soon it'll be dawn again
transcript under the cut ⏬
page 01
Fig: no way? - you're still up?
Riz: Wh– yes?
Riz: Why'd I not be.
page 02
Fig: I me~~ean - that took.
Fig: whole day.
Riz: Yeah?
Fig: 'm beat.
Riz: you should sleep.
page 03
Fig: nah. my guy's still up
Fig: I wanna hang out.
page 04
Riz: That's really nice.
Fig: Hah! - Nobody ever expects an Archdevil rockstar to be nice.
Riz: … yeah. - 's just budget work tho. (the stuff I'm working on) - I've heard it's boring.
page 05
Fig: yeah, but you do it…
Riz: It keeps things going, right? - Nothing happens if nobody sits down and - does the thing.
Fig: That's right… - though. Yeah.
page 06
Fig: sometimes it's someone else who - doesn't want the same thing to happen.
Riz: … - mm.
page 07
Riz (off screen): …It took me a long time to get that not everyone likes doing what I do. - 's probably because you guys are so nice– - or. - kind.
Riz (off screen): to anyone too, not just. - the people you /love/.
page 08
Riz: that's not how it is elsewhere. - The world's– not. hostile. - but 's not like it's kind.
Riz: So I'm doing as much as I can now…
page 09
Fig: Hey.
Riz: ?
Fig: Go dig some dirt with me.
page 10
Riz: [blank speech bubble] - oh you meant like - actual dirt. (not incriminating information)
Fig: o yea.
Fig: there's clay in the backyard soil. - sometimes when I'm sun deficient or something I go touch dirt for a bit.
page 11
Fig: here u go
page 12
Riz: uh
Fig: now we make a thing! - 'm pretty good at freehanding a bowl.
Fig: I'll show u
page 13
Fig: just– yep, flatten that out as evenly as u can, then–! - actually ur nails'd be so good at cutting out the strip. [larger than usual space] wait. - wait. wait u can carve patterns with them! we HAVE to try
Riz: uh - What. do I carve?
Fig: anything!!!
page 14
Fig: and– yep just seal the inside uh. seam?
Fig: yep that works - okay time's up! all contestant hands up
Riz: [blank speech bubble] - okay - wh. what's next?
Fig: haha - watch this.
(sound effect text): FWOO—MP
page 15
Riz: WH– DON'T JUST DO THAT???
Fig: Now it's fired!
Riz: THAT WAS NOT SAFE
Fig: (actually it's just dry. if u add water rn it'll dissolve)
Fig: ok catch!
Riz: [blank speech bubble] - careful!!
Fig: dw no need haha
page 16
Riz (thought bubble): oh - it's warm…
Fig: now I want you to throw this.
page 17
Fig: u gotta do it - c'mon
page 18
Riz: wh– - It's like 3AM right now
Fig: oh it's not /fired/ fired it's not gonna make a loud noise
Riz: And then just? leave a pile out here?
Fig: pour water over it & it'll be gone I told u
Riz: but
page 19
Fig (off screen): RIz.
page 20
Fig: I've done all this before.
Fig: Can you trust that at least?
page 21
Riz: no, I– - I do. - I trust you.
page 23
Riz: okay what happens now
(sound effect text): glob
page 24
Fig: we do it again!
page 25
Riz: wh. [larger than usual space] What do you mean. (this clay's too wet also)
Fig: see! you're already learning
Fig: [blank speech bubble] - there are flows that are futile to fight. - The world changes.
Fig: Things change.
page 26
Fig: I've learned my lessons with "forevers". - But - as an artist
Fig: I can give you one thing: - You can always do it again.
page 27
Fig: most of everything depends on the rest of the world, - but this. - making new. - that's yours as long as you want it.
page 28
Fig: So?
page 29
Riz: Yeah. - Yeah! - let's make another one.
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Ghostlights cuddling for comfort, but also they're oblivious idiots who are pining over each other but thinks its unrequited
“Ugh,” Duke says, dropping down onto the bench besides Danny.
Danny nudges him with his shoulder. “Rough night?”
“Slept for like an hour,” Duke mutters, “This sucks. My head’s going to burst like balloon and my eyes are about to fall out.”
“Yikes. You know, you could have just canceled for today. I wouldn’t have minded.”
Duke sighs and presses the heel of his palms against his eyes. “Maybe, but I would have minded. We barely see each other anymore, man. I’ve missed you.”
“Oh.” Danny bites his lip, trying and failing to stop from smiling. Something soft in his chest glows at the words, a growing spark of happiness in knowing that for this, at least, the feeling is requited. It’s nice to hear that he was missed, and it would be even nicer if Duke wasn’t in pain, pushing himself just because he didn’t want to cancel. Carefully, Danny reaches for him and pulls his hands away from his face. “Here,” he says, “Let me.”
His hands are always cold. Most of him is cold, really — side effect of having an ice core. Sam told him once that his hands were better than an ice pack, and he’s hoping she’s right or this is going to be weird.
Danny gently presses his fingers against Duke’s temples, his hands cradling Duke’s face. Duke is tense for a few seconds, then abruptly relaxes, leaning into Danny’s hands.
“Is this helping?” he asks, voice hushed to keep from aggravating Duke’s migraine.
“Mhm. Yeah, it feels great. Thanks, Danny.”
Duke goes completely limp, leaning against Danny. They sit there for a minute in silence, the rest of the world feeling far away. As nice as it is to just exist together, he knows what Duke needs most right now is quiet and stillness. Gotham is very much not that, and every honking car that passes by makes Duke wince, trying to turn away from the road even more.
“Hey, let’s head back to my place. It’s close by, and a lot quieter than out here.”
“Are you sure? I know we planned to go to the arcade today…”
“The arcade can wait. You’re more important.”
Duke blinks open his eyes and looks at Danny with something soft in his gaze. Being so close together, barely any space between them, with Duke looking at him like that makes Danny’s cheeks flush red, unable to think anything but please kiss me.
Which is never going to happen. Duke is his friend, and just his friend, no matter how much Danny wishes they could be something more. It’s a pipe dream, something so impossible it’s almost laughable.
Duke likes being friends with normal human Danny. He doesn’t want to imagine how he would react if he found out about Danny being half ghost, assuming this imaginary reveal happens without Danny being hunted down and cut open by GIW agents.
He’s still in hiding, always waiting for the worst as he stays in the apartment his friends (living and dead) had set up for him. The building is for ghosts so it technically doesn’t exists, which means it’s the safest place for Danny while he’s actively being hunted by the US government.
He can’t be honest with Duke. Can’t be as close to him as he wants to be. Duke deserves more than to be dragged into Danny’s problems and put in danger.
Even so, Danny can’t help but want him around, pushing his luck each time they hang out.
“Come on,” Danny urges, standing up. He pulls his hands away and Duke’s brow immediately furrows, his pain returning. “It’s only a few streets away.”
Duke sighs, then visibly braces himself before he stands up. Danny tucks himself into Duke’s side, taking as much of his weight as he can as he walks them down the street. It’s times like these that he wishes he could reveal his powers safely and just fly them to his apartment. But even without the GIW gunning for his head, showing off powers in Gotham is a sure fire way to get a target painted on his back.
“Almost there,” he says as they turn a corner.
His apartment doesn’t have a fixed address. It doesn’t have a fixed location at all, drifting around, but it likes this street the most, so this is where it usually is. Danny takes them halfway down the street, then turns into an alley, following his ghost sense.
Where there’s usually a dead end is instead a building, looking as if it’s always been tucked away in this alley. Danny keeps a tight grip on Duke as they climb the front steps, silently asking for the building to let him stay while he’s with Danny. The door opens easily, which is as good as an agreement, and they’re inside without anything going wrong. The small entrance lobby is empty, with an area for packages filled with clearly magical artifacts carelessly wrapped in bubble wrap.
Danny drags them past that quickly, hoping Duke doesn’t notice, and calls the elevator down. It arrives silently, the doors opening to let another tenant out. Carefully, Danny positions himself in front of Duke, making sure he doesn’t see how the tenant, who nods at Danny, has a still bleeding wound in his stomach that has him nearly split in half.
“Alright,” he says, ushering Duke into the elevator, “Just a little ride up and then you can lay down.” He hits the button for the fourth floor and they ride up in silence, Duke dropping his head down to onto Danny’s shoulder again, wrapping his arms around his waist as he stands behind Danny. He’s glad Duke can’t see his face; there’s no doubt that he’s blushing like crazy and if that doesn’t give away his feelings, he doesn’t know what will.
Thankfully the elevator ride isn’t long. If Danny had to go for more than a minute with Duke breathing softly against his neck, his warm hands on his stomach, Danny would have collapsed into a pile of flustered goo.
He opens the door to his apartment and kicks his shoes off. Duke follows in suit, still plastered onto Danny’s back, refusing to let go.
“Come on,” Danny says, leading him to the couch, “Sit down and I’ll grad you some water and painkillers.”
Duke nods against his shoulder, then slowly detaches himself from Danny and makes his way to the couch. He drops onto it gracelessly, pressing his face into a cushion.
Danny winces. He must be feeling really bad. He knows how bad migraines can be with sleep deprivation, having suffered through high school with only a few hours of sleep at night, if he got to sleep at all. Frankly, it’s a testament to Duke’s strength that he lasted the entire walk to Danny’s apartment without complaint.
He returns to the living room with a full glass of water and a bottle of Advil, setting them on the coffee table to crouch next to the couch and place a cold hand on Duke’s cheek. “Hey,” he says softly when Duke turns to look at him, “Is Advil alright? It’s all I had.”
“Yeah, that’s fine. Thanks, Danny.”
Duke sits up and shakes out three pills, then washes them down with water. He drains the rest of the cup quickly, then falls back against the couch with his eyes squeezed shut.
“Is there anything else I can do to make you feel better?”
Duke immediately reaches a hand out for him.
“Um?”
“Sit next to me. I feel better when I’m next to you.”
“Oh! Alright. Bet you’re only saying that because my hands are cold.”
“You caught me,” Duke laughs, pulling Danny onto the couch. He goes easily, tucking his legs beneath himself, and places his hands on Duke’s temples again. “Man, I owe you my life.”
“I don’t think my cold hands are worth quite that much.”
Duke hums, but doesn’t say anything else, so Danny settles in and focuses on keeping his hands a little colder than normal.
The apartment is quiet. No sound from outside can reach them, one of the few ways the building looks after its tenants. Danny and Duke fall against each other, at ease with each other. There’s no need to fill in the silence, and with Duke’s eyes closed, Danny doesn’t have to carefully shove down his feelings and act normal. He indulges in the warmth of Duke’s body pressed against his, a hand on his knee and an arm around his waist.
He keeps his hands as steady as possible as he looks over Duke, adoring all the little details he can see; a small scar on his chin, the fullness of his lips, the way his hair falls into his face now that it’s long enough to keep in braids.
“I can practically hear you thinking,” Duke murmurs, “What’s on your mind?”
You’re cute, he thinks, I feel safe with you. I want to kiss you. I wish I could be brave enough to be honest.
I wish I was brave. I wish I was brave. I wish I was brave.
“Nothing,” he says. “Feeling better?”
“Yeah. I might fall asleep though.”
“That’s fine. You know I would never say no to a nap.”
“Come here, then,” Duke says, and before Danny can do anything, Duke gets a stronger grip on his waist and pulls Danny down on top of him as he falls back towards the arm rest and gets his legs on the couch.
“Duke!”
Duke laughs underneath him, and Danny can feel it roll through him. Okay! This is definitely something he’s going to think about… forever. Wow, he can feel Duke’s abs tense up as he laughs, and has he always been ripped? Unfair. Also unfairly hot.
“Is this alright?” Duke asks, voice soft and quiet. There’s a hesitancy around his words that Danny doesn’t like hearing, and he brings his hands down to sweep his thumbs soothingly over Duke’s cheeks.
“Of course it is, man. I’d never refuse cuddles.”
“Okay. I’m gonna pass out now. Wake me in an hour?”
Danny moves his hands back up to his temples and says, “Sure. Get some rest, Duke. You really need it.”
He feels Duke relax beneath him, breaths slowing down as he begins to fall asleep. It’s peaceful and quiet and Duke is warm in a way Danny never can be with his ice core. He doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but curled up on the couch with Duke in the safety of an apartment that only barely exists has him drifting off in no time at all.
.
.
.
(Duke wakes up before Danny. Their legs are tangled together and Duke has moved during his sleep, turning so Danny is held tightly to his chest, his back to the cushions, while Duke is balancing very carefully at the edge of the couch.
It’s been hours, and he should be heading home soon, but he stays as he is, enjoying this quiet moment for as long as he can have it. Danny is in his arms, safe and content with him, his head no longer hurts beyond a residual ache he can easily ignore, and he can admire how pretty Danny is without being worried about Danny catching his lingering stares.
These moments are precious to him, rare as they are, and he wants nothing more than to kiss Danny once he’s awake and let his feelings be known.
But the Signal has lots of dangerous people after him, and Gnomon has started causing problems in Gotham again. So he’ll bite his tongue and keep his less platonic feelings buried under lock and key until it’s safe enough for Danny to be around him more often.
And when that time comes, he can only hope that Danny will feel the same way.
That’s all far away from the stillness of Danny’s apartment. All that matters is that he has Danny in his arms. Everything else can wait.
For now, this is more than enough.)
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One for the Road
Having acquired himself a brood of many daughters, and with enough years passed since the last was born that he's certain they're done having any more, Astarion is content to be a very happy certified Girl Dad™ to his flock of lovely little feral princesses. Which he's over the moon about, because honestly, what would he even do with a boy? No, he’s quite satisfied with the pack of little gremlins he has, thanks very much, all braids and pink ribbons and lace trim, and he’s not interested in adding to it. He and Tav are living their best No More Babies life. They're consistently sleeping through the night without interruption, they can have a glass (or four) of wine whenever they want, and he can’t remember the last time he’s had to wipe an ass that wasn’t his own. No, their house is FULL and they are DONE. No new Ancunins, shop's closed.
She’s bright red herself, wailing with all the power her little lungs can muster. He still can’t see much of her from where he sits, not with Tav sagged back against him, finally able to rest. The Midwife says something he doesn’t catch as she gently wipes the babe off. He’s too busy whispering to Tav about how well she did to pay much attention to anything else right at this moment, but Tav isn’t, and she starts to giggle, quietly, just this side of audible. Odd, he thinks, but adrenaline’s a hell of a drug, so he doesn’t think about it too hard. His towel-wrapped (and still a little fluid-covered) daughter is gently placed on Tav’s chest as the Midwife busies herself with cutting the umbilical cord and delivering the afterbirth. The baby calms a bit as Tav gently coos to her and strokes her back, her cries tapering off into soft whimpers.
So of course, barely three days after finally clearing out and donating all of their various and sundry baby stuff, Tav informs him that there's going to be a last-minute addition to the family, very soon (school had just started back again, and the girls had spent the entire summer banding together to hide increasingly-inappropriate new "pets" in their rooms no matter how many times they got caught, so he supposes Tav can be forgiven for having mistaken the symptoms of yet another impending-dhampir as typical parenting exhaustion. He certainly had). It's the middle of the night when she tells him, and he spends at least an hour pacing the floor of their bedroom and summoning every scrap of memory from his law school days to argue that she must be mistaken, because their eldest just started COLLEGE and their youngest is TEN and they've already given away the crib and you can't have a baby if you don't have a crib because where would it even sleep? So obviously they can't be having another baby. Checkmate. He rests his case, Your Honor.
When his arguments to the contrary do not, in fact, render the impending child any less impending, and he’s had another hour to stomp around the backyard lecturing himself (quietly, so as not to wake the girls or the neighbors) that this is what happens when you drink two bottles of wine and an entire cow and can’t keep your stupid hands to yourself and convince Tav to throw caution to the wind because “it’ll be fine just this once, what’s the worst that could happen,” you idiot, he comes around to the idea. Because, sure, maybe they're starting all over with the diapers and the teething and the sleepless nights, but their other children are old enough to mostly mind themselves now, and the youngest had started asking for a baby sister as soon as she was old enough to figure out that her parents were where siblings came from.
Plus, if he's honest with himself, he may have - just a very teeny tiny bit - missed the feeling of holding a tiny infant curled up on his chest, burying his nose into their fluffy newborn hair to inhale the scent of their little scalp, listening to those soft snuffly noises they make as they fall asleep, his finger held in a ridiculously tiny hand only just barely big enough to wrap around it. Not enough to have another one on purpose, obviously, but if she's coming along anyway, then he supposes he might as well enjoy it all the same.
So he starts the same preparations for her that he did with all her sisters, sewing tiny frilly things as Tav knits yet another blanket and they bounce potential names off each other. Of course it's a girl, he says, when questioned on his name suggestions. With how many children they already have, there would have been a boy by now if there was going to be one. He scoffs each time Tav jokes over the next few tendays that this one feels different, and they could have a little combo-breaker on the horizon. No, not possible, he assures her, with an unearned confidence that he nonetheless felt was quite deserved. Their Standard Operation Protocol is that, once a baby is on the way, a little girl is born soon after. No deviations, and no reason to expect any now after all this time. Repeated experiments have produced the same result every time. They'll have another member for their infamous flock of Ancunin Daughters before the month is out.
When Tav tells him one evening just before their soon-to-be-second-youngest's bedtime that the little one's announced her debut via a puddle on the kitchen floor, there is no panic, no rush, no mad dash to ready everything. They've been through this far too many times for that. He takes a moment to be grateful that at least this one had waited until the sun was down to kick things off. Most of her sisters had not been nearly so courteous, choosing instead to have their first act be one of defiance against their poor stressed out father by beginning their journey into life in the middle of the day.
He bundles the girls off to the neighbors' house for the night, leaving them with a quick kiss on the head each and a promise that he'll send a Message as soon as their new sister has arrived, before making his way to fetch the Midwife. He vaguely wonders if she's even necessary, considering they have enough offspring that he's got the whole process all but memorized and is fairly certain he and Tav could deliver the child themselves at this point (and had done, once. Baby number five had been VERY eager to make her way into the world, with such a swift entry that she'd nearly been born on the living room floor. He'd had no time to even grab a towel and was forced to catch her with his bare hands. She'd ruined his shirt, and the rug, and nearly scared the unlife out of him on top of it. He'd been very calm throughout the entire event, though, a paragon of unflappable stability, patiently waiting until the babe was born, cleaned, and moved upstairs to the bedroom where she snuggled peacefully in her sleeping mother's arms, before politely stepping out the bedroom door and proceeding to have the quietest panic of his entire existence).
When he arrives back home with the Midwife, he doesn’t bother to direct her to the bedroom. She knows where it is, this isn’t her first rodeo with an Ancunin birth either. Water is boiled, clean towels are at hand, their nice bedding has been replaced with plain serviceable sheets, a layer of newspaper underneath to protect the mattress, a tiny outfit and knitted blanket sit ready nearby. Check, check, check. He completes each step with pure muscle memory and no prompting, all routine, everything exactly as expected.
The next nine hours are spent keeping Tav as comfortable as possible. Rubbing her back, walking circles around the house, stopping at each contraction to gently sway and do the breathing exercises that they'd learned so long ago the first time they did this. Normally, she'd catch what sleep she could in between contractions in these early stages, but this one is determined to allow her mother no rest. He really hopes that's not an indication of what the little one’s sleep schedule will look like once she's here.
They near the end of this whole ordeal with the first light of morning. He's sat behind Tav, holding her up, as she grits her teeth through near back-to-back contractions and shakes with the effort of bringing this last child into the world. She's exhausted, grumpily hissing between pushes that of course his child would be fucking nocturnal and think the asscrack of dawn was a splendid time to be born. He considers reminding her that most of their children had been born during the day, so he really didn’t think the timing of this one could be blamed on him, but any response he might have had is cut off with the next push, when he feels his knuckle bones grind together as she once again resumes her efforts to reduce them to powder. It's probably for the best that he keep that comment to himself right now, anyway, he thinks.
One more big push to get the head out. It's barely visible from his position, head leaning over Tav's shoulder, but he can see that she definitely has the same full head of hair all her sisters did, and maybe his hair color as well, though it's hard to really tell through the blood and fluids plastering it all to her scalp. Could be red for all he knows. He mutters something about not being able to see her hair through the blood, and Tav gives him a sly sideways glance and starts to crack a joke, something about him not having eaten since yesterday, he thinks, before she’s interrupted by a loud, pained, groan and the need to push again.
A few more hard, steady pushes, guided by the Midwife, for the shoulders this time. This is always the hardest part, he remembers, the final hurdle. He whispers gentle encouragement into Tav's ear as, timed with her pushes, the Midwife carefully guides first one shoulder, then the other, out into the world. Poor Tav is bright red from the exertion, covered in sweat and panting. He places a cool hand on her forehead and she leans into his palm as, with a scream and one last push, the babe is finally brought into the world.
Oh.
Able to get a closer look at her now, he can see this one bears more than just a passing resemblance to her father. Frankly, she looks exactly like him, albeit smaller, wrinklier, and with fewer teeth (for now). Pale, even for a newborn, with tiny, finely-pointed ears, and a head of unruly white curls. When she finally opens her eyes, leveling her parents with an annoyed glare that could have come right off his own face (or so he’s been told), he sees his own gaze reflected back at him in pale green, the color they’d learned with the birth of their second daughter that his eyes used to be. He feels a little bad, honestly. Tav did all the hard work, and yet here their daughter is, their last baby, him in miniature. Not bad enough to keep him from preening a bit when he mentions how beautiful she is, though.
Tav is still giggling. Quietly, but noticeably louder now than before his comment.
He raises an eyebrow at her and asks just what is so funny, and her giggling increases to laughter.
You, she says, in between fits of giggles. She asks if he had been paying attention to anything the Midwife had said, and the confused look on his face only serves to make her laugh harder. He waits while she tries to contain herself, releasing a very put upon sigh when, a few minutes later, she’s still laughing at whatever this joke at his expense is.
Finally, she takes a deep breath, holding in her laughter, eyes still sparkling with mirth, and slowly unwraps their daughter. He is, once again, confused, and the baby’s none too happy either, starting to fuss with the sudden loss of warmth. Before he can say anything, Tav shifts and places the now bared and still slightly-slimy infant in his arms, advising him to get acquainted with their newest little one. He wrinkles his nose at the goo rubbing off onto his sleeves, some sarcastic remark ready on his tongue, reaching out with one hand to take the towel from Tav as he looks down to begin settling his daughter, and-
Well.
That explains why Tav was laughing at him, at least.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thinks that he probably should have caught that a lot sooner. It’s almost embarrassing really, considering his various skillsets, he’s usually pretty good at noticing little details. He doesn’t really have the brainpower to ponder that too long though, because the rest of his mind is still trying to reconcile this shift in information.
The best he’s able to come up with is dazedly asking Tav how that had happened, which just induces her into another fit of tired giggles as she presses a gentle kiss to his lips, and another to the top of their son’s fuzzy head.
He smiles and thinks that the girls will be delighted at this change of protocol.
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