tucked in bed.

you knew his plea would result in the two of you in his bedroom, you slowly sinking yourself down onto him. you'd encouraged it, telling mike you'd give him wanted on one condition.

"anything," he'd said, eyes big and earnest.

"you gotta promise to be quiet." your pinkie hovered between you both, waiting for mike to interlink his. he did with a smile, as if it were something easy.

but mike couldn’t stop moaning. his sounds were cute, little gasps and whines. they were arousing. but they were entirely too loud for the low level of privacy you had within the four thin walls.

“mike, please. you gotta be quiet.” you plea through your own barely concealed moan.

he sighs, face scrunching. “i know. i’m sorry, baby. i’m trying.”

but apparently not hard enough as you’re forced to lodge your panties between his teeth, a muffler for his moans. he lets you do so, opening his mouth and even going so far as to make a show of sticking his tongue out for the blue cotton fabric. yet, his sounds still leak through, and you voice an idea as you’re bouncing on his cock, nails lightly scratching down his chest.

“still so loud, mikey. we might have to get a muzzle for nights like these. what’d you think?”

mike's groan practically echoes. he seems oblivious to his own noises, instead thinking with his dick that starts to piston up into you, mike's nails digging into your ass to provide him with leverage.

your hand slaps over his mouth, colliding with soft cotton and warm skin, and mike finally wrenches his eyes open. there's vibration against your hand, short and resembling the pattern of syllables, and you slowly peel your hand away, taking the panties with you, to hear him speak.

just a simple word, curt and quiet and whimpered.

"please."

[wiredeity]

" b..but their proportions are..off " SHUT THE FUCK UP!!! SHUT THE FUCK UP!!! THEY ARE LEARNING!!! THEY ARE PEOPLE!!! NOT EVERYTHING THEY DO IS GONNA BE PERFECT!! THEY DESERVE TO SHARE THEIR ART AND RECEIVE AS MUCH AS LOVE AS A BIG, " PERFECT " ARTIST!!! KEEP POSTING YOUR ART!!! MAKE THE CRITICS ANGRY!!! THEY ARE JUST PATHETIC CREATURES!! TRYING TO EATTT AWAY AT YOUR CONFIDENCE TO GROW!!! I'M GONNA TEAR MULTIPLE TREES OUT OF THE GROUND RIGHT NOW !! LISTEN TO ME, YOUR ART MAY NOT BE WHERE YOU WANT IT TO BE, BUT QUITING WON'T IMPROVE IT! I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOUR ART, AND CRITICS ARE LITTLE THINGS THAT LIVE IN LIGHTSWITCHES!! AND NEWSFLASH, NOT EVERYONE IS LOOKING FOR ACCURATE PROPORTIONS AND TO IMPROVE. III PERSONALLY AM ATTEMPTING TO IMPROVE BUT THAT DOESN'T MEAN EVERYONE ELSE IS!!!

[alixlives]

if this post gets like. idk 5k notes ill clean my nasty ass depression room 🙏🙏

[greykolla-art]

Dropkicks this thing out of my Procreate gallery before I ruin it with more filters.

[brainwormcity]

The way Aziraphale looks at people in love kills me. He wants it so badly for himself. 🥺🥺🥺

[turbineface]

hi guise :333333 I HABENT BEEN ON TUMBLR SINCE 2017 and stuff and things..... dont rly have any new art to share either so im posting deez tfp rid goobers froma cpuple months ago just to get this blog started RAAAAWWRR

I MIGHT share sum more older art at some point but ideekay 😭😭😭😭 has a heart attack and DIES

[mimisempai]

They're a set, don't separate them…

Incorrect Good Omens Quotes Masterpost Part 1 : here

Incorrect Good Omens Quotes Masterpost Part 2 : here

[beartitled]

Context 1

Context 2

Context 3

And so

Our adventure ends here 💫🌌

With that comic posted, I’ll be taking a break from Gravity Falls for a bit

May do some doodles/answer asks later if I’ll be in a mood for it

Right now I want to finish other stuff I’m working on

Thank you for enjoying this AU ❤️

Can’t believe my silly little comic drew into a whole character arc 💥

[ena333333]

1000+ years old demon boi

[pademelonluck]

Reblog to give a transphobe indigestion.

*gurlegurgle*

[beif0ngs]

Nimona + text post(s)

[odoraful]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐔𝐋, 𝐈𝐒𝐍'𝐓 𝐈𝐓?

content: sylus x gn!reader; reader is a resident of the N109 zone; meeting each other for the first time; suave and lowkey yandere vibes from sylus; 1.5k words

a/n: i know that the moon in N109 is depicted as being red in-game, but i changed it so that that is only a myth :)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Here to watch the moon again?”

A voice called from behind you, somewhat cavalier.

Your posture stiffened, skin prickling with goosebumps. Inwardly you cursed at yourself. How had you not sensed someone approaching? Your instincts couldn’t be that dull. You regained your composure, trying your hardest to compress your surprise. Finding out that one had been caught off guard was a fast way to reveal a weakness in the N109 zone.

You sat on the ledge of a tall skyscraper, feet dangling below. The scenery before you was a complex matrix of buildings compacted together. Telephone poles and wires weaved between tight spaces, lights flickering below. Whether these lines actually functioned well enough to contact others you were doubtful about. Though, it hardly mattered. If you were in need of help in N109, there was usually only one option—fend for yourself. Quickly assessing your situation, you concluded that this person was not here to harm you. If he wanted to, he could have easily pushed you off the side of the building, or struck you in the back before you could even detect his presence.

“Again?” you repeated, steadying your tone. “You imply that you’ve seen me here before, and yet you’ve never bothered to approach me until now.”

You leaned back on your hands, the concrete cold beneath your fingers. All you had to do was put on enough air of confidence, and it would grant you the escape you needed.

“Who are you?”

Turning your head over your shoulder, you looked at your supposed stalker.

You’ve encountered many different people here in the N109 zone, but none as deadly-looking as the man standing merely metres from you. His hair was a cool grey, combed over to reveal his forehead. He dressed in all black, save for the silver accessory pinned between the collars of his dress shirt that glinted in the moonlight. Hypnotising red eyes pierced through you, his gaze crawling under your skin. He seemed to be made of up sharp angles and intimidating arrogance. Unexpectedly, he wore a smile on his face. You immediately quashed down the thought of how attractive he was, his lips curled upwards in amusement.

“Just another enjoyer of the night sky, much like yourself,” he answered.

Your heart traitorously thundered in your ears at the smoothness of his words. Your eyes never left him as he walked closer to you, the heels of his dress shoes clacking against concrete, until he stood near your side.

“This is a spot I also like to frequent, you see.”

This time, you couldn’t hide your shock as he bent down to sit on the ledge as well. Your mouth parted and eyes widened slightly. How could he act so unguarded? He glanced at your expression and laughed, a warmer sound that clashed greatly with his forbidding appearance.

“What is it? Are you so unused to company?” he asked. You couldn’t tell if the innocence in his voice was real or mocking. Was he… teasing you?

“N-not at all,” you replied, more rushed than you intended. Your confidence began to slip away. Everything this man said felt like he was testing you. “You’re welcome to sit wherever you please.”

He bowed his head, exaggerating graciousness. “Your kindness is appreciated.”

The silence that followed was oppressive. You could hardly enjoy the night with a stranger (who hadn’t even given his name to you) sitting beside you. Perhaps this was some bizarre tactic to force information out of you. You would become so uncomfortable with the silence that you would spill every secret you had to him. However, as you snuck glances at him, you found his attention drawn only toward the sky. The light of the moon reflected off his irises, transforming them into a bright crimson. You tried to think of a conversation topic. Anything for you to know more about this strange man.

His question came before yours.

“Why do you come here?” he asked, eyes landing on you once more. “This is one of the tallest buildings in this zone, and the rooftop isn’t accessible from inside.” He lifted a hand to his chin, suddenly in thought. “You would need to climb up to the 40th floor, then scale across to the left hand side of the building towards the abandoned scaffolding. From there, you would be able to reach the broken ladder to get to the roof.”

You bristled uneasily. Surely it was coincidence that he recited your exact route to get here. He must have used the same path as well.

“It’s undoubtedly a dangerous climb, that only a skilled person could pull off. There are much more… safer viewing spots in this place.”

You paused, trying to discern anything in him about his true intentions. Besides for genuine interest in the slight tilt of his head, you could glean no other ulterior motives in this line of questioning. Maybe he really was just another person in the N109 zone trying to survive.

“Perhaps there are.” You replied, looking down at the streets below. After visiting this rooftop every night, you no longer felt any vertigo. “It’s funny. Those people in Linkon always craft such sordid tales about what the sky is like here.”

The words flowed out of you like a stream. You had thought about this a lot in your time here, relaying your musings to the moon.

“That it’s clouded with smog, unbreathable to even traverse outside. Or that it’s always raining, droplets acidic to the skin.”

If you had glanced next to you for even a moment, you would have seen just how captivated the man was by you and your words. As if he had found the most dazzling gemstone buried deep within the ground after hours of digging. But, you continued to study your feet swaying lazily back and forth as you continued,

“But, that’s all nonsense. They’ve never been here before, where the sky is absolutely spotless,” you said, wistfully.

And it was true. Your turned your head up, scanning the moon above. It was simply a regular moon, just like one you’d see in Linkon city. However, being so high up meant there was no obstruction from any other buildings. You could behold its fullness every night, savouring its white glow. It reminded you that there was so much more waiting in the universe for you. Maybe even unexplored places past the Deepspace Tunnel.

You expected some witty reply laced with mystery from your seatmate, but he remained silent. Curiously, you looked over, finding his eyes locked on you.

“Yes, those are simply stories to monger fear.” He sounded almost breathless as he replied.

You blinked at him. Evidently, you had said something that resonated with him. He cleared his throat, shaking off whatever spell had just gripped him.

“And I agree,” he continued, “I believe one can get the most clearest and loveliest views here at night time.”

You noted to yourself that he was certainly not looking at the sky as he said that. His gaze briefly trailed up and down your body. You drew in a breath, praying that your cheeks weren’t flushed as crimson as his eyes. Heat crawled up your face at the smirk on his lips. The man seemed content to reveal that ulterior motive to you quite freely.

Something fluttered towards the two of you, and a crow flew down to the man’s shoulder, cawing loudly. You jumped at the peculiar sight. The man clenched his jaw, seeming to be genuinely irritated by the interruption, but not at all bewildered by the large bird at his shoulder. It turned its head and cocked it to the side, seeming to analyse you.

“Unfortunately, my time here is up,” he sighed, pulling his feet off from the ledge and standing again.

To your surprise, your spirits deflated. There were so many things you wanted to know about this silver-haired man, and you didn’t know when you would meet him next.

“I will see you tomorrow night to continue this conversation,” he added, adjusting the coat around his shoulder.

You cursed internally again. Had it been so plain on your face that you wanted to meet him again? You pursed your lips.

“And what makes you so sure I’ll come back here tomorrow?”

Another laugh erupted from him. He had to restrain himself from commenting on how cute you looked right now.

“Because I’m quite good at reading people,” he instead said.

It was truly a shame he had to leave so soon. This interaction he had carefully crafted had begun so well. The crow cawed again, directly into his ear. Quiet down, I know I have business to attend to, he thought, scratching his finger against its feathered head to pacify the bird.

“Ah I almost forgot.”

You craned your head upwards at him standing beside you. Your expectant, doe eyes nearly convinced him to ignore all his duties and sit back down with you.

He tipped his head down. Greeting you once again, this time with an appropriate introduction.

“You can call me Sylus.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

[stuffyflowers]

On the Surface

[emacrow]

Batfam tried to bribe the banshee child to get their stuff back.

Originally post here.

The one to figured it out was Tim who sacrifice his first camera that he still kept from back then when he stalked batman, the other two original robins and that it still have some film left in it. It was still a bit damaged and covered in tape on the camera and on the strap.

Alfred gave danny Bruce's father, Thomas's baby blanket in exchange for his favorite spoon.

Dick painstakingly gave his zitka elephant plushy for his mask, only to watch wide eyed when danny misty breath made a form of a miniature zitka the actual elephant doing one of her favorite tricks. And no he didn't cry after he left the room.

Damian offered secretly offered one of his most cherished drawing he had kept as a child, that remind him of Danyal..

Barb offered her old Batgirl costume, the one that still had a tear in it before she became the oracle..

Bruce offered one of his mother's pearls, the few that he had left.. from that night. When he gave it to danny in his tiny hand, all he felt was a sense of cold shiver that wrapped around him like a warm yet cold hug.

Duke gave him one of his first glasses that was a bit bented when his power came in, that were left discard in his draw as a reminder.

Leaving all but Jason todd who didn't know what to give Danny to have his red hood helmet back..

He tried one of his first gun, nothing..his black jacket, nothing.. it took Jason a long time (7 months tops) to figure out what to give danny.

It was 3am in the morning that he snucked in the Wayne Manor, peeking in the newest room for their youngest adoptee who was wide awake again.

Jason pulling out something from a pouch. It was old, torn and still had charred of ashes damaged but he kept it for his own selfish reasons..

He gave danny his Robin's cape, the original one that brought memories old, good and bad..

Danny held his Robin's cape and look at it, not saying anything with his eyes glow brightly before looking up at Jason with the most heartbreaking watery eyes.

He got up slowly, and hugs Jason close, chirping softly that made Jason's eyes glow a bit, before big drops of lararus pits liquid drips down from his eyes.

Just two broken core boys comforting one another, despite the puddle of lararus pits beneath them both that glow brighter and clearer then jason ever seen lararus pits have then it usuall musky growing green form... Jason close his eyes slowly as he gently hug the ghostly boy back.

Jason will never admit to anyone of what he gave that night or why he was asleep in Danny's nest the next morning after, but he suddenly felt some kind of unmoveable weight being lifted from his shoulders..

Until he saw on the news that The Joker was found dead with his ears, eyes and nose bleeding with a horrified look on his face.