#magpie writing

[reanimatedmagpie]

a little self contained story i'm working on

will be an illustrated short story i think? We shall see but that's the plan

a man gets cast out of the only human settlement in an ancient concrete megastructure for having a deadly disfiguring disease and finds solace in a strange creature from the shadows.

their only viable food source is human meat from people that hunt them.

Slowly but surely, they come to care for, rely on, and understand each other. So much so that their mind melds into one.

a part of my attempt to get weirder and gayer with art among other things

[story is intended for mature audiences]

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Smell Check [Easy: Failure]

MDZS Disco Elysium AU part 1 (part 2 - part 3)

[slashmagpie]

Look, he’s no idiot. He’s no cheater, either. He knows that it’s extraordinarily unwise to be sneaking around the dungeon of Decked Out when you’re not playing the game itself. But the thing is—the thing is, is that Bdubs dreams. And when Bdubs dreams, he can’t always control where he goes, and sometimes—sometimes that’s right into the heart of the dungeon.

Here’s the other thing: Bdubs sleeps a lot. More than most. Sunset to sunrise, he’s curled up under the covers of his bed, fast asleep and dreaming. Others—other people, they stay up all night, attract all the phantoms. Not Bdubs! He’s the only sane, rational person on this server. He sleeps. But the others—they stay up all night.

Recently, they’ve been staying up all night playing Decked Out. 

Bdubs doesn’t know if Tango sleeps anymore. He certainly hopes Tango sleeps, but the man is too engrossed in his redstone for his own good sometimes. Maybe now that the game is done, is launched, is actively being played, he’ll take a nap or two. But right now, Bdubs is dreaming, and Tango is in the dungeon, and Bdubs, against his will, is here too.

Tango is not-quite-solid, ephemeral, and Bdubs gets the sense that if he were awake and standing where he is, he wouldn’t be able to see Tango at all. Tango doesn’t seem to see him, either, back turned as he approaches a ravager on the bank of the River of Souls. 

Ghostlike, Tango presses his forehead against the (unknowing, unseeing) ravager’s, a smile on his face. The ravager slips through Tango’s form, leaving Tango pressed against its side, but he seems unfazed, patting affectionately at its flank with a hand. “Good job, Pumpkin,” he says, and Bdubs can hear the pride in his voice, the hint of a laugh. “Good job. You listened. I appreciate the effort.”

In his dreams, Bdubs can’t feel the chill of the dungeon; he’s toasty and warm under the blankets of the waiting room bed. (Okay, look, he may also be spending the night at Decked Out, but at least he’s sleeping—if he pays attention, he can hear the faint, unintelligible babble of voices in the waiting room, see the soft golden light through his eyelids. He flinches away from it, back into the dungeon, back into his sleep. The others may be content to spend the entire night waiting and dying to ravagers, but Bdubs needs his beauty sleep.) And—hey, what was he thinking about again?

Oh, right.

Bdubs can’t feel the chill of the dungeon, but a chill runs down his spine nonetheless as Tango looks at the ravager with cub’s blood on its teeth with affection and pride. And—okay, the whole point of the game is getting killed (or, preferably, not killed) by ravagers, they’d all signed up for this, they knew what they were in for—but did Tango have to look so… happy about it? So fond of the murderous beasts he’d wrangled for their entertainment? Did he have to look so—

Hm. Now that Bdubs is looking—

Tango’s ghostlike form doesn’t have a shadow, but it trails off towards the end, less him and more ghost, an echo of some sort, and the ghost tendrils stretch into the snow and the water and the stone of the walls. It’s almost like a spider’s web, Tango’s consciousness at the centre of it, flickering and ephemeral. Tango lets out a contented sigh, and Bdubs swears he hears the dungeon sigh too, and out of the water where Cub died the blood starts to drain, though Bdubs can’t tell where it’s draining to. It’s just—there, and then smaller, and then gone, and Tango swipes his tongue across his pointed canines, and Bdubs feels cold. Colder. The tendrils stretch long, and the more Bdubs looks, the more he sees, and he can’t quite tell anymore where the dungeon ends, and Tango begins, and hang on, is Tango a spider on his web or are those tightening more like puppet strings as Tango turns—

His eyes land on Bdubs, and he frowns, the smile slipping from his face. The dungeon feels darker than it did a second ago. Bdubs flinches back, because Tango shouldn’t be able to see him, even if he’s also not in his body right now—

“You shouldn’t be here,” Tango says. “Cheater.”

Bdubs opens his mouth to defend himself, but he doesn’t even get the chance before he’s gasping awake in bed, covered in a cold sweat, shooting straight upwards. The movement draws Scar’s attention, and he looks over, one eyebrow raised.

“You’re up late, Bdubs,” he comments, teasing.

It takes Bdubs a moment to find his words. “Hard to sleep with all this racket!” he grumbles, scowling as he pulls the covers back.

“Oh.” Scar blinks. “Do you want us to be quiet?”

“Yeah, we can quiet down for you man, if you need us to,” Jevin offers.

Bdubs shakes his head. “No, no, I’m up now.” In truth, he doesn’t think he could sleep again after that even if he wanted to.

And now that he’s thinking about that, he’s thinking about—

“Hello there,” Tango greets, dipping past Scar and into the room. He glances at Bdubs, and then just past him, not a hint of what just transpired on his face. He’s back in his body, solid and whole again, and he looks—fine. Frosty and blue, like he’s been all season, basically, at this point, but—fine. Tired, maybe, but they’re all tired. It’s the lack of sleep.

(Does Tango even need to sleep, anymore? Dungeons don’t need to sleep, after all. Ravagers don’t sleep. Do spiders sleep? Do—?)

Tango turns away from greeting Jevin to look at Bdubs, a grin on his face. “Bubbles, how you doing?”

Bdubs jumps, startled from his thoughts, and doesn’t get an answer in before Tango is distracted by Jevin once again. The two of them talk game mechanics, and Bdubs stares at Tango, trying to find any hint on his face, in his body language, of what exactly he is, but—

He’s too awake, darn it. If he’d still been sleeping, maybe he could have seen something, but it’s late, and he’s awake, and Tango looks as ordinary as ever. 

“I saw you petting a ravager down there,” he says at last, and Scar gives Bdubs a weird look, but Tango doesn’t seem surprised. He just laughs, shaking his head.

“No, no, no, no. I was reprimanding them.”

“Yes, you were!”

“—for their vicious attacks—”

“You’re rooting against us!”

“—on my… friends, here.” 

There’s a weird pause, a solid second or two where Tango seems to struggle to get the word friends out of his mouth, and when he does the tone is flat, insincere. Scar is still frowning at Bdubs. He doesn’t notice the way Tango’s expression flickers. Bdubs notices. Bdubs can’t tear his eyes away.

Hey, is it cold in here?

“I’m starting to learn something dark about you, with all the laughing and smiling you’ve been doing while we’re strugglin’!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tango says, then smiles, turning away to Scar, changing the topic of the conversation. They move on, teasing Grian for being AFK, and Bdubs—

God, Bdubs needs more sleep. 

[sixteenth-days]

avian-ificated scar? or watcher joe. for the fanon swap!

Scar woke up with a jolt, an echo of catastrophic damage still ringing in his ears.

Respawning back on Hermitcraft after a final death on the Life Series was always disorienting, so he didn't bother to rouse himself right away, instead staring up at the intertwining branches above his head and letting himself readjust slowly.

Well, at least the last one hadn't been his fault! And for all Grian's fretting, too. So far as Scar was concerned, that made them even. He drew in a long breath, released it.

There was Jellie's warm weight next to his leg. There was the sound of the leaves, rustling faintly in the wind. There were a few aches and pains in his knees and ankles when he moved, which was pretty standard, and some soreness in his back, which was less so. He yawned, stretched his arms over his head. His back popped satisfyingly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of black and white feathers, and blinked.

"Grian?" he said, out loud, even though that didn't make any sense, because he was very much alone in the room, and Grian's feathers were very much red anyways, but-

Huh.

Scar sat, and watched the wing unfold. It was largely a black that gleamed blue in the sunlight, interrupted by a broad swath of white down the middle.

Jellie, roused by the movement, cracked an eye open irritably, raised a sleepy paw to bat at the long feathers trailing from the wingtip. Scar, on some instinct he didn't entirely understand, flinched, and the wing flinched too, twitching away from her claws.

Scar blinked.

GoodTimeWithScar -> Grian: uMMMM GoodTimeWithScar -> Grian: SORRY FOR CAPS GoodTimeWithScar -> Grian: I HAVE A PROBLEM

[jackdaw-and-hattrick]

Hey Brother

Inspired by Loli-kolinaki by larunde

Dick and Danny Greyson were close. The nine and seven-year-old seemed almost more like twins. That was until tragedy struck the Flying Greysons, both parents dying and the youngest disappearing without a trace, leaving Dick to his own devices until Bruce Wayne came to the rescue. He would come to be known as Robin, then later Nightwing, never stopping his search for his missing brother. Over time, as no new evidence came forward, Dick became convinced his brother was dead. He would be half right.

Danny Fenton didn't have many memories from before he found himself in the Amnity foster system, but what he did know he treasured, holding soft memories of kind smiles and high-flying acts. He did his best to stay connected to his roots, maintaining his acrobatic training and Romani. Then came his accident, and all that took a back seat. The accident had an odd effect, bringing back memories of falling through the broad green he now knew to be the Ghost Zone. As his relationship with other ghosts improved, he began spending time with Desiree, both bonding over their shared heritage, separated by centuries as they were. She came to care for the boy (he would not call her good, never good, but she was sweet, and that was enough)

A twenty-one-year-old Dick was having what could be called a mental breakdown. Jason, his brother was dead, and the last time they’d talked had been a screaming match two weeks before his death. His adopted dad was midway through his own shitstorm and was generally being a bitch intent on getting himself killed as well, there was a literal child following them everywhere and the damn insult of a clown was still standing. He was high when he said it, with no idea anyone was listening, let alone the consequences it would have.

“I just... I wish I had my brother.”

.

.

.

“So you have wished it, so it shall be.”

.

.

.

Desiree at least had the decency to give Danny a heads-up before sending him to a separate universe to help mend his long-lost brother’s fractured life. The rules were simple; Danny could not do anything to reveal his identity, and could not return to Amnity until they knew who he was. He could use his powers, but quickly realized that if he was going to get through to his brother’s family he’d be best off at least pretending to be human. There was no Phantom without Amnity, instead, Gotham got Magpie, a man more on vacation than a mission with a spirit box on his hip and a penchant for areal silk.

Things maintained like that for a while. The Bat colony was making progress; Tim had been successfully put through therapy and had more or less stopped incessantly stalking Danny. That was until one day a chill ran down his spine. Danny did not know Jason Todd, so when he found the kid wandering around with no memories and a soul barely hanging on to a broken body, he had no idea that this was more or less his brother. Still, he took care of him, helping nurse him back to health. Eventually, Jason decided to start working with Magpie under the name Cardinal, keeping his distance from the Colony until such time as he can look at them without wanting to punch someone (luckily being Cardinal means he can do that without questions)

[thebitchesterbrothers]

„Nobody leaves this room until we’ve found my ring!“

Oh, great. Ava needs to be at the other end of the campus for her next class in fifteen minutes.

„Is he serious right now? It’s not our fault he lost his stuff.“ Doug, one of the other students dramatically rolled his eyes.

„Oh come on, have some sympathy. It’s probably antique and ridiculously expensive. Just help him find it and we can all be on our way.“

Just five minutes ago Ava was listening to Professor Gadlings lecture about early modern drama when he noticed the lack of his ring. One of the braver students had once asked him about his kind of uncharacteristically flashy ring he was sporting on his left hand.

The professor was known on campus as a very down-to-earth guy, almost suspiciously normal. Wearing cozy and practical clothes he always gave off the impression of a perfect son-in-law. In Ava’s opinion there was still a kind of mysterious aura about him but she never managed to put it into words. Not too much was known about him despite his cheery and social behavior.

It all added to his attractiveness. If one was into middle aged history professors…so basically at least half of the class had a crush on Mister Gadling and Ava surely was a leading member of the unofficial Dr. Robert Gadling fan club. For academic purposes only, of course.

That particular ring however didn’t seem like something the man would buy for himself. It was gold, beautifully carved and had a massive ruby embedded in the center of it.

It was just a touch too flamboyant for their professor that there had to be a story behind it.

But all he would give them as an answer was a sly smile and a cryptic comment about „how Shakespeare would die of jealousy if he could see him now.“

Said ring was now missing. When Gadling noticed his bare finger all hell broke loose.

Running his hands frantically through his hair, pulling it into a tight ponytail only to undo it seconds later. Crawling under his cluttered desk and painfully bumping his head in the process.

For a minute or two it was admittedly funny to watch the man sweat but now Ava just felt sorry for him. If she’d own such an obviously expensive piece of jewellery she would freak out too. Maybe it was an old family heirloom of some kind. The man owned all kinds of weird historic stuff, that much was for sure.

And apparently now they all had to help him find it if they wanted to leave this room anytime today.

So this is how Ava finds herself now on the surprisingly clean floors of lecture hall number five, looking for a shiny piece of metal along with her classmates.

Gadling seems to slowly but surely drift off into panic mode, spurring them on while turning every pocket of his trousers inside out, his hair sticking in every direction like one of the cartoon characters from her childhood. A mad scientist indeed.

“It has to be in this room! Keep looking! I can’t go home without it…and believe me when I say we’re all going to have a terrible night of disturbing dreams if we don’t manage to find it!” What is that supposed to mean, please?

Just as he’s about to flip his desk - yes, the very heavy and very antique looking desk - an unfamiliar voice breaks the chaotic atmosphere.

“Are you looking for something specific, professor? You seem quite distressed.”

And if Mister Gadling appeared ‘distressed’ before he’s outright shocked now.

In front of the old oak door leading into freedom - Ava can’t wait to finally leave this madhouse - stands the most gorgeous and posh looking goth prince she’s ever seen. Damn, those cheekbones alone are to die for, but his voice…dark, soothing, absolutely mesmerizing. The man looks regal even in a place that is anything but. That long flowing coat is a bit much though.

“Oh. You. Are here.” What happened to her eloquent professor?

“Indeed I am, Hob.” Hob? What kind of nickname is that?

“I mean why? Why exactly are you here? It’s just that you never visited before.”

Ava crawls back from under her chair to not miss a minute of whatever the hell this is.

She swears that Gadling - Hob, she remembers - starts to blush like a shy school girl. Who is that man that makes her professor lose his cool?

Meanwhile the rest of the classroom stopped the search for the ring, instead staring without shame at the play in front of them.

“My duties prevented me from visiting one of your lectures. I apologize for that. But you missed something of great value this morning. I thought you might want it back.”

And with that emo king (Ava really needs to find out that man’s name) calmly walks towards her professor, completely unaffected by his nosy audience.

Once he reaches the other man he gently takes his hand, opens it … and places a ring into his palm. Not just any ring, no.

The ring that “definitely has to be in this room”, as Ava recalls professor Gadlings voice. So much for that.

The stranger looks clearly amused at mister Gadlings obvious embarrassment.

“You left it next to the sink after washing the dishes. Then you realized how late you were and forgot to put it back on. I had to stop Matthew from hiding it under his pillow.”

Did Gadling have a cat? That man would surely get a cat and name it Matthew.

Gadling looks as relieved as he looks stressed by now.

“Thank you. I may have overreacted a bit.”

More than a few students agree on that but are too smart to make a comment.

That dark dream of a man fondly tucks a strand of hair behind their professors ear and wow, what’s happening? Ava tries to be as silent as possible to not ruin this moment. Her friends will never believe her.

Apparently Gadling finally found his voice again.

“You came all this way just to…”

“To take your wedding ring where it belongs, husband.”

And with that he places an almost chaste kiss on the other man’s lips and abruptly turns around to leave the - absolutely stunned and silent - room. Everyone is openly staring at poor mister Gadling now. Ava is pretty sure she saw one of the younger students filming or at least taking a picture of the whole thing. She’ll have to ask for evidence.

“Okay listen. None of this ever happened. You saw and heard nothing. Thank you for your help. Goodbye.”

Gadling quickly dismisses his students and almost flees the lecture hall.

Days later Ava still isn’t sure she witnessed a very elaborate fever dream

[aromagpie]

people constantly arguing about "we need more aroace rep" "we need more alloace rep" "we need more alloaro rep" maybe we just need more aspec rep in general

[n0ahsferatu]

character sheet for my tav mordred :) a grumpy goth weirdo who secretly has a very sensitive heart but has to act like a pissed off possum at all times to keep up appearances. it’s a harsh world for little guys out there. (his nickname is mort)

[marlynnofmany]

Just a Rock

For all the time I’ve spent traveling through space, I haven’t spend much of it actually out in space. It’s unsettling. Inside the ship, I can forget how close the airless void is, how small our precious bubble of air. But outside, everything is black like some vast creature ate all the color in the universe first, then the air, and is now hungering for life forms too.

Sometimes those distant stars look like teeth.

These are the thoughts that tend to pop up when I’m in my exo suit, hoping that my thruster pack doesn’t run out of fuel before I make it back to the ship. But then an empty pack of chips will float by my visor, and I can refocus on business.

That’s how it happened today, at any rate. (And yes, “day” is a silly concept in the blackness of space.) We’d made a detour to see if we could pick up some extra funds by gathering salvage from a museum ship that had gone kablooey, but so far all we were finding was trash.

Paint jetted past in her own exo suit, upside-down to my frame of reference, then stopped to pull apart a jumble of carpet fragments. “They really did clear out the good stuff already,” she said over the radio. She swatted aside a drink cup with her tail, looking like a little space-suited dinosaur, a thought that kept me entertained for a good few seconds.

Captain Sunlight’s voice said, “Keep an eye out for scrap metal. That may already be gone too, but it’s worth a shot.” She was somewhere else in the drifting junk pile, or maybe back near the ship; I couldn’t tell. There was too much stuff in the way. This was a mildly alarming thought — out of sight meant out of safety — but I caught a glimpse of the Frillian twins posted as safety guards at the edge of the cloud, and my heartbeat settled a bit.

“Do you think anyone will buy some mildly used carpet?” Paint asked the captain. “It’s only in several pieces.”

“Let’s go with ‘no.’”

“What about some very exotic — what is this — napkins? Made with authentic Earth wood fibers!”

I looked over at that. “How can you tell?”

“Oh, I have no idea,” Paint said. She held up half of a wall placard. “But this is from the Earth exhibit, so maybe the napkins are too.”

I looked around at the trash in a new light. “Man, it’s a pity we weren’t here for any of the good stuff.”

“Yeah, and all these food packages are empty! We can’t even get you a slightly exploded taste of home!”

I waved my hand through a cluster of soda bottles. “I appreciate the thought.”

Paint jetted over to a different pile of whatever. “Hey, do you think any of this food trash was actually an exhibit? Packaging from olden days?”

“Uh, maybe,” I said. “Probably not. That’s not the sort of thing I’d expect on a multi-species museum ship. A janky little humans-only one, maybe. But even then, most people aren’t going to care.”

Something clunked against the back of my helmet. I hate that. Nothing like a reminder that I can’t see behind me like some species can. I toggled the jets to rotate in place, so I could find the offending object.

It was a rock.

“What’s this doing here?” I asked, closing a gloved hand around it and bringing it in for a closer look.

“What’d you find?” Paint asked, sticking out sideways from behind a twisted bench.

“A rock.”

“A meteorite rock?” she asked. “Oh hey, do you think it pierced the hull?”

“No, it doesn’t look like a space rock,” I said, turning the small gray-and-white lump over. It was mostly smooth, with a divot that would have fit a fingertip if I hadn’t been wearing the gloves. “Weird. I wonder if it was part of some Neolithic exhibit or something.”

“Can I see?” Paint jetted over to park herself in roughly the same orientation as me. She was very good with that jetpack.

I showed her the rock. “It doesn’t look like any gemstone I know. Maybe some kid had it in their pocket, then threw it away.”

Paint cocked her head. “Is that normal, for your young to carry rocks around?”

“Sure. You never picked up something you thought was neat as a kid?”

“Not a rock,” Paint said with exaggerated disdain. “A sweet-smelling seednut or herb, absolutely.”

“But look: it’s even got a little finger groove,” I pointed out. “You could stick it in a pocket and rub it for luck.”

“Could you?”

I smiled. “You could. You probably wouldn’t, but…”

“Why?”

I looked at the rock again, already fond of it. “I get the feeling that I couldn’t explain this to a point where you’d agree.”

Paint shrugged. “Probably not. But hey, we found you a souvenir after all. From probably the Earth section of whatever museum this is.” She grabbed a handful of colorful pamphlets drifting by. “The ‘Galaxy in a Bottle Museum Tour Ship.’ Who named that?”

My smile turned into a wide grin. “Humans.”

Paint grumbled about the unflattering comparison of an elite starship to a simple bottle. When she moved to toss the pamphlets away, I held out a hand.

“What’s that white one?” I asked. “It looks like a display sign.”

Paint flipped over the stack and separated the one I meant. “You’re right. Hey, it’s about a rock!”

I reached out a grabby hand. “Gimme.”

She passed it over. “Is it that rock?”

I read the title, then was gut-punched by familiarity. I’d heard about this. “Yes,” I managed, skimming the rest of the sign and holding the rock close. “This is Bethan’s Rock.”

“What?”

I fumbled to explain. “Ages ago, a kid visited a museum — a human kid — and learned what museums were for, then offered her favorite rock as a donation, so other people could appreciate it too.”

Paint cocked her head in the other direction. “And they took it?”

“Yes!” I must have looked a little wild at this point, but I didn’t care. “The adults agreed that it was a fine thing to donate, not to mention adorable, and the only one of its kind that I’ve ever heard of. More museums should house the occasional favorite rock, though I suppose they wouldn’t be as special if they did.”

“So just to clarify,” Paint said. “There isn’t anything valuable about this rock, except that one of your youths decided there was. And all the adults played along.”

I smiled down at it, careful not to let it drift away. “It’s the most precious non-precious stone I’ve ever seen.”

Paint stared for a moment. “It’s not even one of those shiny ones you like.”

I laughed. “I know!”

The captain called us back in at that point, having found one decent chunk of metal among the mountains of trash. We had a schedule to keep.

I folded the sign and tucked it into my suit pocket, but held the rock tight in my fist as I jetted toward the ship, working the controls with one hand. I was already thinking of the safest place in my quarters to keep it until we got ahold of the proper Earth museum authorities. Other humans would want to see Bethan’s Rock, after all, but it would be my honor to watch over it until they could.

~~~

(Inspired by this post. Long live Bethan’s Rock.)

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character of this book. More to come!

[the-modern-typewriter]

If possible, can i request a second part to the thief (magpie) x detective one? It was really great and i'd love to see more, if you feel like!

I hope you are having a lovely day!!

Part 1 here

"You look stressed, detective." They heard the smile in the Magpie's voice. "My detective."

The detective's heart leapt up into their throat. They started to straighten, to turn away from the railing of the pier, only for the Magpie's hand on their back to stop them. It was a gentle enough touch. Not especially threatening. The detective still went completely still.

It seemed impossible that they didn't remember the face of the thief behind them. They had stared right at them. Part of them were sure that, despite all evidence to the contrary, if they could just get another look they would remember.

"If you turn, I'll leave," the Magpie said.

"Not so sure you'd get away free this time?"

"No," the Magpie laughed.

The detective didn't know if they meant 'no, they weren't sure they'd get away free' or 'no, that wasn't it at all, and it was funny that the detective thought for a second that it was.'

The magpie's hand was warm against the detective's back.

Slowly, the detective eased themselves back into their previous position - bent leaning their arms on the railing, cigarette in one hand like a cliché, staring at the water. They decided to name their compliance curiosity.

They wanted to ask how come they couldn't remember the details of the Magpie's face, how they couldn't remember much of the details of their last conversation at all, but even asking the question felt like giving the Magpie an advantage. It showed how much the detective didn't know.

"Good." There was no particular teasing to the Magpie's voice, only simple praise, and it made something tug in the detective's stomach. Before they had time to overthink that too much, the Magpie's hand slid up to the nape of the detective's neck.

"Don't."

The Magpie stopped.

"I'm not going to hurt you."

"Why are you here?" The detective turned the cig in their hand. "What do you want?"

"Nasty habit, smoking. It will kill you."

"Everything kills you in the end."

"Ooh, broody." That was teasing. Mocking.

"What do you want?" the detective snapped.

The Magpie's thumb grazed robber-quick over the throbbing points of tension clustered at the detective's neck and shoulder, before their hand fell away entirely. The detective wondered if the thief would be gone if they glanced around. Without the touch, there was no anchor. They couldn't hear the Magpie's breathing over the roar of the waves.

"I wanted to check on you. Your coat's thin, too. I'd get you a new one, but they'd accuse you of bribery if anyone found out, wouldn't they? Even if it wasn't true."

The detective didn't know what to do with that. They didn't know what to say to that. Had the Magpie come to gloat? They weren't especially acting like they had. Yet what else could it be? It made no conceivable for a thief to care for the detective trying to catch them, no matter how odd the thief. They were strangers, besides everything else.

"It would be such a nice coat." The Magpie sounded wistful. "Softest, warmest, most beautiful thing you've ever owned. I'd love seeing you in it."

"Costs more than my year's salary too, no doubt, knowing you."

"It's no fun to spoil you with things you could get yourself."

It was a ridiculous notion to even entertain. The Magpie was probably just...being something. Then there was the whole bribery thing, given detective's really couldn't accept ludicrously expensive gifts (or gifts at all) from thieves. Yet. Maybe, just maybe, if they let the Magpie do that, let the thief get closer, they'd get close enough to catch. Maybe they'd be able to figure out where the coat came from, assuming the Magpie was even being serious. It wasn't like any of the conventional methods were working. They hadn't been in months, and no one else had made any headway on the Magpie case either.

"Sure," they said, with a huff, keeping their voice light and flippant. "If it pleases you."

They almost felt the Magpie's stare, their pinprick attention, gem bright and needle sharp.

"Dangerous promises, that."

"Hm?"

"It it pleases me." The Magpie's voice was suddenly very close by their ear, amused and not all flippant, and the detective's mouth was dry again. It took everything they had not to instinctively turn. They felt the Magpie's breath against their cheek, the proof that they were real, no phantom, no hallucination. "Would you let me do whatever I pleased with you then, detective?"

The detective's fingers tightened on the edge of the railing. They shivered, and the blamed the biting chill of Autumn starting to deepen and darken. They took a drag to avoid saying something stupid, or making a sound they might regret. They exhaled and managed to speak, fingers and soul burning up a little more.

"You take liberties, my thief."

"I take a lot of things, we've established that." But the Magpie sounded more cheerful than before.

"Memories?"

It sort of slipped out. Impossible though it was.

The Magpie's hand rested on the back of their neck again, giving the knots of tension an expert enough squeeze that the detective sort of regretted ever telling them to stop. The Magpie's hand fell away once more.

"Don't worry, detective. I won't take more from you than you can give me. I'm not that cruel."

The detective wouldn't have been able to describe how they knew the Magpie was gone soon after that, only that they knew. They turned, and scanned the half-empty pier, and found nothing remotely out of place with any of it.

Disconcerted, and...something, they stubbed out their cigarette and headed back, as ever, to work.

The coat turned up two weeks later; a perfect fit, but not ostentatious, and utterly gorgeous. Black, and white and lined with blue. A magpie's colours.

No one else even looked twice at it.

[prince-liest]

@velvet-games drew their wonderful take on a design of my Hazbin OC Tzafael because apparently it is their goal this week to bring me immense joy. +^+!!!!

Look at those head wings! And the floating eyes - remember, you're not ever allowed to forget the looming presence of a seraph's six wings! We're all friends here! One of us is just going to be very intimidating about it at all times! (People say it's rude to avoid eye contact, surely they're just covering their bases!)

[slashmagpie]

Gem’s pretty sure Tango’s dungeon hates her.

The other hermits? They get nice, easy artefacts. Lots of embers. They get keys. Gem? Gem gets nothing. Gem gets max clank looking for a key and then pulls out a stinking Pearl of Cleansing, which, she loves Pearl, she does, but she gets more than enough of her neighbour at home, and also she thinks she deserves more than fourteen embers for the pain that she has to go through. 

She’s told Tango, of course, told him to fix his game, but he just laughs and tells her it’s bad RNG. That’s the logical, reasonable explanation, and it makes sense, except it doesn’t. Gem’s seen other hermits get keys just fine. It just hates her, for some reason she can’t fathom.

…Oh, yeah, and there’s the whole… watching other hermits get keys thing.

It’s not—she’s not cheating. Tango had banned exploring the dungeon when not playing the game, through any means: astral projection and dream walking and drones and hidden cameras alike, all of them are illegal and will be met with swift punishment. Gem hasn’t been doing that. She wouldn’t break the rules! But—well, it’s hard to explain. Sometimes she blinks and she isn’t looking through her own eyes anymore. Sometimes she blinks, and she’s much, much larger than her body, and she’s somewhere deep within the dungeon, watching someone else run.

She’s surprised Tango hasn’t caught her yet. She knows he’s there somewhere too, in the dungeon, watching with eyes that aren’t his own. She doesn’t know how she knows that, exactly, but—she knows. It’s like…

Gem can’t sleep much anymore, is the thing. At least not in her own bed. Every time she tries to go home, go back to her base and get some progress done, she finds herself restless and itching to return to the Frozen Citadel. It doesn’t matter that she’s out of shards for the week, or that the queue’s ten people long, or even that there’s no one there—Gem needs to be there. She spends a lot of time in the hallway outside of the entrance, perching in divots in the walls. Sometimes she feels frozen, like her skin’s made of stone, like she’s part of the build itself, and that’s when she blinks, and then she’s somewhere deep, deep down in the belly of the dungeon.

Gem’s not the only one hooked on the game, she knows. She’s not the only one hopelessly addicted. It’s become a bit of a joke now, how Tango is their dealer, allowing them one more hit with every new shard. She’s not the only one who camps out in Decked Out’s halls, just hanging out, watching people play and living vicariously through their enjoyment of the game she won’t get to experience again until next week. But it’s not—it’s different—the other hermits get keys, is the thing. The other hermits… 

The thing is, Gem’s noticed frost creeping up her fingers, frost that doesn’t melt when she breathes on it, frost that doesn’t rinse away when she dunks them in water. She’s noticed—something. Under her skin. Writhing and craving and only briefly satisfied when someone fails to survive the dungeon. She’s noticed the hatred. She can feel it deep in her bones whenever she’s within the dungeon’s walls.

So—Gem knows that the dungeon hates her. She knows. And she knows because she can feel it, because she’s…

Well. She doesn’t know. She’s something. She’s…

She should talk to Tango. If anyone would know, it would be Tango, with his permanently frost-covered skin, and strange absent episodes, and his near-perfect knowledge of the dungeon. If anyone would know what’s happening to her, it would be…

Gem should go and ask him. She really, really should. Before whatever this is gets any worse.

She tucks herself into her corner, the divot where the wall bends in, and waits, a statue in the hall. Through eyes that aren’t her own, she watches, and quietly seethes as Cub acquires a key.

[sourle]

HII HELLO HII HIl can i request the traffic light trio (seperate) with a bird demon s/o? As in like. Reader is a humanoid bird person kind of and mildly based off of magpie/ravens, including their behaviour

Meaning that the reader would bring the traffic light trio trinkets they find as a sign of respect and affection, or them being curious and mimicking what the others do in an attempt to bond with them better, etc etc you get the idea.

Im iust rily obsessed w birds rn ahagahdyn you can freestyle this as much as u want!! go wild w bird things i like birds a lot . crows ravens and magpies my beloved flying creechurs

thank u in advance !! :]

A great opportunity to call you Bird Anon. I did one where the reader has wings but not a real bird. Anyway, this is a cute idea! But before i got into rambling let's get to the HCS!

MK

A bird demon! Oh you both would be having a lot of fun! I see him as one who love to be in the sky as we can see most of the time he transforms into a bird or eagle, couldn't really know what the bird he changed to.

Both of you would fly on the sky while he's in his bird form. Chasing each other in a playful manner. Usually he's the one who always got tired first. Not only he's still not used to being in some form for a long time but because he's not a forever bird like you.

Those small gifts you have him? Yeah he kept it, in a special box he has only for the things you gave him.

He adored how whenever he did something he sometimes mimicked him and followed what he did.

He is sometimes not fond of your curiosity, let's just say it got the best of you and now you're hurt.

Mei

Bird demon! She dealt with demons before but knowing about a friendly one is awesome!

She loves how you sometimes copy her movement.

Watching you fly around being happy is making her happy, and adoring you from afar is something she does.. sometimes.

She definitely dresses up as a Raven/magpie once in a Halloween.

You and her would race sometimes! It would be a practice for you to test your speed, and it's helping.

Bonus point if you're able to carry her and fly up the sky with her, she definitely will streams that.

Red son

A demon s/o is definitely what he's searching for, I mean c'mon he has preference and I know for sure a demon is on the list. Why? Idk red son, powerful sh-*rambles and rambles*

You know he has anger issues right? Yeah, whenever he's mad about something or just straight up pissed off. He'll tend to avoid you, to avoid burning your feathers of course. It's too pretty to be Burnt.

He definitely asked you for a single feather to use it as a quill.

He can teleport yes, but sometimes asks you to help him get to a designated location that's far from his teleportation range.

It would be funny if you prank him, like dropping him by "Accident" or just spun around in the sky while you hugged him.

Also he found your curious and mimicking behavior funny. One time his father was reading a book you just sat next to him and read a book of your own that you have no idea what it meant.

This man studied Raven/magpie just to understand you.

[stray-kaz]

Take Off The Mask : a Kaz Brekker x f!reader Magpie verse

Summary: Magpie’s introduction. She keeps getting in ahead of the Crows on jewel heists, until one night they discover her wounded without knowing who she is or what she is doing there in that same mansion.

A/N: Thanks to @emmie44version for the Magpie idea. @writingmysanity​ I do still plan on writing from your wonderful Magpie idea also!

The corridors inside the mercher home were black as pitch and the air felt about as thick as the Crows made their way slowly through them, the eerie green glows from their bonelights the only illumination they carried. Inej edged out in front, her eyes the keenest from all her days spying in the dark. She was barely a metre from the door they wanted when she raised her empty hand, halting Kaz and Jesper in their tracks behind her.

“What is it?” Kaz muttered, frustrated by the interruption. “What’s the matter?”

Jesper peered over Inej’s shoulder, raising his bonelight high so he could see, then turned to look back at Kaz, his eyes wide and flickering a little in the glow.

“It’s a girl” he said, surprised. “There’s a girl on the floor.”

Kaz shouldered past him, rolling his eyes.

“Stop putting emphasis on ‘girl’, Jesper” he said. “You’ve seen one before.”

Behind Kaz’s back, Jesper stuck out his tongue before moving around Inej to crouch down next to the young woman lying crumpled against the shadowed wall. Maintaining his balance, he reached out and laid two fingers against the pulse under her jaw. He waited ten seconds, then nodded at the other two.

“She’s alive” he said. “Pulse is a bit iffy, though.”

Kaz took another step and winced as the sole of his shoe lifted away from the floor with a wet, sticky sound.

“That’s because she’s bleeding out” he remarked, as casually as if he were only saying the sky was blue. “Watch your step.”

Inej glanced at the girl and then up at Kaz. Her frown was determined, and he knew the look on her face.

“We have to take her with us” she said firmly. “She’ll likely die if we don’t, Kaz.”

Jesper glanced briefly at the girl’s face, then looked again, longer.

“Boss” he said quietly. “She’s wearing a mask.”

“Like a Komedie Brute mask?” Kaz asked.

Jesper shook his head.

“Nope. More like a masquerade mask.”

Sighing almost silently and crouching in spite of his painful right leg, Kaz peered more closely. Jesper was right. Holding their bonelights nearer to her face, they could all see the slick black mask set over the top half of her face, the nose a short bird’s beak, the top edges tapering high into sharp feather shapes.

Kaz straightened and glowered at Inej. She stood straight backed, uncowed.

“Inej, do you honestly expect me to save the life of the Magpie?” he demanded, shining his bonelight full on the mask so that she and Jesper could see the bright white mark slashed between the eyeholes. 

Jesper’s eyes widened, but Inej didn’t budge. She set her hands on her hips and nodded.

“Yes, Kaz” she answered promptly. “If you do not, Jes and I will do it.”

Jesper swallowed but said nothing, even as Kaz turned his unfathomable stare on him. Inej elbowed him in the ribs. Sighing heavily, Jesper handed his bonelight to her and then bent to gather the Magpie into his arms, wincing as his coat sleeve came into contact with the blood leaking from her side.

“Lovely night for a knife wound” he commented blithely.

“Lovely night to lose money” Kaz muttered in response, but he said nothing else as they returned to the front door and then to the night beyond it.

You woke in a strange room, a tight feeling wrapped around your ribs. You winced as you tried to move, levering slowly into a sitting position. The knife edge of what passed for early morning light in Ketterdam speared across the room, dimly illuminating the dark clad figure sitting in the chair beside the bed you were in. You recognised the cane in a panicked instant and hastily felt for your mask. You exhaled softly upon feeling it solidly still in place.

“Nobody touched it, Mags” Kaz Brekker, bastard of the Barrel, informed you.

In spite of your precarious state, you raised your eyebrows at that.

“‘Mags’?” you repeated, unable to keep the tiny grin from your lips.

He shrugged.

“I didn’t come up with it.”

“Nobody’s ever given my nickname a nickname before.”

A tilt of the head was all you got.

“What were you doing in that house?” he asked instead.

You shrugged back, ignoring the sore tug of the tight bandage wound snugly beneath your breasts.

“The same thing you were doing, I’d wager” you told him. “Thieving.”

A faint sneer curled across his mouth.

“You can’t be very good at it then” he said, tone blunt. “Good thieves don’t wind up with knife wounds as deep as the Fold. You nearly died in there, Magpie.”

You simply ignored this last and reacted to the barb instead.

“Good thieves also don’t wind up breaking their legs falling from windows, Dirtyhands.”

His eyes, blue as the sky above the smog, narrowed hard. 

“I’d heard of your prodigious abilities, Mags, but not your sharp tongue.”

You sent him a smile that confused his pulse.

“Shame on you then” you said, gentler than he expected. “I’ve heard of both of yours.”

You groaned a little as you eased yourself out of the bed and slipped your feet back into your leather boots. You shrugged into your hooded cloak, pulling up the hood to shade your face. Your smile under the beaked nose sent unwanted shivers down Kaz’s spine and goosebumps over his skin.

“Thanks for saving my life, Brekker” you said on your way to the door.

“It wasn’t me” he replied, too late.

You were already gone.

At the bottom of a steep flight of stairs stood a tall Zemeni man wearing a long bloodstained coat and curve brimmed hat, arms folded loosely. He cocked his head to the side at the sight of you.

“Evening, Mags” he said, failing to hide a smile.

You made your way slowly down the stairs until you stood in front of him, a Suli girl materialising beside him out of the shadows.

“So you’re the one with the nicknames” you mused, mimicking his head tilt. “What do they call you?”

Jesper grinned broadly.

“Handsome. Clever. Skilled.”

“Rash, reckless, egotistical” the girl interrupted. “And Jesper.”

“And you are?”

“Inej. I’m the reason you’re still breathing.”

You held out your hand, and after a brief hesitation, she shook it firmly.

“Magpie” you said, and grinned.

Jesper chuckled.

“Oh, we know that” he told you. “The mask gave it away.”

“As did the black wings tattooed over your shoulder blades” Inej added.

Jesper whistled long and low.

“Really? I must’ve missed those.”

Inej nudged him with her shoulder.

“That’s because seeing the half naked girl without her permission was prohibited” she reminded him, glancing at you.

“Thank you for that” you said, keeping your head high. “I think it’s high time I walked out of here. I’ve got some healing to do and a mercher to rob blind.”

There was the sound of a cane from above and then a cool, rasping voice.

“Before you go” Kaz said, standing tall at the head of the stairs. “Take off the mask.”

Jesper raised his eyebrows as you slowly pivoted on the second to bottom step and stared back up at Kaz. He met your stare with ease, leaning back on his heels, both hands curved around the head of his cane. He was unperturbed. He jerked his chin at you, along with the faintest twitch of an eyebrow, and you found your hands slowly moving upwards to your face, almost of their own accord.

You tugged your mask free and lowered it, allowing Kaz and only Kaz to glimpse your whole face, before sliding it back on.

“May I go now?” you asked with faux politeness.

Kaz nodded tersely, and the vision of your kohl smudged eyes remained with him even hours after you had slipped between Inej and Jesper and disappeared from the Slat.

Would he recognise you if he ever saw you on the street? Did he want to? They were not questions he was certain he could live with the answers to.

[many-gay-magpies]

this girl is gay af (my original character)

[lookinghalfacorpse]

the trees deny themselves nothing

READ HERE on ao3

“This is awful.”  His voice was strained, and it broke at the end of his sentences.  “I’m useless.  I can’t…” He made a terrible, choking sound that might’ve been a sob.  “I can’t.”

Philza watched.  He saw the trembling in Dream’s shoulders, the devastation that flashed across Techno’s face.  He felt a terrible ache in his chest.

He’d fix this somehow.

(dream made a prosthetic leg for himself, but it’s awful.  philza has an old friend who could fix it.)

i’m back with what i do best:  doomsday trio, medical details, and... awesamdream???  i was staring at this art by @entropicmagpie​ and it awoke my demons.  secondary shoutout to @chrysalizzm​ for combining my itwall brainrot with the butterfly chat.

SO FAR:  24k words, 18 chapters.  completed!!  part 2 maybe?

TRIGGER WARNINGS:  mentions of torture, descriptions of torture, descriptions of violence, descriptions of injury, panic attacks, ptsd, mentions of limb loss, amputation, heavy talk about prosthetics, chronic pain