#Dark red songs are headache incarnate

[the-great-donatello]

To be fair I also have the song sounds ones. But it's like, so weird cuz it's more mood of the song based. Because apparently it's linked to emotions or some shit? It's consistent tho which is the defining factor. Synthesia gets dictated when ur youngwr and once once one thing is cemeted as a different things it's always that thing. It also helps ur memory!! And example that was used was colours and words/letters

"you run into an old classmate, you can recall their name was a green name, D's are green, their an e begins with a d, oh their name is Denise!"

I love my neon purple, hot pink, and neon green, songs SO much. (WATERPARKS WATERPARKS WATERPARKS HAS ALL OH HOW I LOVE THEM the song tantrum is hot pink and green depending on the verse and it's just OHM NOM NOM NOM EATING THE PRETTTY COLOURS)

🫐

YES! YES SONGS ARE VERY NICELY COLORED.

[avionvadion]

OKAY I FIGURED IT OUT

Disclaimer: I’m weak for gentle giants that are fully capable of committing atrocities but choose not to, especially if it’s because they found something/someone they don’t want to ruin. Redeemed Rehydrated Ganondorf Totk please!!! I beg you!!!

It would have to be the AoC timeline. So specifically Iliandra.

Calamity Ganon had been properly defeated/sealed away, and Ganondorf’s possessed corpse has been rotting away for ten thousand years beneath Hyrule Castle. Ganondorf and Link are just two sides of the same coin (and because Demise is super petty he won’t let this current incarnation/body go) so the gods probably take pity and work together to give Ganondorf a second chance.

And who better to help him with this second chance than the very descendant of the hero he had once fought ten thousand years ago? So the gods (Hylia, and probably the Golden Goddesses) do some magic (I dunno the specifics yet, feel free to throw ideas at me; I’m currently leaning towards them making an entirely new body and just shoving what remains of Ganondorf’s human soul/heart in it) and having him wash ashore Lurelin completely amnesiac.

It would be at night too, while Iliandra is at the docks playing the Song of Healing to cope with all the abuse her dad put her through for the day. And she and Retah aren’t gonna know what to do when this giant 7’6 muscle mass of a Gerudo just… floats their way.

Iliandra sure as hell can’t lift him. But she never talks to anyone but Retah- her own parents think she’s mute because of it- so she doesn’t know how to socialize. He’s just laying there totally unconscious. Retah convinced Iliandra to try and wake him, she lightly smacks his face a few times, Retah uses her fairy dust in case he had some internal injuries, and when he wakes he’s very groggy and confused. Man don’t even know his own name.

After he realizes he’s on a beach and Iliandra (reluctantly) informs him he washed ashore at Lurelin Village (Retah has taken to hiding) he notices the Ocarina of Time and just gets the worst headache and demands what that is, where she got it, etc. She avoids answering by saying it’s just an instrument, and tells him if he wants somewhere safe to spend the night he should go to the village inn.

He probably has to sell one of his earrings or something since he lacks Rupees (or maybe Iliandra sneaks into the house and steals from her father- that one seems very petty and I love that for her. Revenge!) and he thanks her.

Next morning, he doesn’t see her at all. She’s just *gone*. He asks around about her, but no one really knows who he’s talking about. It’s not until he hears about one of the villager’s having an extremely reclusive daughter that he’s like, “Maybe that’s her???”

No one has seen her though. They don’t even know what she looks like. The father refuses to let him talk to her (suspicious) and the mother said that she isn’t feeling well and is currently resting (also suspicious) but then they smile and talk about how gifted she is. How she’s going to be doing great things one day. How her brothers must look up to her so much.

(He’s seen her brothers, they avoid their parents like the plague. Little boys, twelve years old, always sitting at the docks and whisper to each other while they stare longingly at other families/families that love their children, who are kind to them, who are close and spend time together)

He doesn’t remember anything about who he is or where he comes from, other than the fact that he must be Gerudo because of what the villagers say about his red hair and dark skin and intimidating height, but he knows something is wrong. He knows. In fact, something about all this feels so familiar. Like he’s seen it all before.

Children living in fear. Eyes so envious of what others had, and longing for salvation. Lies upon lies of a happy future being told.

It felt so close to his heart and at the same time just feels so wrong.

One day he approaches the brothers. Asks about their supposedly reclusive sister. They don’t answer him. He asks if she’s ever gotten hurt. They remain silent. He asks if they’ve ever followed her around to see how she got hurt.

They finally look at him.

The next morning, the twins follow their sister and their father into the woods, and the amnesiac Ganondorf follows after. They see Iliandra collapsed on the ground, back bleeding, the woman covered in blood. Sarian and Medkah rush out to defend her. Ganondorf is already there.

The Worst Link is thrown to the ground effortlessly, and when he gets back up, ready to fight, he doesn’t stand a chance. Ganondorf tells him he’s taking Iliandra and the twins away from him. He’s telling him not to follow, unless he’s prepared to die. He picks the bleeding Iliandra up and tells the twins that if there’s anything they need, to grab it from the house now alongside some bandages.

They do so. They don’t question it.

This is the first person to ever extend kindness to them. To show interest in what actually went on in their house, beyond the doting and bragging show their parents put on. To show interest in their sister, who they had noticed had long since been abandoned by their mother and seen as no more than a tool by their father. They didn’t know this man, but they trusted him.

His amber eyes that gleamed with the promise of salvation. Eyes that promised he would protect them.

They trusted him more than anyone else in this sickeningly warm village, who purposefully turned a blind eye to their plight to preserve their happiness.

The man didn’t know where to take them. Just that he had to take them away. They left the village. They head to the woods.

He doesn’t know his name. Iliandra and the twins don’t know who he is. But he’s dressed in fancy clothes and gold jewelry, and is clearly strong- so strong, stronger than most, so strong he could kill them with one hand- so he must not be your average traveler. He protects them. Iliandra gives him her name. After a few days of travel, Retah is comfortable enough to show herself to him.

He’s shaken. He’s confused. He looks at Iliandra like she reminds him of someone, someone he’s forgotten, someone he should know and despise but does not hate. He treats her like she’s glass. Glass that’s so brittle it’s about to break. He speaks softly with the twins. They thank him for saving their sister. They lament their powerlessness and smallness and age.

He offers to train them in the way of the sword once they reach somewhere safe to stay. They brighten. They pause. They hesitate. They ask if he’ll teach them like their dad tried to teach Iliandra. He tells them no.

They ask what his name is. He tells them he still doesn’t know. They asks if they can come up with one for him. He says they can try.

They wind up in Hateno Village, taking refuge in a house on a hill. It had a small farm and a stable, and he muses he might be fond of horses. He decides he wants a horse. A large one, a black one. Decides he’ll search for one after Iliandra has recovered and has taught the twins the basics of battle and stealth.

For there was one thing he learned during their travels, is that despite his size and strength he was fast. He was fast and he was quiet, and no enemy lasted more than a few seconds by the time he had them in his sight. It made traveling quite easy, and protecting the twins and the young woman they called a sister even easier.

He felt like he was made for battle. Like it was something he had done a million times before. Perhaps all his life.

Caring for others like this, on the other hand, felt new. It felt…

Good.

And he found himself becoming very fond of the two boys, who looked up to him as a mentor and a brother, and the young woman- who was awkward and unfamiliar with people and kindness, but was very grateful towards him. Who often watched him, trying to discern if he had another motive for helping them, before growing to enjoy his presence.

It was no longer a house they were living in, but a home. And he would destroy anyone that would threaten to harm it.

Even himself.

[the-wolf-who-kissed-the-moon]

• Lady Dimitrescu x female reader 💋

• Warning for: mild horror elements, kidnapping.

glass angel, part II.

What are dreams, but merely secret desires of the subconscious mind; in nightmares, we are faced with our most gruesome fears, yet in fantasies …

Velvet whispers echoed in your ears, singing poetic verse about how young and beautiful you were. Plump lips as cold as winter lingered beneath you jaw, guiding your head back with slow, passionate kisses. You willingly exposed your throat to that oneiric mouth, not knowing that you were inviting the devil in. A soft breath left your lips, yet it was soothed by what felt like a woman’s tender fingertips. That foreign touch was cold, making your lithe body shiver, nearly threatening to pull you from your half-awake slumber.

“Dormi, draga mea…“

Ethereal murmurs caressed the elegant curve of your throat, slowly circling your gentle pulse. The bed of satin sunk with another weight, and all at once everything felt palpable. You could neither move, nor open your eyes as a sultry, malevolent aura begun enveloping your body. Instinct urged you to run for your life, but a deeper, darker, and much more powerful desire shackled you to that soft mattress. Unbeknownst to you, a flame was set alit within your core, slow-burning towards your outer layers and leaving you a willing victim to your seductress.

Talon-like fingers elegantly slipped into the collar of your blouse, meticulously undoing each pearl button that held the soft fabric together and concealed your chest. A rush of heat shook your body from head to toe, albeit your collarbones were met with blizzard kisses. One, two, three… and the fourth was a brief, sharp pain which left as quickly as it came. You hastily sat up and found yourself alone, surrounded by nothing but darkness.

What strange dreams, you thought.

A terrible thirst urged you to move from the comfort of your bed and blindly search for your bottle of water. The carpet felt unusually soft, as if rose petals were laid before your bare feet, and when you took a deeper breath, you could smell their overwhelming floral scent. All of a sudden, the whole room seemed to spin with you.

"Hai afară, Hai afară…

Joacă-te cu noi!"

---

Come out, come out…

Play with us!

Eerie women’s voices echoed from every corner of the dark room, their song as morbidly cold as it was playful. They awoke a fear in you which momentarily made you forget about your parched throat. Something moved behind the walls, scratching its way along the tapestry with animalistic grunts. Wide-awake and terrified, you quickly stumbled back to your bed and pulled the covers over your throbbing head.

It’s just a dream… it’s just a dream…

Your lips shivered uncontrollably as you closed your eyes and silently begun to pray. Someone was on the bed with you, moving over you, but you laid very still, clutching the blanket around your stiff body.

It’s just a dream…

And as if nothing ever happened, the weight on the bed suddenly lifted and the muffled screeching of ghastly women dissipated like mist. An eternity seemed to pass before you managed to gather yourself and loosen the grip on the bedsheets. Steadily, fearfully, you opened your eyes only to find that the room was now glowing with a warm, pleasant light. As the haze of night terrors lifted, you begun to realize that this was not your bedroom, or anywhere familiar. Tall walls and windows surrounded you, intricately designed in old-fashioned styles. Luxurious furniture, fabrics and ornaments were preferred, giving you the impression that you were in some sort of a historical museum. If the situation had been less harrowing, perhaps you would’ve taken your time to admire your surroundings.

There was a large, gold-trimmed vanity to your left, richly adorned with vintage makeup kits and dying roses. As you found your reflection in its grand mirror, you saw that you were wearing a white satin nightgown you’ve no recollection of changing into. Your personal belongings were nowhere in sight, not even your only piece of jewelry you religiously wore; a simple gold bracelet you inherited from your late grandmother.

Panic quickly found its way in every cell of your being, especially as you spotted the tapestry on the wall to your left. It looked flat now, yet you were sure you’ve heard and seen something grisly slithering behind it in the dark. The eerie silence in the room somehow made things worse.

Feeble as you were, you carefully crawled to the other side of the massive bed, never taking your eyes off that terrifying wall as you made an effort to stand. You found leverage in a chair, slowly stepping towards the large, elegant double doors of the bedroom. Before you could reach them, though, the doorknob turned and they opened with a loud, haunting creak.

“Oh dear… you shouldn’t be out of bed.”

Unfolding before your eyes was what you could only describe as the devil incarnate. A massive woman clad in expensive vintage clothing, refined silk flowing like waterfalls over her plentiful hips and bosom. Studded diamonds and pearls shimmered brilliantly around her neck in the dim light of the room as she leaned down to fit through the threshold. When she stood to her full, magnificent height, you had to tilt your head back to see her features better. By instinct you stepped away as you took in her surreal image: unnaturally pallid skin, dark red lipstick akin to blood, and eyes nearly gleaming in the dimness of the room, predatory gold.

Your throat tightened, smothering a scream as you visibly shook before the unearthly being. And she, in all of her beauteous, macabre glory, bestowed the most alluring smile upon you, effortlessly stripping you of your will to run. Under the woman’s spell, you stood beside the vanity as she approached you with large, elegant steps. Old floorboards creaked beneath her heavy footfalls and you wished you could’ve sunk with them. A freezing touch met your cheek, making you jerk by instinct. But she was tender, almost dangerously sweet as she caressed loose strands of hair away from your feverish face.

- - -

The room adjacent to the sleeping chambers was where you had a small meal in the company of the strange woman. Albeit you were ravenous, you were reluctant to truly indulge in the plentiful dinner, partly because you were very much still mortified. You pressed a napkin to your mouth as you gratefully finished a cup of lemon and elderflower tea, sweetened with honey.

“You’re very kind… thank you.”

Humbly, you murmured as you kept your head low. It was a struggle for you to appear more confident when you could barely sit, fatigued and with a throbbing, almost debilitating headache. You glanced at the majestic woman across you, relieved to find her looking back with a most pleasant smile. She placed a glass of red wine on the table, and your gaze followed, oddly intrigued by its unusually lifelike hue. When the madam spoke, your attention shifted back to her.

“Of course, my darling. I’d never let a sweet angel freeze to death in that rundown cemetery.”

Freeze?

Cemetery?

A few memories came back to you, yet they were faint and fleeting. You vaguely remembered being outside, where it was cold and dark.

“Is this your home, miss. . .?”

“Dimitrescu Alcina. For you, just Alcina.”

Dimitrescu.

Your heart shrunk at the sound of that infamous name. Suddenly, your throat clenched and you struggled to find coherent words to politely introduce yourself. Perhaps the madam noticed your distress, for she stood and paced to your side, gently encouraging you back to bed. Back to that room. Fear found its way into your chest again, thrice as intense and deep. You refused to move your legs, but you were easily swept off your feet and carried to the large bed.

The woman’s arms and chest felt cold and rigid, almost deathly, and yet you found a strange comfort in her embrace.

“I need… to get home…”

Gently, you protested.

“I.. I think I’m alright now..”

Words barely passed your soft lips and you could not keep your eyes open, let alone stand. Madam Dimitrescu leaned over you as she laid you on her bedsheets. It somehow felt familiar, like that song whispered to you in your dreams, or those cold lips luring you into sin. Though your eyelids were heavy, you managed to fight the haze of fatigue enough to see her gaze darkening as she observed you with wicked delight. Gloved claws caressed your jugular slowly, dancing along delicate clavicle to brush smooth strands of hair behind your bare shoulder. You shivered beneath her wintry touch, unmoving as she drew closer.

“You aren’t fit to leave yet, angel… Sleep.”

Murmurs dripped like satin off her lips, and as she pressed a kiss to your forehead, you were lulled into another deep slumber.

- To be continued…

*part III.

[doctorarchangel]

Eremika Fanfic sample. I may write the rest if you like what you've read.

We'll Meet Again

"It's been four years… I know I'm early but it's my birthday… It hasn't been getting easier. I want to move on. Live my life, but… Everytime I breathe the air in this world I think of you. My life, like this world is just difficult to understand. I don't know what will happen from here on out, but the love I have for you. It hurts, and yet I'll carry it for as long as I live. And I'll keep holding it till I see you again. I don't care how long it takes. One thing I know is that my love for you, Eren. Like your will to be free, is eternal."

The last thing Mikasa did before leaving for home was plant a kiss on Eren's grave. She turned around and saw an elegant crane standing before her. A smooth line of white feathers with no sense of dirt to be seen. A true incarnate of beauty. She stared deep at the bird. It's eyes were blank, and yet she felt the same sense of comfort looking at it. Before it could take off it reached into its wing to peck out something between its feathers. Mikasa noticed that it dropped a bell flower before flying off. She looked up at the bird flying away.

"I promise, Eren. We'll meet again."

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

The images were foggy, the feeling of dread was awful. The smell of blood lingered and the pain of a beaten body and spirit was all that was needed to feel so cold. The shine of a small knife glimmered through the blurred view and the shape of a young boy plunging the knife in some man. As atrocious as the scene played out, she felt a sense of relief, and a moment of satisfaction to the bleeding man.

The scene evolved into a mere sense of numbness in both mind and body as the scene faded to a bright white light.

Mikasa’s eyes shot wide open as she found herself in her same bedroom as the night before. She sat herself up from her bed and began rubbing the side of her head. Her short raven black hair dangled in a scruffy mess. Moving her long stranded bang away from her eyesight she stood up stretching out her morning fatigue.

The same dream kept coming to her every week. Resulting in a menacing headache that came as fast as her reflexes.

Stepping out of her PJ’s which consisted of only her underwear and one of her casual t-shirts so she can shower up for school. The warm touch of steaming water dissolved any trace of her headache. Her body succumbed to the relaxing sense as her muscles loosened any tension. Her hair started soaking as she dug her shampoo covered fingers deep by her roots. She started humming Vera Lynn’s song, “We’ll Meet Again”. That one song always held a special place in her heart for as long as she’s first heard it. Especially at the season of Spring, mostly in the month of April. She never knew why, but eventually she just left it alone. Nothing ever came of the thought, so why fix what doesn’t need to be fixed?

On her way downstairs, Mikasa’s mother, Mayu Ackerman had a pot of decaf ready for her and the rest of the family. She noticed her daughter already in a clean uniform. A yellow long sleeve button up, red tie and a dark blue skirt.

“Morning, sweetie!” Mayu cooed at her little girl.

“Morning mom, is dad already at work?” Mikasa asked.

[stygiusfic]

[fic] death’s embrace, thanzag

Summary: Thanatos develops a migraine from the brightness of the surface world. After bringing Zagreus back to the House of Hades, Hypnos offers to help alleviate the headache via magical Greek god of Sleep superpowers.

[General Audiences / ThanZag (plus mention of MegZag) / 2.5K]

Read on AO3 here or under the cut.

***

As Helios' chariot crested over the far horizon, covering the sea in dappled amber light, Death's bell tolled in the freezing surface air.

"Here I was rather hoping I might get to watch the sunrise properly this time," said the Prince of the Underworld. The words came out mostly clear, and beyond that imbued with wry humor, for he had of late become adept at enunciating perfectly despite the blood gurgling at the back of his throat.

"I don't know how you can stand to look at it, Zag. It's so bright." Thanatos rested his scythe on the snow and his bare hand on Zagreus' head, long fingers threading through his hair, impossibly gentle.

The world had held its breath at the arrival of Death Incarnate, but at that moment it accepted his inevitability and resumed its march. Unknown surface creatures again trilled their songs in the nearby trees, and the waves regained their drowsy rhythm down below the cliff. Inside himself, Zagreus heard the much louder tide of the Styx rushing up to claim him.

He would be dead soon. That was a fate he could not escape, but this time he could at least choose its vessel.

"Take me home," he asked Thanatos.

The words had barely left his lips when the psychopomp gathered him up, lifting him out of the River's grasp. The bloody hands of the Styx slipped from his skin and, as always, he wondered if Thanatos could see the tide recede as keenly as Zagreus felt it. His limbs grew heavy, and the flames of his feet were petering out, but he held on to consciousness. As the sunrise began to turn an ominous crimson, Zagreus tore his eyes away to contemplate Death's face, and saw a pinched look on his features.

"Are you alright, Than?"

"Just a headache," Thanatos said, brow furrowed in obvious discomfort. "There's too much light up here."

Oh, right, the light bothers him, the dying Prince recalled, as his sight dimmed and darkness enveloped him. The last thing he felt was the press of soft lips on his forehead.

"We'll talk at home," Thanatos said, and vanished with his corpse to the bowels of the Earth.

***

No matter how the Prince died, when he returned to life it was always out of the Pool of Styx, red rivulets running down his face and chest. He shook his head as he emerged, much like the hellhound Cerberus shook himself dry after a bath, and then for good measure he ran a hand through his hair to dislodge the blood that soaked it, which splattered all around the vicinity. Thanatos, hovering by the Pool, clicked his tongue and raised a translucent barrier to shield himself from the spray.

"Sorry," Zagreus told him, sheepish. This was not the first such occurrence, nor would it be the last.

"It's fine," Thanatos said, like he always did.

The green glow of his arrival receded and a fuller color palette returned to the House of Hades. During especially busy periods, when the mortals' wars raged particularly fiercely on the surface and the cold and starvation reaped hundreds, Thanatos returned to his duties shortly after delivering the Prince. This time, however, he waited, and fell in step—so to speak—beside Zagreus as he rose out of the Pool.

Down the hall they went, among the featureless shades that milled about in hushed gossip or dolorous procession. The two gods' passage, though quiet, made Sleep Incarnate awaken with a start, nearly dropping the fateful list in his hands.

"Hey, you're back! Both of you!" Hypnos beamed at them from his perch atop the plush recliner at his post. As his bleary eyes fell on Thanatos, he scrunched up his nose dramatically. "Oh no, Natural Causes is having a bad day or night. Too much work will do that to you! Here, why don't you rest a while, Thanatos?"

He extended a pale blue hand toward his brother, who recoiled from it as if it were a poisonous snake on a gorgon's head and vanished in a veil of cold air.

"What's wrong with him, do you know?" asked Zagreus.

Hypnos folded his hand back onto his lap, looking distinctly unsurprised in the emerald light of his brother's departure. "Migraine, I'd say. He's especially grumpy when he gets them."

Before Zagreus could ask any follow up questions, Death's bell tolled in the House of Hades, everywhere at once but specifically in the space right beside him. Guh-dong, Zagreus hummed to himself, and stifled a grin. Death's familiar hand found his and squeezed, briefly, perhaps apologizing for his abrupt disappearance.

"Hypnos," Thanatos hissed, continuing the conversation as though there had been no interruption, "if you attempt again to put me to sleep in the middle of this hall, in full view of Lord Hades and the Queen, not to mention every damned shade hovering about, I will not be responsible for my actions."

"Well, technically, if I did that, you'd be asleep," Hypnos reasoned. He placed the pad of his index finger against his chin in a childish show of pensiveness, fully undaunted by his brother's annoyance. "I mean, the floor here wouldn't be very comfortable to nap on, so I guess I can see why you wouldn't want to, but Zagreus could carry you away! Right?"

"I could," Zagreus agreed.

"To be clear," said Thanatos, charmingly flustered, "when I said 'my actions', brother, I meant I will swing my scythe and send you to float face-down in the River Styx if you humiliate me by making me collapse in public."

"I wouldn't mind carrying you off to sleep elsewhere," Zagreus insisted, growing increasingly fond of the idea of cradling Thanatos in his arms for everyone to see. "You carry me down here often enough. What's the harm in trading places for once?"

Thanatos' protest was less adamant this time. "That's different, Zag. That's part of my job," he said, even though they both knew it was not. Unlike his mortal charges, Zagreus would die on the surface whether Thanatos did or did not come for him; the Styx would fetch him without fail. Still, the Prince decided not to point out this truth, lest Death become embarrassed and quit this newfound habit of seeking him in his last moments. He opted to bargain instead, adopting the pleasant half-smirk that he knew to be effective in such cases.

"Hypnos is just trying to help, Than. Can't hurt to try sleeping for a bit, can it?"

"Says he who has slept maybe twice in the last century."

"And I woke up feeling rested both times." His smile widened a notch as Thanatos scoffed, and he pressed his advantage. "You know what, I'll lie down to sleep a third time, beside you, if that's what it takes. How's that?"

Death Incarnate, having in the course of his eternal duty seen through countless cunning ploys and fallen prey to one or two, pursed his lips to convey that he recognized Zagreus' charming demeanor as an attempt to persuade him by appealing to his affections. Whether he would be swayed by such an obvious tactic was a different matter entirely, but as he held Zagreus' wheedling gaze a hint of exasperated amusement sparked in his tired eyes, which boded favorably for the Prince.

Hypnos let out an exaggerated yawn, startling them both from their silent negotiation.

"Alright, alright." He stretched his uncannily long limbs, then assumed his hunched position again and rearranged his cape around himself with an air of determination. "I hear what you're saying, Thanatos, loud and clear, and rest assured you can absolutely count on me. If you don't like the hall, I'll put you to sleep somewhere more comfortable. Let's go!" He rose to hover a hand's breadth above his recliner and began to drift across the hall in the direction of Zagreus' chambers.

"You can't just abandon your post," Thanatos called after him. "You need to usher in the shades as they arrive."

Hypnos did not stop his slow advance and did not turn, but his shoulders rose in a shrug. "They'll still be there when I get back. Where would they go, anyway?"

"Lord Hades is waiting," Thanatos insisted, but hearing the exhaustion in his voice, Zagreus placed a placating hand on the small of his back.    

"My father can stand to wait a bit longer," he said, speaking in a low voice that would not carry to the oversized desk at the end of the hall, where the King of the Underworld tended to his beloved parchmentwork. "And even you need your rest sometimes, especially if you're not feeling well. Death can be both inescapable and well-rested."

"Now you're mocking me, Zagreus." But the hint of a smile lingered on Thanatos' tired features. He did not resist when Zagreus nudged him to follow his brother, and neither did he shift ahead to their destination, instead allowing himself to be steered along. 

***

Once they were inside Zagreus' quarters, where the only light came from two dim braziers and the sounds of the House were muffled, Thanatos palpably relaxed. Even so, he seemed as though he might yet utter some perfunctory complaint as his partner guided him toward the bed, while the god of Sleep trailed behind them.

"Let us take care of you, Than," Zagreus told him, gentle but firm, and Thanatos met his eyes. The pained crease in his brow seemed less pronounced here, perhaps thanks to the relative darkness of the room. He nodded and, with a rueful smile and a wave of his hand, dismissed his scythe in a flash of green.

As soon as that instrument of his duty had left his grip, Death Incarnate seemed to surrender to his fatigue and closed his eyes. Tacitly understanding, Zagreus moved to detach the most uncomfortable elements of his attire: his golden gorget, his winged pauldron, the sword at his hip, so on and so forth. The process was by now familiar and he could find and undo the clasps and buckles by touch alone, though there was a sense of intimacy associated with the act that made him feel self-conscious in Hypnos' presence. He could not help but wonder what he must be thinking—after all, it was one thing to know your brother was dating your friend, and another to have that knowledge take concrete shape by witnessing a moment such as this—but when he glanced over, Hypnos had a wide, fond smile on his face.  

"Go ahead and lie down now, Thanatos," the god of Sleep instructed once his brother was down to his robes. Zagreus pulled the permanently messy covers aside to facilitate this, then sat on the edge of the bed and smiled at Thanatos' relieved sigh when his head touched the pillow.

"Ready for that nap?" Zagreus asked.

Languidly, Thanatos' amber eyes opened just wide enough to peer up at him, then slid shut again. "Sure."

Hypnos reached out to brush his brother's hair back and touched two fingers to his forehead. With a thoughtful hum he observed, "You're running a little warm."

"I'll be fine once I've slept," Thanatos mumbled, barely moving his lips. Hypnos' power was beginning to work on him.

That power, so rarely given physical form, wafted around Hypnos in cumulous wisps that curled in the air like incense smoke. Due to his proximity, Zagreus felt his vision dim around the edges and his limbs grow heavy; in contrast, his beating heart sped up as if to combat what his body wrongly identified as signs of another impending demise. Sleep, twin brother of Death, glanced at him with wide eyes, as if sensing this resistance, and with a flick of his wrist directed his influence to part around Zagreus.

As the veil of drowsiness lifted, his sight refocused and his chambers took on definition once more.

"Thanks," he whispered, then reached out to touch Thanatos' cheek, impulsively wanting to check his temperature, but of course his skin felt chilly compared to Zagreus' own. Nevertheless he said, "Maybe I could go to the lounge and ask the Head Chef if they have something to help him cool down." If not the shade, then maybe Megaera would be able to provide, if she was there—she had on occasion applied some form of cold compress to Zagreus' back to relieve his muscles after a whipping—though this he opted not to say in front of Hypnos.

He began to stand, but felt Thanatos' fingers close around his wrist, and stopped.

"Stay." Thanatos' voice was low and thick with sleep, but his grip was determined. Zagreus sat back down and glanced at Hypnos, who giggled.

"You heard him! Now, I'd better get back to my post, right?" He let his hand fall away from Thanatos' forehead, on the way stopping to pinch his cheek, which elicited a grunt from Thanatos that managed to sound annoyed despite the heavy mantle of slumber. Hypnos grinned. "Sweet dreams, Thanatos."

"Thanks, Brother."

"Anytime!" was the sing-song reply—then the space around Hypnos blurred, the colors of the various decorations and wall fixtures bleeding into one another, and Zagreus brought up his free hand to rub at his eyes as the world became fuzzy around the edges. There was a  pop like the cork of a nectar bottle and, when he finished blinking little stars out of his vision, he saw that Hypnos had disappeared.

"I keep forgetting he can shift too," he said, mostly to himself, and smiled at Thanatos' vague grunt of assent. Gently, he pried Death's fingers off of his wrist, and placated his immediate complaint by saying, "I'll be right back, hold on."

Stepping lightly enough to avoid striking flint-like sparks off the floor, Zagreus went to put out the brazier by the reading couch and then the one at the foot of his bed. Only after this last one did he realize he may have been hasty in his attempt to make the room darker for Thanatos, as he barely had any light left to see by, but despite this obstacle he managed to undo the clasps of his own adornments and set them aside, then climbed into bed beside Death Incarnate and rested his head on his chest to listen to the comforting and familiar silence there.

"For the record, I would absolutely have carried you down the hall to my room, if Hypnos had put you to sleep then and there," he said, and smiled when he felt Thanatos' rumbling laugh.

"I know you would have, Zag." He tightened his arm around Zagreus' shoulders. "And, for the record... there's nobody else I would rather allow to parade me around in public."

The Prince of the Underworld chuckled and inched closer. Once again his senses grew sluggish, perhaps due to some lingering ambient traces of Hypnos' power, but this time he did not fight it. Being in Thanatos' embrace brought finality—whether in the shape of the last glimpses of a sun-kissed world unlike his own or the certainty that for all his escaping, he had ended up precisely where he needed to be.

"Good night," Zagreus mumbled, and drifted off to sleep.

[ursapharoh05]

Morning (Duke Thomas/Signal fic)

Morning

It was morning. Despite everything her husband, her body, and the snoring little lump cuddled between them both felt, the world said it was morning; and morning meant it was time to get to work. Elaine forces her eyes open to confront the streak of light that laid across her face, the faster to face the day the faster to change it for the better. She needed to get up, play the game of normality and take her place as pillar and guide to her son. Her son, Duke, who was a whole six years old now and already knew way too much for his age but not nearly enough to survive as a black face in a place like Gotham.

Sliding from the bed, she's careful of her husbands heavy arm around her waist and the small fists clinging to her sleep shirt and tucks them both back in once she’s standing. She's up, moving, getting, the blood flowing and ready to set today in motion. Get busy living or get busy dying, for all intents and purposes. Because in this city, if you didn’t get busy living, Gotham will be on your tail working to help you get busy dying. Or at the very least making your attempts at living inconvenient. Like now, in the middle of an apocalypse at the hands the Riddler and a well timed hurricane, one of the hardest parts of her day was deciding how to do her hair now that salons were a thing of the looted past.

She decided that braiding her hair down was the best solution, and let the boys choose their favorite colored scarfs for her to wear. Yellow was the choice of the morning, wrapped tight, and loose ends tucked away, nice and bright to start the day. Everytime she scrubbed him down, kept him up and finish greasing his scalp, she'd tell Duke "you look good, you feel good, you do good." Important words to live by.

After getting herself ready, it was time to wake her Sunshine. Sitting on the edge of the bed she started the loving routine.

She shakes his small shoulder and coos lowly, “Sunshine, it’s time to get up, baby.” The responding whimper is a good sign as the little ball curls tighter against his daddy’s side, “Come on, the sun is shining bright just for you, Duke”

She scoots closer following the way he tries to melt into the relaxed muscles of his dad and escape the gentle patting on his back forcing him out of sleep “Duke, let's get up, we gotta make breakfast.”  She waits, one broken sleep filled breath as her baby slowly roused himself, then a second one before digging her hands under his armpits and getting him up into a sitting position.

The boy leans dangerously to one side, eyes half lidded and lazily blinking back at her “Mmm?” He sighs from too lax lips.

She catches his head before it can land back among the body warmed blankets and the trickling light “No, no, no, sunshine. Sit up, now. Let me see those pretty eyes.”  She cups both his baby soft cheeks and waits for him to force his eyes open. It takes a long sigh, the rise and shake of his little  shoulders as he scrunches up his nose and let his nostrils flare in annoyance. Finally before he seems to slip back into sleep, his shoulders fall,  his face relaxes a little tongue darts out over full lips, and his eyes open.

The light filters passed their curtains and across both their faces lighting up Duke's Umber eyes and revealing the almost golden sepia underneath with the light. They blink slowly up at her before moving to look around the room, another deep breath and he’s reaching out with grabby hands. “Mmmom”

She wraps him up in her arms nice and tight and slides off the bed to her feet. She waltzes them into the kitchen “Hello sweet boy, it’s time to face the day. Let’s face it with a smile.”

Breakfast is a slim affair. Slim pickings but her plan to fix that was a simple one; cross town, grab the relief bags, and run home like their lives depended on it. It should’ve been easy, it would've been easy, had Doug not gotten sick. The kind of sick that didn't help people so big, eating portions so small and the infection ratcheted up a fever that refused to break. The slimy prodding of powder eggs to her lips is enough to bring her out of her mind. “You forgot,” Duke presses the spoon insistently against her lips “You and dad always forget.”

She did not forget, but his little life meant far more. It’s a quick and appeasing bite and an even quicker kiss to his forehead on the edge of baby curls.

The both of them scrub down the single plate with a little dribble of water from a water bottle before they go to put their shoes on. They both write separate notes and leave them by the breakfast left for Doug, still fitfully sleeping in the dark room, before they slip out into the world full of chaos.

The trick was convincing her baby that everything was alright, that the sun shone on just another normal Wednesday. Fake it till you can make it. They started walking with only the scarce dawn light to guide them. If you dared to leave your house, morning was the best time. Walk out with your head held high as if life is still normal and you were untouchable, nothing’s more terrifying to chaos than normality. With her vibrant yellow headwrap, a little red wagon, and her baby reciting the planets, Elaine was normality incarnate.

The walk to the supply drop was about six miles outside of the narrows, passed several other peoples territories. The walk was made longer if you decided to go around Poison Ivy’s base of operations which was the Wayne botanical gardens, it was best to just go the long way. By the time they had arrived and Duke had helped her load the two backpacks worth of food and medication into the wagon the day was very nearly gone and night was on its way. Her realm of normality was quickly coming to a close.

       The choice to stop on the outskirts of the thick foliage and flowers from Ivy’s domain was a thinly veiled chance for her to take a breath while teaching Duke about some of the flowers, “We don’t touch, not these flowers, but that one is a...” She waits for Duke to lean far enough out to see the bright yellow sunflower she’s pointing to.

“A--uhm, a sunflower?” he hedges, though his smile grows to match the smile she offers him.

“That’s right! A common sunflower also known as Helianthus annuus , say it with me baby” She goes through every flower as far as they can spot on the edge of the green.  Laughing and teaching and resting her throbbing feet.

As they recline on the dirt road alongside Ivy's realm the wind twists around them both, from a distance they spot gravel and dirt being kicked up, and the blaring of police sirens accompanied it. There hasn’t been any proper form of policing since the hurricane hit the city, least of all this close to the Narrows. This feels wrong.

Over the hill they came, they must have siphoned off gas or had a backup stash, too far away to see if they were legit. Elaine kisses her teeth, no real place to hide and being in too tight of corridors could encourage a worse ending than a public arena might.

Without a second thought she was on her feet and standing firm, Duke danced from foot to foot. Small fingers gripped her pants and hand “Mom? Mama, what’s wrong?”

“Don’t know, guess we’ll have to see,” she soothes as she grips the back of Dukes shirt and nonchalantly put the other on her hip, feeling the weight of the gun she’d hidden.

“Let’s not, lets just—“ a pink tongue swipes at his lips nervously “Let's just run, we can go super fast” He tenses his body as if to dart right this instant, ready to drag Elaine behind him.

Her grip is firmer “No. We don’t run, not from them, we stand our ground. Don’t you ever run, from a cop. You make them look you in the eyes,” The sirens grow louder and the sound of gravel crunching as she adjusts her stance. Feet set firmed, a flicker in her eyes and ready to stand her ground. “Ready? Eyes up, baby.”

———————————————

It’s morning. Far too bright for bats to be about, far too early for them to be in the middle of a smouldering and half destroyed warehouse, and far too early for Duke to be bleeding and pinned under what felt like the remains of a crate. He was supposed to be starting his shift, not continuing from a tag team from earlier that night, not that it mattered. He was issued the call and he’d still had a case to finish up. The call now felt something akin to pounding thunder's in his head as his hearing slowly returned from a chemical explosion. Although it was a cool band name, it was not a cool experience and the sharp realization that he probably should be dead hangs heavy in his chest.

He needed to get up, get back to doing the bat's good work. That could mean any number of things though, he needed to focus it down to bare essentials. What does he absolutely have to address? Dragging himself up to all fours and letting charred planks settle with a clutter around him, he blearily looked around for any survivors. His mind soaks in any bit of information his torn and lightly smoking environment will yield him.

Firstly, everything hurt, his shoulder especially. A glance shows a weeping deep red against his yellow armor.

"That explains the pain then"

A quick shaking hand up to his head reveals a split helmet and blood running into his eye.

"and that explains the one eyed perception and the splitting headache too."

A soft and broken whistle echos somewhere and in a panic he wonders if it may be the effects of tinnitus, or worse another venom hyped chemist. Even still, his blood covered hand goes to touch his exposed ear when the whistle comes more deliberate, almost a tune but too distressed to be placed to any particular song. He’d played this game, marco polo, he’d been playing it most recently with Cass *...Shit, Cass!*

Duke’s answering whistle is shrill and makes no attempt at a song. his first stumbling steps are in the wrong direction drifting too far to the left before sharply correcting and finding the pile of rubble that she seemed pinned under.  

Falling to his knees he bends to see her face but he’s met with different brown eyes, one of the kids running the drugs a few years younger than himself, tucked under the limp body of Black bat. “She just tackled me out of nowhere man! Word to the bat! She won’t move-- can--can you get us out?” *Can I?* He felt like shit and must've look it too, to get a look of panic like that from a kid with an untrained eye. His tongue feels thick so he just nods carefully and backs up to move the debris.

Dragging them both out takes longer than Duke would like, pulling and twisting his bleeding shoulder, but once they’ve carefully laid Cass on her back that’s one more concrete step for him to stand on, “She gon’ be okay?” The kid leans his head closer to Duke’s own bowed head as he takes in the direness of this situation and looks over the prone bat.

He hums noncommittally, “You’ve seen her, she’ll be fine.” He’s gentle anyway, there wasn’t any obvious injury but in the harsh light and the harsh life they’d taken to, it was hard not to ache for gentleness. He starts with a soft hand cupping her cheek and a thumb swiping the blood and dirt away. She doesn’t move but he persists “Black bat, you with me?”

She starts out slow, a twitch of the nose and a frown, Duke’s voice trembles with the relief “That’s it, you're with me. Come on,” one brown eye blinks slowly up at him, the white out lenses of the remaining part of her mask stares blankly back at him. His smile pulls at his split lip but he doesn’t lessen it in the slightest “You have a good nap?”

It’s a quick blink and she was trying to sit up, Duke jumps to calm her as she makes a grab for him and fails to get a grip on his kevlar “Hey! Hey, hey, easy there.That blast hit you hard,” The shaking of her head and the resulting groan speaks to the suspected concussion “Lets maybe not move so much right now, let’s focus. Black bat?” The wandering stare speaks to other plans as her hand clamps onto the shirt of the kid and uses it to pull herself into a upright position, “No, no, ey, quit it!! Black—don’t—”

He and the kid are trying to loosen the death grip she has on the kid’s filthy and torn Gotham Guardsmen shirt. It’s useless, her fist impossibly tightens as she sways to one side and then the other. Calming her down shouldn’t have been so hard, it wouldn’t have been so hard if it were any of the other bats trying with her. Cass seemed fond of him but he was pretty sure that was from some form of both of them being the newest recruits to the Wayne gig than any actual care. As it was, no one was likely to be coming for them for a very long time. Duke's comm was blown to hell and the way Cass tapped her ear made it seem all the more likely hers had cut out as well.

With her hand still on the boy's collar, her head lolls to the side as if trying to catch something off the wind as it swirls the dirt and the smoke around them. Then they all hear it; sirens.

       Both young men freeze, glancing at each other. The silent understanding passing between them, an instinct that runs as deep as their melanin. The kid twists violently out of Cass’ grip, tearing his shirt to break free, and takes off running without another word or a glance back. Duke feels his heart speed up with the panic as the sirens' wail closer still. They were coming and they were coming for them.

He needed a simple plan, something to execute, complete, and succeed in, “Cass, Cassandra babe, let me see those pretty eyes”, He tries to keep his voice soft but it comes out in a harsh hiss as he starts to move. Those wise brown eyes slowly roll to meet his own with the call of her name, unsteady and mildly annoyed that their other companion had left so quickly, "...Not...babe...Black Bat....field names"

“That's right. Right. Listen, I’ve gotta pick you up so we can get you home.” Keep it simple, grab cass, haul ass, make it home.

She frowns “No..." she tries to force herself up to right "fight through..get...home...” she doesn't make it to her feet.

“Yeeeah...see now, that’s a bad plan. We need to get to your house, the mansion. Can I touch you? Just for a bit?” She reconsiders the situation and studies him oddly before nodding “Perfect, just gonna get you into a piggy back—easy, nice and slow—perfect, hold tight” she nearly strangles him as she leans her head against the missing chunk of his helmet, blood tacky skin meeting blood tacky skin.

The sirens are blaring now as they grow into a terrible shriek, if he was going to get them out, this was Duke's chance. Stumblingly he takes off as fast as he can, picking over concrete and splintered wood. It hurts, the blinding pain in his shoulder and the weight of Cass on his back, distantly around the thudding in his ears, he thinks of all the times his parents told him not to run.

He runs now. Followed closely by shouting and the sounds of footsteps behind him.  Down one alleyway and banking a hard right into another, his heart matches the throbbing of pain and the gasps of his breath, and he keeps running. He races the light, Cass’ legs tucked snuggly under his armpits and her arms wrapped firmly around his neck spurs him on.

Don’t get caught, don’t get caught, don’t get caught, is Duke's mantra in this moment. Distantly a part of him insists he stop and make it to the rooftops, the bat in him insists he take flight. The narrows in him insists he simply get distance.

He can hear the cop chasing him gaining, huffing and puffing, he takes another turn to throw them further off. He thought keeping his robin squads noses clean was hard with the GCPD breathing down his neck. He could only imagine the picture he and Cass would make, a black kid running around with an asian girl slung on his back. Oh, yeah, real easy to just talk his way out of that, cracked helmet and ruined masks aside.

The squealing of a police car sliding in front of the exit of the alley is soul crushing. The spitting of gravel and the slamming of car doors is just the beginning of his end,“Stop! GCPD! I said freeze!” Duke slows, he can’t make it out of this straight way to somewhere public, somewhere he could blend into the crowd, somewhere where, as his mother would put it, the domain of normality reigned supreme.

His run fades to a jog, which stutters to a shuffle before stopping. The click that once was familiar from a lesson with Jason echoes off the brick walls. He tightens his grip on Cass before slowly letting her slide to the ground. He broadens his chest as much as he can, don’t let them hit Cass, she needs to make it out.

He faces the two cops head on, body firmly in front of Cass even as he hears the one cop behind him slow to a stop. A Silence like the one that he’d grown used to in the cave screams in the air twisting and slicing up his thudding heart. The cops take aim, eyeing him warily even as he presents his hands, fingers reaching for the sun. His heart wails, move! Get out of the way!

He’s shaking he notices, the trembles in his hands though whether from the fear, the adrenaline, or the pain of the movement he doesn’t have time to dwell on it. He lifts his chin, forces his blood sealed eye open so that he can see each officer properly and they can see the human in this armor. He waits for what's next, feet set firm, ready to stand his ground, like his mother taught him, but in his eyes there's not a flicker; there was a dim glow.

The whispers among the cops are barely coherent over his heart beat but he hears them

“It’s a bat”

“Two bats, must be new—“

“Bat saved my sisters life—“

“Where’s the big guy—“

“Robins? Not gonna take in a rob—“

“Don’t shoot”

Don’t shoot, don’t shoot, the guns are slowly lowered eyes never leaving Dukes chest. He hears footsteps and the third cop walks passed them “We give the bat one pass. Go on your way.”

The car pulls away with the cops all inside. Duke collapses to the ground. He grabs for Cass’ hand, and bites back his broken whimpers as he grips her hand tight. He met their eyes and they looked to the bat on his chest for reassurance. One day, this city would not be the domain of the bat or siren, he’ll make sure a domain of normality would reign supreme. The domain his mother always envisions for him, for all of Gotham.