#he had wings in this au

[reverse-t1me]

Cookie run kingdom AU:

Grains of Vanilla

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 296

Through a series of miscommunication, the League is now under the impression that Batman, strange cryptid that he is, may or may not have given birth to the other vigilantes running around in Gotham. This was not helped by Bruce referring to all of his children, no matter how big they get, as his babies. Nor was it helped by Red Robin, in the middle of a narcolepsy-fueled imminent crash, mentioned how he had no mother. 

It also doesn’t help that no one is aware that they are in fact completely normal people, and not aspects of Gotham itself brought to life. Though really that’s on the bats themselves, because at this point they should at least count as undead. 

[crismakesstuff]

ponyfies your superhero show 🐎🌟

[leafie-draws]

Link doodle based on a dream I had

[originalartblog]

Detective Murase survives and lives through the events of Storm Bringer. He learns (most of) the truth about his brother, N, and Chuuya, and doubles down on bringing Chuuya to a world of light, feeling somewhat guilty and responsible. Chuuya finally goes along with it.

Chuuya, out of the PM but without a group to latch onto, shadows Murase during his work, and quickly faces the limitations of the system supposed to bring justice. He starts doing "vigilante" work, helping Murase "conveniently" find evidence, and acting indifferent when culprits that had to be released "mysteriously" go missing.

Murase is not stupid, but there's no stopping this overpowered teenager who's angry at the world. He needs an output, a purpose, and, well, there's this detective agency employing ability users they've been working with...

[ymeisli]

Codywan Week Day 2, Wings

@codywanweek

do i love wing aus? yes, do i hate drawing wings? absolutely yes so this is veryy half assed and i sorta rushed it but i hope you enjoy anyways 🫶🫶

[solargeist]

thinking abt how baby birds have different coloured feathers than adult birds

thinking abt maybe Grian’s wings are only white bc he’s a child Watcher, and they’d probably turn black if he stayed and grew into one.

But that’d probably take a long time, and he’s not actively turning into one anymore so, he just has white wings

[thebad-lydrawn-sanses]

Killer: so

Killer: i get you're having fun with character design buuuut

Killer: have you considered

Killer: that i don't need so many disabilities

Killer: oh. you're typing into the search bar okay cool that's fine this isn't distressing at a-

Search Result: Disabling cognitive symptoms of a TBI may include: Uncontrollable mood swings. Impaired short/long-term memory. Difficulty with focus, attention, or thinking. Depression and anxiety. Personality changes (often increased irrational anger and aggression) Lack of impulse control and poor decision-making skills.

Killer:

[sass-squat]

Part 6 of the Linked Universe Winged Au! After many requests this time around we've got our Veteran, Legend!

<<< Previous Next >>>

As always we have to start off with a bird fact, so did you know that male White-Winged Crossbills have unpigmented barbules that mask their red color and are what make them appear pink in the fall? However, as these barbules wear off, the bright red is able to show through leaving them a brilliant red in the spring and summer!

Anyways, I found this fact to be very interesting especially considering Legend's adventure throughout Oracle of Seasons. Just the mental image of his plumage slightly shifting with the constant changing of the seasons was very funny to me and I couldn't NOT make it canon. Plus, I enjoy making his life more difficult than it already is because I also headcanon that when he was younger, his wings were constantly stuck in a half molted state because white-winged crossbills usually molt in the fall. In other words, turns out messing around with seasons and time has consequences so he was a very scruffy, fluffy looking kid growing up.

As for how he looks and acts now, he has many similar characteristics and behaviors of a White-Winged Crossbill. For example, he is a very strong flier, and his unique way of flying has given him a very aggressive and abrupt fighting style both on the ground and in the air. His style of fighting is especially effective in forests with a lot of trees because it allows him to dart between foliage and foes alike.

While his flight and fighting styles were influenced by the sheer number of quests he has gone on as well as his young age when he began, other characteristics and behaviors of his were also influenced as well. For example, when he was still just a kid thrown into his first adventure where just about everything in the world was bigger than him, he learned to bristle and fluff his feathers to appear bigger and more threatening to enemies. While somewhat effective at the time, nowadays it means he still has the unconscious habit of doing it whenever he is irritated or embarrassed.

In addition to his tendency to "poof" when upset, he also has a habit of picking at and pulling out his own feathers when especially stressed. He picked up this habit mainly because of his constant molting as a child but then continued it as he was went on more and more adventures. Doing it is second nature to him now, but it's a bad habit he's actively trying to break by fiddling with his rings instead. It's also part of why he's so insistent about preening the others because helping them quite literally stops him from pulling out his own feathers.

Anyways! I could go on, but that's all for now folks! Thank you again for all your support and kind messages! I really treasure them and they are always the highlight of my day! As always, feel free to let me know who or what you would like to see next! Thank you all again!

Bonus Doodle Feat. Wind taking a photo of Wild taking a photo of Legend inspired by this masterpiece:

[cannibalhellhound]

I did this

Because Sli deserves more love

And I'm trying to get used to the pain of coloring wings

Nothing else

*cough*titties*cough*

bonus gosling making a sand castle with his dad's sunglasses

Ron's big ass wings are good sunblockers

[bonefall]

I have a question: I haven't read DOTCs but I have read the guides, and the guides Grey Wing is my fave and I've been warned he gets absolutely destroyed in the DOTCs books..so, what are the differences in Guide Grey Wing and SOTC Grey Wing?

BOTC!Graywing only has about a paragraph or so of information on him, and it points towards him being an ancient warlord type. I really like and miss this version, because it reminds me of something straight out of the Seven Military Classics.

We know that he was specifically an ancient leader of WindClan, back before leaders took -star as part of their names. Using some simple deduction from the history we know from SOTC, this means he was a leader before there were official Clans, and before Windstar. Just warring groups without borders.

Onestar refers to him as a tactician, and explains that he invented the practice of strategic placement using stones and drawings in his den like a little kitty war room.

These tactics mostly have to do with battling in open fields, so we can assume;

There were a lot of battles taking place in the moor

Graywing the Wise was involved in a lot of battles, so he could develop and test these ideas.

It's not much, but it's interesting. Paints this idea of a Moorland Warlord... Moorlord, if you will.

DOTC!Gray Wing has a couple of scenes where he's talking strategy or vaguely referencing a tactic, but he spends 3/4ths of his VERY short life having meltdowns at the idea of combat because Hurting My Sweet Brother Makes Us Just As Bad :(

(Camera pans and Sweet Brother Clear Sky is tying a woman to train tracks and cackling maniacally)

MOST of his life is this. He's like 2 years old when he dies of asthma and he only started having opponents to plan battle against in the last few months.

Most of the fights he's involved in before that are spontaneous-- and even less are commanding armies as was implied in BOTC.

He also half leads "WindClan". He's a joint leader with Shadowstar for a while. Anyway, DOTC also tosses him a pity mate because his first two love interests got fridged. His adopted kids like their abusive biodads more; one of them even vows to avenge Tom the Wifebeater, a man she met once who got her mom killed.

Aaaand that's the difference. I think it's obvious I like the BOTC take more.

[urne-buriall]

so you've told me now you like sotw alternate realities. well here's the river scene were Dean opens up to Cas about John's abuse way ahead of schedule, mere days after the 4th of july:

“There are things I want to tell you,” said Cas, “and questions I want to ask. But I’m never sure if I can.”

“What do you mean?” asked Dean.

“Sometimes I want to tell you about my family because I think you understand,” said Cas. “Other times… I’m just not sure.”

“You could tell me if you wanted,” said Dean. He wished Cas would say. He wanted so badly for Cas to trust him. “It wouldn’t change anything. You’d still be my friend, no matter what you said.”

Cas slowly nodded his head. “Right,” he said. He turned again. Started walking. “I don’t want to burden you. And like I said, talking isn’t my strength.”

There had been a test and Dean failed it. He was sure of it. He just didn’t know what he’d done wrong. Had he come on too strong? Had he seemed insincere?

Maybe he was supposed to offer something first. Maybe he needed to be the one to break open that levee, the one that would never close again. To find out if they shared anything, perhaps it was on Dean to say, my dad beats the shit out of me and has since I can remember.

“Cas, wait,” said Dean. He caught up with Cas, then continued walking. He didn’t quite look over his shoulder as he said, “I’ll tell you.”

At the river. He needed to be still, not in this in-between space on the path.

And as he walked, feeling Cas trail slowly after him, studying Dean, he wondered what he was about to do. How would he say it? Could he really confess this? Could he trust Cas with it?

He went to a rise above the river, where grass and clover turned into a straight-edged bank a few feet above the water. He took off his boots and set them aside, bare feet coming to rest in the cool green clover.

Cas came beside him and cautiously did the same. Dean wrapped his arms around his knees, unable to look at Cas next to him. Nearly shoulder-to-shoulder.

They’d sat like this the day of the rainstorm, talking idly before the downpour. That night, Cas stayed over and wore Dean’s clothes. Had stripped to nearly nothing on the covered porch, skin gold in the light and shining with rain.

Dean buried his face in the crook of his arm and tried to forget that.

“Dean?” said Cas, patience giving way to desperate curiosity.

Cas would say he seemed upset again. And if Dean took an outside look at himself, it was laughable to try and deny. He lifted his head.

He’d promised to tell Cas. It was the only way to find out more about Cas in return, and it was something Dean wanted badly enough that it brought him here. He was going to risk everything. For Cas.

“It’s my dad,” he said, surprised by the weakness of his own voice. Shaky, hoarse.

Cas looked Dean over carefully as he waited for more. He gave a faint nod.

“He’s… Tough.” That could be taken so many ways and Dean knew it. “On me,” he added, like it clarified anything. “Sometimes.”

Cas didn’t shift his posture, but the lines of his face became more deliberately contained. He took a moment to say, clear and even, “Does he hurt you?”

Dean looked sharply to the water. Only because his eyes began to burn, because he was losing his grip on the control he thought he had. He wasn’t supposed to cry over this. He was supposed to bear it. He was just going to state a fact, a fact he had lived with for so long and was strong enough to deal with. And it would have been different if Cas asked ‘does he hit you?’ but instead he’d said hurt, and that was a different question, wasn’t it? It was supposed to be easy to say hit, yes and move on without the impact of that action. But hurt made it so much more lasting.

He winced, trying to find another way around the answer, but then he nodded, a concession timed with the tears that came bitter and fast. He quickly bowed his head into his arms, not enough to hide the catching sound his breath made as he tried not to choke on this feeling.

He wasn’t supposed to be so upset. He wasn’t supposed to be this reactive. He wasn’t dead, it was nothing worth crying over.

Cas’ arm wrapped around his shoulder, a solid warmth that gave shape to Dean, keeping him from coming apart.

“I’m sorry,” Cas said, voice deep and low.

Dean tried to push down his feelings, raising his face even if it was tear-streaked and flushed. “About what?” he asked. Cas had nothing to be sorry for.

“That you’ve had to go through it,” said Cas.

Dean had never imagined anyone saying that to him. He thought he deserved to be called weak for putting up with it, or for crying about it now. He thought nobody would care if it happened to him or not. That anywhere he might’ve grown up he’d have been treated just the same because of the way he was. Never enough. All the things John implied and made him believe.

“You should leave,” said Cas.

“Is that what you did?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t,” said Dean. “Sam—”

“Does he hurt Sam, too?”

Dean shook his head. He felt oddly defensive. Of course John didn’t hurt Sam. Dean would never allow it. “I keep Sam out of it,” he said.

“You still shouldn’t stay.”

“It’s not that bad,” said Dean, like he hadn’t been trembling with the force of his tears just moments ago. His voice came thin. “Not enough to leave.”

“Any amount is enough to be worth leaving,” Cas said, so certain of himself.

Dean retreated back into denial. “It’s more complicated than that,” he said. “I’m— I’m not a kid anymore so…”

Cas’ arm fell away from Dean so that he could look at him better. Which was more dangerous and less comforting than his touch had been. “When was the last time it happened?”

Dean rubbed the edge of his hand against his wet cheek, not wanting to answer but unable to resist a direct question from Cas. He looked down at the river and cleared his throat. “Day before yesterday,” he said. If Cas were to roll his eyes, it wouldn’t be undeserved, but Cas stayed perfectly still. Dean’s fingertips brushed against his throat, wanting to say what happened, but unable to describe that part. “He was mad I brought Sam home. Against orders.”

He dropped his hand again, but Cas’ eyes stayed on his throat. Where a fading bruise could be taken for a smear of motor oil. Cas sharply inhaled, putting pieces together. His eyes scanned the rest of Dean’s body, pausing on his shoulder.

“Your broken arm,” said Cas.

“Yeah, uh,” said Dean. Thinking he’d find something better. “Yeah.” There wasn’t really a way to allay it. “He caught me— We were arguing. About eventing, and Zepp, and I thought if I could just get away from him. And he caught me on the steps and I— I fell down.”

“He’ll kill you,” Cas said.

Dean’s head jerked upward, facing Cas directly. “No,” he said. “He doesn’t want to do that.”

“So he’s in control when he hurts you,” said Cas.

“No!” said Dean quickly. Because that couldn’t be true. His father loved him or could. “When he’s mad he just— It flares up and then it’s over. And he’s sorry about it.”

“So he’s out of control,” said Cas. “Which means you’re in danger. Every time.”

Dean parted his lips to answer but Cas had him in a bind. Either John’s anger was out of control and a constant threat or it was in control and was used with full intention. Neither was good for Dean.

“I don’t want to leave,” said Dean, and that was more true than any of the apologies he’d tried to make on John’s behalf. He looked down between them. “I just want it to stop.”

Cas took a breath, almost started to say something, then didn’t. There was a kind of understanding in that holding back.

“What was it like for you?” Dean asked. It was the only reason he’d said anything. So that Cas would open up to him in turn. Cas thought there were things they had in common that Dean would understand.

“Different, probably,” said Cas. He went quiet, struggling with what to say, his eyes gazing nowhere as he grouped his thoughts. It was far easier to talk about Dean’s troubles than his own. “My mother was… unstable. Religious. Which made her hard to live with at the best of times. Never knowing which mother you were going to get.”

Dean could understand that. John was volatile too. It was a lot of work just planning for what version of John he’d meet in any given scenario.

“Would she hurt you?” he asked. He used the same word on purpose.

Cas didn’t cry, but he looked distant. “Yes,” he said. “She’d… She had punishments. She’d drag me by the ear to lock me in a cupboard for— for hours, when I’d done wrong.” Dean knew without Cas having to say that ‘doing wrong’ could be anything from causing trouble to colouring too loudly. He couldn’t imagine Cas being a trouble-making kid, not on purpose. But he mentioned being different when he grew up. Too emotional, finding it difficult to connect. That would be ‘wrong’ too.

“If we didn’t listen or were found impertinent, she would slap us,” said Cas.

“We?” said Dean.

“My siblings and I,” said Cas.

“I never knew you had siblings,” said Dean.

“Four of them,” said Cas. “They never left. I think. If they had, I hope they’d find me.” He shifted, picking at clover. “Then again, they had less trouble listening or understanding the right answer. I could never seem to figure it out. I was… different. And because I was a… a target, I think they didn’t always know that they had more in common with me than her.”

“And that’s why you left?”

Cas looked away and it told Dean how much more complicated it was than that.

“You said once…” Dean wet his lips before he spoke. “You said you didn’t feel like you had a choice.”

“I didn’t,” said Cas. “It was either live the way they wanted me to live, or leave. And I chose to leave.”

That made Cas probably the strongest person Dean knew. And just as Cas found it simpler to talk about Dean’s troubles, Dean found it easier to think of all Cas deserved.

“Remember what else you said?” Dean asked, the idea lighting up his mind as a fix for Cas’ incredible loneliness. “That you’d want a place with fresh air and animals where everything’s right. What if that was us? You know, like, around here so I didn’t really have to leave, but not with my dad, and—”

Cas was looking at him strangely. Dean’s excitement must have been somehow out of place, or the idea unappealing when Dean included himself. Cas hadn’t been making an offer of somewhere to stay, for Dean, when he warned him that John was a danger. This must not be what he was thinking of it all.

“Sorry,” said Dean quickly. His face flushed again, not helped by the heavy heat of the day. “I thought— When you said that, it sounded— It sounded so nice. But you want that on your own.”

“No, not on my own,” said Cas. “That defeats the point.”

“Right,” said Dean, and he placed his hands on the ground beside him, about to launch himself away from his foolish entry into the conversation. He needed to get away from Cas. He was hot. He should swim. If he could bear to get undressed.

Cas curled a hand around the inside of Dean’s arm just above the crease of his elbow. It wasn’t an iron grip, but it was solid, keeping him in place when he otherwise would’ve gone.

“I like spending my time with you,” Cas said in a rush. It was like he was answering something else, something neither of them had said. He didn’t look at Dean. “If I could give you somewhere to stay, away from your father— If you wanted that, I would do it.”

“We’re just—” Dean hesitated. “We’re just talking dreams, Cas,” he said.

“Why should it only be a dream?” said Cas.

This was more than Dean had ever reckoned on. So heavy it felt like lifting a weight from the bottom of a river.

“I mean that if you want to leave,” said Cas, “then you should. You could do it.” He let go of Dean’s arm, fingertips dragging away from his skin.

“It’s not as simple as that,” said Dean, finding himself confused. In one breath he suggested buying a farm with Cas, and in the next that he could never leave his father. It was just that what they talked about sounded too perfect to ever truly exist. How could Dean put any faith in something that exceeded his wildest dreams like that?

“If I bought a house with space for horses,” said Cas.

“Jeez, Cas,” said Dean.

“Would you come stay?”

“Are you for real?”

“If I could do it this minute, I would,” said Cas. “I don’t want to say goodbye and know you’ll go back to that house with John.”

“Could you do it?” said Dean. “Is that even possible?”

“I could figure it out,” said Cas. “One word. From you, and…”

“You think we can do this?” said Dean. “Then… Okay.”

And that was all it took. Cas leaned forward and kissed him.

Dean didn’t have time to think of it or react. The press of their lips was warm, sudden. A dangerous spark in a dry forest. As he pulled back, so did Cas, looking anxious.

“What was that?” said Dean.

Cas hadn’t looked away from Dean’s face, although there was something to the way he held his body, like he expected to run. “I just—” he said. His voice was every bit as gravelly and flat as usual, but he sounded uncertain, a rare note. “I…”

Cas had kissed him. Dean’s brain and body couldn’t make sense of it, couldn’t work together in any sensible way any longer. His heart started pounding. The heat of the day made sweat rise on the back of his neck and above the lip of his mouth. He was frozen but he was supposed to be doing something. Running from this, striking out, kissing Cas, jumping into the river.

“I shouldn’t’ve—” Cas looked stricken now. “I want to help you and it’s not— I made a mistake.”

Wasn’t this Dean’s fault? Just days ago he had wrapped himself around Cas in the shade of a garden and silently begged for his affection in any shape. He’d had that untoward dream the same night. The colour rose high in Dean’s cheeks and he looked swiftly at the river. Cas hadn’t kissed him in the dream, only touched him, but already Dean’s mind was conflating the real and the imagined, completely out of his control. Dean had stared too long the night of the rain storm. He’d been wrong to and he’d made this happen and it was all because he was broken up into pieces and he got things confused and now there was this, which was too much to handle.

Next to him, Cas rested his forehead against his fist, eyes scrunching closed. “I’m sorry, Dean,” he said.

Dean’s mouth remembered the touch of their lips and wouldn’t let go. He felt they were reddened by Cas’ kiss, the same as that day in the attic, that day when enchantment poisoned itself into sharp fear and which was exactly like right now. There was something wrong with him for all of this. For the fact that he wanted to kiss Cas again and really know what it felt like. If he was damned he wanted to know what he was damned for.

“I’m sorry,” Cas said again. “I thought you were like me.”

It struck Dean for the first time what that would mean. What it would be to be like Cas. What it meant Cas was. And how if he were to say Cas was correct right now, that Dean was not like him, it didn’t feel at all true. How if he were to be able to act on what was true, that would mean giving over to what was in him. He felt so miserable and scared and all he wanted was for Cas to cover over Dean’s body with his own. To hide in Cas’ collar, in the very hollow of his clavicle, the place he’d wanted to kiss just three days ago when he stole comfort from Cas in the garden.

He dragged his gaze back to Cas, who looked equally mired in his own despair.

“Cas,” he said, not certain of what he meant to follow. And when Cas looked at him he leaned in and kissed him.

Cas lost a sound against Dean’s mouth, a melting hum. His hand found the small of Dean’s back. This kiss came with another renewed one, chasing it, then Dean bowed his head, breaking it off but not breaking away. His body shifted deeper into Cas, his hand clutching Cas’ shirt, his forehead resting against the base of Cas’ neck. Cas held onto him this time, cheek brushing against the top of Dean’s head. A hand came up to stroke through Dean’s hair.

“Cas,” he said wretchedly.

“It’s okay,” said Cas. As much as anything could be okay. For a bare second, Dean wanted to believe it would be.

[amazingspider-z]

potentially partially inspired by @wazzappp 's Mantis Blade au in terms of Khaji Da giving Jaime funky little extras (that make him suffer so much) i present the wing portion of the Reachling au!

Inspired by that time he fell from orbit without Khaji Da in issue #36 of the 2006 run.

Basically, my current working theory is that Khaji Da was prepping a bunch of. Ahem. extras that just needed to be triggered to cause the musculoskeletal change just in case, and while it was initializing the reboot they activated the wings along with the forcefield, which. Doing it all at once as they were shutting down definitely hurt like hell, but Jaime did get out of orbit without breaking (almost) every bone in his body so. A win is a win (until he decompresses enough for everything to sink in, anyway).

Like actual beetle wings, they fold up, although Jaime doesn't have elytra unless he is actually suited up, and if Khaji Da lends a hand they can even fold up beneath the skin. They're also the wings he has from this point on as the Blue Beetle, although like the rest of him they end up armored, and have that extra technological oomph.

[crismakesstuff]

cleaned up this old doodle so I can officially hop on the mlp invincible au

alicorn nolan and earth pony debbie are very special to me

[silverskye13]

As is my want, my brain has cycled back around to that really tragic sculk horror au I still desperately want to write.

[wraithdolll]

moonwatcher