#prompt: feather

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 274

You know what is fun? Baby Ghost Jason. You know what could be even more fun? Ghosts are Dragons. 

Jason? Aware of none of this. 

He was on comms, y’know listening and rolling his eyes at Dickwing, who used his real name, really Dick, he mocks. It’s just a stakeout, nothing new there, honestly boring when he could be blowing something up instead. It should have just been a stakeout. 

Yet there’s something suddenly there, something behind him. Something that causes his hair to stand on end and his comms to spark into static like some sort of horror movie. Something, something with clawed hands with corpse-pale skin tipped in black, stained or dead or something else, tilting his head up and up and up as he’s frozen. 

“A child, out here? Alone?” a voice crackles, hisses, hums, and purrs, somehow all at once, unnatural in its tone. He can’t move, he needs to move, he has to move, but it’s like the space around him has gone cold and dead, like he’s stuck in the Pits once more as claws hold his head and his vision blurs. “Sleep, child. Rest- we’ll be home soon.” 

[ky-landfill]

more winged tim? 👉👈

[blee-bleep]

hi, yes, that kronmei post made me go insane indeed-e-roo

inspo is wadamama thank you🙏

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Damian: *comes home*

The batfam: *has been turned into literal bats and birds*

Damian:

The batfam: >:(

Damian: *starts taking really good care of them and is nicer to them than ever before*

The batfam: :O

The one white bat that Damian can't identify and assumes is behind this: >:3

[deepwaterwritingprompts]

Text: My mother leaves me six large black feathers, to plant in the ground if I’m ever in danger, and water daily with a drop of my blood. It must be my blood, or the contract won’t work.

[marshmallowgoop]

ShinRan Week 2023: Day 4 | Black Knight and Princess

[tetheredfeathers]

Prompt: “How am I supposed to focus when you look at me like that?”

A little prompt challenge me and @littlemarianah started.

Click here to her version of this.

No pressure tags at my lovely mutuals to continue this challenge.

@thesweetnessofspring @mollywog @katnissdoesnotfollowback

Kiss me

I rested my back agsint the couch as I watched Peeta swirl his brush to imitate the roots of Rue’s dark hair. Watching Peeta paint was so calming, his face seemed so relaxed I wanted to place a kiss on his forehead. I noticed that his curls looked mussed and wet on his head, just like they did when he came out of my shower the night before the quarter quell.

He furrowed his eyebrows, and his face took on that special look of concentration as he dipped his brush into 3 different colors to get the color of Rue’s skin just right. I had the sudden urge to reach out and fix his right eyebrow, since one side seemed more brushed out than the other. 

I observed that after each stroke he let out a small puff of air, relieved that he didn’t make a mistake. He never used to do that before, so confident about his paintings, my heart broke as I realized it must've been due to the hijacking. His chest puffed in and out so majestically, I wanted to place my head on his heart and listen to it beat, just like  I did all those night on the victory tour. 

“How am I supposed to focus when you look at me like that?” Peeta suddenly looked up and chimed, a smile tugged on his lips.

“Like what,” I asked, surprised. What? I can’t even watch him peacefully anymore! I thought as he stared at me.

“I don’t know you’re just…” he trailed off. “Never mind.” 

Peeta went back to mixing his colors and I resumed memorizing his face.

“Here I’m done, what do you think?”

Peeta leaned in closer than he needed to as he showed me the finished picture. I took the opportunity to rest my head on his shoulder as I judged the picture for much longer than needed.

“Maybe just add some more flowers, it looks a bit empty. “I lied, wanting to watch him for just a bit longer.

“Okay,” Peeta sighed.

I budged closer to him, swept my finger across his cheek. He looked up at me, surprised.

“Eyelash,” I said.

“Oh.” Disappointment scrunching face.

“Here make a wish.” I whispered

Peeta closed his eyes and muttered something under his breath before blowing it away. I looked up at him and licked my lips. We were sitting way too close I could feel his breath on my cheek. I should move away, but really I couldn’t.

His eyes peered into mine as he looked at me questioningly, so I tipped my head and brushed my lips against his, then pulled back to watch his reaction. He gasped loudly as I leaned in again، this time pressing my whole mouth against his. Peeta groaned loudly at the back of his throat and a surge of warmth rushed through my belly, at the noises he was making. Peeta slipped his tongue out and swiped it across my upper lip, a beastly urge came over me as I eagerly opened my mouth and climbed into his lap. Our wet tongues danced against each other languidly, his hands slid up my waist and caressed places I never thought needed to be.

“You were looking at me like you wanted to kiss me,” Peeta panted out between breaths.

[redd956]

Feather Winged Whumpee Ideas

Redo of old post of mine

Whumpee's wings being sore from excessive use

Being far too exhausted or sick to lift themselves off of the ground. They seemingly have no strength left to fly

Plucking whumpee's feathers

Something goes wrong mid-flight with whumpee, and they plummet to the ground

Caretaker carefully combing their hands their whumpee's feathers, messaging and preening their wings for them, as they have no other winged people around to help them

Whumpee being weighed down, or similar to prevent them from flying away after being taken captive

Clipping whumpee's wings

Whumpee's wings being pulled on or forcefully extended, in order to see or present the feathers better

Getting caught in a thunder storm, and being struck by lighting

Forced to land on hostile ground due to extreme weather

Caretaker massaging whumpee's back where the wings connect

A whumpee breaking one of their wings, after hitting it against something in flight

Getting caught in a net or line they couldn't see while flying. Whumpee panicked, and made it worse, getting their wings horrible entangled alongside themself

Bird cage

Whumpee's wings being forcibly closed

Getting shot while flying

Whumpee landing on a high surface, winded from desperate flight and promptly collapsing via exhaustion

[makenna-made-this]

BAWKtober Day 16 - Frankenstein

Frank-HEN-stein by Mary (Egg)Shelley

[roserefrain]

Winged F/O Thoughts

🪶 Flying with them. If your S/I has wings, flying side by side, if they don’t, your F/O can still take you to the skies! Just hold on tight!

☁️ Their wings fluttering/feathers ruffling when you fluster them.

🪶 Cleaning up their feathers over and over again when they’re molting.

☁️ Their wings wrapping around you slightly whenever you hug.

🪶 Helping customize their shirts to have holes for their wings, and helping guide their wings through the holes correctly when they’re getting dressed.

☁️ Helping them preen any of those hard to reach feathers.

[itsdefinitely]

💀😡

starting off strong!

💀 least favorite lord in black and why 😡 least favorite character from npmd and why

based off design... pokey. he is so swagless please i need to give him cool pants please please why doesn't he have shiny pants and a feather boa he deserves one give him heels you cowards

as for npmd (characters who have a speaking role): brenda. hearing her talk the first time made my soul float out of my body. i didn't recognize it as bryce; i thought they genuinely got a teenager to be brenda. it just took me off guard how real she was. compared to everyone else matching their stereotype, brenda acts like. a regular teenager

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 245

Now Danny would openly admit, if only to himself, that he had a type when it came to relationships. If they were strong, if they were a threat to him, then chances were he would develop some sort of crush. It was how he had dated Sam and Valerie (And Johnny & Kitty) when he was a bit younger, and hell, Sam had technically succeeded in killing him, even if partly. 

Attraction towards smart people who could kill him was honestly par for the course for a Fenton or Nightingale anyway. 

And he’d also admit he enjoyed a bit of time travel, learning about times and culture long before his time, to the point that he could blend in in ancient times just as easily as the time he had been born in. That it was natural to mutter in a language lost to time. 

So color him surprise when another man perks up in the bar he had paused to get a drink in, vibrant green eyes gleaming in interest and responds in turn. And not just in the language, but able to keep up when he talks about things that once existed but haven’t been rediscovered yet. 

And one thing led to the other, and there might have been some assassins and some shenanigans that end with them both laughing together in an inn and then more and- Okay he has a type alright, and he’s ticking each box! How is that fair? 

[imagineacoolusername]

@carryon-countdown day 5: fight

379 words, rated G. just simon and baz having an impromptu pillow fight in their room :)

BAZ

Simon has been punching his pillow for a good five minutes now, and my patience is starting to wear thin. 

He’ll punch it for a bit, place it in bed and lay his head on it, get up as he sighs frustratedly, and start punching it again. 

After a few more rounds of this nonsense, I snap. 

“Snow. What the fuck are you doing.”

“My pillow is too high and hard.”

“And?”

“I want it to be softer.”

“And?”

“I’m making it softer.”

“By beating the hell out of it?”

He grins, “exactly.”

He then goes back to torturing his pillow, and I roll my eyes exaggeratedly, making sure he sees me, just to know how annoying he is. 

He suddenly goes quiet, and I internally thank Merlin for the moment of peace, however brief. 

“Oi, Baz!” he calls, as if we were kilometers away and not at all in the same room. 

I sigh heavily before turning to face him, but all I see is a white blur before the fucking pillow hits me square in the face. I stay frozen as the pillow falls on my lap, too perplexed to react.

“Come on, don’t be a wanker, give it back, then,” Simon complains. 

“Give it back? You’re the one who fucking threw it at me!” I don’t even know why I’m feeling so offended. 

Simon looks at me expectantly, making grabby hands at the pillow, still grinning like a madman. I do the most reasonable thing. I throw it to his face. 

“Oh, you’re fucking on, Pitch.” He laughs, and the next thing I know, I’m being hit not once but twice with pillows. The fucking bastard took my pillow as well. 

I get up from my desk, grab one of the pillows, and start attacking SImon, who in turn is both defending himself and attacking back. 

I want to say that he’s being ridiculous and laughing like an idiot, but to be honest, I am too, and it is great. 

Soon enough there are feathers spouting out of the pillows, which makes absolutely no sense as I know for a fact that they are filled with cotton. But fuck if I care; Simon is laughing, having the time of his life, and that’s all matters. 

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Au where Damian starts having recurring dreams about being stuck in an odd dimension of Lazarus water as an actual Robin. He always ends up playing with this other bird he finds there too, a nightengale if the internet is to be believed.

After a while he tells his family of this and no one thinks much of it until he gets injured in the dream and the injury transferred to his real body. His father took him to see Constantine, who did something in hopes of stopping the dreams altogether. Damian wasn't pleased by this as he had come to enjoy the other birds company. At least he never minded a rough sparing partner.

Fortunately for the little bird, whatever the British guy did had an almost opposite affect as now all his family was in the dream with him as various birds. His father was an enormous crow, Alfred was either a dove or fancy pigeon, Dick was a bluejay, Tim was a larger red tinted robin, Stephane was a mockingbird, Cass was something small and cute he didn't recognize, Duke was a yellow-throated sparrow and Barbara was another bird he didn't recognize, but the talons and sharp beak suggested a predator.

Jason was the most surprising. He towered over all of them as a bald eagle, a fact he was very smug about.

His nightengale friend seemed to be in a similar situation, he appeared to be comforting a female of his kind who was clearly upset and puffed up. A smaller female was playing around and seemed to be doing leaps and small glides to test out her new body, much like Damian himself did in the beginning. Behind them was a much older pair of birds, a male nightengale who was trying to fly but was too plump to get himself far of the ground, next to him was a female bluejay who seemed to be scratching out words into the dirt of the purple asteroid they were on. Damian had sadly never tried this as he had believed his bird friend to be a construct of his imagination. He quickly became upset with himself for never having a conversation with his friend since its now clear thats not the case.

Well, he could start now couldn't he?

Cue Danny Fenton and Damian Wayne leaning about eachother.

When they awoke again his father had angrily stormed away and called an emergency meeting with the JL dark. More magic spells, this time from both Constantine and Zatanna and more dreams of Lazarus skies and birds. The very next morning however, they had all awoken to find they they were very much still birds

Someone was going to pay for this.

[deepwaterwritingprompts]

Text: My feathers come in black and stubbly, and everyone wonders if I might have human blood. Our teacher tries to stop these rumors, reassuring us all in a firm voice: “There are no humans left.”

[that-angry-noldo]

hi noldo!! in case you're interested: 18 for eonwe/finarfin pls?

18: as an encouragement

"After that, we had them at our mercy; and since our mercy is not much, all of them were dead very soon."

Eönwë hummed lowly, shifting his head to lay more comfortably on Finarfin's shoulder. The pose was intimate enough to provoke questions if anyone decided to return to the tent; but Eönwe knew no one would. That much knowledge of the future he was granted.

He covered Finarfin's hand with his own; and Finarfin smiled, a rare and priceless thing.

"Only a few wounded on our part," he continued, and Eönwë heard a grain of pride in his voice. "We have not known such success ever since we put a foot on these lands."

And that was a matter of great joy; Eönwë felt it pulse through Finarfin's spirit as surely as he felt his blood course through his veins. It was rare, to see the king like this; rare and priceless, and Eönwë treasured the moment.

Yet still weariness was written in Finarfin's voice, and Eönwë hummed, sound low in his chest.

"Well?" Finarfin asked, tilting his head to eye the Herald. "I am yet to hear your thoughts."

Eönwë did not hurry to answer. In the dim light of the tent he took a moment to memorise the blush of Finarfin's cheeks, the softness of his eyes, the crooked, almost stiff honesty of his smile; took some time to store the image deep inside his heart.

He brushed his thumb against Finarfin's hand. "What is there to say? You deserve every ounce of praise you received today, king," he said, and straightened. "I have nothing to add."

"Nothing!" Finarfin exclaimed, raising his eyebrows. "And yet one praise from you would be worth all the words spoken to me today."

He was jesting, Eönwë knew; yet there was no lie in his words, either.

"King," he said. "You are dear and brilliant to me no matter what you do; I thought I need not voice it to you."

Finarfin scrunched his nose. "You are incredibly dull," he complained, and Eönwë could not find his words anything but amusing. But it was good, for Finarfin to be in such spirits; so Eönwë did not mind. "Ought you not at least tell me you are proud?"

Eönwë smiled, looking down at Finarfin's face. "If that is what you want me to do."

Something flickered through Finarfin's face; something hopeful, or fearul, disappearing as quick as it came. He smiled when Eönwë touched his face; cupped Eönwë's hand with his own.

There was doubt now, in Finarfin's spirit; a treacherous thing, eating away at the joy of his mind. Eönwë pretended he did not see it.

Finarfin's lips quirked upwards when Eönwë neared him; he held his breath when Eönwë brushed his lips at his temple. Eönwë held him close, body and spirit; wrapped his thoughts around him, banishing any insecurity, any doubt.

"Beloved," he said. "Dear heart. You are dearest to me than any victory; only you I love best."

"I just—fear, that is it," Finarfin breathed, eyes closing. "That it is all wrong, and that—that next battle shall devastate us."

"Oh," Eönwë said, and could not stop the knowledge of his mind from slipping off his lips. "There are defeats in your future for sure, love; but there are victories too, and in greater number. And you are there." He pulled him into an embrace; wrapped his arms around him, inhaled the scent of his neck. "You are there, between it all, in defeat and victory equally bright, equally graceful. Oh, Valar. What would I do without you, Noldóran."

And then it was easy, to tilt Finarfin's face; to stop just shy of his lips before Finarfin closed that distance, to feel so oddly embodied yet distanced at the same time. Finarfin's spirit trembled at his touch, like a candle to a slightest breath; and the desire of his mind Eönwë met with steadiness, seeing to every thought, every insecurity.

Graceful, and brave, and beautiful, he said, thoughts mingling in their joining, gold and silver, fire and steel. And I will be by your side in everything, defeat and victory both.

When they parted, Finarfin smiled; and Eönwë thought that alone was worth the war, and the suffering, and restless nights.

What would I do without you, he thought, only to himself now. Valar, what would I do.