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hailsatanacab · 8 months

Note

For the prompt ask game!

9. Sleep deprivation and/or 37. Secret Relationship and/or 40. Identity reveal/major secret reveal

(I selected a few so you can chose the one that resonates the most.)

For any DPxDC characters. <3

*emerges from a google docs, covered in blood and panting* i did it... it is done.

thank you for the prompt!! because i love a challenge, or because i can't stop myself, i went and did all of them!! for everyone!! everyone is sleep deprived and everyone is revealing secrets ^^'

Danny/Tim, mentioned Jazz/Jason

(๑•́ ₃ •̀๑) enjoy!! prompt ask game

kid napping

“Red Robin, sound off. Status?”

“All good here, Oracle. Everything okay?”

It’s been a slow night, never a good sign. Pent up energy itches under his skin and he stretches when he stands, preparing for whatever Oracle is going to throw his way. It’s going to be something, he can tell.

“Good.” Relief briefly colours her voice answers, before she becomes serious again, keys clacking away in the background. “There’s been a report from Agent A. It appears that one Timothy Drake has been kidnapped and is being ransomed for five million dollars and a helicopter. I’m tracing the call now.”

“A helicopter, too? Kidnappers these days, used to be they just wanted their money and that would be the end of it… a fucking helicopter, wow.” Red Hood scoffs, and Red Robin can’t help but join in the laughter over the comms.

“Doesn’t exactly sound like these are the brightest tools in the shed now, does it, Hood? Wonder what poor schmuck they’ve got instead.” Nightwing says, slightly out of breath.

The smile slips off Red Robin’s face and clammy, cold dread shivers down his spine. A stone settles in his stomach. He wets his lips and clears his throat. “Oracle, can you pull up the CCTV on my apartment near WE? Any closer to tracing the call?”

“Still on the trace, they’re using a jammer. Agent A is cooperating so they should phone back soon, which will help.” she reports, falling into silence as he finds the video feed.

“You know who it is?”

“I hope not.”

It’s tense, he taps his feet on the rooftop, fingers tightening over his grapple as he fights the urge to fly off the roof and check for himself. It better not be him. Please, dear God, don’t let it not be him.

“What are you thinking, Red Robin?” Batman growls through the comms. Red Robin can hear the wind under his words, whipping fast as he no doubt makes his way over to his position.

“I had a, uh, a friend coming over tonight. From behind, he… he could be mistaken for Tim Drake.”

The jokes fall silent, the comms growing serious as they pick up on his tone.

“Well, fuck.”

“Eloquent as always, Hood.”

“Shut up, bat-brat.”

“You were right, Red Robin, it looks like it was your… friend they caught, instead. About two hours before the call came in. I’m following their van now, I should have the destination soon. In the meantime, it looks like they’re heading towards the docks.”

Red Robin throws himself off the building, shooting his grapple as low as he dares to get the fastest swing he can.

They have Danny.

Worry gnaws at his gut even as gravity pulls it into his throat with another swing.

Danny is… And Red Robin means this in the nicest way possible, but Danny is fragile. They haven’t talked about it, but RR knows that Danny has health problems. Something plaguing him since he was young, that’s landed him in the hospital more than once. A weak heart, far too slow to be normal, possibly chronic fatigue—he’s always so tired, falling asleep anywhere he can.

Sometimes, he doesn’t even need to put his head down. Once, when they had gone to the corner store to get some popcorn to enjoy their movie (which Danny had explicitly and repeatedly promised he wouldn’t snore through this time), Danny had rested his head on Tim’s shoulder while they were waiting and he’d just… gone. On his feet, asleep, just like that.

He’d laughed, when Tim woke him up. Apologised. Said Tim made him feel safe enough to fall asleep just about anywhere and—

Red Robin grits his teeth and corrects his course as Oracle updates them with more precise coordinates.

Tim had carried him home that night, piggy-back for four blocks, but by the end of it, he wasn’t tired at all. And that’s another thing, Danny’s just so light. It’s concerning.

They never did watch that movie, but it’s a night that Tim can’t help remembering fondly all the same. They’d ended up rewatching some old sitcom that Danny’s seen countless times but Tim’s never really bothered with, Danny drifting off to sleep again and Tim eventually following him, because… sleep is easy with Danny.

It’s the same for him, he thinks. He can’t explain it, but he feels safe enough to sleep with Danny, too.

He needs to be alright.

“So… Is this friend just a friend? Or a friend friend?”

“A friend, Nightwing. Now hurry up.”

He’s not in the mood to play these games, not now. There’s a reason why none of them know about Danny, and this is one of them. His family, as much as he loves them, are just too damn nosey for their own good.

“You know that doesn’t answer my question at all.”

“Then why don’t you ask something intelligible, rather than continue with your childish antics?” Robin snarks, and for once, Red Robin has to agree with him. Or, rather, he’s grateful for the distraction that it gives him.

Tim has secrets. He’s sure that Danny does, too, and so far—aside from the standard background check he always runs on new friends and friend friends alike—he’s done very well to respect them. He just can’t say that his family would do the same.

They can be overwhelming, to say the least, and Tim has tried his best to protect Danny from that.

Only to fail to protect him in every other way that it counts.

“How long have you guys been ‘friends’?”

“Nightwing, save it, please.”

“What’s his name?”

He ignores him.

Red Robin lands on the building first, thank goodness. He wastes no time in finding a skylight that can be pried open fairly quietly, slipping inside without a second thought.

“Wait for backup, Red Robin, that is an order!” Batman says, when he lets them know he’s in.

“Negative, Batman. I’m getting him back.”

“Red Robin!”

He weaves silently through the desks on the second floor of the warehouse, always moving, always keeping a trained eye on the shadows around him.

When he reaches the stairs, he hears voices.

“Looks like three of them, armed. The-the hostage is tied to a chair in the middle of the room, he…” Red Robin takes a steadying breath. The person has a burlap sack over their head is slumped to the side, from where he is, Red Robin can’t see if his chest is moving. There’s blood on the floor. “He needs medical assistance. Another two on the northside entrance.”

The comms explode in admonitions, everyone pleading with him to stay where he is, to wait for help, but fuck that. With a tap, he switches them off and he can finally, just about make out the words of the kidnappers as he creeps down the first few steps.

“—shouldn’t he have woken up by now?”

“I don’t know, man, you’re the one that hit him! Do you think he’s—”

“No! I didn’t even hit him that hard, I swear!” the man cries, holding his hands up in surrender. “I just couldn’t take any more of his stupid jokes!”

If there was any doubt in Red Robin’s mind that they picked up Danny by mistake, it’s gone now. Yeah. If you get Danny, you get his stupid jokes, too.

He creeps closer.

There’s some storage crates between him and Danny, if he can get behind there without being seen then that leaves him in a good position for when whoever’s next in takes out the guys at the front. He can’t do anything without them gone first, not without risking them taking shots inside and endangering Danny.

The man that hit Danny circles round behind him and grabs at his hands.

“What are you even doing, Pat? Who gives a shit, leave him alone.”

“I’m just checking! I just gotta see!”

“Fuck’s sake, guys, who cares? We just gotta get our money, that’s it—”

“And our helicopter!”

“And our—”

“Shit, I can’t find a pulse! Shit, Frank, I killed him, I—”

Jason told him once that when the Pits overtook him, he used to see green. Instead of blacking out, he’d be swimming in that putrid Lazarus colour and he’d slip into that rage and bad things would happen.

He’s heard of people seeing red, too, but really, he thinks that’s more of a literary device.

Tim doesn’t see anything aside from his targets.

A barrage of birdarangs take the guns from the guys at the front, the three around Danny startling badly enough that the guy that kil—that’s behind Danny—stumbles, losing his footing.

Only one of them shoots.

Amateurs.

There’s a round of curses on the comms as the shots come through. Oracle must have turned them back on.

“Fucking hell—Nightwing and I are at the front, Red Robin, don’t worry about them.”

Red Robin’s barely listening.

He spins, kicking the largest guy in the stomach hard enough so that he doubles over, wheezing. Following through the movement, another kick lands on the side of his head and he’s down.

The second one, Frank, gets his wits about him and raises his gun, spraying wildly. He’s a shit shot, going wide in panic, and Red Robin simply ducks and rushes forward, keeping low. Tackling the guy, he grabs the gun off of him and uses it to smash him across the face, once, twice, three times, before he stops moving.

“Oracle, get police and paramedics on scene, now.” Batman says, the displeasure in his voice evident. “Red Robin, Robin and I are coming in from the top.”

Pat hasn’t even made it up off the floor yet, scrambling backwards, fear plain on his face.

Red Robin stands, breathing heavily, gun still in hand.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I swear I didn’t mean to do it! Please—please, don’t, please!”

Red Robin doesn’t kill.

Well, no, Red Robin doesn’t normally kill.

No, that’s not quite right, either.

Red Robin has killed. Red Robin will more than likely kill again. Red Robin sees no problem with killing.

The gun is up, pointing towards the guy without any real thought about it.

Footsteps rush behind him, the familiar heavy footfalls of Batman and Robin, so he doesn’t bother turning around. The gun follows the guy as he keeps pulling himself backwards, snot and tears mingling down his face.

“Red Robin,” Batman says, softly.

It’s always weird hearing Batman’s voice like that. It’s not the first time, obviously—Batman can’t use his scary intimidating voice on victims or children, after all—but having it used on him is weird.

“Breathe.”

“He’s dead. They killed him.”

If hearing Batman’s voice was weird, Red Robin can’t even recognise his own.

Distantly, he realises he’s dissociating. There’s a tightness in his chest, it’s hard to breathe, a growing buzz drowns out any noise in his ears and he can’t think, he can’t—

A heavy hand squeezes his shoulder, jolting him out of his thoughts. Batman reaches around and gently removes the gun from his grip, and Tim feels the instant loss of it. He should have done it, why hadn’t he done it?

Robin takes care of the last man, his crying cut off by a swift kick to the head. Nightwing and Red Hood join them, zip-tying the men on the floor and starting to drag them back to the entrance of the warehouse one by one.

No one says a word.

Shrugging off Batman’s hand, Tim moves towards the chair.

Shaking, he takes a deep breath and removes the sack. The small part of him that was left hoping it wasn’t him, it couldn’t be him, please dear God let it not be him, shatters.

Even dead, he looks peaceful.

Tim’s seen death. He’s no stranger to it, he’s seen what it can do to a person. There’s some blood coagulating over his eyebrows, but otherwise, he looks peaceful. Is that comforting? That he didn’t suffer?

Danny’s head lolls to the side as the sack comes completely away, his hair flopping over his eyes. Tim’s been on at him to get a haircut lately, he thinks it’ll be nice tidied up a bit, just on the sides. It’ll get rid of that permanent bedhead. Help him with job interviews, he’s got to be thinking about that now that he’s in his last year of college.

It’s about the only thing that’ll hold him back, Tim thinks. Danny’s brilliant. Any employer would be a fool to turn him down because of his shaggy hair, but employers are stupid so it makes sense to put your best foot forward and—

Tim falls to his knees.

Fuck.

He’s dead, he’s really—Danny’s skin is horribly pale, cold to the touch. Gone is his bright, cheerful smile.

“Danny, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, I—”

He stops himself with a deep, shuddering breath. He can’t break down here, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t.

Instead, he tips forward to rest his head in Danny’s lap, arms curling around himself. They were too late. They got here as fast as they could and they were too late.

“Danny, I’m so sorry…” he whispers. “I… I love you, I love you, I’m sorry.”

Dimly, he can feel the others standing around them. Someone crouches down beside him, resting a comforting arm over his back, but he doesn’t turn his head to see who it is. He squeezes his grip on Danny’s legs tighter.

“Come on, baby bird. Let’s—”

They’re interrupted by a huge, honking snore as Danny jerks himself awake.

Tim’s head snaps up, staring at Danny with wide eyes.

“You were asleep?” Red Robin springs up, several different emotions rapidly flip flopping through him.

“Wha… What?” Danny heaves a yawn, blinking blearily down at him. “Sorry, I’m just… they were shit kidnappers, man, really boring. Honestly, worst abduction yet.”

“You were asleep? I thought you were dead!”

“Not mutually exlusive, you know.” Danny says through another yawn. He rolls his neck around with an almighty crack and glances at everyone. “Didn’t think I’d warrant the whole Bat brigade, though…”

“The kidnappers thought they had Tim Drake.” Batman supplies, while Red Robin tries to work through the emotional whiplash.

“Ah, makes sense… wait.” Danny sits up suddenly, squinting at Red Robin. “Did you say you loved me?”

“No, of course not, why would I—”

“Tim? Is that—are you—are you Red Robin?”

“Everyone, hold the fuck up!” Red Hood shouts from the other side of the warehouse, having finished securing the perps to a streetlight outside. “Double R is dating Danny fucking Nightingale?”

Well, there goes his identity… Oh, who’s he kidding, Danny’s smart. There’s no way he could have salvaged that. This was not how he thought the night was going to go.

“Cranberry, is that you?” Danny twists in his chair, somehow delighted to see Red Hood rescuing him, too. “I thought I smelled you lurking about!”

“Shut it, you little shit. Since when were you dating this dweeb?”

“I’m sorry,” Red Robin pleads, hands in the air to try and slow down the onslaught of information and insults, “you two know each other?”

“Cranberry?” Nightwing echoes, looking as lost as Red Robin feels.

“Yeah, Cranberry—The Cranberries—zombie, zombie, zombie-ie-ie. Obviously. Also he’s wearing a big, fuck off red helmet.”

“Yeah, sure, makes sense.”

It’s about the only thing that does.

“And please don’t call my boyfriend a dweeb, Cranberry. Especially when he just said he loves me for the first time.”

“He only said it because he thought you were dead.”

“I am dead, so it counts.”

“Only half, so I’d say that puts you at a solid ‘like’. Tim’s—and savour this, Tim, because I’m only going to say it once—Tim’s intelligent, so I’m sure he’ll come to his senses soon.”

Danny just throws Red Hood such a shit-eating grin. A level of feral that Tim’s only seen before in Damian.

“That’s what I used to say about Jazz, too.”

Hood scoffs in offence, and to be honest, Tim’s not sure where he should go from here. What the hell is happening, how do they know each other?

“Come on, is anyone going to untie me or am I really meeting your family mafia-style?”

“Do it yourself, Slimer.” Red Hood laughs, crossing his arms.

“Ugh, you suck so much. I’ll fucking slime you, just you wait. Can’t believe Jazz even likes you, I preferred it when she was dating Johnny.”

And then, without Danny doing anything other than muttering obscenities at Red Hood, the ropes fall to the ground. In one swift motion, Danny stands up and stretches himself to his full height of 5’6.

“All of you need to explain, now.” commands Batman, and honestly, Red Robin’s very much on his side of it.

“I can’t believe it… Jason and Timmy are both in secret relationships? That’s… How come no one told me?” Poor Nightwing sounds the most shocked out of all of them. He turns to Damian and clasps onto both of his shoulders. “You’re not secretly dating, are you, D? Please tell me you’re not, please tell me you’re single, please?”

Of course, Robin just clicks his tongue and pushes his hands away. Really, Red Robin doesn’t think that Nightwing’s in any danger of that happening, he’d be surprised if anyone could stand Robin enough to actually date him.

He shakes his head and turns to Danny, who’s staring right back at him, worry clear on his face.

Fuck, he... He's alive. He's really alive.

Tim pulls him into a bone-crushing hug, fingers buried deep in his NASA shirt. Tucking his face into the crook of Danny's shoulder, he laughs wetly with the joy of it. He's alive. He hasn't lost him. He's safe.

“I’m sorry I haven’t told you before now, starshine, but…” Danny breaks the hug and softly pulls away from him to rise on his tiptoes to place a kiss his cheek. The skin burns cold where his lips touch. “I love you, too. Also, you’re gonna wanna sit down. This is going to be a lot.”

#dpxdc #dead tired #anger management #(barely but it's there haha)#dcxdp #hailsatanacrab🦀🦀writes #i'm sorry this has taken a while but also this week has kinda sucked and i'm still pissed off about that #so writing has been a nice little break from that!!!!#i hope you enjoy it!! i'm not fantastic with writing romance/ships so like... hope it's alright haha #also i feel kinda bad about not putting the whole phantom reveal too but like... we get that all that time haha #idk maybe i'll continue it #OH SHIT I FORGOT MY WRITING TAG HOLD ON #must admit - i do like that you can edit the tags now even though the new post maker sucks #anyway!!!!!!! i had this whole bit from danny's pov in the beginning where he just decided to go to sleep but realised that fucking sucked #it was so boring haha #so we got this instead!#hope the emotions came across - i feel like i have a tendency to just go cold and clinical when emotions happen #idk #oh! danny and tim met because danny's a part time barista and when tim ordered his monstrocity of a drink danny just winked and said #'ah the walking dead special coming right up!' and added another three espresso #jason and jazz met before they did though - and none of them knew they were dating the other's family #danny and jason have a bit of a rocky relationship - he's not good enough for jazz!! she deserves way better than some two-bit gangster!!#jason just thinks he's a cute overprotective brother - he really envies their relationship and wishes he could have something like that #he likes to rib danny and tbh danny is really warming up to him too - now that the gross stinky ecto is starting to filter out #(which is thanks to him and jazz - which jason does know about and is extremely grateful for)#(he really does love jazz and is a little bit jealous that tim told danny he loved him first)#(jason goes home that night and dips jazz into a kiss and whispers it into her skin over and over again)#(he loves her he loves her he loves her - and who the fuck is johnny?)#once tim gets over his shock he's doing good! of course he accepts danny there was never any question of that #he meets ellie and then introduces her to kon and the rest of the team and ellie decides she might like to do some superheroing for a bit

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mattodore · 26 days

Text

salt in our memories

#river dipping #matthias evanoff #theodore doe #echthroi #ts4 #ts4 edit #ts4 cas #simblr #editing recent-ish cas screenshots of them in outfits and poses that everyone has already seen before. groundbreaking.#i was just trying to make myself feel better by doing something mindless for a bit but it didn't work so . now i'm just sitting here #there are two more screenshots that i edited but tumblr keeps crunching on them and tbh i just want to go lay down #maybe i'll add them here later but probably not i love wasting my own time <3 new edits after three weeks tho so there's that #caption is just a quote from salt by chelsea wolf which is one of theo's playlist songs #bc i fr had nothing else in mind for it 🤷#ik i said i'd get to my activity but i really don't feel up to it #i'm just gonna read i think and maybe write a little later #okay. bye 👋

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moon-blanket · 2 months

Text

A silly little Blurb about early Freelancer and Gavin :)

[Read on ao3]

Gavin was not made for mornings like this.

He was made for the darkness of night. Neon lights of dingy bars, hidden corners of alleyways, and messy, heated nights in pitch black bedrooms. Quick fixes to scratch the itches of mortals, easy supplements of emotion he needs to survive another night– always a means to an end.

Sure, the awkward morning-after was a custom he was more than familiar with. Sneaking out before his bedmate of the hour ever woke up had become a well-practiced art by now. Sometimes he even had the uncomfortable pleasure of seeing them off for the day, parting ways as he begins looking for another meal. Another way to get by.

It's never been anything like today.

The Freelancer sleeps peacefully at his side. It's their first true day off in what has felt like the eons they've had this routine together. With no work or classes to scramble off to today, they've given themself the gift of sleeping in.

It's a shame that he couldn't partake as well, but in this moment he can't find the means to care.

They've twisted themselves into a position that he thinks cannot possibly be comfortable. Half on their stomach, half on their back– facing him with the most serene expression he's ever had the pleasure of witnessing grace their face.

They're beautiful like this.

His eyes follow the outline of the parts of their body left exposed by the covers they've neglected in their sleep. The rise and fall of their back as they slowly breathe, the dark spots that bloom across their skin from their late night tryst, their hair wildly splayed against their pillow and draping delicately in their face.

Sunlight streams through the window, the morning light hits their frame so perfectly, the curves and angles of their body practically glowing in the warmth of the sun. He thinks he finally understands the meaning of true worship.

Gavin does not know much of human religion, not enough to know who to properly thank– but he will gladly give the proper kudos to every god, every sovereign in the stars, that guided him to his Freelancer.

His Freelancer...

There's a pang in his chest he's unfamiliar with when the thought passes through his mind. It's a little frightening.

He doesn't know how long he stays there and admires them. Eventually he watches as their body awakens, their eyes open to reveal the prettiest color he's ever seen.

When they gain their bearings, recognizing his form as he lays beside them, they flash a sleepy smile as another pang courses through his non-existent heart. One that he begins to welcome as they move to cuddle into him.

He's starting to believe that he could learn to love mornings as long as His Freelancer is beside him.

Thank you for reading. :3

#redacted audio #redacted asmr #moon writing #redacted gavin #redacted freelancer #redacted fanfic #I'M SO AFRAID TO POST THIS. BUT I'LL DO IT SCARED.#Just something i've had swimming in my head for a little bit now. Cringe is dead and I killed it.#Is this ooc ??? maybe.#I haven't written seriously in eons. read at your own risk.#do you like my divider. credit to cafekitsune !! :)

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wyvernquill · 2 months

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I'm rewatching Anastasia and this convo would really fit in your AU

Hob: look, Murphy, I'm just trying to help Murphy: do you really think I'm an Endless, Hob?

Hob: you know I do.

Murphy: then stop bossing me around

I'm sorry, this ask is already over a year old, but I finally got around to writing a scene based on it! (Plus some Murphy&Gil bits I wanted to put in somewhere, anyway.) Hope you enjoy!

[Mild warning for contemplation of one's potential death, and having once lost the will to life - I wouldn't call it suicidal ideation, it doesn't quite go there, but I figured I'd better be safe than sorry.]

Link to Anastasia AU Masterpost!

(Tag list, let me know if you want to be added or taken off: @10moonymhrivertam @martybaker @globglobglobglobob @anonymoustitans @sunshines-fabulous-legs @dreamsofapiratelife @malice-royaume @kcsandmanfan @acedragontype @okilokiwithpurpose @tharkuun @silver-dream89 @i-write-stories-not-sins-bitch)

“Hob.” Murphy interrupts, eyes flashing with frustration.

(Today’s how-to-be-a-Dream-Lord lessons are not going well - not that any of them have, but this one is a particular catastrophe. Gil has already given up on their contrary charge for the evening, and with the way Murphy’s shoulders are up and tension bristles between them, Hob is unlikely to make much more headway tonight.)

“Tell me. Do you truly believe I am him? The Prince of Stories? The Dream King?”

“Yes,” Hob lies, easily, unflinchingly, and with a smile on his face. A good lie has to be treated like the truth, and maybe, one day, it’ll actually turn into one. They’ve been trying so very hard to teach Murphy this, he should know it by now. “Of course.”

“Then, perhaps,” Murphy spits, and despite his feral arrogance, despite the way he holds his head high and squares his slender shoulders, it’s not the regal indignation of a King, but the helpless tantrum of an angry child who’s failing in class. “You ought to finally treat me with the fucking deference an Endless is owed, Hob Gadling!”

(There are tears in his pale-blueish eyes, Hob can see them, can hear the crack in Murphy’s hoarse voice.

Nobody has treated this man with respect in all the years he remembers, that much is obvious. Nobody but his birds. And he knows, they all know, that he’s no prince, that his blood runs red, not blue - runs at all, come to think of it. Endless don’t bleed.

But he wants to be. He wishes he was. Murphy is not Dream of the Endless, but he is ravenous for the spoils of such a role. Desperate to be respected, to be worshipped and revered, desperate to be owed the sort of treatment he has never received.

Hob ought to be ashamed of himself for taking advantage of that helpless hunger for kindness and decency… and he will be. For the rest of his immortal life, he’ll live with the shame of what he did to cheat Death, and still not regret it.)

Hob plasters a smile over his impatience and opens his mouth, gentle, calming words already on the tip of his tongue. Murphy is lonely and frightened and frustrated, that much is obvious. Fine. Hob knew it wouldn’t be easy, to teach their false Dream all he needs to know, and this is not an insurmountable roadblock. If Hob can only reassure him, earn his trust, be his friend, even, it will make everything much easier. Poor thing, lashing out like an injured animal. But Hob can surely coax him into-

Murphy recoils. Flinches back from the admittedly-half-faked warmth, his face, his entire bearing collapsing into itself like a heavy portcullis rattling shut.

“Don’t you dare,” he growls, pointing one of his stick-thin fingers at Hob’s face, “don’t you DARE! I have no need for your false pity, and I want no part of it! I want-” the white of his eyes is bloodshot, and in his terror, in his fury, in his desperation, awash in unshed tears “-I want out. This deal is off. Find some other poor sucker to teach how to play Endless, I won’t do it! I’ve had enough!”

And before Hob can say as much as a single word, Murphy has snatched up his coat and slipped out onto the rainy street, Matthew following - but not after awarding Hob with a colder glare than he would’ve thought a mere raven capable of.

Murphy does not manage to flee very far.

He is in an unfamiliar town, with no money, no valuables besides the clothes on his back that are now slightly finer than he used to be; and the winter is cold and deep and stifling. He gets no further than a handful of streets until he slows halfway across a bridge, shaking with cold more than anger, snowflakes dancing around him. It is a quiet, windless night - and it has always calmed him, to stand underneath the dark sky at night, and know that most of the city lies asleep around him.

Matthew settles on the bridge’s parapet, caws. Hops closer, cocks his head to one side. There is a clear question in his bearing, a what now? glinting in his eyes. Birds are open and honest - unlike humans. Liars and hypocrites all.

“...I do not know, Matthew.” Murphy admits quietly. He has taken the coat, but forgotten the scarf in his haste, so he tugs at his collar, to keep the cold air from trickling down his spine. “I truly don’t.”

He does not have the means to return to London on his own - and at the same time, does not have much desire to do so. He had nothing and no-one there, but for the birds. Pockets can be picked anywhere - he could make a new start in this nameless town.

…if only it weren’t winter.

Murphy shivers, feeling his bones rattle with it. The night is calm, but bitterly cold, and it will not end well for him, sitting in the snow until morning. In the dark of winter, he cannot afford a night without shelter, a day without a sure way to come by some food to keep his strengths up. In London, he would have known where to go. Here, he is helpless.

Damn Hob Gadling, and may Destruction take him! Murphy will have no other choice but to crawl back to him, and hope he’ll be kept on as Endless-impersonator. Hope, because Murphy’s made a right pig’s ear of it so far, slow and clumsy to learn, and outright refusing to play at nobility. He will always be a gutter rat, Murphy knows it. They can’t fashion him into a Dream King, and perhaps this flare of temper will prove to Hob once and for all that there is no point in trying.

There is no point in trying.

Murphy gives up on his collar, and rests his hands on the parapet. Matthew caws, and presses his head against his arm, a far better reassurance than Hob’s false smiles. It comforts Murphy, at least a little. He’s not alone, never alone - no matter how lonely he might feel.

Underneath them, a foreign river flows just fast enough to avoid the freeze. The water does not reflect any stars, but the snow dancing over the surface makes it almost look as if. His own reflection wavers and breaks across the waves.

(Some nights, he dreams of a darkened shore and a sea stretching far past the horizon, black waters that fold up into the night sky, indistinguishable from each other. Of a wooden pier, and galaxies swirling underneath.

Whenever he leans out too far, the reflected eyes he meets are not his own, and he wakes with a scream lodged in his throat.)

Murphy shivers again, and savours the last remnants of his pride, before it, too, will have to be cast into the dirt and abandoned.

“I believe you forgot this, young friend.”

Murphy’s head snaps up.

Dreams and nightmares approach without a whisper, perfectly silent at night if they choose to be. Gilbert is no exception; and if Murphy were to pay attention to anything but his heart racing like a startled hare, he would perhaps be a little distressed by the fact that there are no fresh footprints in the snow beside his own.

But it’s only Gilbert, kind-eyed and not-human, holding out Murphy’s scarf like a peace offering.

Murphy does not take it.

“Did Gadling send you?” he asks, wary.

“Robert informed me what had transpired between you two.” Gilbert admits. “But rest assured, I am here on nobody’s behalf but my own - and, well, yours. Frightfully nippy tonight, wouldn’t you say?”

Murphy does not say. He trusts Gil as little as Hob, perhaps even less. A dream attempting to betray the memory of his master seems hardly like a paragon of virtue, and is perhaps even more suspicious than a deceitful human.

(He does, however, take the scarf now. It’s too cold to be stubborn, and when he winds it around his neck, it smells of sunshine on a summer meadow, warm and comforting.)

“And if you truly wish to leave… dear boy, I won’t stop you.” Murphy does not like the way Gilbert looks at him, as if trying to see someone else beneath his skin. He does not meet Murphy’s eyes, if he can help it. “In fact I would send you off with well-earned compensation for your time, and travel fare. Unless…”

Gil steps up to the parapet beside him.

“...unless I can convince you to stay…?”

“Why would you?” Murphy mutters, instead of why would I, if you’re offering to pay me off? “It should be perfectly obvious that I’ll never pass muster.”

“Ironically,” Gilbert smiles, but only at the man he pretends to see whenever he looks at Murphy, “it is well known among the former denizens of the Dreaming that His Lordship was often prone to very similar bouts of pessimism. I have faith in you, Murphy - and so does Robert Gadling. Please, do not leave. I rather doubt we will succeed without you.”

"You…" Murphy struggles with the words, the sentiment behind them lodging uncomfortably in his throat. "You have great respect, even love, for Dream of the Endless' memory. So why do you pretend? Why try to fool his siblings that I am him?"

For a moment, Gilbert seems ready to insist, as always, that Murphy is, or at least might be - but, to his credit, he does not play Murphy for a fool, in the end. Not this time. Not like Hob always, always does.

"You are quite correct. I loved His Lordship deeply, in a way that could never be understood by anyone but a dream and their creator." Gilbert sighs, his soft meadow-green eyes gazing far into the distance of better days, lined by old grief. "He made me to be the Heart of the Dreaming, and he was the Dreaming, so I knew his heart and self better than any other. The loss, when he… you cannot imagine it, young friend. I thought I would wither away and die. I thought that would be a mercy. To live as a dream in a universe that does not contain Dream of the Endless seemed entirely unthinkable, and to be quite frank, I did not think I would survive longer than a year at most in the Waking."

"I understand," says Murphy, quietly, and he does. He is no stranger to the feeling of being so untethered, only floating along with the end looming over him, death - not Death, no longer, the Endless have been cast from their domains - only biding its time.

(In the first year he can remember, Murphy did not think he would see another, either.)

"And yet, the year passed. And I lived." Gilbert smiles, faintly, taking off his glasses to polish them. "I suspect it was humanity which saved me, for all that they robbed me of my home and Lord, as well. I found… such joy, in this world. In my human form, wandering among them. Calling a few select individuals friends, even. Young Robert's companionship was a particular blessing, and I owe him more than he can ever know."

He sets the glasses back on his nose.

"Lord Morpheus is dead." Says Gilbert. Says it like fact, like something too absolute for the sort of dream-creature born of hypotheticals he is, like an unshakeable truth he has resigned himself to. His voice only barely breaks over the words. "And I shall grieve him for all the rest of my days… but I must live to mourn him. Life goes on, young friend, and we must all move along with it. And, well. I cannot speak for Robert's motivations, but the true reason why I have agreed to this mad scheme…"

Gilbert takes Murphy's freezing hands in his own. His fingertips are not lined quite right, they would not leave prints that look even remotely like those of a human - but aside from that, his grip is warm, avuncular, firm, reassuring.

"I fear that his siblings will not be able to live on without him." Gilbert confesses, quietly. "They are not made to accept change and move on from a loss as monumental as what humanity has wrought upon them. To have you… not him, not entirely, but perhaps enough… it is my most solemn hope that it might give them some form of closure at long last."

"So that's what it is?" Murphy laughs, bitterly. "Charitable concern for the well-being of personifications of abstract concepts!?"

"No." Gilbert corrects mildly. "Love. For my creator's family."

Murphy scoffs. His chest aches with it.

"What you, hmm. What you must understand, about Lord Morpheus…" Gilbert seems to be choosing his words very carefully. "...is that, for all that he was often harsh and commanding, he was so very loving, always. My Lord loved with all his self, even if he would attempt to turn a cold shoulder to the world - and I think you are much like him in temperament, young Murphy.”

Murphy does not acknowledge that. He doesn't think he can.

“He loved his family, and he loved the Dreaming, and all the beings in it. I was his heart, or near as, you must recall, I knew the truth at the core of him.

Memories or not, love as he did, and you will be a credit to his name, and a comfort to all who knew him."

(Murphy does not have it in himself to love like Dream of the Endless did. He already struggles to love at all.

But perhaps, for the sake of the entity whose memory he will dishonour, he can try.)

“So. Will you come back and resume your lessons?” Gil asks, very gently. “You may leave, now or any other time, of course you may. But it would be to your benefit, as well as to that of many others, if you did not.”

“I’ll stay,” Murphy forces out. He could blame the way his hands shake on the cold. “For now.”

“Thank you, dear child. Thank you.” This time, when Gilbert smiles, it very nearly feels like it is directed at him, after all. “Now, let’s get you out of this cold, hm? And Matthew as well.”

Murphy lets Gilbert herd him back to their inn, sits through Hob Gadling’s apology and wonders if it was sincere - he can never tell, with this infuriating man - and continues to learn as much as possible about the life of Dream of the Endless.

But he’s slowly realising, if anything will convince the Endless siblings, then it certainly won’t be the trivia. He’ll have to learn to love like the Lord of Stories, for their deception to have a snowflake’s chance in hell.

(Oh, wonderful. As if this wasn’t difficult enough already…)

#WyWrites #dreamling #the sandman #anastasia dreamling au #thank you for the ask and sorry it took so long!#maybe at some point i'll go back and also write hob successfully recruiting murphy #but i was a little stuck on that so i skipped the recruitment and wrote this instead #fiddler's green's role in this au is just very interesting to dig into #deception and manipulation is not in his nature and the closest he gets to selfishness is just wanting to live a human life #so why would he agree to help hob with this scheme?#i'm quite pleased with the way i spun it - he really does it out of love and thinks it's ultimately for a good cause #and subconsciously the assurance that gil is doing it out of loyalty rather than as betrayal is very (suspiciously) important to murphy #also very light 1889 meeting parallels with hob and murphy's fight at the start!

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violetsteve · 1 year

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“And that doesn’t scare you?”

Steve gives a half hearted shrug, his hands still stuffed into the pockets of his jacket and his shoulders slowly starting to crawl towards his ears.

“I don’t know. Kind of, I guess?” Steve’s eyes finally kick up from the floor, meeting Eddie’s gaze with so much open vulnerability that Eddie feels his chest go tight.

“Mostly I just like being with you, man. You have this way of—“ Steve cuts himself off, shrugging again like he can’t help it. “I don’t know. Making all the bad shit disappear for a while? Or maybe not disappear, not really, but more like…you make the big stuff smaller. Like yeah, sure, the worlds fucked and we all have enough trauma to fill marinas fucking trench, but also I look at the way you light up when I reference your nerd game, or the way you put on a fucking show without even thinking about it when you can sense one of the kids needs a distraction, and it makes me feel…” he trails off again, eyes jumping around for a moment like he’s trying to find the right words, before they finally settle back on Eddie. “Whole. Hopeful. Safe. Like, sure, we’ve lost a lot to the upside down, but we haven’t lost everything. I mean, your terrible sense of humor is still intact, after all.” Steve finishes his small speech with a wry twist to his mouth, like he was going for a joke to lighten the mood and missed by a mile.

Eddie feels his chest burst with static, an overwhelming sense of something for this man in front of him. He should be offended—or at least play offended at Steve’s last few words, but he can’t find it in himself to pretend at this moment. There’s so much to unpack in everything Steve’s just said, least of all the fact that he called the Mariana trench marina—which Eddie finds so endearing. He’s aware Dustin finds the slip ups to be annoying at best, but, lord help him, Eddie thinks they’re cute. He thinks Steve is cute.

And here Steve is, standing in front of him and telling Eddie that he makes things less scary—that he makes all of Steve’s biggest problems feel so much less daunting just by existing. He’s standing in front of Eddie telling him that Eddie makes him feel fucking safe and cared for, and oh, fuck he’s so, so unbelievably in love with this boy that it makes him dizzy in this moment. Eddie extends a shaky hand to grip the back of the couch just so he doesn’t fall over.

He’s staring into Steve’s completely unguarded eyes and feeling like he might throw up with the affection and absolute fear he feels in this moment because—

Because it’s absolutely undeniable at this moment.

The sky is blue.

The sun rises in the east, sets in the west.

Eddie Munson is head over heels in love with Steve Harrington.

#sorry this little idea would just NOT leave me alone #what is the context??? no idea!#what were they doing before this started? you decide!#maybe I'll actually flesh this out eventually #lots to think about #steddie #steddie fic #steddie fan fiction #steve harrington/eddie munson #steve harrington/eddie munson fanfiction #my writing

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turbo-tsundere · 1 year

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“Smile like Gonta! Smile like gentleman!”

It’s 23rd of January both where I am, and also in Japan, so here we go, my small and long overdue tribute for my fav character ever! Or in other words, f that post and happy birthday to the King! :D

#gonta gokuhara #gokuhara gonta #danganronpa #v3 #ndrv3 #my art #now I go to sleep - I pushed myself to finish this drawing and I'm legit exhausted #wish I could have more time to do tweaks here and ther but... still I'm happy I managed to do it!#But honestly I’m happy I’ve got to play V3 when I did and legit glad I stumbled upon Gonta #I could write a book about him but then I'm also afraid no matter what I'll say I will never do him justice #he's interesting in nonconventional way and not the type of character I usually end up liking - and tbh that only adds to my appreciation #but then I'm better with drawings than words. so :)#also #pregame Gonta is smiling on the inside he just shy grump don't mind him #(or maybe he's like 'you have ONE second to run' idk)#also also #yes this is a little play on the line Gonta says during Himiko's dojo scene :D

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carnivalcarriondiscarded · 1 month

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ooo i love it (viciously despise) when my brain wants to do five different things at once, it's So funny (i need to bite concrete)

#do i want to write? draw? worldbuild? character build? storybuild?#if i want to write What do i want to work on #original stuff? wh? aus? something else entirely?#if i want to draw what do i want to scribble?#sundown? indulgent stuff? wh? dragon doodles? environment practice #if i want to worldbuild which world do i want to think about #which characters! which plots! I JUST DONT KNOW~#i feel like my brain has been presented with many cakes and i dont know where to start so i just sit & starve <3 #maybe i should just... watch something and crochet?#I JUST! DON'T! KNOW!#i have two hours before i should get to bed... what to do... what to do...#absolutely unprompted #i have much interest in too many things at once!#maybe i'll respond to some asks...#i have a lot of them... over a hundred... i want to cut that back a little #but a lot are theory based so hmmmm idk if i have the brain for it #god i want to. i Want To.

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caycanteven · 6 months

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Some concept art of Mafia!Lex

#my art #caycantdoodle #selfinsert #mafia au #lex self insert #lex concept? yeah #might revisit this later when I have time #this will just act as a reference for somethin better probably #wasn't happy with how my faces and eyes weren't working today #LMFAO still love how the outfits came about tho #sloppy sketch time #woop woop #my little waitress #maybe i'll do some writing drabbles later #shrug

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jahiera · 6 months

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speaking strictly from a plot & writing perspective here, not a commentary on characters or who or who is not my favorite blorbo (they all are). it's gale time and I wanted to get down everything I thought about this go around with his romance & the writing before it escapes me.

so I once again had a ton of fun of course, the game is still a blast, and several arcs were way more satisfying this time around simply because I ... did not skip the creche, unlike my very first run (I was an idiot) (I didnt think it would be that important) (it really really was). love it 10/10. I cannot WAIT to do my gith run & really focus in on that because the lore there is just, so cool, and that subplot was really rich & rewarding this time around since I had someone who was not orpheus become a mindflayer instead.

as for Gale, Thank Fuck I started before they bugged him up again too much. but let's deep dive into The Material.

shoutout to Tim first of all, he's a legend, dreamboat, superstar. there are so many lines delivered so effortlessly when they would sound ridiculous in anyone else's mouth. he gives gale so much soulful intensity and subtle, nuanced gravitas befitting someone like gale; with enough of Gale's own moments of silliness, cheekiness, wry wit & understated sarcasm, to outright flabbergasted at times, I was Giggling every conversation fr. I'm not usually prone to the "I LOVE YOU" Romances that come earlier rather than later, but ohhhhhhh tim gives each line with all the weight & agony that you can feel inside Gale when it comes (the looming death; not knowing what the end may bring; not wanting to leave any regrets behind) so like. MWAH to him. MWAH MWAH. all the kisses in the world.

okay mandatory compliments to the actor aside. I came out of the whole thing with breadth of new appreciation for Gale as a character in terms of the... concepts, threads, that make him up, and act 2 is where he REALLY shines overall.

I didn't necessarily come away from it with the same... weepy...... done-no-wrong? interpretation of Gale that I've seen floating about. he's lovely. he's intense. he's got soul-crushing devotion on his mind, no doubt. but for every fracture of tenderness, raw sincerity, & off the cuff soliloquy, he's got a lot of interesting flaws/characteristics I'd love to unpick with a fine-toothed comb on some replays or rewatches. Still trying to turn over in my brain exactly what that is, but it's there, and I love it. will say I'm really glad I played it mostly in a vacuum rather than getting too into others' thoughts on him, because What I Had Seen on the Webbed Site had near put me off entire (seeing someone say he's not prideful or pompous at all... when he self-describes as pompous?) -- maybe it's my tendency to focus in on what makes a character tick, when are they sharper, or harder, or meaner, and I enjoy watching that play out a lot, but? yeah. I didn't come away thinking him a super soft mushy mwahmwah -- ROMANTIC, yes, but overall as a character not nearly so lovesick and in desperate need of some protector. in fact when you tell him you don't want to be his crutch, he says as much too -- you've helped him, but you're not the sole focus of his person or the only thing keeping him alive.

there's enough of the humanity in his cheekier moments (stop licking the damn thing!!) and plenty of tear-jerking aside all of that. gale my canon-depressive-episode, mildly suicidal, chronic pained up, still-kind-of-full-of-yourself king. I adore you I love you I cradle you softly in my arms. he charmed me entire! I think that the themes hey were trying to tackle are really interesting and nuanced and I do have some thoughts on the success of the game in actually tackling those, what is there is really wonderful. some gorgeous writing in act 2, especially, and it was sold so well by the voice acting & sincerity in the writing I was just like. PERFECT. 10/10. NEED TO WRITE 98 FLUFF PIECES RN. which does not happen often, to me, as a person.

with. some exceptions, going back to critiquing act 3 as a whole.

act 1 & 2 are both strong, really nice. however this romance definitely needed at least one or two more scenes in act 2 to pad out the space between awkward flirting at the party to "I like it when you're sweaty and bloody-- sorry who said that" to "I LOVE YOU. I LOVE YOU." -- these scenes should've elaborated on Gale's personal feelings; of mystra, of what's been asked of him, of Tav. they should've set in threads of Gale's anger earlier, rather than the jarring shift from late act 2 "yeah I'll kill myself" to "actually... mystra fucking sucks! lol!" in act 3 at sorcerer sundries. yeah babygirl, mystra DOES fucking suck, wish I could've listened to you as you arrived to these conclusions rather than connecting empty character lines between act 2 and 3. and act 3 desperately needed more space to talk gale in or out of the crown. because by the time we get to the end, if he's really into the crown, he's into it beyond the focus of all else. but in the scenes where you talk him off that particular ledge, it doesn't even take very long to do so, and leaves kind of a weird... gap of intention.

I feel like they wrote themselves into a bit of a corner, honestly. because Gale's personal quest literally cannot be resolved until 5 minutes before the end, any climax wouldn't have much space afterward to pad the aftermath. so the solution to that would've been more character focus scenes, more flavor text depending on how you've influenced gale, something that actually makes the choices feel rewarding -- some hurdles to cross too, checks of some kind. but there really isn't any of that, and so the conflict is almost nonexistent. you squirt gale with a water bottle and he gives up the crown with no real additional dialogue. or you tell him "ma...maybe???" and he's suddenly a power obsessed little freak (complimentary) with no recourse, and in either case, we never got much dialogue to get some insight into his personal thoughts on it. this doesn't make Gale a bad character, but it does leave the narrative to be lacking in some regard.

like, for example. Astarion gets dialogue changes depending on the quest outside of character-specific moments (such as a spawn Astarion changing his dialogue after you help Aylin with Lorroakan), post-quest conversations, PRE-quest conversations with his siblings, moments where he reveals more of what he thinks (such as "You're... you. no one is like that.") etc., Gale gets None of that. the only other characters who really do are Lae'zel and Shadowheart; everyone else is either shafted or resolved in the last few minutes too. I came out of this most satisfied as a player overall with LAE'ZEL'S conclusion (also at the end of the game!!) because we had gotten a few more moments where her focus is obvious and her motivations are clear.

anyways, those are just general writing issues. Act 3 overall is the weakest, most agree, and that's still true here. Sadly it kind of takes some of Gale down with it in this case, because his personal quest is both so removed from the overall plot (despite him being a literal fixture as the only character who knows anything about the crown & was decreed by a literal god to take out the absolute).

however none of this is related to Gale as a guy. as a guy I'm Fucking Obsessed With Him. taking him with me everywhere was so rewarding especially in act 1 / 2. his commentary & insights, when they were there, ranged from funny as fuck to genuinely insightful & interesting for the overall plot. the ideas behind him, the glimpses we get of the life he led before, and the life he wants to lead after with Tav -- or what he alludes to wanting to lead with Tav, thinking that he'll still probably die at the end of this -- are lovely, interesting, TOUCHED MY SPIRIT. he's such a neat version of how to do a character that is as endearing as he can be foot-in-mouth, and as intelligent as he can be a little belligerent. I looooved every moment I could talk with him about magic in act 1, see his passions (beyond mystra), argue with him about how to do something (I'M the magical wonder here actually and I get to make the shadowlantern), all of that really MADE the romance for me in the lulls where his Silence or the gaps in his writing were more clear. 10/10 would kiss that fucking wizard again and cry a little bit thinking about exploding with him aboard a giant alien brain while one of those "ITS YOUUU I LIE WITH" songs plays in the bg

#tldr he's my special guy. some of the writing was disappointing as a pacing thing but he's MY SPECIAL GUY #I also cried a little bit as lae'zel got to take off on a red dragon with orpheus but that's secondary #also I said orpheus is hot & NO ONE agreed with me. fine. I'll carry this banner alone #men who are capable of executing a rebellion or instant apocalypse with their swaths of power. What.#who said that.#anyways. GALE MY DARLING. my belovedest. I want to write 1000 dialogue snippets in act 2 and 3 for you #and MAYBE I WILL. who knows.#still chewing on him and need to Ponder if I want to actually make any sort of character studies for him because. um.#some of you.. can be off the rails about this man. but I do think of him fondly and love what was there #he can be a bit of a bitch he can be the most wonderful man in the world he can hold your hand he can cast globe of invulnerability #he can also make the FUNNIEST fucking oneliners known to man. I crave him carnally & emotionally #I want to Add scenes to his romance. I wish act 3 was better. goddamn.#still one of my favorite games though. I am Back on the nautiloid as we speak. Durge and Minthara time #bg3 meta

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