#If ur a bird….and ur in the air…..and NOT TOUCHING THE GROUND

[pokemonfrommemory]

Birb

[favefandomimagines]

Peter (a.b)

Summary: the past has a funny way of ruining the greatest things

AN: I really hope this made sense 😂 I was all over the place

Request: @talkativecarnation hi! omg i looove ur Anthony Bridgerton fics SO MUCH! can i request 10, 9, 13, 12 from your angst prompt list. preferably in that sequence in an arranged courtship/marriage scenario but it's all up to you if you have a better vision for it 🤍 can't wait for this!! TYSM!!!

The estate of Aubrey Hall shimmered in the soft light of dawn, the golden hues of sunrise spilling across the sprawling grounds. The chirping of birds and the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze brought a sense of serenity to the outside world, but within the grand manor, an air of tension lingered.

Anthony Bridgerton sat at the edge of his massive mahogany desk, his head bowed and his hands gripping the edges as though they might anchor him. His study, a room that had always served as his sanctuary, now felt oppressive.

The neatly organized stacks of correspondence and ledgers stood as a testament to the responsibilities he carried as Viscount, yet today, those duties paled in comparison to the turmoil in his heart.

His gaze lingered on the letter before him, the ink slightly smudged from the number of times his fingers had traced its words. Y/N had written it weeks ago, with no intention of it seeing the light of day. A heartfelt plea for understanding, for connection, for something more than the strained coexistence they had settled into since their wedding.

Anthony found the letter in between two large books he had never opened until that day.

Her words were full of vulnerability, and that was what made them so unbearable. She deserved better than the coldness he had offered her.

A marriage born of duty was nothing unusual among the ton. Anthony had entered the arrangement with the pragmatic mindset he applied to all aspects of his life—an advantageous match, one that would bolster both families and secure his legacy.

Y/N was everything he could have hoped for in a wife: poised, intelligent, and well-matched to the demands of her new station. Yet for all her perfection, he felt the weight of failure pressing down on him, a failure to be the husband she deserved.

The truth gnawed at him, an ache he couldn’t ignore. His heart, traitorous and stubborn, remained tethered to a past he could not undo. A past named Siena Russo.

He had loved Siena with a passion he had not known he was capable of. The fiery opera singer had consumed his every thought, her voice and presence filling every corner of his being.

But their love, as wild and all-encompassing as it had been, was doomed from the start. Siena could never fit into his world, and Anthony’s duty to his family had forced him to end it.

Or so he told himself.

The reality was far less simple. The end of his relationship with Siena had not been entirely his decision, and the bitterness of that unresolved goodbye haunted him.

He told himself he had done the right thing, the only thing he could do, but the weight of her absence still lingered, like a ghost he could not exorcise. And now, it threatened to destroy the fragile bond he might have had with Y/N.

He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration mounting. How could he move forward with Y/N when Siena’s shadow still loomed so large? How could he pretend to be the devoted husband she longed for when his heart was so fractured?

Every time he thought he had steeled himself to let the past go, a memory of Siena would creep in—a laugh, a touch, the sound of her voice. It was as if she were etched into his soul, an indelible mark he could not erase.

The creak of the study door startled him, and he quickly folded the letter, tucking it into the drawer as though hiding it could also conceal his guilt. Turning, he saw Benedict standing in the doorway, a cup of tea in hand and a knowing look in his eyes.

“You look as though you’ve seen a ghost, brother,” Benedict said, stepping into the room and setting the cup down on the desk.

Anthony forced a tight smile. “Just tired. The estate requires more attention than usual this time of year.”

Benedict snorted, crossing his arms. “You might fool the rest of the family with that excuse, but not me. What’s troubling you?”

Anthony hesitated. He and Benedict had always shared an unspoken bond, a willingness to confide in one another when the burdens of their respective roles became too much. But this—this was a vulnerability he wasn’t sure he could voice.

“Nothing of importance,” Anthony said finally, turning away.

Benedict studied him for a moment before shaking his head. “You know, Anthony, ignoring a problem doesn’t make it disappear. Whatever it is, you should deal with it before it festers. For your sake. And hers.”

Anthony stiffened at the mention of Y/N, but he said nothing. Benedict left without another word, his parting advice hanging in the air like a challenge Anthony wasn’t ready to face.

Alone again, Anthony let out a long sigh. His brother was right, of course. Avoidance would solve nothing. But how could he face Y/N when he couldn’t even face himself? How could he explain the tangled mess of emotions inside him when he barely understood them?

Anthony leaned back in his chair, staring up at the high ceiling of his study as if searching for answers in its ornate design. He had married Y/N with the intention of fulfilling his duty, of honoring his family’s expectations.

But somewhere along the way, he had begun to see her as more than just his wife in name. She was kind, perceptive, and endlessly patient with him—a patience he knew he had done nothing to deserve.

And that only made it worse.

Because the more he came to admire her, the more he realized how much he was failing her. And every time he looked at her, he couldn’t help but wonder if she already knew. If she could sense the part of him that still belonged to someone else.

He clenched his fists, the guilt and frustration bubbling to the surface. He couldn’t keep living like this, caught between the woman he had lost and the woman he was supposed to love. But no matter how much he tried to convince himself to move forward, Siena’s voice echoed in his mind, whispering reminders of what they had shared and what he had given up.

Anthony closed his eyes, a single thought running through his mind.

How can I give Y/N my heart when it still belongs to someone else?

And in that moment, he realized the answer was one he wasn’t ready to face.

||

The glow of twilight bathed the grounds of Aubrey Hall in hues of amber and rose, casting long, soft shadows across the manicured gardens. Inside the grand estate, Y/N stood by the window of the bedroom she and Anthony now shared, her hands loosely clasped before her.

Her gaze wandered over the sprawling fields and dense woods beyond, but her thoughts were far from the picturesque view.

She had spent much of the afternoon in quiet solitude, walking the gardens to clear her mind and steady her heart. The beauty of the estate, though breathtaking, did little to soothe the ache that had grown within her since her marriage to Anthony Bridgerton.

Theirs had been a union forged not by love, but by expectation. Duty. Obligation. At the time, she had told herself it would be enough. She would fulfill her role as Viscountess, and in time, affection would blossom between them, as it often did in such arrangements.

But now, months into their marriage, Y/N found herself yearning for more—more than the polite exchanges and careful civility that defined their interactions. She had entered this union willing to give her heart, yet Anthony seemed unwilling—or perhaps unable—to meet her halfway.

The truth of it cut deeply. Anthony was a good man, of that she had no doubt. He was protective, devoted to his family, and carried the weight of his responsibilities with a strength that few could rival. But there was a distance in him, a wall he had built around himself that she couldn’t seem to breach. And worse still, she knew why.

Siena Russo.

The name was never spoken between them, but it lingered in the spaces where silence stretched too long. Y/N had heard whispers of Anthony’s past with the opera singer before their engagement, though she had dismissed them at the time. After all, many men of Anthony’s station had dalliances before settling into respectable marriages. It was a truth of their world, one she had prepared herself to accept.

But this was different. Siena wasn’t merely a part of Anthony’s past—she was still a part of his heart. Y/N could feel it in the way his gaze sometimes drifted when he thought she wasn’t watching, the way his smile never quite reached his eyes when they were alone. She could see it in the way his body tensed whenever a mention of the opera or a familiar tune from the stage drifted through a drawing room.

It wasn’t the existence of Siena that hurt Y/N; it was the hold the other woman still had over Anthony. A hold that no amount of duty or propriety could seem to sever.

Y/N’s thoughts were interrupted by the soft creak of the door opening behind her. She didn’t need to turn to know it was Anthony—she had memorized the rhythm of his footsteps, the sound of his breath when he was near. He hesitated in the doorway for a moment before stepping fully inside, the tension in his posture palpable.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his voice tentative.

She turned to face him, her expression carefully composed, though the effort of keeping her emotions at bay felt exhausting. “Anthony.”

He lingered by the door, as if debating whether to stay or retreat. Finally, he crossed the room, stopping a few paces away from her. His dark eyes met hers, and for a fleeting moment, she thought she saw something vulnerable in his gaze. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

“I owe you an apology,” he began, his voice low. “For how I’ve been—how I’ve treated you.”

Y/N’s heart ached at his words, at the sincerity she could hear beneath the surface. But apologies, however genuine, wouldn’t erase the months of loneliness and doubt. “You’ve been distant,” she said quietly, her tone steady despite the emotions swirling inside her. “I’ve tried to understand, to give you time, but it feels as though no matter what I do, you keep me at arm’s length.”

Anthony’s jaw tightened, and he looked away, unable to hold her gaze. “I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice breaking slightly. “I wish I could be the person you want me to be. But I’m not. And I don’t think I ever will be.”

The words hit her like a physical blow, stealing the breath from her lungs. She had suspected as much, had felt it in the coldness of his touch and the distance in his eyes, but hearing him admit it was a pain she hadn’t prepared for.

“Why?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Why won’t you let me in?”

He hesitated, the battle within him playing out across his features. When he finally spoke, his words came in a rush, raw and unfiltered. “You think I don’t notice? You think I don’t see how much I’m hurting you by staying? But I don’t know how to let go.”

“Let go of what?” Y/N pressed, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “Your past? Siena?”

Her words hung in the air like a challenge, and the way Anthony flinched told her all she needed to know. She had tried to avoid speaking Siena’s name, tried to be patient and understanding, but she could no longer ignore the truth.

“You loved her,” Y/N said, her voice soft but steady. “I know you did. And I know that love doesn’t simply vanish. But Anthony, you’re married now. To me. I cannot be a shadow in my own marriage.”

Anthony’s shoulders slumped, and he raked a hand through his hair, his composure unraveling before her eyes. “Every time I think I’ve moved on, you pull me back in,” he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. “But every time, you leave again. I can’t keep doing this.”

Y/N felt tears pricking at her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She had cried enough in the solitude of her room, in the quiet hours of the night when Anthony lay beside her but felt a thousand miles away. Now, she needed answers.

“Do you think it’s fair to punish me for what you lost with her?” she asked, her voice rising slightly. “Do you think I don’t feel it every day, the way your heart isn’t truly here? The way it belongs to someone else?”

Anthony didn’t respond, his silence speaking volumes. And as Y/N stared at him, her heart breaking anew, she realized she was at a crossroads. She could continue to fight for a man who seemed determined to hold onto his past, or she could let him go and preserve what little of herself remained.

But deep down, she knew she wasn’t ready to give up. Not yet..

||

The Bridgerton family was known for its lively breakfasts, a time when the entire household gathered to share stories, tease one another, and strategize for the day ahead. But this morning, Y/N had no desire to face the endless chatter of the Bridgerton siblings, nor the weight of Anthony’s brooding presence. She lingered in the garden instead, letting the cool morning air soothe her frayed nerves.

She hadn’t slept. The argument with Anthony had replayed in her mind endlessly, his words like daggers carving into her chest. The rawness of it left her feeling unsteady, as though the ground beneath her feet might crumble at any moment.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t hear the soft footsteps approaching until Eloise’s voice broke through the stillness.

“There you are. I was starting to think you’d run away.”

Y/N turned to find Eloise standing a few feet away, her arms crossed and an eyebrow quirked in that familiar, no-nonsense way of hers. Dressed in a casual morning frock with her hair only half-pinned, Eloise looked as though she’d just rolled out of bed—but her sharp eyes and quick tongue betrayed that she was, as always, entirely alert.

“Good morning, Eloise,” Y/N said, her voice betraying none of the turmoil she felt inside.

Eloise tilted her head, studying Y/N with a perceptiveness that was both comforting and unsettling. “Don’t ‘good morning’ me. You look as though you’ve been crying, which is entirely out of character for you. What’s he done this time?”

Y/N’s lips parted in surprise, and Eloise smirked. “Oh, don’t look so shocked. I may not spend my days gossiping like the rest of the ton, but I have eyes. And I’ve known Anthony far too long to be fooled by his brooding act.”

Y/N hesitated, unsure how to respond. She and Eloise had grown close in the months since the wedding, their shared disdain for the more superficial aspects of high society fostering an easy camaraderie. But there were certain things Y/N had never discussed with her sister-in-law, and the state of her marriage was at the top of that list.

“It’s nothing,” Y/N said finally, attempting a weak smile. “Really.”

Eloise scoffed, stepping closer and plopping unceremoniously onto the stone bench beside her. “That’s the worst lie I’ve ever heard, and I’ve heard plenty. Come on, then. Out with it. I promise not to repeat a word, unless it’s to berate my dear brother for being an insufferable idiot.”

Despite herself, Y/N let out a soft laugh, the sound surprising her as much as it seemed to please Eloise.

“That’s better,” Eloise said, giving her a small smile. “You don’t have to tell me everything, but you do realize you’re allowed to be angry with him, don’t you? Anthony has a way of making everyone believe he knows best, but trust me—he’s as clueless as the rest of us, especially when it comes to feelings.”

Y/N sighed, running a hand over the folds of her skirt. “It’s not just that. I… I knew what I was getting into when I married him. Or at least I thought I did. But he’s so—he’s so closed off, Eloise. It’s like he’s locked himself away, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t reach him.”

Eloise frowned, her expression softening. “And let me guess—he’s too busy wallowing in his own guilt to notice how much it’s hurting you.”

Y/N looked at her, startled by the accuracy of the statement. “How do you know?”

“Because I’ve seen him do it before,” Eloise said simply. “With our family, with himself, with anyone who gets too close. Anthony carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, but he refuses to ask for help because he thinks it’s his job to handle everything alone. It’s infuriating, really.”

Y/N’s throat tightened, and she looked down at her lap. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep trying, Eloise. I want to love him, but I don’t know if he’ll ever let me.”

Eloise was quiet for a moment, her gaze thoughtful. Then she reached over and placed a hand over Y/N’s. “You don’t have to do it alone, you know. Loving someone like Anthony is exhausting—believe me, I’ve tried for years as his sister. But you’re not the only one who can knock some sense into him. If you need help, I’m more than happy to remind him that he’s being a complete fool.”

Y/N let out another laugh, this one tinged with relief. “Thank you, Eloise. Truly.”

“Of course,” Eloise said with a grin. “Now, let’s go inside before breakfast is over. If we’re lucky, we might catch Anthony before he disappears into his study to brood. And if he looks even slightly smug, I’ll spill tea on him.”

Y/N smiled, the tension in her chest easing slightly. For the first time in days, she felt a glimmer of hope. Eloise was right—she didn’t have to face this alone. And perhaps, with a little help, she could find a way to reach Anthony after all.

||

The parlor was dimly lit, the fire in the hearth reduced to glowing embers. The air felt thick, heavy with the weight of unspoken words and lingering tension. Anthony sat on the edge of a high-backed chair, elbows resting on his knees, his head in his hands. Across the room, Y/N stood by the fireplace, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as if warding off a chill that wasn’t there.

Neither of them spoke for what felt like an eternity. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the faint crackle of the fire and the distant ticking of the clock. Y/N’s mind raced with fragments of their earlier argument, the pain of Anthony’s words still fresh and raw.

"I wish I could be the person you want me to be."

"But I’m not. And I don’t think I ever will be."

How was she supposed to move forward after hearing that? How was she supposed to reconcile the man she had vowed to love and honor with the man who now admitted he might never be able to give her his heart?

���I can’t do this anymore,” Y/N said finally, her voice trembling but firm. “I can’t keep pretending everything is fine when it’s not.”

Anthony’s head snapped up at her words, his dark eyes locking onto hers. For a moment, he looked almost startled, as though her declaration had caught him off guard. But then his expression softened, and he let out a long, weary sigh.

“I know,” he said quietly. “I’ve been selfish, Y/N. I’ve been holding onto something I shouldn’t, and in doing so, I’ve hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you.”

Y/N’s lips pressed into a thin line as she fought to keep her composure. “You say that, Anthony, but do you realize what it feels like? To share a life with someone who won’t share themselves in return? I’ve tried to be patient. I’ve tried to understand. But every time I think we’re moving forward, you pull away again.”

Anthony rose from his chair, crossing the room in a few long strides. He stopped a few paces away from her, his hands hanging limply at his sides as if unsure whether he had the right to reach out. “It’s not because of you,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “It’s because of me. I don’t know how to let go of the past, Y/N. I don’t know how to let go of her.”

There it was. The truth they had danced around for months, laid bare in the dim light of the fire. Her name wasn’t spoken, but it didn’t need to be. Y/N had always known she was competing with a ghost, but hearing Anthony admit it aloud was a different kind of pain—a sharp, searing ache that stole her breath.

“Then why did you marry me?” she asked, her voice breaking. “If you’re still in love with her, why didn’t you fight to be with her?”

Anthony’s jaw tightened, and he looked away, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames. “Because I couldn’t,” he said after a long pause. “She made her choice, and I made mine. I thought… I thought I could move on. That I could be the man my family needed me to be. The man you deserved.”

“But you can’t,” Y/N said bitterly. “Can you?”

His silence was answer enough.

Y/N turned away, tears stinging her eyes as she stared into the fire. “Do you think I don’t see how much this is hurting me? How much it’s breaking me to stay in a marriage where I’ll never be enough for you?”

Anthony’s head snapped up at her words, and he took a step closer, desperation etched into every line of his face. “You are enough,” he said fiercely. “You’re more than enough, Y/N. This isn’t about you.”

“Isn’t it?” she demanded, turning to face him. “I’ve given you everything I have, Anthony. My love, my trust, my patience. And what have you given me in return? A shadow of a husband who’s still in love with someone else.”

His shoulders slumped, and he raked a hand through his hair, his composure unraveling before her eyes. “I don’t know how to fix this,” he said, his voice breaking. “I need to fix this.”

Y/N stared at him, her heart aching at the vulnerability in his voice. She wanted to believe him, wanted to believe that he truly wanted to make things work. But how could she, when he hadn’t yet let go of the woman who still held his heart?

“I don’t know if you can,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “Not until you decide what you really want. Do you want to stay in the past, clinging to something that’s already gone? Or do you want to build a future with me?”

Anthony opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. For the first time in his life, he was truly lost, torn between the ghost of what once was and the promise of what could be. And as Y/N turned and walked away, leaving him alone in the flickering light of the fire, he realized he might not have much time to decide

||

The door closed softly behind her, but to Anthony, the sound was deafening. It echoed in the empty room, a final punctuation to her words that left him rooted in place. His chest felt tight, constricted, as though the air had been sucked out of the room. For the first time in years, Anthony Bridgerton—the Viscount, the eldest son, the steadfast leader—felt utterly powerless.

He sank back into the chair by the fireplace, his head falling into his hands. The warmth of the embers did little to thaw the chill settling deep in his bones. Y/N’s words replayed in his mind, each one sharp and piercing, cutting deeper than any wound he had ever endured.

"Do you want to stay in the past, clinging to something that’s already gone? Or do you want to build a future with me?"

It was a question he didn’t know how to answer. He had spent so long building walls around himself, convincing everyone—including himself—that he was fine, that he had moved on from Siena, that his marriage to Y/N was enough. But tonight, those walls had come crashing down, and he was left exposed, vulnerable, and unmoored.

The truth was, Anthony didn’t know how to let go of Siena. He had loved her once with a reckless passion that consumed him entirely. But it wasn’t just the loss of Siena that haunted him—it was the idea of love itself. He had seen what it could do, how it could destroy a person. He had watched his mother fall apart after his father’s death, her grief so overwhelming it had nearly crushed her. Anthony had sworn he would never allow himself to feel that kind of pain.

And yet, here he was, on the brink of losing the one person who had dared to love him despite all his flaws, his scars, his mistakes. Y/N had given him her heart, and he had squandered it, too afraid to truly let her in.

His jaw clenched as he stared into the dying fire, frustration and guilt warring within him. He had married Y/N because it was the logical choice, the responsible choice. She was everything a viscountess should be—graceful, intelligent, kind. But somewhere along the way, she had become more than just his wife. She had become his anchor, his light in the darkness he had long resigned himself to. And he was losing her.

The sound of the clock striking midnight jolted him from his thoughts. He couldn’t sit here any longer, wallowing in self-pity and indecision. He had to do something, to find a way to fix the mess he had made. Rising to his feet, he left the parlor and made his way to Y/N’s room, his footsteps echoing in the quiet halls.

When he reached her door, he hesitated, his hand hovering over the doorknob. What could he possibly say to her? How could he make her believe that she was enough, that she was everything, when he hadn’t even been able to admit it to himself until now?

Steeling himself, Anthony knocked softly. “Y/N,” he called, his voice low but steady. “It’s me.”

There was no response. For a moment, he considered walking away, giving her the space she clearly needed. But then the door creaked open, and Y/N stood before him, her expression guarded. She was still in the same dress she had worn earlier, though her hair was loose now, cascading over her shoulders in soft waves. Her eyes, red-rimmed from crying, met his, and the sight of her broke something inside him.

“What do you want, Anthony?” she asked, her voice tired.

He swallowed hard, struggling to find the right words. “I don’t know how to fix this,” he admitted, his voice raw. “But I can’t lose you. Please… tell me how to make it right.”

Her lips parted in surprise, but she quickly schooled her expression, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s not that simple,” she said. “You can’t just say you don’t want to lose me and expect everything to change. You have to mean it, Anthony. You have to show me.”

“I do mean it,” he said, taking a step closer. “I’ve been a coward, Y/N. I’ve been so afraid of opening myself up, of losing someone I care about, that I didn’t realize I was pushing you away. But I see it now. I see how much I’ve hurt you, and I hate myself for it. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I’m begging you—give me a chance to prove that I can be the man you deserve.”

Her eyes searched his, as though trying to determine if his words were genuine. “And what about her?” she asked quietly. “What about Siena?”

Anthony’s heart clenched at the mention of her name. He had spent so long holding onto the memory of Siena, convincing himself that he could never feel that kind of love again. But standing here, looking at Y/N, he realized how wrong he had been. His feelings for Siena had been fleeting, intense but ultimately unsustainable. What he felt for Y/N was different—it was steady, grounding, and terrifying in its depth.

“Siena was my past,” he said, his voice steady. “You’re my future, Y/N. If you’ll let me, I want to build that future with you.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and for a moment, Anthony feared he had said too little, too late. But then she stepped aside, opening the door wider, and he knew she was giving him a chance—a chance to prove that he could be the husband she needed, the man she deserved.

And Anthony vowed to himself that he would not squander it.

[mysicklove]

i had the most unhinged thought and raced to your inbox because i need this demon expelled from my body asap. hawks coming home from the worst day of patrol, everything went wrong and he had to speak up at a press conference, play the part of perfect, and all he wants is to melt into your touch. you can see it in his eyes, the dark circles, and the weary tilt of his smile. "baby bird," his voice is hoarse, "need you to hurt me tonight," so he can finally unravel. you're the only one he wants to be perfect for. okay goodbyeee 💀

𝐔𝐍𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐕𝐀𝐒

Pairing: Masochist! Hawks x Gn! Sadist! Reader

CW: face slapping, lots of blood, cock stepping, kicking, bruising, cock slapping, heavy degration, loss of air, mean reader, tons and tons of tears, scratching, mouth spitting, no mention of safe word but keep in mind it is there !!!

A/N: anon im sorry i totally changed ur thing, i just saw masochist hawks and sprinted. the demons wrote this, not me. dont look at me everyone. HEED THE TAGS

it was a way to blow off steam. something that he looks forward to, just some time where he doesn't have to think anymore. only feeling he has the stinging sensations and the tears that prick his eyes. it was an embaressing obsession he had. he loved pain.

Keigo walks to the bedroom, his hero costume tattered, and dark circles under his eyes. he is exhausted, but coming to you for your touch. pulling you close to him, and mumbling into your neck how bad he wants you to hurt him. till he bruises and bleeds. till every thought just disappears except for you.

and so you pull away, and slap him. it makes him tumble backward, and his yellow glasses fall off. he touches the tingling feeling on his face, blood spilling out from the skin caught on your wedding ring. you dont let up, sending another loud smack across his face, and this time he does fall to the ground, landing on his ass.

tears prick at his eyes, and he can feel his lip tear open. the taste of blood coats his mouth and he gulps, looking up at you for more.

he feels your foot jab onto his clothed cock and he keens, wincing up at you. "w-wait," he stutters, throwing his head back when your press even harder. "fuck!"

"wait? you want me to wait? after you begged for it like a dog?" he is squirming under you, tears now streaming down his face as you dig your foot into his pants.

"'m sorry. sorry—you are going to kill me!" he pleads, hands trying to dig themself into the carpet to fight back against the pain.

you sigh, and let up, instead using your foot to push at his chest, causing him to fall over and onto his back. "take off your clothes, Keigo," you mumble, taking a seat on the bed with crossed legs and staring down at him.

"okay. okay. I will. Just give me a minute!" he pants, tearing off his jacket and shirt as fast as he can. he knows something is coming, you werent playing nice.

you dont give him enough time, he reaches for his pants, and without hesitation you slam your foot into his stomach. he goes tumbling backwards and lands on his side, curling into a ball and panting. his eyes are wide and he is gripping onto his adomen. it surely will leave a huge bruise tomorrow. but thats not what he is worried about, he cant breathe.

"awww, did you get the wind knocked out of you? that's what happens when you move too slow," you tease, as you take in his appearance. he trembles in front of you, looking up at you in fear. tears drip down his cheeks and onto the ground, as he tries and fails to catch his breath.

you giggle at him, padding over to him. he flinches at the footsteps, bracing himself for another kick, but you just begin to unbutton his pants, pulling them down. "useless thing, arent you. cant follow any directions," you coo, now tearing off his boxers.

his cock springs out, tip red and leaking pre cum. "such a pervert! you sick fuck, keigo. who gets hard from getting beat?" you land another slap to his thigh, and his whole body jerks.

you smile at the red handprint, glancing back at him to see him beginning to drool. its coated red from the blood from his cheek and lip. he's is still heaving from the kick, eyes wide, and body gasping for oxygen.

"say Hawks do you get turned on when you are losing against villains? pop a boner like a freak for anyone who hits you?"

his eyes flash to you and he is shaking his head desperately. his words are breathless, "no. no. 'm not a freak!"

a quick, but harsh slap to his cock. he jumps again, globs of tears falling quicker. "fuckkkkk," he whimpers, shaking his head back and forth. his whole body shakes, and fingers dig into his own skin.

"you liar! do you want to be kicked again?"

"no no no no. im sorry. im sorry! im a freak. a pervert who likes to get hit. im sorry," he sobs, reaching for your ankle for comfort. you slap it away and he hisses, rubbing the back of it with a sniffle.

but you smile at him and lean over to sit on his chest. his head is still lolled to the side and his body racks with sobs. "shhhhhhh. so whiny Keigo. thanks for admitting it. my disgusting pervert. here, a reward."

you grab his face, hard enough to bruise, and force him to look up at you. his eyes are half shut in a wince, but he tries to force them open to look at you. you pry his mouth open, lean forward, and drop a glob of spit into his mouth.

he doesnt hesitate to swallow it, opening his mouth up again and sticking his tongue out to show you its gone. "th-thank you," he whimpers, and you smile fondly at him.

you hands trail up and down his down his body, sending vicicoius red raised scratchmarks along his pretty skin. "now, pervert....what should we do to this pretty canvas?"

he grins up at you, tears still dripping, and blood staining his cheeks and lips, but still stars in his eyes. "anything."

[onthewaytosomewhere]

okay it's super early or late (depending how ya look at it since i've not gone to bed yet - but i'm working on it so might as well post this first right

the first of my @safe-smuttin fics got posted - putting an end to the tension - a lil bit of alex/pez fun

so it's only fair i give ya words from that right and the firstprince one to come too - sure we can do that - and well smutty ones! (so under a cut) SO OPEN TAG FOR ANYONE WHO WANTS TO PLAY and some more under the cut with the smut

alex/pez

Alex feels a rush of heat flood his cheeks at the compliment, and he nudges forward slightly, a mix of eagerness and bashfulness. He scoots back on the bed until he’s nestled against the pillows, heart pounding with every passing second, anticipation mounting as Percy crawls into the space between his legs. The way Pez’s hands glide over his thighs is steady and deliberate, a gentle parting that leaves Alex feeling both vulnerable and exhilarated. Percy’s gaze sweeps over him, taking in every inch of his exposed skin, and when their eyes lock again, a teasing smirk plays on Pez’s lips, making Alex’s pulse race. It’s the kind of look that sends butterflies fluttering in his stomach and ignites a fire that spreads through him. “In fact, this just might be the prettiest cock I’ve seen in quite some time.” Pez’s voice drops to a low, sultry tone that makes Alex shiver with want. Alex’s breath catches in his throat, and the air suddenly feels thick around them. Whatever response Alex might have formed leaves him as Percy’s hand trails down, and his fingers brush a gentle and tantalizing path along his length. Pez’s touch is light and exploratory, and it sends a shiver racing up Alex’s spine. It seems as if his every nerve ending is alight with sensation. He tips his head back against the pillows, and a low moan escapes his lips as pleasure washes over him.

firstprince

The first touch of Henry’s fingers along Alex’s taint is gentle — a soft press of Henry’s fingertips against him, teasing and careful as they slide from his balls to his hole. Alex exhales shakily, his thighs falling even further apart in invitation. Henry’s free hand moves along the inside of Alex’s thigh, slow and soothing, grounding him as that slick finger moves around his hole. After teasing for what feels like forever, but is nowhere near that, Henry’s finger pushes in, inch by inch, and Alex is lost in how damn good it feels. Alex’s head falls back against the pillow, and a sound somewhere between a whimper and a moan slips past his lips. Henry works Alex open carefully, curling his finger just right, dragging pleasure along Alex’s nerves with every movement. His other hand drifts up, tracing patterns along Alex’s hip, thumb brushing the curve of his waist in a way that makes Alex just as crazy as the finger in his ass. “Fuck” Alex gasps, hips shifting restlessly against the bed. “Henry …” “You’re doing so good, Alex,” Henry murmurs, his voice low and tender and it damn near does Alex in. He presses a soft kiss to Alex’s thigh before adding a second finger, slowly stretching him wider inch by excruciating inch. The burn is sweet and slow, pleasure curling low in Alex’s gut. Henry’s fingers move expertly, scissoring and pressing, each stroke driving him closer to the edge—closer to Henry’s cock in him. Alex’s body hums, every nerve ending sparking with sensation, until it’s almost too much. He grips the sheets as his hips roll down to meet Henry’s touch, seeking more. Henry watches him intently, gaze dark and full of heat, fingers curling just right — “Fuck,” Alex gasps, back arching as Henry finds that spot inside him. “Right there. Jesus, fuck, right there.”

okay tag ur it (in a no-pressure all that jazz way) @adreama-writes @alasse9 @anincompletelist @basil-bird @bitbybitwrites @blueeyedgrlwrites @cactusdragon517 @catdadacd @caterpills @cha-melodius @cricketnationrise @dragonflylady77 @duchessdepolignaca03 @emmalostinwonderland @eusuntgratie @everwitch-magiks @faketrex @firenati0n @firstprincehornyramblings @firstsprinces @iboatedhere @inexplicablymine @jmagnabo92 @judasofsuburbia @kiwiana-writes @littlemisskittentoes @miharaikko @myheartalivewrites @ninzied @orchidscript @porcelainmortal @priincebutt @run-for-chamo-miles @seths-rogens @softboynick @sophie1973 @sparklepocalypse @stellarmeadow @stratocumulusperlucidus @suseagull5914 @tailsbeth-writes @taste-thewaste @theprinceandagcd @thedramasummer @typicalopposite @thesleepyskipper @thighzp @tinyarmedtrex @zwiazdziarka

[magical-soup]

Crushed and Aching, I Keep Going - Chapter 1 : Quiet Afternoon, not so quiet

Summary:

In a world unfair, people get hurt. Unable to wipe all pain, healing is required. As difficult as that is, one must try; with the help of supportive companions, they can heal.

It was just meant to be a quiet afternoon, how did he get here? Panic courses through his stinging skin and everything hurts, too bad his brain will never let him rest…

Or; Grian has a flashback but Impulse and Scar arrive to support him, turning a terrifying afternoon into a calm, cozy one.

This series is posted both on tumblr and AO3; here is the AO3 link for those who want that:

https://archiveofourown.org/chapters/152699971?show_comments=true&view_full_work=false#main

Notes:

Me? Projecting? NOPE! Idk what ur talking about pffff not me must be someone else hahaha… I gave them all trauma so now they have to deal with it :b L

This fic has age regression, that is when someone mentally regresses to an earlier developmental stage, it is SFW and healthy. If it makes you uncomfortable, leave.

Also, any time bird, fledgling, nestling, avian, or chick is used it is referring to Grian.

TW: Flashbacks, panic attacks, swearing, self harm(hitting, biting), germaphobia/contagous OCD, guilt for being scared, grief, guilt, suicidal ideation.

The scary sections with be marked with ‘#’ and end with ‘#^’

~ ~ ~

#

It was just meant to be a quiet afternoon. The waves crash along the shore and clouds slowly pass by. A bell rang in the distance, disturbed by the sea breeze; the tune was… familiar. Why did it-

Grian was terrified. “Terrified” was the biggest understatement the world could give. Shaking, the small bird shuddered as the panic pierced his skin, lighting him aflame. It hurt… so bad, and yet, he kept quiet.

“It’s irrational, just be rational.” They told him. They didn’t understand… they couldn’t. He wished it could stop, he wished he could make all the pain and suffering and panic disappear in an instant and it would all be over. He wished so much more than they could possibly imagine or even be willing to believe. They wanted his behavior to stop–his visible attempts to seek the smallest form of relief–it annoyed them. He couldn’t stop, it was all he had, all he could do. He was so much more helpless than they could comprehend. They were annoyed, he was so much more than annoyed; he wanted it to end so badly.

The endless fear, all controlling, consumed his every moment. It pulled at him like a puppet, tugging at his very soul to force him to action. He couldn’t stop it, no matter how much he tried, no matter how much he repeated their words in his head, it was useless. He wanted to cry, he needed to cry, but his eyes never let him. His cruel dry eyes.

The avian shuddered, air struggling to get to his heaving lungs. His throat tightening with each panicked breath. Gasping for air, his chest ached from his overinflated lungs. Attempting to silence the agonizing pictures that intruded his thoughts, Grian slammed his fists against the splintered wood of his fishing dock, wincing yet savoring the pain.

Painfully unnerving touch crawled up his skin, sending waves of panic and flashes of memories. No, no-no-no not again!- “SHUT UP!” a scream burst through the air, but Grian was far too panicked to care. Thrashing about wildly, he found himself tumbling to the ground in his fishing dock, his flailing legs thrusting him as deep into the corner of barrels as physically possible.

Frustration peaks, and in the wave of desperation his teeth find themselves sinking into the flesh of his left forearm. His jaw clenched painfully, letting out heaves of tension in one deep bite. It hurt, hell it hurt, but Grian was desperate for more relief. Even after his lips unsuctioned from his skin and the bruise was sure to sting, the lingering fear urged to be released.

White-knuckle fists slam themselves into his skull mercilessly, desperate and angry. Each pang only added to the frustration, refusing to satisfy like the bite; yet, the frantic swings kept crashing until his head ached and regret replaced adrenalin.

Ramming himself somehow further into the corner, the avian curled into a ball, a shaking, hyperventilating ball. He looked like a mess, a stupid ugly mess, covered in scratch marks and saliva. His dirt dusted wings sloppily hug his pathetic form, hiding his mess of an image with dull primary colors.

… Stupid bell… why’d it have to be there… just to ruin his day… fuck…

… dumb…dumb dumb dumb… Just!-... ugh…

A sudden touch placed on his left shoulder sent a wicken flinch through Grian. In an instant, a yelping growl escaped his lurching lungs before his blurry eyes could even process the figure crouched before him. His legs, bent to his chest almost like a shield, jutted out in an attempt to jump away, yet the wall of barrels behind him kept him stationary, resulting in his sharp talons merely scraping against the wooden shack floor.

There, crouched in front of him, was a familiar face. Impulse… Wait, FUCK! “No-no-no-no-” Grian mumbled out loud as he desperately tried to hide himself, covering his body with his wings and arms in some strange hope that it would make him disappear from this reality. “I’m sorry- sorry- I’m sorry- I-I- s-sorr-”

#^

“No need to apologize.” a soft whisper tore him from his winding thoughts. Peeking through his tangled limbs and colorful feathers, Grian sent a barely trusting glance towards the imp. “You aren’t doing anything wrong, Grian.”

Grian slowly lowered his puffed-up wings; though, keeping them tightly wrapped around his shaking body like a warm blanket.

Impulse settled calmly in front of him, sitting criss-cross on the worn wood planks. “Let’s just breathe, okay? Can you breathe with me?” Impulse asked gently. Grian cautiously nodded in response, keeping a watchful eye on the imp. Impulse then slowly lifted his hands as if he were lifting a box, deeply breathing in while he did so.

“Hold” Impulse instructed, holding his breath and pausing his hands. Grian attempted to mimic the pattern, but struggled as his lungs involuntarily heaved with fear. Predictably, Impulse’s chest deflated as he exhaled, lowering his hands along with it.

Grian, still choking on air, fluffed up his feathers in frustration, but pushed on, following instructions as the exercise repeated. Impulse didn’t show any judgment or disgust, sweetly praising the bird with each successful heave of breath.

Once steady breath met his thankful lungs, Grian took a careful shuffle closer to his friend. Small but purposeful. Impulse stayed put at his settled placement, not daring to rush the avian. Though adrenaline still rushed through his veins, Grian relaxed, stepping closer to the warm demon and waving his wings stimming.

A warm floatiness buzzed in his body, anxious but drawn to the soft comfort that always accompanied Impulse. Soon, Grian found himself climbing into Impulse’s arms, wrapping two shivering arms around the other’s torso and tucking his chin under the other’s. “Thanks…” Grian whispered, thankful.

Impulse returned the hug, engulfing the little avian in soft, cozy comfort. “No problem, G.” A clawed hand gently traced simple shapes on Grian’s back through his jumper, careful to not disturb any of the preciously aligned feathers that lined his spine.

It was warm here, comforting and safe. A bubbly fuzz began to soak into Grian’s whelmed brain, sleepy and calm. Grian melted into Impulse’s tender touch, sinking into the warm feeling. Impulse started rocking them both back and forth, slow and easy like the clear waves that splashed upon the fishing dock only feet away. Grian hummed to the movement, babbling mindlessly.

After a while of settling into the cozy small fluffiness that filled his body, Impulse spoke up, “Hey, birdy? How old are you?” Grian’s head, filled with cotton fluff, finally lifted itself from the soft pillow that was Impulse’s shoulder.

Grian sleepily blinked at the imp, soon bringing up his left hand and seemingly fidgeting with his fingers. “Hmm…” he mumbled as he thought, eventually bringing up three fingers and showing them to Impulse.

Impulse gazed at Grian with the greatest fondness the world could give, nothing but love in his eyes. “Small huh? That’s okay, lil’ birdy.” The imp tucked Grian closer then calmly brushed a few wild strands of blonde hair out of Grian’s face, combing through his unbrushed locks. The fledgling made a small sound of surprise from the sudden affection, scrunching up his face in response.

Impulse giggled at the adorable sound, cooing at the little. “Aww, so cute.” Brain fogged by fluff and smallness, Grian could only stick his tongue out in defense, lightly flapping his wings to further emphasize his disagreement with the statement.

This only encouraged Impulse further. “Oh, just a little baby, aren’t you?” A small boop to his nose and Grian was defeated. The cozy cotton fluff and increasing smallness made the fledgling clueless on how to counter this. He resorted to hiding his blushing face in Impulse's chest, which unfortunately only resulted in more cooing. “Oh, it’s okay, sweety. No need to hide.” Grian let out a small whine, bapping Impulse on the face to signal him to stop, all while muffling his incoherent babbles and tiny stims.

Impulse finally stopped, returning to simply rocking them gently and taking in the calm tunes of the waves. A salty breeze flew by, ruffling Grian’s soft feathers, forcing a small whine of the discomforted little. “Hmm, how about we go somewhere else, huh?” Impulse suggested, to which Grian subtly nodded in response. “Let’s go to my base, okay? It’s nice and warm there.”

“I’m gonna lift you up, is that okay?” Impulse checked. The little gave a small thumbs up before clinging onto the imp’s shirt. “Alright. Three… two… one-” Grian was swiftly scooped up and lifted while Impulse stood, bottom supported by the imp’s strong arms, his dark bird-like legs wrapped around Impulse’s waist.

After adjusting the positions slightly, Impulse asked gently, “Are you comfy?” A small “m-hm” and then the two were off, moving down the dirt road at a calm walking pace. Grian observed over Impulse’s shoulder, the waves of the bay began to get farther and farther away as the two hybrids walked off of Grian’s dock and onto the dirt path connecting all of the hermits’ bases together.

Grian rested his chin on Impulse's shoulder, relaxing in the fluff that consumed his head as they continued down the dirt road towards Impulse’s glowy livingquarters hidden within the cyberpunk city. Gem’s parrot’s squawked at each other from the wires strewn above them, Grian squawked back. A subtle tune slipped its way out Impulse’s lips as he hummed a sweet melody. Eyelids growing heavier with each step, Grian sunk deeper into the cozy warmth that radiated from his imp friend and finally slipped into the sweet sleep that had clung to him.

~ ~ ~

Cozy, soft warmth enveloped the sleepy hermit, the scent of fresh cooking driving him to wake. Grian’s eyes, barely open and heavy with sleep, gazed over the room. He was on a large full bed, covered in a pile of thick blankets, and settled into a mountain of pillows and plushies. A strange bud sat in his mouth; it didn’t bother Grian though as he mindlessly chewed on the soft silicone. Lifting his head up, Grian sniffed the air like a cartoon character, the savory smell of vegetables and starches filling his nose.

Urged out of this cozy heaven, the little bird wiggled his way out of the maze of blankets and began to wander towards the smell of fresh cooking. Grian slid off the bed and waddled out the open door into the bright hallway. Finding himself on slippery tile, Grian jumped back to the safe, grippy carpet of the bedroom with a whimper.

His dark eyes stared down the cruel flooring. The little found a solution by crawling, lowering himself to the ground and slowly exploring the environment on four limbs. Now in the lit hallway, Grian realized that he was dressed in an unfamiliar onesie. The fabric was a bright blue, patterned with many small parrots. The texture of the loose pajamas was soft, pleasant to rub his fingers with.

The baby bird, head swarmed with fluff and cotton, giggled and bounced with joy from this newfound discovery. ‘They look like me! They look like me! The little birdies!’ he thought in his fuzz filled head. Flapping his wings and hands about, his noisy behavior attracted a lovely friend.

The curious yet kind cat, Jellie, gracefully strutted down the hall, soon followed by Scar rolling after her. The warm kitty rubbed her head against Grian’s knee, producing a subtle purr at the small hermit. “Hello there!” Scar greeted his little. “You are very brave for exploring out here all on your own, silly bird.” Grian gaped up at his best friend with wonder, the words not processing through his fog filled brain.

Sucking on his pacifier, the tiny parrot made grabby hands at Scar, which unfortunately resulted in a sad yet fond expression to possess the vex. “Sorry, darling, but I don’t have the strength to hold you.” Scar began to mess with something in the bag that laid in his lap. “How about this? We can play a fun game instead!” Scar’s face changed to one of joy and surprise as he pulled out a soft toy. A floppy purple plush resembling a monkey dangled with Scar’s hand as he held it out in front of the fledgling.

Grian’s eyes lit up with excitement as he leaned forward, immediately attempting to grab the plush, just out of reach. Scar began to roll backwards, guiding Grian with the fun toy towards the main room and out of the dusty, barren hallway.

Finally managing to latch onto the monkey, Grian pulled it into his chest, hugging the cuddly plush as tightly as he could. Grian giggled at the beloved toy, flapping and stimming his limbs in joy. Then, a rude cooing sounded from his surroundings, “Aww, what a cute baby.” Scar commented. Blushing at this interruption, Grian looked up to face the rude audience.

Scar gazed at him sweetly, babying the little bird greatly. “Are you just so cute, with your little monkey!” The vex proceeded to make high-pitched incoherent sounds of cuteness aggression, lightly waving his leathery wings and stimming with his hands. Grian blew raspberries at Scar in defense before huffing and turning away, keeping his prized possession secured in his arms.

A ray of sunshine caught Grian’s attention, the little suddenly distracted. Finally noticing that he was in a new environment, Grian glanced around with wonder. Gaping at the sunlit furniture, the curious avian crawled around the room, dragging around his purple friend Floppy of course. The baby hermit, filled with child-like curiosity, felt every interesting texture and surface that his little hands could touch: the rough rug, the yellow leather couch, the thin gray curtains, everything! It was all so interesting!

In his fixated exploration, he didn’t notice the fluffy feline that followed him closely. A loud meow called from behind him and a gray tabby soon appeared in his vision. “Kitty!” Grian babbled into his pacifier. The fledgling waved Floppy in greeting, letting the loose plush flail playfully. Jellie made a sound of interest, soon batting at the drooping object. Giggling with delight, Grian swung the cute plush, tempting the gray cat all around the gray rug.

Sweet muddled whispers of a distant conversation came from behind a deepslate island in the kitchen. Now entranced with the interesting noises, Grian found himself wandering towards the source of the sound, which also happened to lead to the source of the lovely smell that filled his senses. Crawling off the soft rug onto cold tile, the avian turned the corner around the island, catching sight of a tall imp adorning a yellow apron and an exhausted looking vex sitting in his wheelchair beside him.

“Well the food is almost done. Uh, how is G doing?” Impulse asked as he stirred the pot on the stove.

Scar fidgeted with a small toy in his hands, a purple and cyan square pop-it. “He’s doing okay. Haven’t noticed anything concerning at all, just very small and curious as always.” He said calmly, not looking up from the fidget toy.

The two much mentally older were busy with their discussion, too busy to see the regressed Grian, who decided to make this into a spy mission. He hid behind the island, obscuring himself from view, and hugging Floppy to his chest, secretly listening in on the garble of words that seemed to pass through his head, holding no true meaning.

Impulse shifted his weight on his feet. “Is Jellie getting along with him?”.

“Yeah!” Scar glanced up at the cooking imp with a bright smile. “She is being very nice to him, sweet as always.”

Scar’s face turned red and he dropped his head. With slight hesitation and a stutter, Scar asked just above a whisper, “Do you think she knows? Like- with what’s happening?” he mumbled something about animals having sixth senses while looking to the side in embarrassment.

Impulse cocked his head in fondness and slight confusion. “Yeah, probably. Animals are usually nicer to regressors when they’re small.”

Scar stiffened, realizing the misunderstanding. “No-no-no! Yeah-yeah- with the regressors and stuff, but I mean with how… my body’s been… y’know.” Scar waved his hands about as if to explain what he meant.

“Oh, OH! Yeah, yes, definitely!” Impulse blurted out. “You know how, like, service dogs work. They have cat ones too!–Service cats. So she can probably tell with her super strong cat senses.”

Scar tilted his head fondly, a sad yet pleased smile marking his expression. “Yeah… I think so too.” The vex then peered over the counter into the living room, spotting said cat busy grooming herself. He also noticed the lack of a certain feathered baby, suddenly tensing up and wheeling around the end of the island opposite from Grian.

A nervous laugh made its way out of Scar’s lips “Uh-huh-uh- Grian!” he called out. A giggle was heard around the counter. Impulse glanced at the bird’s super good hiding spot–a smile pierced his face as he joined in on the game, copying Grian when he looked up at him and put his finger to his lips. Scar, oblivious to the amazing hide-&-seek player, searched the living room with worry building in his gut.

The tiny bird peeked his head out from behind the counter–the hider and the seeker met glances. The feathered fledgling quickly crawled back behind the island, unable to control his fit of giggles from the anticipation. His wings waved sloppily behind him with the excitement of his “mission”, a mess of feathers painted a mix of primary colors flapping uncontrollably. The little fledgling attempted to grab at the wiggly limbs, not wanting to give away his location, but it was an unfortunate struggle. He twisted into contortions that you would assume to be painful if it wasn’t Grian.

As the sound of rubber wheels rolled up next to him, Grian flopped, defeated, on the tile. “Grian? What are you doing hiding here, baby? You nearly gave me a heart attack.” Scar said as he rolled up next to him and set a grounding hand on Grian’s shoulder.

“Was playing super spy.” Grian mumbled into the red pacifier, chewing on the bud to loosen the frustrated tension that had built with his failure. “You found me.” he muttered, disappointed. The little playfully danced his purple plushy in front of himself, letting its limbs flop around lazily.

Scar noticed the sad expression that rested on the avian’s teary face. “Well that’s okay, darling. You sure gave me a fright so I’d call that a success.” he attempted to cheer up the little, slowly rubbing the avian’s back in affection.

Suddenly, The electric stove whined loudly when the water boiled over the edge of the pot. Impulse let out a shocked shriek as he frantically pressed buttons on the stove in a panic, desperate to stop the blaring alarm.

Grian yelped in surprise, quickly covering his ears to muffle the noise. Everything was moving so fast and so loud, Grian wasn’t prepared. His head was running with panic and thoughts and everything was far too overwhelming to do anything about it-...

#

… He was back there again, back in that classroom. Shaking so hard, it’s shockingly sad to hear that it went unnoticed. The teacher spoke to the class, Grian wasn’t part of them. His eyes were glassy and filled with a level of fear his peers couldn’t comprehend. He had held his breath so long that it hurt, but he was too scared to let go, to breathe in the contaminated air. His skin felt wrong, every part of him felt wrong.

‘It’s fine, you’re ok’ he tried to tell himself. It failed against the all encompassing panic. His chest ached and heaved, ribs crying out in pain. He couldn’t give them relief, he would rather sacrifice his lungs than give in and breathe in the worst substance.

He wanted to cry, but he couldn’t, not in front of his worst enemy. He would rather die, but he couldn’t die while contaminated. His mind tempted him anyway, filling his thoughts with various methods. ‘Out the window, the height might be enough to finally escape this hell.’ Muscles tensed so hard that they were constantly sore. ‘The highway is only about two miles from your house, you could walk there easily. The cars going 55 miles per hour won’t stop for you, it would definitely kill you.’ Sweat dripped from his forehead, he couldn’t wipe it. He couldn’t touch anything, he was infected, hands and arms covered in an imaginary disease. ‘That large bottle of pain pills at home is probably enough to kill you.’ He was covered, head to toe in the terrifying substance. He was paralyzed, he couldn’t dare move, couldn’t risk touching anything else, infecting it, getting covered and contaminated further.

#^

Grian was curled into a tight stiff ball, almost motionless except for the shivering and desperate gasps that escaped from his choking throat. Discarded on the ground, the red pacifier was dirtied alongside the purple monkey. The beeping had finally stopped but the boy sitting in the kitchen still resembled a terrified mannequin. Subtly shaking and sweating bullets, his black eyes were covered in a glassy filter and a thousand-yard stare.

“Grian? Grian, can look at me?” Impulse pleaded, crouched before the frozen little. Beside him, Scar was searching through his bag for any little gear or stim toys that could help. “Lil’ birdy? It’s okay, you’re safe here.” Impulse tried to calm the avian, with no success.

Suddenly, Scar pulled out a blue pacifier, decorated with waves and shiny white gems. Along with the paci came a bright green and yellow rattler, already making noise with the movement of being dragged out.

Carefully, Scar slowly brought the rattler in front of the boy’s face, shaking it lightly. The noise seemed to help, Grian blinking rapidly and twitching his head. After a few more shakes of the instrument, the fledgling finally raised his head, facing the brightly colored item with cautious curiosity.

Grian’s dark eyes were still distant, seemingly peering off somewhere else, but the fog was slowly clearing.

“Hey,” Impulse whispered as if talking any higher would break him. “You’re okay. You’re safe.” Impulse tried to bring the other to a feeling of safety, but this only seemed to drive him to anger.

Eyebrows scrunched up and knit together, Grian glared at Impulse with an unknown fury. “No… no I’m not.” his voice was scratched and torn, almost like he was sick.

#

He was sick–sick of people telling him to ‘just stop’ and to ‘just get over it, already’. He was sick–terribly sick–and not just tired: crushingly exhausted. He was trying, he was trying so hard…

He wasn’t safe, they couldn’t understand. They couldn’t ever…

He wanted to cry, he wanted to scream, he wanted to let out his years of frustration and fear in one ear bleeding screech. But he couldn’t, not to his friends, not to anyone. It wasn���t their fault that they weren’t educated on it, that they didn’t know. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, not even his own, yet he still struggled to believe that. How was it not his fault, he didn’t tell them!... couldn’t…he couldn’t. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t. Not with the alexithymia, lack of understanding, helplessness, and petrifying fear. He couldn’t–even when he wanted to, even when he needed to.

He had worked so hard, so, SO hard to get better, to tell people. But the ache in his chest continued to stab at him after all these years. Made of fear and guilt, it ate at him, chewing at his hope and determination, crushing him down to ash. Down to ash like Evo…

…Evo, destroyed, turned into nothing by those… creatures…

If only he had shut up!–maybe it wouldn’t have happened… fuck… stupid Grian- stupid Xelqu-... How dare they name him that–after those terrible gods. Just for some “motivation”–bullshit! He knew what it really was. Those bastards.

If only they had felt how cold the void was, knew the pain he felt after the massacre they did on his body, maybe they wouldn’t have done it. Maybe they would have stopped. But of course they didn’t–what did he expect? That terrible cold ink, all for nothing… just for pain…

He wished he had died then, or when he had thought about it at the worst of his teenage years. Maybe then, he wouldn’t have had to suffer as much; he wouldn’t have to suffer now. Maybe his family would have been better off without him. If he’d committed to chugging those pills they wouldn’t have had to be so bothered by his disgusting existence. They would have been saved without him.

…and maybe Evo would still be around… without him…

“What do you mean by that, Grian?” Scar had asked, followed by an awkward silence of concerned glances and patience.

The question finally processed through the blurry confusing mess that filled Grian’s head. “I-... I-” he couldn't answer.

His lip quivered, yet he swallowed the sobs that rose in his throat. Grian buried his red face in his knees, hiding from the terrifying world. Stupid fire alarm… dumb cold void… A sudden anger boiled up as an image of those… creatures… flashed through his mind. Grian shook his head as if to push away the intrusive thought.

A wave of grief shoved him under, drowning him in anger and ache. His fist tightened, lightly punching his leg with angst. “Ugh!...” Grian groaned from the bubbling emotions, whimpering with each pang that wracked his soul.

“Hey, it’s okay. No one’s mad at you.” Impulse reassured gently, resting a grounding hand on his shoulder.

Grian took a moment to breath before slowly shuffling closer to the imp and taking in the warm hug that Impulse always promised to provide. Those large, strong arms didn’t lie, creating a secure, comfortable embrace around the avian.

“I’m sorry.” Grian clung closer, hiding his shame by burying his terrified expression in Impulse’s chest. His wings tucked tightly to his back, fingers grasping the fabric of the demon’s shirt.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. It’s not your fault.” Impulse whispered as if it was as easy as breathing. Calmly petting Grian’s beige locks as if he didn’t just say the most painfully kind words that Grian has heard in a long… long time.

Dry sobs wracked through his aching body. The words were so kind… it opened a deep wound carved into by years of agony. “Why’d it have to happen!” Grian yelled into Impulse’s chest as he lightly punched into the imp’s back. “Why…” he whispered, softer.

Scar rubbed his back, soft and gentle, “There is no good reason, darling. You didn’t deserve it, either way.” Scar answered, as if it was so simple. And it hurt… it hurt so bad.

#^

Angry fists tensed with each rhetorical question and long-aching grief that passed through his body. Waves crashed against his amygdala, foaming and breaking with each splash. It hurt. Impulse just simply shushed him quietly and rubbed his back gently, holding him closely–no judgment. The blurry fog began to creep back into his head, drinking in the taste of emotions and shrinking smaller at the warm, soft touches that promised safety and support.

Soft fur brushed up against Grian’s hip, purring, concerned. Grian peek out from the sanctuary he built in Impulse’s chest to look at the cat who yearned to comfort. A small hand cautiously reached out towards Jellie, gently brushing the gray fur lining her back. The feline rubbed into his hand, basking in the pets. The edge’s of his lips curled upwards slightly, smiling at the gesture.

A soft rattle shook from nearby–a brightly colored rattle was held up in front of Grian’s face. Impulse gently shook the toy, making the beads inside the rattle shuffle about, clinking together and creating an interesting noise.

The small boy carefully reached his shaky hands out towards the rattler, taking hold of the handle and inspecting the colorful instrument. He waved it about wildly to make it rattle but his loose grip on the toy caused it to get launched across the floor.

Impulse was quick to the rescue, fetching the toy for his sweet bird swiftly and returning it without hesitation. The tiny chick let out a high pitched chirp, clenching his fists tightly around the handle of the wooden rattle. He shook it aggressively, inspecting the toy intently, trying to explore the mystery of the toy.

“Do you like the toy?” Impulse asked with a welcoming smile. Grian nodded rapidly, excited to share his joy. “That’s great! Now can you tell Impy how old you are?”

Grian was feeling smaller by the second with how his brain was trying to cope–a bubbly playfulness to replace the consuming panic. He wasn’t very good at pin-pointing his mental age–it just felt like a heavy fog and simple smallness. Unable to give a number, Grian just shrugged in response. “I dunno.” he answered, slurring his words sloppily.

“That’s okay.” Impulse responded calmly, a gentleness easily present in his voice. Grian made a hushed “Sorry…” as he pressed his face into Impulse’s chest, quietly shaking the rattle close to his ears as an auditory stim. “Hey…” Impulse remarked, “There’s nothing to be sorry for, you did nothing wrong, little one.” He sweetly brushed through Grian’s hair, knowing just how much the avian liked it.

The little stayed hiding in the imp’s arms; though, he soon found interest in placing the wooden rattle into his mouth. “Ah-ah, no, we don’t chew on our toys.” Impulse gently moved the toy out of Grian’s mouth. “Here.” He replaced it with a blue, ocean-themed pacifier, sliding the teet into Grian’s mouth and clipping it to the collar of his blue onesie. Impulse was beaming afterwards at the adorable sight. “Oh, aren't you so adorable, with your little onesie and paci. How cute, so tiny.” he cooed. Grian blabbled nonsensically around the silicone teet, waving the rattle with delight.

“Now, my little birdy, I heard that there’s a delicious bowl of food waiting for you in the living room. It’s much more comfy in there, too.” Impulse explained with a sweet excitement in his voice. Grian glanced over to the living room at the mention of it, leaning out of Impulse’s arms somewhat to get a better look. Sitting on the coffee table, a steaming bowl of veggies cooled with a spoon poked into the food. Scar was relaxing in his wheelchair beside it, yawning widely and sleepily adjusting his vex wings.

Impulse interrupted Grian’s observing, “Do you wanna walk there yourself or do you want me to pick you up?” The words barely made a crumb of sense to his distracted, fluff filled brain, but the words “pick you up” stood out like a shiny gem in the sea of gibberish. The little immediately clung closer to the imp, bouncing with joy and babbling incoherently as he waited impatiently to be lifted up by his beloved caregiver.

“Okay-Okay-!” Impulse understood the excitement, quickly securing the avian in his arms and standing up. Grian giggled wildly as the imp playfully bounced the little in his arms and walked over into the living room, the little waving at Jellie as she followed close behind.

Impulse sat down carefully on the leather couch, settling the fledgling into his lap. The little bird failed to stay still, wiggling about in anticipation. Grian shook his hands with pure joy when Impulse returned Floppy to his arms, fondly nuzzling the plush while shaking his rattle wildly. Giggling with delight, he was completely distracted from his past angst.

Scar had busied himself with choosing a kid appropriate show to watch–scanning through the Disney program–while calmly petting the gray feline that laid comfortably in his lap. A song began to play from the television when Scar finally decided on a show. Brightly colored dogs danced around for the intro of the show; the title of the show in big bold text at the end of the tune, “Bluey”. Grian was apparently hypnotized by these vibrant colors and catchy tunes, staring at the screen fixated.

“Are you ready to eat now?” Impulse asked, peering down at the little in his arms. The small hermit stared back, taking a moment to process the words in his baby brain. Finally understanding the question, the fledgling jumped around in his caregiver’s arms, so excited to finally eat the food that he had been sniffing since he awakened. Impulse watched his precious little with affection, smiling widely at the cuteness.

“This meal is a bit messy, so do you think you’ll need your bib?” Impulse asked, grabbing a red bib from the cushion beside them and holding it up in front of Grian. The little squeezed his eyes shut as he contemplated, using all the big thinking he could find in his foggy head. After a minute of tough thinking, Grian opened his eyes and nodded his head confidently, grabbing at the bib.

“Okay-okay- no need to rush.” Impulse assured, giggling at the excitement as he carefully attached the bib around Grian’s neck, securing it with a small ‘click’ of the plastic mechanism on the back.

Impulse leaned forward and grabbed the bowl sitting atop the coffee table, carefully stabilizing it in his hand before readjusting his position to better accommodate for the new task. He sweetly removed the blue paci from Grian’s mouth and letting it hang from the clip.

Scooping up a bite of hot carrots with the spoon, he started waving the utensil in front of Grian’s face. “Here comes the airplane!” The imp created a “Brr” sound while moving the spoon closer to Grian’s mouth. “Say ah!” Impulse instructed as the “airplane” approached his lips.

Opening his jaw, Grian’s taste buds were soon consumed with a warm delicious flavor. He closed his eyes and hummed as he chewed on the soft food. When he swallowed the bite of carrots, Impulse gently combed through his messy hair. Grian sloppily flapped his wings to let out his happiness.

Another fresh spoonful of sweet potatoes and veggies was soon “flying” towards his lips, quickly being eaten up and enjoyed by the hungry fledgling. He licked up the bits that had missed his mouth before the next “airplane” took off, soaring directly into his munchy maw. This delicious game continued until the bowl was scraped clean of warm veggies and Grian’s stomach was warm and satisfied.

A napkin batted at the fledgling’s face, cleaning off the mess of stray crumbs and veggie juice. The nestling whined at the unwelcome fabric, scrunching up his face in defense; luckily, the napkin was quick to leave, done with its job.

“Good job, G!” Impulse praised. A ‘click’ was heard behind Grian’s head as the bib was removed from his neck. The avian went to bring his pacifier up to his mouth when Impulse nudged him lightly. “Are you thirsty, bud?” he asked. Grian blinked sleepily at him for a moment before nodding slowly.

The imp reached over to Scar, who passed his Grian’s baby bottle from his bag, and quietly handed the bottle to the little. Watching the water swish around inside, the fledgling realized how dehydrated he was. Lifting the teet to his lips, the baby quickly latched onto the nipple, suckling in sips of cold, refreshing water.

The bird relaxed into the imp’s arms–comfy and safe in this delicate care–slowly drinking his water while returning his attention to the cartoon playing on the TV. Body feeling properly hydrated and soothed, the little gently settled the bottle in his lap and placed his pacifier in his mouth, gnawing on the teet calmly.

On the illuminated screen, the cartoon characters went about their episodic shenanigans. Grian didn’t really bother paying any attention to the colorful canines–he could barely even keep his eyes open with how sleepy he was–merely subconsciously chewing on his pacifier and lazily flopping Floppy around in his hand. A large yawn made its way through his throat, making the sleepy boy drop his paci. He sleepily gaped at it before sleepily returning it to his lips.

The mentally older hermits, noticing his exhaustion, shared a glance at each other. Scar started “Hey, baby bird?” He reached his arm out and nudged Grian’s shoulder to get his attention. The baby bird barely had the energy to move his head to face him. “You tired?” Scar asked, already knowing the answer. If Grian wasn’t so deep in babyspace, he would have protested at assumption. Instead, he sleepily blinked at the vex, nodding while lazily rubbing his eyes.

A voice behind him spoke softly, “Well, it looks like it’s bedtime for this little one.” Impulse teased, getting ready to bring the little to bed.

Grian whined loudly, using the last of his energy to clumsily climb Impulse’s body to complain into his chest and cling to him sleepily. “Not bedtime.” he mumbled, sleep dripping from his words and melting his tired body.

“Well, at least take your anxiety meds, first.” Scar urged, passing over a small baggy that he’d packed to the also exhausted imp that held the avian. Impulse carefully took out one of the small white pills from the baggy and grabbed Grian’s water bottle in his other hand before gently nudging the whiny little in his arms. Grian wasn’t too pouty about taking his med, quickly swallowing the pill with a fresh gulp of water provided by the help of Impulse.

The little chick was so terribly sleepy, he was truly helpless when Impulse lifted him up- up- and away. Grian quietly protested as he was carried past the dozens of pictures hung in the hallway and into the dimly lit bedroom. But once he was settled sweetly into the bundle of soft blankets and squishy pillows, Grian grew quiet, growing too sleepy in the warm, low-light environment.

The nestling used all the strength that he could manage to limply grab at Impulse’s hand, begging him to stay. The imp fell for the puppy dog eyes, slipping into the bed with Grian and cuddling up close with the little. Grian, cozy in his cocoon, melted into the warmth that was Impulse, his kind caregiver. He snuggled into his arms and made small chirps as his eyes shut close.

As the tender kiss pressed to his forehead, Grian drifted off to sleepy town, content and cozy in his caregiver’s arms.

~ ~ ~

Notes:

This series has been months in the works. All chapters are around 5k words just like this chapter; I hope to upload them 1 chapter every 2 weeks.

This took so long to write, but I was so fixated on it I couldn’t stop writing. I made this almost entirely at school D: homework is for noobs anyway, fanfiction is for life B).

Hope you enjoyed :D! Feedback is appreciated, please leave any mistakes I may have made in the comments.

[companionwolf]

Did the FSG stuff I wanted to do; I...am counting this as +1 practicing of the skills too. Two birds and all that, I think.

Posting here for reference and logs...

MODULE 1 TOPIC 1 WRITTEN EXERCISE 1: practicing orientation to the present and anchoring with writing

BACK OF THE HEAD DISSOCIATIVE SCALE BEFORE (1 = TOTALLY CHECKED OUT, 5 = TOTALLY PRESENT) -- 3.45?

ORIENT--

12:11pm, June 18 (Wednesday), 2025;

The body/I am 25;

I am on the couch in the living room of the parent's house in Texas.

ANCHOR--

Sight

1 the lamp on the table by the couch; the open end (where the light bulb is inserted) is facing me, it's curved slightly in a subtle s shape and the metal of its neck is silver; there's a warning label on the inside of the lamps hood; the inside of the lamp and the bulb are white, but not super bright white; the lamp is not on; the lamp.is made of metal

2 the cup on the table beside the couch; it's maybe....half a foot from the lamp?; it's about...eh, maybe 7 inches tall?; it's plastic and light semi translucent blue; it is empty

3 the remote on the table beside the couch; urs closer to the cup than the lamp, maybe by 2 inches to the leff; it's sitting on a mottled wooden...tray thing? by the left side of said tray; the remote is white; it's made of plastic and the buttons are also white; it's smaller than the cup, maybe 5 inches?

Sound

1 I can hear a clock ticking; it's a little high pirched?; very quiet, as it's up high on a wall across the room, it's staccato

2 the air conditioning; it's lower pitched and constant; it's louder than the clock ticking

3 the hum of electricity; it's high pitched, more than the clock; very very quiet; constant

Touch

1 the dog Zoey; her fur is short medium length, sort of wiry and rough; her fur is brown; she is warm when I touch her; she did not move or look at me much (she is asleep and I touched her very gently)

2 the couches cover (to protect from the dogs); it's a smooth fabric with criss cross lines stitched into it; it's brown; the criss crossing make diamond patterns on the cover; it's actually slightly colder than Zoey (due to the AC?)

3 my work shirt; it's black and has like...raised lines in the material?, otherwise it's smooth and soft; it's warmer than the couch cover but not as much as Zoey

[NO TASTE OR SMELL PRESENT.]

BACK OF THE HEAD DISSOCIATIVE SCALE AFTER (1 = COMPLETEY CHECKED OUT, 5 = COMPLETELY PRESENT) -- 3.65, maybe?; there wasn't a huge difference from before to now re: how grounded I feel, but I think it did improve? I feel... more aware I guess maybe. Present-ish. Which makes sense given it's grounding. And I did feel something get a tiny bit better...

MODULE 1 TOPIC 1 WRITTEN EXERCISE 2: thoughts and feelings related to grounding skills

PART A

1) things that make me not want to/not feel like using grounding skills

- the effort of grounding is often a lot, and it's exhausting

- sometimes not being grounded feels better?

- sometimes maybe I feel I don't deserve to feel better (if I believe the grounding skills would help)

2) fears about being grounded or connected to the present?

- not being able to cope with emotions that I have dissociated away from (grounding will make me feel them)

- it's hard and I'm worried I'll just fail or that I won't work and I'll be uselessly trying and trying

3) things you like about not being grounded (aka dissociating)

- it's easy

- it's familiar

- I don't have to deal with emotional stuff as much

PART B

1) things that are scary or that I dislike about being ungrounded or dissociated

- I lose the ability to realize things are not then

- I lose the ability to remember options for coping

- sometimes we switch and it's not a good switch

- sometimes we get overwhelmed and choose to do things that hurt us

- sometimes we have flashbacks

- dissociating is somewhat distressing by itself

2) personal reasons I think it's important to be grounded

- being grounded helps you be safer (less confused thinking, increases awareness of options for coping, helps you make decisions that are less likely to hurt you-- or at least allow you to make informed choices about what to do)

- being grounded helps you avoid and or manage difficult situations and symptoms

- being grounded helps you notice when things are actually safer in the present

[starry-blue-echoes]

Just wondering, what did happen when gio and Trish ascended the bell tower, in ur son of dio fic (I think that's the one where diavolo knows Gio is dio's kid and plans to kill two birds with one stone?) I remember that's one of my fave of ur fics and was pretty excited to see what happened next :0 no pressure of course!

I unfortunately don't have a fic for that one yet, but I'd be more than happy to share what happens next :)))

so things are...... definitely a bit tense when Bucciarati reads out the Boss's orders. He'd planned on meeting and confronting the Boss, and this was literally the perfect time but..... but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. Sure it could just be played off as the Boss thinking someone younger would be easier to defend against, but he also likely had files on every member of the Bucci Gang and the next youngest member would've been Fugo, who amongst their group was honestly among the most dangerous and had been with Passione the second longest

so no, it didn't really sit right with him

but this was a direct order from the Boss, and unless he wanted an early grave he had to follow it. So he gets off the boat, sneaks in a cell phone by turning it into some vines to hide in his sleeve, and watches with Trish as the others ride the boat into the distance

when they head inside...... the feeling doesn't get any better. The air is heavy and neither of them speak but the tension is thick and there's a buzz of anxiousness around them. Trish still has her moment where the mask she's been keeping up cracks, where her anxieties and fears make their way to the forefront and Giorno....... Giorno offers her his hand

"I'll keep you from harm. It's what I've been tasked to do." he tells her. He isn't sure what possessed him to say that, after all in the face of the Boss he really wouldn't be able to do much. It was barely anything more than empty, pretty words or condolence

but at the same time, deep down Giorno realizes he meant it. Realizes that he would risk everything he'd been trying to do if that meant another innocent person wouldn't die because of his choices and decisions. Realizes he wouldn't be able to turn a blind eye should the Boss try to do something to Trish

right now looking at Trish he realizes she's just another 15 year old who doesn't know what's going to happen next. Just like him

if this is what friendship felt like, it was the single most terrifying and best thing he'd ever experienced

they hold hands as they ride the elevator up. A grounding, firm presence they can feel and touch to remind them that they're alive and still here

but then the touch is gone

and Giorno feels pain

Pain, pain, pain extending from his stomach outwards, like his ribs have been broken and ground into powder, he can't feel his legs anymore and above all else he grows cold

they're in the catacombs now, he distantly realizes. Gone is the neat, clean elevator and in its place is dark and damp and dusty stone, barely any light at all and merciless in its presence. Trish is on the ground nearby, a cloudy half lidded gaze meeting his eyes

he can't tell if she's alive or not

but through it all, all the conflicting sensations and emotions and fading pulse of Gold under his skin, Giorno's able to make out red with white crisscross

the Stand stares at him with its acid green eyes, mouth moving and making sounds and asking questions he can hear but not understand. He doesn't know who Brando is or what World he's talking about or why he thinks he was sent by someone, the Boss asked him to be here, none of it makes sense

all he can clearly make out in the arm going straight through his stomach and hoisting him in the air

he needs to move, he realizes. If he doesn't, he's going to die

as quickly as he can, the vines up his arm are thrown toward the Boss. The Stand backhands them easily, inadvertently throwing himself across the room in the process. The arm was more painful being pulled out then being put in, but at least on the floor Giorno can fix himself

everything's a blur after that. Healing Trish, causing a jungle of plants and animals to erupt in their wake as they bolt for the exit, and even as reality blinks before their eyes and the world skips ahead without them, the Boss isn't able to follow them through all the flora and fauna

but as they run, Giorno's mind is racing. The Boss knew who he was, and the Boss wanted something from him. He thought Giorno knew something he needed and was willing to kill him for it, and with a sinking feeling he realizes him being brought down with Trish was intentional

the Boss wanted to knock out two birds with one stone

and as the two of them leave the island clinging to the back of a sailfish, Giorno begins to wonder with an ugly, sickening feeling in his stomach if Bucciarati had been in on it

[seiioei]

serenity

> character(s) - kazuha

> summary - moments spent during lunchtime, on the rooftop (high school au)

> word count - 1463

🍁

you creak open the door to the rooftop, spying kazuha lying down in a patch of sunlight.

the sun is shining. it's warmer than usual, considering it's nearly the end of winter, which is probably why he’s up here basking in the sun. the trees are bare in the courtyard and there are spots of ice still dotted around the grounds, but the atmosphere still seems mellow, soft in a way that takes away from the biting air.

you pad closer, setting down your bag next to his. you take your lunch out of the bag and sit down carefully on his right. he’s closing his eyes, you note, and he looks like he’s sleeping. you let out a fond huff at the way his hair covers his eyes, and brush some out of his face.

you move to unpack your lunch, tearing your eyes away from his relaxed frame.

suddenly, you hear a rustle of clothes behind you, then a eerie whisper right against your ear, and you yelp, whipping around.

kazuha’s sitting up when you give him a scowl, and he laughs quietly at your glare. “I wasn’t sleeping, you know.”

the sun above him makes him glow, makes him look ethereal. you pause before you can retort, caught in the way his ruffled hair frames his face and the way his eyes sparkle, but whether they glint with mirth or the sunlight, you don’t know.

he taps your cheek lightly, snapping you out of your trance. “lunch?”

you blink and look down at ur lunchbox, unconsciously touching the place where he touched your cheek. “yep.”

kazuha grabs his lunch from where it’s sitting next to him, brushing dust off his hair with his hand. he grumbles lightly when he can't reach a pine needle stuck to his back.

“isn’t the floor dirty?” you snort, reaching out to help brush the stray pine off of his sweater.

he gives you a pointed look, picking away the last of the pine needles stuck to his hair. “you ask this every time we come up here, yet you still sit on the floor.”

“at least I don't get pine needles stuck where I can't reach them.”

there's a pause, and you can feel him trying and failing to think up an adequate response. “shut up,” he says after a rather pointed look in your direction.

you give him an amused smirk. “sure.” you open your lunchbox, setting the lid to the side.

he huffs, opening his lunchbox too. you glance at each other, and you give him a small grin.

you take some of the salmon and rice from his lunchbox, and he wordlessly takes half of your eggrolls.

“just eggrolls?”

“I’ll never get sick of them,” he declares solemnly, biting into a piece.

you eat together in comfortable silence, occasionally taking bits and pieces of each others’ lunch with a grin. the birds sing out, crescendoing and receding along an unspoken tune. the melody seems to hint at the start of spring, and you bask in the cool wind of anticipation as you eat.

you finish the last bit of your dried seaweed. you put your chopsticks down, setting your lunchbox down with a satisfied exhale.

you look to kazuha sitting on your left, who’s still chewing contemplatively on the last bits of fish and rice left in his lunchbox. he’s staring out into the distance, and he looks almost perfectly peaceful in that moment, like nothing could bother him. you muse that maybe, just maybe, you get lost in his gentle features a bit too easily.

the faint wind rustles his hair, and almost like he sensed your curious stare, he turns to gaze at you, a hint of a smile in his eyes.

“what are you thinking about?” kazuha asks. he tilts his head, a mischievous look crossing his face. “it wasn’t about be me, now, was it, songbird?”

you scoff playfully. “how pretentious of you.”

but, of course, you were thinking about him. everything about him had you captivated—from the way he smiled softly at you with flecks of gold in his eyes to the way he patted your head placatingly after he teased you relentlessly.

kazuha studies you, and you study him back. he gives you a curious stare, the question still hidden in his eyes—what are you thinking about?

you knew exactly what you were thinking about.

you were terrified of him finding out. finding out how much you admired him, how much you thought about him, how much butterflies erupted from every touch from his gentle hands.

how much you loved spending time with him, even when it was quiet wordless moments shared on the evening playground, and even when it was playful yet thoughtful conversations spent while walking home together after school.

you were terrified that he would find out just how much you adored him.

you break away from his eyes first, shaking your head with a subdued smile. “nothing. just... a lot on my mind.”

kazuha reaches out a hand, brushing away a hair from your face. you startle, looking back up at him, face flushed from the almost tender brush of his fingers against your temple. he doesn't look away.

you don’t say anything. you can’t. if you open your mouth, you feel like it will betray you—dump your feelings all over the floor, exposed for everyone to see.

the air is almost still. there are sounds of wind flowing through the bare trees, but time seems to stop around you.

this time, it’s kazuha who looks away first, breaks the silence. you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, relieved yet... disappointed. he turns around, wrapping up his lunch and grabbing his bag.

when you hear sounds of rummaging, you realize that he’s searching for something. after a moment, he lets out a satisfied hum and turns to face you again, a thermos in his hands.

“I have tea.” he twists open the bottle, setting the cap upside-down on the floor. “do you want some?”

“I can’t believe kaedehara kazuha is secretly a grandpa.” you poke fun at him, grinning. “tea?”

he nudges you. “if you keep doing that, I won’t give you any.”

“kidding, kidding!” you laugh, nudging him back. “I want some too.”

he hides a smile, leaning towards you as he pours tea into the cap. he hands you the steaming cup. “here.”

you nod your thanks, and take a sip after blowing to cool the steam. the tea is warm, not as hot as you thought—just the perfect temperature. there’s the right amount of tang, and a hint of maple aftertaste, and you sigh contentedly as the warmth spreads throughout your body.

“do you like it?”

“yeah, it’s really nice.”

kazuha takes a sip from the thermos, glancing at you. “I made it the way you like it, I think.”

“yeah?” you tilt back, trying to hide the growing smile on your face. “yeah, you did.”

with the way you’re leaning back, you can see the back of his head. when he turns to face you, you tilt your head in an unspoken acknowledgement.

"hey, can I say something?" he suddenly pushes his face in front of yours, and you startle at the proximity, falling onto your back. you hit the back of your head on the hard concrete floor, and you wince.

"ow, oww..."

his head is still in front of yours, and he stares down at you with an amused smirk. “hurt?”

“mmhmm,” you groan, covering your face with your hand. he's so close...

“at least you didn’t spill your tea,” he teases.

you groan again, moving your arm to cover your eyes.

you hear the rustling of clothes, and you can feel him come closer.

heat radiates from him, and the warmth of his body pressed against your side leaves you breathless. you don’t dare move your body, afraid it might somehow scare him off.

his hand touches your wrist so softly that it almost feels like a whisper. you feel a light press of something on your forehead, and you muffle a gasp. your heart is pounding, and you’re afraid kazuha might hear, with the way red is rushing into your face.

he draws back silently, moving your wrist down so it doesn’t cover your face anymore. you can see his lips quirking up at the way your face is fully flushed. “you okay, songbird?”

you hum your assent, and he chuckles.

he places a cool hand on your cheek, a pleasing contrast with the way your face is heated up. “my songbird,” he whispers almost reverently. “so pretty.”

you lean into his touch. "so that's what you wanted to say to me?"

"shut up."

and he kisses you, again.

> notes - i am so down bad for kazuha

[unmotivated-cosmere-nerd]

Blake could never fly.

In a lot of stories, learning to fly is often an incredible moment of self actualization and freedom, but in pact the ability to fly is granted to Blake because he needs to fight a dragon, and it's a solution. For a character who has romanticised and envied birds for there freedom, Blake's wings feel practical not emotional and he only gets that back when all that he is is taken away.

More interestingly is that Blake constantly turns down the ability to fly(you fools), he goes back to the police for Evan, back to the tower for Rose, and back to Ur despite having no obligation to face it again.

And in Isadora's interlude we find out why:

The Fool in the Tarot deck frequently depicted a boy with a dog at his heels, staring at the sky while he walked blithely off a cliff, burdened only by a bundle on a stick.  The diabolist had admitted a relationship to the card.

No single detail was quite right, but much as something might appear similar if one were to unfocus their vision…

The young diabolist walked with the sparrow at his shoulder, eyes on the windows without looking through the windows, walking forward as if he were afraid to stop.  His burden here was the gas containers.

No, he was burdened not just by the gas containers, but by some notion of responsibility.

A man, when facing death, aspires to finish what he started.

What had the custodian of the Thorburn estate started?  What drove him?

She knew he sought to do good and to vanquish evil, and she could surmise that both good acts and the existence of evil had touched him deeply.

The Fool card was akin to the ace.  Depending on the game being played, it was often the lowest card or the highest.  Valueless or highly valued.  Powerless or powerful.

It all depended on context.  He sought to kill the demon, and he would either catastrophically fail or succeed.

This Fool sought to slay the metaphorical dragon.  He felt his own mortality, which was quite possibly her fault, in part, and now he rushed to finish the task he’d set for himself.  To better the world.

The Fool was wrought with air – the clouds he gazed at, the void beyond the cliff, the feather in his cap, even the dog could often be found mid-step, bounding, just above the ground.

He was a Fool wrought with a different element.  The familiar didn’t quite fit for the departure from the air, but the traditional dog didn’t conjure ideas of air right off the bat either.

What was he wrought with?  That was another question that begged an answer.

For so many characters in fiction flight represents some level of ascension(haha) often this is being free, of some fear or restriction, but also rising above others, making them small in comparison to you, to fly you must sever yourself from earthly tethers and part of the reason flight is so special is because everyone else is on earth. 

So why can’t Blake Fly? It is because he carries a burden and it weighs him down. As Isadora says, he was touched by a great evil. The Evil has left him with a desire to be free, to get away to never be pinned down (He probably associates birds with a freedom from his trauma), but he was also touched by great good, Alexis has inspired him to make the world “better for having him in it” and that takes precedent. That's why he bonds with Evan,  that's why he goes back for Rose, that's why he faces down something worse most practioners wouldn’t face in their entire career

I’m sitting this one out.  I’ve earned a break.  I’m going to use that break to do some reading I’ve fallen behind on, I’m going to look after my circle, and when that’s done, when I feel ready, I’m going back to the factory.”

Blake Turns down a chance for freedom and safety, to do what is right, even if it isn’t Right.

So that leaves us with a question, what element is Blake wrought with? And I think the answer is Earth. In Pale we learn that the astrological symbol for earth means to be a part of reality, to be brought down to the rules and laws all must follow. Flying puts one above the world, made apart from it and Blake’s mission is to make the world better for having him in it and so he must be a part of the world he cannot be apart from it. (Also Evan is dead, and his corpse will be buried, hence his connection to Earth).

In conclusion I think the reason Blake can’t fly is because he must be part if it if he wants to make it better and that responsibility will keep as a part of the earth until there is no Blake Thorburn left, and I think that's beautiful

[morpholomeg]

I love ur Morphology series, it’s one of my fav daemon AUs. I was wondering if you could tell us ur headcanon for each of the Avengers daemons? Even the ones that aren’t written like Thor and Bruce?

And if ur ever inspired to keep writing- I’ll definitely be reading!

Confession: part three of the trilogy (yes, it was originally a trilogy) was going to be a rewrite of Avengers Assemble and I wrote so. much. of it. I think I've got about 10k of it done, but I haven't touched it in absolute years.

Given that the chances of me ever finishing it are... next to nil, have a snippet for each of the Avengers about their daemons:

Steve:

In a classified location somewhere near Greenland, a woman and her dæmon sat in a truck, freezing.

“All I’m saying is that they shouldn’t have sent people with cold-blooded dæmons to the damn North Pole.”

Alison sighed. “Shut up, Logas.”

The lizard stuck his head out of the top of her coat to poke his tongue out at her, then quickly decided this was a bad move and ducked back down to take advantage of her body heat.

“How long do we have to be here?” he whined, his voice muffled.

Alison wasn’t particularly enjoying herself either, but when someone told you that you were on a mission to finally bring Captain America’s body home, it was kind of hard to say no. At least she wasn’t out on the ice, digging. Those guys all had big useful dæmons like huskies. Alison was just the mortician, with a useless, whiny tree lizard to keep her company as they waited to have something to do. Still, this was important, and at least it made a change from the monotony of her autopsy lab back in New York.

She was about to tell Logas something along those lines when she became aware of the raised voices outside. “Wait, I think they’ve found him.”

She got out of the truck, wincing as she did so and wishing she’d kept moving around. There was real commotion now, people yelling and running around.

“What’s happening?” Alison shouted, moving towards the plane where it poked out of the ground. “Agent Beckett?”

Beckett was staggering away from the plane, and Alison would have bet decent amounts that if it weren’t for the wind burn on his cheeks he would have been white as a sheet. His dæmon, an Arctic fox, was hopping up at his knees.

“Agent Beckett, are you alright?” Alison asked.

His eyes refocused on her. “Agent Newbury. Tell me you’ve got actual medical training.”

She blinked. “Yeah, I just got fed up of patients dying on me. Why, someone hurt?”

“We found his dæmon in the ice,” Beckett said.

Alison stared. That sentence just didn’t compute. “His dæmon - you mean Captain America’s dæmon? But that means-”

“He’s alive,” said Beckett. “He must be alive. Shit, it’s been sixty seven years, and he’s alive.”

Alison took a deep breath and immediately regretted it as the cold air bit at her throat. “Well,” she said. “Guess I’d best make sure he doesn’t die on me.”

~

“Welcome to your new apartment,” said Agent Morse.

Steve glanced around. It was a decent, bland sort of space, much bigger than he really needed, although smaller than the cabin in the woods where they’d put him for a few weeks. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Sure,” said Morse. She was smiling professionally, and her bird dæmon chirruped happily from atop her shoulder. It made the facial bruising and the broken arm look weirdly incongruous. “So, bedroom, bathroom, kitchen/diner. Plus, there’s a gym in the basement, and the phone line and internet have all been set up - you know what that is?” she checked.

“They gave me a lot of books to read when I was recuperating,” he said. “One of them was called Computers for Dummies.”

Sigouria huffed at the reminder, and Steve saw Agent Morse look down at her. When he caught her looking, she ducked her head a little, but didn’t blush.

“Sorry,” she said brightly. “Just - your dæmon. She looks more like a husky than an Alaskan malamute.”

Steve closed his eyes for a moment. Here we go again.

“She’s a Siberian husky,” he said. “I’m told that soon after I - well, apparently it wasn’t acceptable for Captain America to have a Russian breed for a dæmon.”

Morse’s eyes narrowed. “Alaska didn’t even join the Union until the sixties.”

“1959,” Steve corrected. “Anyway, the history books aren’t too clear on when they made the change.”

“You’re well-informed,” she noted.

“Like I said, ma’am, they gave me a lot of books.”

Books, a computer, and an internet connection. When Steve began to suspect that SHIELD had carefully limited his reading material, he’d felt frustrated until he stumbled onto the chapter of his computer textbook about search engines and realised that the internet couldn’t be limited. He’d augmented his curriculum with Google and Wikipedia, until he couldn’t face any more. The conflict with Russia. The interventions in Lebanon, Panama, Libya. War with Korea, with Vietnam, with Iraq, with Afghanistan.

And Sigouria rewritten.

In all the fiction created about him during the War, all the propaganda he’d helped spread, they’d never touched Sigouria. Sure, they'd talked about her, said she was a sign of the man inside. They'd had nothing but good things to say about Sig: a big, strong, dog dæmon, always the sign of the perfect soldier, even when paired with a scrawny nothing like Steve. She’d only become embarrassing during the Cold War, but that gave the American public a good long time to get it into their heads that Captain America had a perfectly North American dæmon. Morse was the fourth person to accuse him of being a fraud because of Sigouria. 

Her dæmon leaned into her ear and whispered, “Could be genuine.”

Steve smiled blandly. “If it helps either way, you should know that the serum gave me extra sharp hearing.”

She gave up the pretense then. “Look, Captain, you have to realise how good this timing is. SHIELD’s been encountering potential superheroes consistently for a few years now, and none of them are under government control. You resurfacing, just after the Senate pitches a fit about Stark, the Army about Banner, SHIELD about that whole crisis in New Mexico-” She cut herself off with a shake of the head, preventing him from asking for an explanation. “You turned up just when the country needed a clean-cut, well-behaved hero. It’s much easier to believe you’re a fake than to accept the idea that you were suddenly discovered in the ice after seventy years.”

That had Sigouria on her feet and moving in front of Steve, but the little bird didn’t falter, safe on his perch.

Steve didn’t know what to say. He fell back on a platitude. “Well, I’ll try to live up to that.”

Morse sighed. "I'm sure you will. And if you really are him, I should probably say - I'm sorry for your loss."

Steve's throat tightened as she left, and Sig growled at the closed door.

“Don’t,” he said. “She’s only telling us the truth.”

“And doesn’t that make a change,” Sig replied.

~

I don't think it's explicit in those snippets - Sigouria was frozen just slightly too far away from Steve, resulting in the same sort of stretching that Natasha was forced to undergo as a child. That, coupled with waking up in the future, is inducing pretty serious depression in Steve. Poor love. Sigouria comes from the Greek for confidence/safety.

~

Bruce:

The man who arrived at the hut was not charitable to Natasha. He was wary, and wily with it, and his capuchin dæmon fidgeted constantly, swinging up to Banner’s neck and then skittering down to the floor again, staying way back from Cassum. When Natasha brought up an image of the Tesseract on her phone, Banner took it easily enough, but the monkey screeched as it came too close to the threat.

“So Fury isn’t after the monster?” Banner asked.

Natasha smiled. “Not that he’s told me.”

“And he tells you everything?”

Oh, he was good. Untrained, but any cornered animal would bite back. Natasha pointedly did not glance at Cassum. “Talk to Fury, he needs you on this.”

Banner moved forward. “He needs me in a cage?”

Cassum was quivering; Natasha could feel it. “No one’s gonna put you in a-”

“Stop lying to me!”

In the blink of an eye, Natasha had a gun aimed directly between his eyes, and Cassum was a cheetah, poised and bristling, trembling.

The little monkey screeched again in alarm, but Banner just moved back a little. He was almost laughing, looking at Cassum with greed, curiosity, utterly fearless. “So, are you a science experiment too?”

Natasha didn’t say anything; nor did she lower her gun.

“I’m sorry, that was mean. I just wanted to see what you’d do.” His eyes flicked between her and Cassum, and then back again. “Fight and flight both.”

Natasha relaxed her grip slightly. “I like to cover my bases.”

Banner smiled. “So do I. Why don’t we do this the easy way, where you don’t use that and the other guy doesn’t make a mess? Okay, Natasha?”

Patronising. Informal. Still testing her. She raised a hand to the comm concealed under her hair. “Stand down, we’re good here.”

And now Banner was truly amused. “Just you and me?”

Natasha breathed out slowly, aware that it was a tell. “I like to cover my bases.” The monkey was edging closer to Cassum, who stayed stock still. “So, Bruce. Are you coming with us?”

“You understand that I’ll run at the slightest provocation,” he said.

Natasha nodded. “We’ll do our best not to provoke you. Or him.”

The capuchin was inches away from Cassum, who finally stepped back. The monkey chittered in triumph and scrambled back towards Banner.

Natasha smiled. “Well. Shall we?”

And Hulk:

“I’m okay,” Natasha said. She swallowed to wet her throat, and then looked across at Bruce Banner, and that goddamn capuchin dæmon. “We’re okay, right?”

But Banner’s pain was inscribed clearly on his face, and the dæmon was screeching. Cassum became a husky, startlingly like Rogers’s dæmon, and slowly, carefully, began shifting the debris off of Natasha’s trapped body.

“Doctor…” No response, no use appealing to dignity, too far gone. “Bruce, you gotta fight it. This is just what Loki wants.” No response, logic no longer helpful. “We’re gonna be okay, listen to me.”

Two agents were coming up to check on them, but Thea was on it. “Go! Go!” she hissed.

The monkey screamed at her.

“We’re gonna be okay, alright?” Natasha continued, knowing the desperation was bleeding through. “I swear on my life, I will get you out of this, you will walk away, and-”

“Your life?!”

“Bruce,” she said, but it was too late.

"Thea, go!" Natasha yelled. "Get out now, go to Coulson!"

The man was roaring as he became the monster, but his dæmon screamed, a high-pitched sound that deepened as the monkey grew. It writhed in agony - or so Natasha supposed - and this was bizarre, this was a twisted mockery of how dæmons were supposed to change. This dæmon did not flick from one form to the next, but tore itself apart in order to expand. Its fur darkened until it was pitch black, and two tusks pushed themselves out of the lower jaw, forcing the face to distort until it looked more like a gorilla. The tail retracted, but not fully, leaving a stump extending from the base of its spine.

Did this thing understand the great taboo? Or would it tear Natasha apart before Banner even had to get himself free of the wreckage pinning them both down?

And then with one last great shove, Cassum had her free, and they were pelting away.

I never quite settled on a name for Bruce's daemon - I felt that what with his self-hatred, he probably never addressed his daemon out loud, so I didn't really need to know a name. I was leaning towards male gender.

~

Tony & Pepper (the scene where Coulson visits the Tower - Thea was not affected by Loki possessing Clint, so she's tagging along):

"Security breach," Stark blurted, but Potts was already coming forward as they left the elevator.

"Phil, hi," she said with a smile. Her bird dæmon fluttered down to greet Alevrie but jerked back and chirped in alarm when he saw Thea. Potts' smile faltered. "And, um."

"Ms Potts, this is Thea," Coulson said smoothly. "Thea, Pepper Potts, CEO Stark Industries."

"Tony Stark, Iron Man," Stark butted in. "Great, we all know each other, so now I can ask what the hell, Agent?"

Thea was watching Potts' dæmon. A northern lapwing, she thought, and clearly very unsettled. He was edging back towards his human, unlike Stark's dæmon, a margay, who was growling and baring her teeth, almost pulling Stark forward as she stalked towards the intruders.

"Thea is the dæmon of a trusted agent," said Coulson. "Mr Stark, you need to get up to speed on our current situation; we're bringing you in."

He tried to hand him a tablet, but Stark lifted his hands and stepped back. "No, you're not. Firstly, I thought you didn't want me in your little boyband-"

"The Avengers Initiative?" Potts said faintly, before catching herself. "Not that I know anything about that."

"-said I didn't play well with others-"

"That bit I did know," Potts remarked.

"-and secondly, can we get back to the trained rabbit?"

"Jackrabbit," Thea corrected.

The lapwing let out a weak chirp and flew up to Potts' shoulder, but the margay sprang forwards with claws unsheathed, only stopping a couple of feet away from Thea. Thea stood her ground, aware of Alevrie tensing.

"So you are a dæmon," Stark said, fixing her with an intense stare.

Thea's nose twitched. "Sure am."

Potts had her free hand held to her mouth. "Sorry," she said. “We're being awfully rude.”

“We are?”

"If we can get to the point," Coulson said, holding out the tablet again.

"I hate being handed things," Stark rebuffed.

Potts took a quick breath, plastered on a smile. "Well, I love being handed things, so let's trade." She handed her champagne glass to Coulson, took the tablet and then pressed it into Stark's hands, taking his glass in turn.

Once Stark got the tablet lit up and connected to his holographic displays, it clearly only took him a second to clock the image of Thea and Clint, but to her surprise it was the margay who spoke up.

“You’re Hawkeye’s,” she said. Her voice was coarse, somehow sharp, sort of like the way that Stark stared.

Potts glanced at her, but didn’t flinch again, so clearly Stark’s dæmon often spoke in her own right.

“Born that way, yeah,” Thea agreed.

“And look at that,” Stark continued, still pointing at the screen. “Our favourite Agent Romanoff with a wolf dæmon I distinctly remember her not having when she was my fake PA. Pepper, you remember Miss Rushman’s sleek little Siamese cat, don’t you?”

Potts looked ready to faint all over again as she moved to his side, staring at the screen. “You mean that wasn’t her dæmon? Is she-”

“Agent Romanoff’s dæmon never settled,” Coulson broke in, sounding as calm and diplomatic as ever.

“Impossible,” the margay snapped, but Stark snapped right back: “Improbable.”

Thea wanted to roll her eyes. “Find it kinda funny that there’s a video of a giant green monster up there and you’re focusing on me and Cassum.”

Potts looked straight to the Hulk, but Stark shook his head. “Human bias. Giant green monsters - completely alien. Muck with something you thought you knew - that captures the attention.”

“You might want to reconsider your use of the word alien,” said Coulson. "Our antagonist doesn't even have a dæmon."

Tony's daemon is a margay called Zoirotita which gets shortened to Roti (it annoyed his father no end that a daemon named for vibrancy got nicknamed after a flatbread). Pepper's lapwing is called Bahariko, which just means spice.

~

(Quick bonus Tony:

"Deploy. Deploy!" he shouted. "Roti, get ready!"

And there was the suit, finally, clinging to him in bits and pieces, encasing him, but Roti wasn't in position, of course she wasn't, she was below him, but what the fuck, why the panic, she was a cat -

She landed heavily but on her feet, just before Tony scooped her straight back up, tucking her under his right arm.

"I need to be a fucking bird!" she yelled.

"We need to revisit Iron Cat," Tony corrected.)

You don't know how long I spent wondering how Iron Cat worked.

~

Thor & Loki:

Back on the now-crowded jet, Steve was ready to settle in for a tense and uncomfortable flight, when suddenly Thor beamed.

“I know this one!” he announced. “Little Thea the far-hearing. Where is your other half?”

Steve shared a surprised glance with Sig, but Thea just shrugged. “Best ask your brother.”

Loki was no longer grinning, apparently adequately threatened by the presence of another Asgardian, but there was still a malicious glint in his eye as he looked at Thea.

“An easy target,” he said. “A man with half a conscience, half a spirit, who has to think through every decision he makes to check if that’s the human thing to do. What could be more natural for a man like that, than to follow orders?”

“That’s enough out of you,” Steve said, and Sigouria growled low in her throat.

Fortunately, Thor seemed to agree with him, turning away from his brother. “And what is your name, shield-bearer?”

“Steve Rogers. They call me Captain America.”

“And you?”

There was a pause where everyone looked at each other, unsure of who was being addressed, for Thor had not turned his head away from Steve. It took Thea stepping on her foot for Sigouria to speak up. “Oh! You mean - I’m Sigouria. Uh. Pleased to meet you?”

“And you, young wolf.” And - oh, this was getting stranger by the second - he looked next at Stark’s daemon.

“Roti,” the margay said. “And this is-”

“Tony Stark, also known as Iron Man. And you are really definitely not of this earth, I am gonna need to reread all of Foster’s papers-”

“Natasha Romanoff,” Agent Romanoff called from the front of the jet. “And this is Cassum. We’ll be coming up on the helicarrier in thirty minutes. Let’s save the conversation for when we’ve removed certain parties from the room.”

~

And just because it was going to set up the spin off I will absolutely never get around to, bonus Coulson...

Phil Coulson opened his eyes.

White surroundings. Medical of some sort. His whole body was stiff and weak. What had - where -

Tahiti. That was right. He had been recuperating in Tahiti - a magical place - after the battle. Loki. They had won, Barton was safe, Stark had flown a nuclear missile through a portal into some other dimension, another area of space-time… Why was his brain going over this, when he’d been recovering in Tahiti for weeks?

He shook his head to clear it, and sat up. Yes, this was definitely a SHIELD medical facility. And there was a nurse coming towards him, though not one he knew. He looked - distressed. Pale, eyes darting about. Terrier dæmon hugging his heels.

“Take it easy, sir,” he said to Phil. “You, uh, you passed out on the plane on the way back. Rough landing, apparently. Uh -”

“Take a break, son.”

Phil smiled. “Nick. Long time no see.” He sat up to see Nick striding in, dæmon at his heels, and the poor nurse scurrying out of the way and practically fleeing the room, the terrier scuttling ahead. “I’d tell you to stop scaring the juniors but I know it would do no good.”

“You’re damn right,” said Nick. He took the chair to the side of Phil’s bed, his dæmon sitting gracefully by his leg, tail swiping along the floor. “You don’t know how good it is to have you back.”

Phil smirked. “Looking forward to delegating all the dirty work to me again, sir?”

Nick laughed. “Wish I could, Coulson. You know we’re gonna have to redeploy you.”

That sentence took a couple of seconds to compute, but then it all came flooding back. Loki’s spear, the side-effect that only he had faced. This was why he’d been sent to Tahiti after all: to grieve, and to learn to live again.

“Of course,” Phil said, cursing his own forgetfulness. “Sorry, I knew that.”

“Don’t apologise,” Nick said roughly. “It’s only been a few weeks without her.” Beside him, the jaguar bowed her head. “Can’t expect a man to get used to losing his dæmon that quickly.”

[sweetchup]

Bi•valve

Noun

an aquatic mollusk that has a compressed body enclosed within a hinged shell, such as oysters, clams, mussels, and scallops.

AKA

The Most Common Seashell in the Ocean

————————

Vol. 1: Just Keep Swimming // Ch. 4

Type: Poseidon x reader

Word Count: 2,000+

Masterlist

————————

It is early in the morning by the time you wake up. So early that the sun hasn’t even risen over the horizon. Over the ancient city of Athens.

Even Triton is still in bed at this time. Cocooned in a thick fluffy blanket on top of Alexander The Great—The righteous name for the Stuffed King Turtle—with pillows surrounding him like a nest. It was at times like these that you wondered if Triton was part bird, perhaps the son of a harpy, rather than aquatic.

However, that was the last thing on your mind right now. Your eyes flickered down to your phone, staring at the text messages Bella had sent you last night.

—Heyyy (y/n)💕💕! Long time no see! Thanks again for helping out with the festival again ur the best. —

—Btw I heard from the rumor mill that u have a son. Why don’t u bring him along for the festival tomorrow? We can watch him quickly during ur shift and then you can have fun with him after. —

—There is also going to be cotton candy and fireworks! It will be lots of fun for the kiddo 😉😙.—

Letting out a sigh, you rub your aching temples, already feeling a headache coming on. You knew Bella meant no harm, she really is just a playful airhead at heart after all. But, it didn’t reassure the fact that it sounded like the whole school by now has found out you have a kid. Which didn’t please you in the slightest.

Especially since some of your classmates can be as toxic as snakes. You didn’t want to bring Triton anywhere around people like them.

Then again, it wasn’t like Triton couldn’t handle himself, he was more than capable after all. You found this out the hard way after he picked up a Boulder twice his size yesterday like it was nothing.

It would also be nice for the boy to have some fun for once instead of staying inside all day. Today was going to be sunny and nice out. A perfect day to play and go outside.

Decisions. Decisions.

“…Mom?”

At the call, You peel your eyes away from the screen to look over. Triton had already scurried out of his nest like bed in the corner of the living room by the time you looked up. His hair was tousled in every which way direction as he rubbed his eyes with sleepiness. A cute yawn left his lips before he finally opened his eyes. Their pale Ocean blue glory looking up at you.

“Good morning Triton.” You cooed at the young boy as he stumbled his way over to you on the couch. He practically collapses onto you, rubbing his face into your stomach for a couple of seconds before relaxing.

You chuckle as he mumbles a good morning in return, at least what you guessed to be, though it is hardly hearable.

It is silent after that for a few as you two take in the quiet morning atmosphere. The birds chirped from the window and you could even hear the soft sounds of footsteps from your neighbors above. The world was slowly waking up.

However, as much as you wanted to stay there for longer and relax, the alarm on your phone dings. A painful reminder that you should start getting ready for the festival.

Groaning, you attempt to peel Triton off of you so you could get up but the boy doesn’t budge. You attempt a couple of more times but after hearing a small giggle from said boy, you give up.

Shuffling up from your spot, you stand up but still Triton doesn’t budge. His knees drag on the ground slightly as he falls off the couch but he recovers quite quickly by using some of his powers. Making himself float effortlessly in the air as he stays latched onto you.

You let out a small sigh but don’t care to stop the boy. Instead making your way to your room so you could finally get ready.

As soon as you enter your room however, the peace doesn’t last long as after you tell him how he has to get out so you could get changed, Triton is forcibly thrown out of your room with a pout on his face.

“Mommmm!”

Triton leans against your door with a whine. Already missing your presence even though he knows it hasn’t been that long. He stares at the door handle in temptation but frowns as he knows he shouldn’t. That he should respect your privacy as you get ready.

“Mommmmmmm!”

“Triton, please! I’ll be out in a few!”

—.—.—.—.—

You wondered if you should have asked Zeus more about aquatic gods. Especially in a time like this.

“Triton… Sweetheart? I need you to let go of my leg so I can walk.”

“B-but—“ Triton stutters out, his grip on your leg tightening as the bus begins to screech to a halting stop. You weren’t sure what was up with him but he was very clingy today. He wouldn’t take no for an answer when you told him to stay home today. Forcing you to bring him along.

You seriously wondered if today was something special that was making him act so strange. Perhaps something that pertains to gods. Aquatic gods especially.

“You can hold my hand instead. I just can’t walk with you holding onto me in this long dress and sandals.”

Hesitantly, Triton lets go of your leg and grasps your hand. He seems content with this type of contact for now but you don’t know how long it could last. Especially when you start waiting tables. The last thing you need is Triton using his powers to spill hot tea onto customers.

“(Y/n)!”

“Oh, Bella.” You announce as said girl spots you in the crowd as you enter the festival.

“So nice to— Oh my, This must be your son!” Bella coos out, squatting down slightly to look at Triton who quickly hides behind you. “Such an adorable boy and… Oooo~ Look at how nice you are dressed up.”

Startled by Bella’s comment, you take a step backwards, “Huh?”

“Oh, don’t play coy with me. You are like the bell of the ball. The—“ As you and Bella bicker back and forth, you miss how Triton puffs his chest out at Bella’s previous words. He knew how beautiful you—His precious mother—looked right now.

You were wearing a white and blue thin silk-like dress, one that flowed as effortlessly as the waves of the sea. Bracelets, Choker, earrings, all of it was shining gold. Not even Apollo, god of the sun, glimmered with as much gold as you. Your makeup was flawless with your cheeks and lips dusted in a light red to add color to your face.

Honestly, in Triton’s opinion you were even more gorgeous than Aphrodite herself. Though, he would never say that out loud… you would be in trouble with the goddess if he did.

“Woah… Dude look…”

At the sudden voice, Triton looked over. A group of males were looking at you from afar. Clearly, mentally agreeing with Triton on how pretty you were. Though, it seemed as if they couldn’t bring up the courage to make their way over to greet you. Chickening out whenever you happen to even accidentally glance their way.

“You can look but you can never touch…” Triton snickered to himself, humming a small tune in content as you finally wave Bella goodbye and go on your way.

After a while of mingling in and around the crowded area, you finally make it to your section. It was thankfully easily spotted with all the decorations of colorful fish and blue fabrics that flowed throughout the air.

“Woah! It’s like we are underwater!” Triton awed as he looked up. “Mom, this is—“

“Ahhh! Is that your son (y/n)?”

“Wait, he's here?”

“Oh my!”

Startled, you two look over to your right as three of your classmates walk over. It seemed that you were correct when you thought that the rumor must have spread about the whole school by now.

“His name is Triton.” You explain to the girls as they looked down at said boy. Triton once again hid behind you but that didn’t do much as they still cooed and asked questions to him. Feeling bad for the poor boy, you decided at that moment it would be best to leave him in the back where more of the male staff was located so he would stop being ogled at. Though it would also sadly leave him out of your sight for a while. “Well, we have to get going for my shift. I will see you three later.”

“Of course!”

The girls smiled kindly at you before all at once cooing, “Bye Triton!”

“B-bye…” Triton stutters out, looking at them from around your leg quickly before hiding again.

“Ahhh so cute!”

“I know right!”

“My. I’m so jealous of—“

As you walk away, you wait a little for the girls to be enough ways away before looking down at Triton, “You're really shy today, Triton.”

Triton lets a smile whine out in detest and clutches onto your leg more, “You can’t blame me, mom. I’m not used to girls and affection from them. My old mom scared all the women away from the palace, remember?”

“True. True.”

Finally, after many obstacles—too many in yours and Triton’s opinion—you had made it to the tent. By the time you had got there, it was already bustling full of customers and you knew you had to hurry.

“Now this way, Triton.” You tell the young boy as you bring him to a seperate tent. Being careful not to bump into the other waiters or chefs as you lead Triton to an area in the corner with the supplies. “Mom has to wait tables for now so I need you to stay right here alright. I’ll be back soon, if you get hungry you can ask Jeremy or Paul for food.”

At the sound of their names, two of the chefs look over and wave.

“But mom…” Triton whines, upset that he has to let you go, “…Can’t you stay.”

“I’m sorry but I can’t. It will just be an hour until the actual waitress I’m covering for arrives. Then you have me for the rest of the day alright?”

Triton’s face looks unsure. Still not completely content with letting you go just yet.

“Don’t worry little man.” Triton jumps a little as Paul pats the top of his head, “Your mom won’t be gone for long. In the meantime, I know how to pass the time real fast. I can teach you how to make a mean sundae.”

“R-Really?” Triton questions out, looking worriedly back and forth between you and the male. Seeming to be struggling to fight against taking the bargain the man has given him.

“Of course, you won’t even notice time has even passed by the time mom picks you up. Now, what do you like in your sundaes?”

As Paul takes Triton away, you mouth a small thank you to your classmate before giving Triton a wave goodbye. Just as you are about to turn to walk a way, you feel a hand on your shoulder.

“Don’t worry (y/n). I’ll make sure to watch your son while you are gone.” Jeremy says, shaking his head in discontent as he remembers, “I saw how those girls were harassing the poor boy earlier.”

“Thank you so much. I promise I’ll be quick.”

“Of course don’t worry about it.”

As you leave the tent, you give Triton one last look goodbye. He wasn’t looking at you at the time as he was much to busy scooping huge chunks of oreo ice cream into his bowl. Concentrating to make sure they were stacked perfectly on top of each other.

You felt a sting of worry and doubt bubble up in your stomach as you continued to stare at Triton. Unsure if it was okay to leave him like that. But, you quickly push it away, once you see Paul right behind him. Close by to help him if needed.

Triton will be okay.

Triton will be okay.

Okay.

That’s what you kept telling yourself.

But, little did you know,…

…that wasn’t the case.

Author Note: I hope everyone enjoys this chapter. I’m sorry I left it on a cliffhanger though lol. I didn’t mean to, it just worked to break up chapter 4 and chapter 5 at this point. Anyways, other things. I’m going on vacation with my extended family next week 🎉. But don’t worry, I am going to spend tomorrow and Friday writings so you will stay have chapter 5 and 6 for next week, don’t worry :)). It’s also fitting since I’m going to the beach, Poseidon I’ll see you there 🤣🤣.

Taglist: @angeli-fucking-cat @marixxhq @sproutcorner @orophaea

[kimetsu-no-reader]

AAAAA I just discovered ur blog and im in love, ur writing is AMAZING 🥺 could i please request giyuu x reader where giyuu sees reader for the first time after 4 years (basically since sabito's death as they were best friends before?) saving tanjiro squad from a demon (using whichever breath style you like!) And hes like, in shock bc its been so long and its just like a cutesy emotional reunion?? Maybe they hug eachother like crazy? Thank you SOSOSO much if u do this! 💖💗💕

AaAAAaAAa THANK YOU SO MUCH ;; That means so much to me!! 💖🧡💛💚💙💜🤎🖤🤍 I’m so happy you enjoy my work, and I hope you enjoy this one!!

Giyuu Tomioka

You’d heard a faint scream in the distance as you were taking your usual stroll around the outskirts of the small village you resided in. You knew the scream all too well at this point; one that radiated the need for help.

You clenched the blade on your side and proceeded to run towards the aforementioned noise, making quick work of the ground as you all but glided across it.

The faint sounds of what seemed to be a bird talking also came across your ears.

“...demon! ...Tanjirou... trouble!” Those were all the words you could make out from where you currently were, but whoever this Tanjirou person was seemed to be in trouble. You were also well aware now that you were probably about to intervene with the Demon Slayer Corps, which made you feel slightly uneasy.

After a bit of sprinting, you finally came across a huge, relatively vile looking demon; along with it, a boy with a checkered haori, and another... boy (you assumed, given the lack of shirt) wearing a boar mask. Both were heavily wounded, the boar-wearing one more severely than checkerboard.

You feel like you’d hidden your presence well enough to land an attack on the demon in question, so you drew your sword; with one swift motion, you muttered, your breathing as steady as possible:

“Total Concentration: Breath of Water... Twelfth Form: White Water Riptide!”

Your sword sliced through the demon’s neck effortlessly, two thin streams of water following your sword, encircling the demon’s neck to deliver the killing cut.

As you landed softly onto the ground, you sheathed your sword, taking a deep breath as the demon’s head flopped on the ground with a heavy thud beside your feet; the ribbon you had tied in your hair had accidentally flown off when you killed the demon, landing in front of you as well.

The two boys in front of you just stared at you, the dark red haired one’s jaw was slightly agape. You couldn’t get a read on the other, though. But you were pretty sure his face was the same way.

“What?” You glanced at them, blowing a few stray strands of your hair out of your face as you addressed them.

“Who the hell are you?!” Yelled the brutish boar, who had way too much energy for looking like he’d been slung to hell and back.

“Inosuke!” Yelled the other, scolding him. “I’m terribly sorry, ma’am!” He bowed his head, grabbing the back of Inosuke’s head and making him bow along with.

“We’re forever in your debt! Thank you for saving us!”

“Kamaboko Gonpachiro! Fight me!” Inosuke yelled in protest as the other’s hand gripped the back of his neck, still forcing him to be in a bowed position.

You leaned over to grab the ribbon from the ground, tying your hair back up as you stood straight again.

“Don’t mention it-” You said curtly, pausing mid-sentence and furrowing your brow. “Say, are you two part of the Demon Slayer Corps?”

“Yes ma’am!” Responded checkboard haori. He’s so polite. You thought to yourself.

“My name is Tanjirou Kamado, and this is Inosuke Hashibira!” He added, removing his hand from Inosuke and walking up to you. You were still incredibly puzzled as to how he was walking considering how damaged they looked.

“Why did the pig called you Konosuba Gazpacho?” You tilted your head, looking at Tanjirou. “Did he get hit in the head during your fight?”

Tanjirou stifled a laugh, but the other boy was definitely not pleased.

“LISTEN!” The half-naked one yelled, “Just because you saved us doesn’t mean you’re strong! Don’t go thinking you can talk to me like that!”

You snorted, rolling your eyes a little bit. “Yeah, okay.” was all you responded with.

Meanwhile, in the midst of squabbling with Inosuke, you hadn’t noticed the familiar presence behind you.

“You.” Came a familiar voice, and you froze. For the first time in years, your total concentration breathing had ceased momentarily; heart leaping into your throat. Your head turned slowly to look behind you, eyes widened as you gazed upon the raven haired man behind you.

He had dropped his sword, something that shocked the two boys in front of you.

“Giyuu-san!” Tanjirou yelled, his eyes lighting up as he addressed the water hashira. “Do you know this girl? She just saved our lives!”

You took a sharp breath of air, completely numb to all of the sound around you.

“Is that? Is that really Giyuu?” Is all you could think. Your hands were clammy, but you turned your body towards the taller man. You looked at his face, and noticed two glimmering lines of tears streaming down his face as he spoke your name.

Almost immediately, you were also crying. Your chest felt like it was on fire as you ran towards Giyuu, hugging him with enough force to make him stumble backwards, landing on his back as you lay on top of him, practically sobbing.

“Oh my god, it’s you! It’s really you!” You repeated over and over, pressing your face into Giyuu’s chest, his arms were wrapped around your small frame, pressing you closely against him.

“I never thought I’d see you again!” You cried, gripping his mismatched haori.

“I thought you were dead,” Tomioka mumbled, sitting himself and you up, his hands firmly grasping your shoulders as he looked at your face “I really thought you were dead. I-”

You cut him off by pressing your lips against his, making Inosuke and Tanjirou turn around in embarrassment.

“Get a room, you animals!” Inosuke yelled.

You could feel Giyuu take in a sharp inhale of breath, his body growing warm with your sudden action. His face was stained a light shade of pink as well.

“I’m not dead,” You mumbled against his lips, breath quivering slightly as you spoke. “I just, I couldn’t deal with what happened to Sabito and Makomo and I-”

“Left?” The water hashira cut you off, the slightest hint of pain in his voice as he did.

You looked down, placing your hands in your lap, nodding slightly in acknowledgement.

Tomioka placed his hands on either side of your face, lightly cupping your cheeks and pulling your head up to look at him. His face had gone back to his usual calm demeanor, but a slight smile was present.

“Just don’t disappear again, alright?” His thumb trailed across your cheek, making you giggle a little at the touch.

“Fine.” You smiled, placing your hands on top of his.

Meanwhile, Tanjirou and Inosuke were whispering back and forth to each other about whether or not you two were an item, both wondering where the hell you came from.

⋆ටᆼට⋆

[pseudofaux]

1/2 Pseu, the last couple Slings I rq’ed some dirty talk & MA’AM did u deliver. But I realized I never thanked/gave feedback like a dummy so here I am! They were so so SO good (fenrir esp & SIRIUS?! 😳 woof), pls dont doubt ur DT writing skills bc they were all so hot, /very/ in character (I could practically hear Kyles!) & beautifully written to boot. Ur prose has so much personality, it is such a joy to read <3 & I have def read those pieces. many. times. I just want to thank u & apologize for asking u 2 go out of ur comfort zone. When I get the chance I will def tip u for the trouble (& commission if im brave enough lol)

Thank you so, so much for this! I really appreciate hearing that the dirty talk worked for you, that’s the best. When other writers do that right it GETS ME FEELING, so knowing that might be true outward as well is!!! a lot and very cool! But if you are this nice to me I will CRY. 🥺💙💙💙 SO LET’S GET TO THE GOOD SH*T, I am so glad you asked for this because Faust is one of the best characters to get n a s t y with, the holier the man, the, uh... holier our holes? Something like that? ANYWAY:

CW: degrading language (”whore”, “slut”), sadism, some sacrilegious thinking  regarding Jesus’ crucifixion (this is quick and about related imagery, but I’m putting it in the warnings just in case), depravity in a church. If any of the stuff in the ask squicks you out, keep yourself safe and turn away. 💙

(Requests are open through May 1 if you would like to get one in, dear reader!)

“A whore in my chapel,” he muses. It’s so soft, his voice is so very soft, it makes the words feel funny in her head. She knows they are lashes but they feel like petals, and when her eyes close it is not to hide from the words but to shut out everything except his voice so she does not miss any others. She wants everything he has to say. She wants anything he has to give her. All the thorns of the crown, every scrape of the doubter’s spear slicing through the flesh of her belly. Simply knowing him—as though there were anything simple about it— has warped her. That’s why she stepped through the doors into the dim chapel, lit more by moonlight than the sparse candles at the altar.

He tilts his head as he considers her. She is just beyond the threshold and she is just deciding she should beg him to let her stay when he moves closer.

“Open,” he says, but he is pulling at her mouth with one gloved finger as he begins talking so she has no chance to obey on her own. She wants to! Why is he taking that from her? She leans forward as though it will help her anticipate his next request sooner.

She is not prepared at all for him to grab her by the chin or come so close. Her heart knows the joy of an entire flock of freed birds when she thinks he is going to kiss her. There has never been a time when she blinked so fast in her life—

He comes close enough for warmth, but not touch. He spits between her open lips. “Move that around with your tongue. Get the filth out of your sluttish mouth,” he tells her. She is beyond shocked but she does as he says. It should be revolting to have someone else’s saliva in her mouth like this, but she is so gone for him she doesn’t even want to swallow, wants to keep that piece of him mixing with her, safe and warm. When he takes a step back and lets go, she falls to her knees with her palms up like some kind of penitent. She doesn’t mean to. It just feels right.

She could be in a comfortable bed right now, instead of on the unswept floor of a chapel, all her worshipful inclination aimed away from the altar and toward a very dangerous man. Will her foolishness mean they find her in a ditch somewhere... Will they find her at all? Or will he send her back on unsteady feet with her own juice tickling her legs as it travels from her core to the ground? She can’t fathom what will seem most cruel to him, what he’s most likely to do.

That’s not really a part of her interest. She’s not sure she could explain the interest if she tried, but it is the full shape of her heart now, and directs her nighttime steps to him no matter what her brain tells her otherwise. If she knew where he was during the day, she would try to find him then, too. Her comfortable bed is nice but it does not make her blood sing like he does. The pain he gives, and his presence, those are things she has come to need.

And he fulfills those needs. He’s generous with pain and he is always there when he gives it to her. She nearly swoons to the floor thinking about it, and only the thought that she might lose out on time with him keeps her upright and dutifully swirling his spit in her mouth.

“Get up, imbecile,” he says, and he points further into the chapel! She is being invited even more inside! She could weep! “Lean back against that pew. You’re not even worthy of kneeling in this place.”

She’s not. Somewhere in her there is a heart that is kind and good, and a person who tries to do her best, but the moment she left the mansion to come here she was guided only by selfish lust. It’s what makes her stand up so fast. She doesn’t even know what he will do if she manages to please him... so far she has only experienced his sharpness, and it has worked to hook her as surely as a fish.

Her feet are moving but she is lost in an imagining that he is piercing the side of her mouth when he shouts “Swallow already!” at her, and it makes her jump. It also makes her so, so happy that he was paying so much attention. Every echo of his rage is like choir music. She swallows immediately. In her rush her throat betrays her and she feels like she will choke, but before she can stop herself she coughs and then keeps trying to clear her windpipe. His hand is on her upper arm and he shakes her like a rag doll. It does not help, but it feels like a dance.

Faust grits out “Get. Over there.” and she gets, still coughing. It is uncomfortable and her eyes are watering but she longs for him more than air and he let go of her arm when he pushed her toward the pews. So her steps are sad ones.

She puts her back and her hands onto the curve of the pew. It’s wide, smooth wood beneath her. The sturdiness brings her head down from the clouds in time to hear the slide of the book bundle he has kicked toward her, just in time to move her ankle out of the way. He laughs and mutters something she can’t hear. She tries very, very hard not to pout about it.

“I don’t have all night,” he says flatly. “Put your foot up and show your sin to me.”

It’s a scramble to comply-- should she hold up her skirt first or put a foot on the books and then raise the fabric?-- but her body just moves, eager to comply. This is why she’s here. As much as for him, she is in this chapel for what only he can do.

He rolls his eyes as she wads up her skirt in her hands. Her stockings can’t be clean after that time on the chapel floor, and there is no way her underwear is without a telltale patch of lust, not with the way all his power has been pooling between her legs since before she even touched the other side of the chapel doors. When he steps close she can actually feel a tiny but undeniable gush of arousal slipping out of her so easily it might as well be her self-control. It’s mortifying. She hopes he sees.

Then he is close, close enough for one of his hands to slip behind the leg that goes straight to the ground and stroke it, which makes her bite back a moan. She has to clench her teeth shut just to withstand the gentle contact without falling over. When he pulls her leg up, her knee rests beside his hip and she begins to shudder so hard she fears she will convulse.

“Stop that this instant,” he hisses, and his fingers dig into the back of her thigh so hard all that gently-stroked flesh is too stupid to feel the hurt right away. It comes to her quickly, though. She bites back another sound, something more vulnerable.

He watches her, then leans in beside her ear. “You put your foot on a stack of bibles in a church,” he whispers to her, every syllable touching his teeth the way she wishes he would touch her. “And you spread your legs like you think someone wants to see your mess.” He makes the most derisive, delicious noise, and her eyes roll so far back into her head it nearly hurts. More words, more words, please...

He takes her by the chin again, and when he lets go of her leg she knows she needs to keep it exactly where it was, no matter how precarious this makes her balance, while his hand comes up to slap her face. “You don’t tell me one wretched thing, slut,” he enunciates carefully. She did not even realize her thoughts had become words. She quickly tries to apologize and he slaps her other cheek. 

“Shut up,” he says, syrup sweet, and slides his hand back under her thigh. It’s the exact tone of a bully. She shuts up. She shudders, too, from the way it seeps into her and makes her warm all over.

He lets go of her chin and pulls the front of her underwear into his fist. He keeps pulling until the soft, well-laundered muslin digs at the back of her hips and her sex at the same time, right up against the tender flesh of her holes, and makes her yelp. He must have measured his strength exactly, she hears the snap of two threads but the fabric holds. He could rip it from her with ease. Why is he not doing that? He gives the muslin just a little slack, then pulls it even tighter and she feels like a marionette, all her limbs out of her own control. Were it not for her hands on the back of the pew, she would be a mess on the floor instead of a mess barely standing

Faust growls, “Be still, sinner-- and keep this leg up-- or I’ll make it so much worse.”

She keeps the leg up without his hand beneath it. She will never again doubt the existence of miracles.

He pulls the soaked fabric aside, pulls back his newly freed hand, and slaps her right on her slit without any preamble. The shock of the hit is gold and white-blue behind her eyes, and her sob is ugly, an animal’s sound in a place meant for prayerful people. He says nothing as she whimpers through the hurt of every little ripple of post-pain, the way the tingles stay focused on the flesh that took the hit. It feels like a scorch on both sides of her sex that she cannot escape; how appropriate that inescapable he put that feeling on her, in her.

Belatedly she realizes that she did stay still, and that calms her spirit, strokes her in time with his thumbs on the inside of each thigh. High like heaven. Soft as a dream. He may even be shushing her tenderly instead of telling her to be silent, but she is so delirious she cannot be sure. She can feel the way she is even more wet, because the slickness makes the burn better. Not in a healing way, in a way that clarifies the precious, god-given sharpness he provides. She is sinful and filthy and so far below worthy of his touch, but he does touch her, he talks to her and touches her, and when Faust does those things she feels very holy. There is a silence in her soul that makes it a little easier to ignore the way her body is screaming from pain and desperate want.

The slap hurts. It takes her a long time to come down from the pain and the heat. But when she is silent, he sneers and stops stroking her thighs, and then he does it again.

[milkypompon]

ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝟚 | 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕌𝕟𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕥𝕣𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕓𝕝𝕖 Zuko x Reader

𝔼𝕩𝕥𝕣𝕒 ℍ𝕠𝕥 𝕊𝕚𝕗𝕦 ℍ𝕠𝕥𝕞𝕒𝕟

ℤ𝕦𝕜𝕠 𝕩 ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣

< ℙℝ𝔼𝕍𝕀𝕆𝕌𝕊 || ℕ𝔼𝕏𝕋 >

𝕄𝔸𝕊𝕋𝔼ℝ𝕃𝕀𝕊𝕋 𝕆𝔽 𝕋ℍ𝕀𝕊 𝔹𝕆𝕆𝕂

𝕀𝕞𝕒𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕖 | Aang and Y/N are siblings who share powers, but Y/N was hidden from the Four Nation’s eyes to avoid the possibility of their separation. Then, Zuko meets the flamboyant and flirtatious Y/N for the first time at the Western Air Temple where he attempts to join the tight-knit Gaang. 

𝔸𝕦𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕣'𝕤 ℕ𝕠𝕥𝕖 | Okay… So this is pretty much pl*t st*ff! I swear the next one will be more lighthearted... 

“URGH!” groaned a frustrated boy. 

Y/N jolted forward, rolling off the dusty mattress and onto the rough concrete with a soft thud. Rubbing the sleep out of their eyes, it took a few moments to recollect the events of yesterday. 

Northern Air Temple…

Probing Sokka’s ear… 

No, no, rewind just a little bit, Y/N yawned and arched their back to relieve the aching pain on their spine. 

Shit… 

Zuko

-

The supposed skilled firebender twisted and jutted out his limbs to release any sort of flickering flames. But alas, there was none, so Zuko released a sigh of defeat. He thumped his forehead onto the stone wall in an attempt to cool down his fiery system.

Aang witnessed Zuko’s unravelling state. He pitied him, he really did. Despite the weeks of the firebender’s hunt among his friends, well specifically him, there was something that nagged Aang. Something was telling him that he couldn’t let Zuko deflate.

Y/N gave him a chance, I know that I should too.

Aang traced the crumbling stone column he sat on with his finger, trying to find the right words to disperse to Zuko’s drooping figure. He could practically hear the thoughts in Zuko’s twisting mind. 

Hopping down from his seat, Aang offered, “Thanks for showing me the ropes!”

The firebender violently whipped his head back to meet Aang’s gentle eyes, “Don’t patronize me! You know what my fire is supposed to look like!” A burst of blue fire circled around Zuko, casting a grim glow over his face.

Aang’s eyes grew wide, he stumbled back to escape the flames slithering towards his feet. 

A whimper caught his ear.

“Y/N!” Aang shouted over the raging fire twisting around Zuko’s limbs who stood limp, subjugating to the uncontrollable.

A familiar sensation of warmth pricked Y/N’s forehead, traveling down to their arms and winding around their legs. Their heartbeat sounded through their ears, a gentle drum soon picking up its speed.

Drumming…

Drumming… 

Another heartbeat echoed through their head.

Beating steadily to their own.

Aang… is that you? 

The wind picked up, swirling the clouds to and fro to gather together a dreary mass of gray. The pulsating gusts thrusted stone columns and pieces of wood around the Northern Air Temple as if it was a lifeless doll. 

It encouraged Zuko’s crackling fire to size him up. He was being eaten by his own flames.

The sky above matched the state of the two Avatars and the firebender throwing his own fit wedged between them. It was a commendable horrid sight that drew the Gaang forward.

“SOKKA!” Katara’s screech ripped her throat. She led Toph (who spat out Katara's hair out of her mouth) by the arm, but the pair struggled to reach Sokka who swatted debris around himself.

“The same thing happened when Aang saw Gyatso…” Sokka mumbled to himself in realization. He was brought back from his thoughts when Toph tugged on his tunic, motioning him to lead the way.

As the three crawled on all fours towards the raging fire to avoid impact from debris, Sokka shouted to his sister. “YOU NEED TO COOL DOWN YOUR BOYFRIEND!”

Katara halted to give him a stern glare, “HE’S NOT MY BOYFRIEND!”

“HE’S TALKING ABOUT AANG!” Toph replied.

“WELL YOU NEED TO CALM DOWN YOUR Y/N!” Katara retorted, while Toph snorted.

“Y/N’S NOT MINE- UGH NEVERMIND…” Sokka grumbled, “If you need anything to be done right, you gotta do it yourself.” He slowly raised himself up to his feet, his body teetering this way and that from the strong wind. 

Sokka sprinted to the nearest column from Y/N to protect him from any unexpected outbursts that could occur. He peered at Y/N, to his surprise wasn’t there. Craning his neck up, there they were, floating at a dangerously towering height.

Y/N’s body resembled Aang’s, hovering above the ground, arms and legs spread out like a starfish. The siblings' eyes and mouth emanated a blinding blue light, similar to Zuko’s flames that continued to engulf him.

“Y/N YOU GOTTA SNAP OUTTA THIS!” Sokka pleaded, “PLEASE! YOU’RE HURTING YOURSELF!” Despite the ongoing sound of the wind, he heard footsteps treading towards the fire.

Katara dug her feet into the ground. She stood in front of Zuko, close enough to feel the heat, but far enough to not be touched. Hands raised up to either side of her, she heaved in a deep breath.

Into the nostrils… 

Through the throat…

Settling into the lungs…

AND OUT!

Katara brought her hands together with a loud clap, which the clouds matched with the sudden onslaught of rain that was brought upon them. It quieted down Zuko’s blue fire, soon dissipating into mist. He fell down to his knees with a hard thud.

“NOW!” Katara poured her heart out into her confident voice.

A rumbling erupted as rocky beams shot up from the ground, catching the falling limp bodies of Aang and Y/N.

“Gotcha!” Toph sighed in exasperation and relief.

-

Cool water leached onto Y/N, who laid sprawled out onto a makeshift table made of stone next to Aang, drawing out the overwhelming energy from the outburst of the morning’s events. It was sun down now. Orange and purple hues scratched the sky, painting the Northern Air Temple similar colors. 

Y/N moaned at the chilling sensation languidly crawling down from their head.

The beating drum slowed down to a steady thumping. 

But Y/N could still hear another beat.

AANG, IS THAT YOU?

The siblings shot forward, heaving deep for air, startling Katara, causing her to splash the water onto the ground. 

“What just happened…” Aang and Y/N mumbled.

“YOU TELL ME!” Sokka gripped his hair tightly, causing the elastic to snap. “BOTH OF YOU WENT SWOOSH, THEN ZUKO WENT BLAM-”

Y/N clamped their ears, pushing and scrunching it in an attempt to drown out the sounds. 

There was too much.

The crackling of Toph’s nervous knuckles pricked Y/N’s eardrums. Y/N’s eyes darted to Sokka’s heaving chest who continued to explain the outburst with flailing arms, then onto Katara’s lips that spoke soft words, giving the opposite effect onto them. 

There was too much.

Beads of sweat trickled steadily down Aang’s forehead. His hand clawing at the nape of his neck, his throat tightening, threatening to close. His fingers traveled to his robe, gripping, then unclenching the creased fabric furiously.

“S-Stop…” Aang whispered.

“I SAID STOP!” the Gaang was startled by the siblings' simultaneous shout.

For once, everyone quieted down, only the gentle chirping and fluttering of birds was heard.

One…

Y/N’s eyelids smoothed down over their seering eyes.

Two…

Aang breathed in heavily.

Three…

The Avatars breathed out and shot open their eyes.

𝔼𝕟𝕕𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖 | Y’all thot this was gonna be fun and games huh??

Give me your thoughts on this chapter?

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[merppppppppppppppppp]

Caged Hearts

Pt.25 Hawks x Dabi

((Hawks x Miku ((OC))

(GIF by: @dendriticheep)

(Yo I’mma be completely honest, Dabi’s motivation for fucking up Keigo’s life is mad petty and the side story is flimsy as hell, 😂)

Miku was in Tokyo shooting a promotional photoshoot for her tour. She was excited to get started on what would be the first major milestone of her career, and couldn’t wait for her tour.

Of course she hadn’t told Keigo any of this. No, he was stuck getting his updates from Twitter stalking and her online interviews.

After a week of tracking leads all over Fukouka, Keigo still hadn’t heard from her. He was on his one hundredth unanswered call, and thirtieth unanswered text. And if he was being honest? He deserved it.

There was a pained tug in his chest when he saw the candid shot of her smiling and waving to the camera as she entered a rehearsal space. Most of her face was obscured by a huge pair of sunglasses and her hair was tied up in a silk scarf, but she looked good.

He exited the article to tap on her contact.

Keigo: Angel I hope ur staying safe. Can we please talk?

Before he could add any more, his feathers prickled from the sudden movement happening in the warehouse. His golden eyes lifted towards the old building. They were moving something. Something big.

He squinted against the moonlight to watch the five men hustling large crates out the back of the warehouse.

His deep red wings stretched and carried him swiftly and quietly from the adjacent building to the top of the warehouse to get a better look. He shot off a few of his feathers and smirked with satisfaction at when he heard the henchmen’s bodies thudding against the walls. His sharp feathers pinned three of the goons to the wall of the warehouse, but the other two guys were fighting hard against him.

He winced as he felt the heat of their fire quirks shooting back at them. Keigo detached a few more to give the other feathers back up.

The moment he pinned the last two minions, the air around him changed. His wings twitched against the cool breeze as he scanned the ground. The men were all down for the count.

That was quick.

“You gotta get some better henchmen, Dabi.”

“Well, good help is hard to come by now a days, Birdie.”

The familiar raspy voice made him shiver. He turned around, stone faced.

Aside from the undercut and new facial piercings nothing had changed about his ex. He was the same brooding, alternative asshole he’d always been. Difference was, Keigo didn’t find it attractive anymore.

Dabi smirked at the hero.

“Miss me, babe?” He teased.

“Bold of you to face me like this, you son of a bitch.”

Dabi clicked his tongue and stepped closer to Keigo whose wings flexed out defensively.

He scoffed. “You and that girl of yours really are birds of a feather. She did the same thing when I stepped to her. So flighty you avian types. How’s she doin’ by the way? Heard she’s having a concert pretty soon-“

“What are you trying to do, Dabi?” Keigo interrupted, ignoring the man’s attempts to get under his skin.

“The usual, Hawks,” he spat back, “trying to take down this fucked up hero system that you seem so determined to keep intact.”

Keigo didn’t know why Dabi was blabbering so much. Usually he did it to prepare his body for an attack so as not to over exert his powerful quirk—but he wasn’t trying to attack.

“And how do you think you’ll do that?” Keigo shot back. “You don’t have the power or the vision that Shigaraki had, and you damn sure don’t have the numbers.” He scoffed. “Your henchmen are pathetic, those little nomu experiments are weak—face it, Dabi, you’ve got nothing. You’re fighting a useless battle.”

Dabi’s smirk melted into a smile. It was intimate and soft and...familiar. It took Keigo back to late nights spent laughing and rolling around in warm, tattered sheets. Secrets and insecurities being shared behind closed doors.

“It’s cute when you do that.” Dabi practically cooed.

The avian squinted his golden eyes, but said nothing.

Dabi was so close to him now that only an arm’s length separated them. The villain reached out to grab Keigo’s chin. His touch was so gentle it took the man by surprise.

“You can’t change a system from within a system. That’s why I’m on your side, Touya.”

Keigo’s breath caught hearing those words. One of the many empty promises he had made to the man he used to love.

“But you lied, Keigo...you lied.” He shook his head, slowly, his turquoise eyes piercing right through the man. “And I feel bad for that girlfriend of yours. She doesn’t know half of what kind of man you really are.”

The hero remained stoic, despite the pang in his chest. He knocked Dabi’s hand away from his face, grabbing the man’s wrist and twisting it sharply.

Dabi’s unblemished skin pulled from his burned flesh at the force. The blood from his staples ran down Keigo’s gloved hand.

“What makes you think I won’t take you out right now?” Keigo ground out.

Just like that, the twisted smirk was back. “Because hero, you’re going to be a little distracted.”

Keigo’s brows furrowed, and before he could grasp the meaning behind Dabi’s words, the first explosion went off.

At that moment, Dabi’s quirk activated sending a fiery blast at Keigo’s face.

The heat was unbearable.

Fuck!

He stumbled back, disoriented.

“Well, babe, it was good seeing you again.” Dabi jeered as he walked backwards towards the edge of the building. “Bye for now.”

With that, he jumped backwards, leaving Keigo alone to deal with several burning buildings and a horde of winged dog beasts flying towards him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A pair of disdainful magenta eyes glared back at him. The curvy Latina glared at him, arms crossed.

“You look like shit.”

“I feel like it.” He replied, scratching his tangled blonde locks.

Konan appraised him a few seconds longer. It felt like minutes. Keigo averted her scrutinizing gaze. She tilted her head over her shoulder.

“Miku! Bird Brain’s here!”

She stepped out of the way to make way for Miku. Keigo felt her coming. Her heart pounded as she flew down the stairs. His own heartbeat sped up as well.

Finally, Miku stood before him wide eyed and disheveled as she looked him over.

“Keigo...”

He gave her a soft, rueful smile.

“Hey Angel.”

She reached towards his bandaged face tentatively then stopped, as if thinking better of it and dropped her hand to her side.

Keigo flashed her a cheeky grin.

“It feels worse than it looks. Trust me.”

She bit her lip, brows still scrunched in worry.

He sighed, shoulders drooping on the exhale. “I owe you one hell of an apology and an explanation.”

“Roof?” She asked.

“Roof.” He nodded.

The couple sat side by side, legs swinging over the edge. The weight of his Keigo’s confession about his sordid past and relationship with Dabi was wedged between them.

“There was no good reason for me not to tell you about Dabi. Especially knowing he was still out there, and that he could hurt you. I was ashamed. I’m a hero. I was supposed to know better than to fall for a villain. I’m the reason he’s still free. When we made the bust, I gave Dabi a way out. Like an idiot.”

“Like a fool in love.” Miku corrected. “Love makes people do stupid things, Kei. I’ll give you that, but-“

“But it’s not an excuse.” He shook his head, glaring down at the driveway below. “I indirectly put you in danger by lying to you. Knowing what I knew I had no right to get mad at you about you and Konan’s relationship-“

“Not necessarily true.” Miku turned to him. “You were right to be upset with me,” then her tone grew stern, “but you were also an absolute hypocrite...and an asshole.”

Keigo flinched, but nodded in agreement. “You’re right.”

“But, I am glad you’re honest to me now.” She added. He heard a smile in her voice. It was small, but it was there.

“Yeah,” he allowed a smile to creep through in his own. “I am too.”

Silence settled between them. It wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t comfortable either. Sort of like the conversation.

“Miku,” Keigo started, she turned to him. “Is there any way you can postpone your tour?”

“No.”

He winced again.

“Baby, this isn’t a game.” Keigo pressed on. “You saw what happened in Fukuoka.”

The chaos of the fires and Dabi’s discount Nomu burned in the back of Keigo’s mind. By the time backup had arrived, his wings were whittled away to nothing trying to handle the situation, and the warehouses were crumbling beneath the blue flames. Keigo’s burns tingled at the memory.

“Dabi is dangerous, and he doesn’t fight fair.” He laid a hand on top of hers. It was the first contact they had made since he’d arrived. “Miku,” his voice cracked under the weight of his nerves, “Dabi would do anything to hurt me, and that includes hurt you. You need to be careful.”

She didn’t meet his gaze. Her eyes were zeroed in on his hand on top of hers, face screwed in contemplation.

“I’ll be more careful, but I refuse to put off my tour.”

He shook his head. “You’re being stubborn, Angel.”

“I’m not gonna live my life in a cage, Kei,“ she replied, clutching his hand in return. “I have a job to do and I’m gonna do it.”

“Angel...” he admonished. He softened his tone. “Please.”

Miku rolled her eyes.

She sighed, sounding like an indignant teenager. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ll beef up my security whenever I go out.”

Keigo chuckled in defeat. “That’s the best I’m gonna get out of you, isn’t it?”

“Yup!” She exclaimed.

“Dammit Angel.” Keigo fought off the smile threatening to ruin the disapproval he was trying to project. “Fine. I’ll take it.”

He plucked another feather from his plumage and handed it to her. “For backup. Please keep them on you at all times, and if anything happens—“

“Break them,” Miku interjected. “I know, Kei, I got it.”

He allowed his face to soften some.

“I miss you, Angel.” He confessed.

Her expression fell.

“I miss you too, Kei, but I’m still not-“

“It’s ok.” He cut in, gently. “You don’t have to forgive me.”

Miku’s gaze fell back down to their intertwined fingers.

“Just...give me time—and space. Ok?”

He nodded. His fingers danced beneath her chin. Keigo tilted her face up to meet his, and managed a smile.

“Deal.”

(Miku is stubborn😝 but I love her)

[lo-55]

Tilt The Hourglass Ch. 13

Siolo Ur Manka had lived in the Jentares system for nearly seventy years by the time their ship, still on loan from a Mandalorian named Silas, touched down on the planets soft soil. It was overrun with thick jungle, and it sang with the Force. With life, and light, in the bird songs and the ambling hum of great beasts that marched through the foliage with thick soled feet and swinging necks. 

And in it’s shadow death and darkness, beneath the undergrowth and in the fanged mouths of predators. 

Maul’s vornskr trotted behind him, their tails raised like tiny black flags. 

“Ahsoka, Ezra, Ben, keep up,” Maul warned over his shoulder. Ben, a biggest and also the most troublesome, turned his face away from a fluttering insect to chirp at Maul. Ahsoka batted his should and knocked him back in line. 

Kenobi, on Maul’s side, had his little lizard hanging from his hair. He’d named her something silly. Boba? Boga. She was tasting the air curiously while Kenobi looked around them in no small degree of wonder. If he’d never left the Temple before Bandomeer then there was no way he’d ever been to a planet with this much foliage on it. 

The air was thick and humid and Jango looked miserable where he tramped through the brush after them. 

Not that it was easy to see with his helmet in place, but Maul was getting better and better at reading his body language.

  Jango still confused him. 

For a lot of reasons, not the least of which was the fact that even though Maul had accidentally shoved nightmare fuel memories into his skull he still wanted to adopt him into his family. He was lucky that Jango thought they were only visions of the future, and not memories of Maul’s past. 

Even if Jango knew that, would it matter? 

The people Maul had killed before still lived, for one thing, so for all intents and purposes for everyone that wasn’t him they might as well have been visions. Everything he knew was true and detailed, but insubstantial and subject to change. He’d changed Kilindi and Daleen after all. 

Maul was probably lucky that he’d been found by a Mandalorian. Anyone else would have had to many questions up front, or would have tried to force him into the life of a child. Maul would have had to kill them, and cover that up too. It would have been annoying. 

Maul kept an ear out for anything dangerous as they neared the clearing where Siolo made his home. 

Maul had been here years ago, five years in the future, and killed the old twi’lek master. He was a powerful Jedi, and deeply entrenched in the Force. Maul had only beaten him through trickery, and he could teach Kenobi that if it became necessary. 

Maul shook his head. Since when was he seriously considering teaching Kenobi anything? He’d offered, once, to help him harness his anger and turn it into a tool. But Kenobi was too Jedi already to accept it. 

A shame. He could have made a powerful Sith. 

Perhaps- 

No. 

Maul shook the thought off. He was already too attached to too many people. He’d even begun gravitating towards Jango against his will. 

He didn’t need a father, and he had years more experience than the Mandalorian did. 

All the same, there was a part of him that still was ten years old, one that Maul ignored most of the time, that wanted what he could offer. It was faint, beaten down by the Maul that inhabited a body he’d long outgrown, but the longing was there. 

They came into a clearing. 

Siolo Ur Manka was just as Maul remembered him. And elderly twi’lek with mossy green skin, his lekku were draped around his shoulders. He wore the brown robes of a jedi, and he was sitting peacefully, entrenched in his deep meditation. 

The three sentients came to a halt half the field away from him. Ezra, entranced by the thick swirls of the Force around the master, left the safety of their group and trotted over to him. Maul hissed at him, but he was ignored. Ezra’s eyes were caught by the minute twitching of one of Siolo’s lekku. 

“We should probably warn him,” Jango mused as Ezra crept closer, his chest to the ground. Maul watched him. His posture was poor, but that would come with time. His butt wiggled as he stretched himself closer and closer to the Jedi Master. 

“No need,” Maul waved his hand flippantly. 

When Ezra made to pounce he was caught in the air, gently, by the Force. Siolo opened his eyes to looked at the vornskr, who bared his tiny teeth at him and tried to growl. His tail lashed uselessly. He was much too young to properly poinson the Jedi Master. 

“I believe,” Siolo said in his Rylothian accent, “That this is yours?” 

Maul used the Force to pluck the small predator out of his grasp and bring him back to his side. 

“That was poor technique,” he chided gently. Ezra chirped at him and crawled into his shirt instead of answering. Maul didn’t fight him. Ahsoka jumped up onto his shoulder with ease and bumped her cheek against his, as if apologizing for her littermates mistake. She was undeniably Maul’s favorite. She was already scarred, and already a fighter, and she’d destroyed three mouse droids on the way to the planet. She was going to be vicious and unstoppable once she was bigger than a bread box. 

Siolo looked over his assembled audience. He gripped his cane and stood, slowly. Maul was not fooled. He may be retired, but he was still a dangerous adversary. He was one of the few beings that Maul had ever run from in his life time, even if it was for only a few days while he built his lightsaber. 

It felt strange to stand before him without it, and in fact without any conflict between them. He was not here to kill Siolo. 

It was a weird feeling, to seek someone out without the intention of taking their head off their shoulders. Maul was still getting used to it. He was no less deadly than he once had been, but he saw more use in letting people live than killing them outright. 

“Do not see every enemy as an enemy. See them instead as an ally, whether they know it or not."

Mauls cheek twitched but he didn’t otherwise acknowledge the woman’s voice. This was getting old. He was certain it had something to do with the shattered holocrons. He needed to get back to Malachor and find them again, if for no other reason than to make the random voices of unwanted advice shut up. Every time he heard someone speak to him his palm itched where the small scars were pressed into his skin. 

Siolo looked over each of them in turn. Maul could feel him mentally brushing against Maul’d shields, and when Obi Wa- Kenobi stiffened Maul was certain he felt the same thing. If Jango wasn’t wearing his helmet it might well have happened to him too. 

“I don’t get many visitors out here. Certainly none as… unique, as you are.” 

“We look for a Master for Obi Wan,” Jango touched Kenobi’s shoulder lightly and urged him forwards. Kenobi took a deep breath and squared his shoulders when he approached. Once he was close enough he bowed deeply to the older Jedi. 

“Venerated Master,” he said politely. “I am Obi Wan Kenobi, of the Coruscant temple, and the AgriCorps. “ 

“Yes, the Force tells me as much,” Siolo inclined his head. “It also tells me you have great potential. Show me your abilities, young one.” 

Kenobi perked up, bouncing up on his toes. “Yes, Master! Um, do you have a lightsaber?” 

“I have not carried one in many years,” Siolo shook his head and brushed his robes out before he rose to his full height and lifted his walking stick. “Shall I repeat myself? Show me, young one.” 

Kenobi looked dubious, but he drew his lightsaber all the same. Maul sat on a fallen tree, and Jango took up residence at his shoulder. He stayed standing, his visor fixed on the two Jedi. Kenobi hesitated before he swung at Siolo. 

The old jedi parried the blow with his walking stick, reinforced with the Force. 

It was a trick that Maul had never quite gotten right. 

“How did you know this Jettii was here?” Jango asked while Kenobi went in for another blow. 

Maul hummed. 

“I was once sent to kill him. “ 

“Yet, here he stands. And he doesn’t seem to know you.” 

Maul shot him a grin with far too many teeth. “I don’t take orders well.” 

Jango huffed a laughed just as Obi Wan was knocked to the ground. Siolo was much gentler with him than he had been with Maul, though looking at him now Maul realized that the old master had been gentle with him as well. He could have killed him, if he really wanted to. 

Even if Maul had tried to flee, Siolo could have cut him down with a single parry when he was a boy of but seventeen. It rankled his pride, but in the end that mercy had been his downfall. 

Jedi weakness. 

(Maul ignored the phantom feeling of warm arms and cooling sand and blue eyes that did not hate

He ignored the refusal to kill and two blue blades, and sharp, predator teeth held back. How much harder it was not to kill the clones on the Tribunal (Or why he listened to Tano in the first place) 

Mercy stung at him and it was so much more difficult than cruelty)  

Kenobi got up, bowed to the Master, and started again. Siolo trounced him soundly each time, and while Maul could feel Kenobi’s frustrations building, he never yelled or threw his weapon down or demanded to know why he kept losing. Maul didn’t know if that was a good sign or not. 

“Aren’t you going to go fight?” Jango asked, nodding towards Siolo. Kenobi had at least given him enough challenge that one of his lekku fell out of place. 

Maul shook his head. He knew how he compared to the Jedi Master. “We’re looking for a Master for Kenobi. As you said, I will have no other Master.” 

Jango placed his hand on Maul’s small shoulder and squeezed it. Maul looked at it, but didn’t knock it away like he might normally have. 

“No,” Jango agreed. “Never again.” 

They sat together until Kenobi had worked himself up, sweating and panting, and Siolo called for a halt to their spar. He barely looked rumpled. 

“That’s enough, young one. You fought well. Was that Cin Drallig’s style I saw?” 

Kenobi nodded quickly. “Yes, Master. He teaches all the younglings their lightsaber forms.” 

“It shows. You’ll have to practice being more adaptable than he is, but I can see your potential. Both with a lightsaber, and the Force. Here.” 

Siolo handed him a water skin, one that Kenobi drank eagerly from. Jango leaned forwards on his knees when the two Jedi started making their way over. Maul made himself stay seated, and kept his hand off of his modified blaster. Siolo’s eyes stayed on him, and Maul was reminded that the old twi’lek had once told him that others had come before he had. Siolo eyed him, but if he could sense the depths of his darkness he didn’t give it away. 

“You keep strange company, Initiate Kenobi,” Siolo mused. “A pair of Mandalorians are unusual companions for a young Jedi.” 

“I promised I’d help him find a Jedi Master,” Jango said evenly while Kenobi flushed in embarrassment. “Maul heard you lived here.” 

“You’re right,” Siolo inclined his head. “And he shows great promise as a Jedi. I have felt few so strong in the Light in recent years.” 

Kenobi sucked in a startled breath. “But, Master! I was angry in our fight,” he argued, his shoulders hunched in shame. “I was upset when you kept beating me so easily.” 

Siolo looked faintly amused. He touched Kenobi’s shoulder. “I would expect so. You’re young, and you will grow out of that if you try. I didn’t sense any true attempt to hurt me, even when you were angry.” 

“But anger leads to hate, and hate leads to the darkside!” 

“So it does,” Siolo inclined his head. “But we are Jedi, not droids. We still feel. Even the greatest of Masters is not immune to anger. The important thing is that we do not act on it, or give it control over us. Do you understand?” 

Kenobi’s brows furrowed. “I… I think so.” 

“Your Master will be able to explain it further to you.” 

Kenobi startled, confusion on his face. “But, I have no Master. That is why we came here, to you!” 

“I know,” Siolo said kindly. He squeezed Kenobi’s shoulder. “But I am too old to raise a Padawan properly. I am retired from fieldwork, and your education would be skewed if I were to try. You deserve better than an old twi’lek for your master, child.” 

“But- I’m almost thirteen,” Kenobi’s blue eyes glittered. 

“Yes?” Siolo looked confused. “I was almost fifteen when my Master took me on.” 

Kenobi gaped at him. “But thirteen is too old to be a Padawan? For human’s and species with comparable life times.” 

“Is that what they’ve decided these days?” Siolo shook his head. “I heard talk about making a cap of youngling’s ages a few decades ago, but I hadn’t known they’d made it a solid rule.”

“Why would they do something like that?” Jango asked, frowning at Siolo. 

Siolo shook his head. “I couldn’t tell you. Something about the other branches needing more members, but it seems silly to force younglings into them if they don’t want to be.” 

Jango inclined his head. “You’re sure you won’t take the boy as your student?” 

Kenobi was trying desperately to look brave and self assured, but it wasn’t working well. He looked crushed. Like each time he got his hopes up they were dashed upon the ground. 

“As I said, it wouldn't be fair to Young Kenobi for me to take him on. But there are plenty of other Masters in the order. Come, have supper with me, and I’ll see if I can’t think of a few names.” 

Siolo motioned for them to follow him to a hut that was almost completely hidden by trees. Kenobi followed first, then Maul, with Jango behind them. He was saying something into his comlink, but he was too far behind for Maul to hear exactly what it was. 

Maul stepped into a hut that felt far too warm and smelled like stew, and the galaxy turned on. 

Far off in the stars, dozens of comlink lit up with a new order. 

The Mand’alor required a Jedi, and they were to find him one. Gently. 

‘Gentle’, for Mandalorians, was a rather subjective term. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Mace was intensely grateful that Depa was sitting at his side. 

Her Padawan braid hung long down her shoulder, it’s beads glinting faintly in the dim light. It was almost time for the braid to be cut off. Depa was more than ready to be a Knight, and her trials were slated for the next week. She was busily writing on her datapad, apparently absorbed in the last of her coursework. 

Mace wasn’t fooled. 

He could tell from the faint furrowing of her brows that she was listening carefully to what was happening in the council chambers. 

They all were. 

As Mace’s padawan she had a privilege to sit in on council meetings, unless they were more high security. This meeting was troubling, to be sure, but it wasn’t an emergency meeting. 

Not yet, at least. 

“Certain of this, you are?” Master Yoda asked, his normally light voice deep with concern for their newest loss. Mace carefully let his irritation flow into the Force. It was something he had a lot of practice doing, unfortunately. Depa glanced at him curiously before she bent her head over her data pad again. It was balanced on her lap, while a few others were stacked next to the small chair that she was afforded beside his own. 

“Yes, Master,” Qui Gon Jinn’s face was smooth now, but Mace could see the faint remnants of lines etched in with grief and frustration. Mace could only imagine. He’d lost his former Padawan, fallen or otherwise, and his prospective future Padawan all in the span of a single night. “The boy had training, but not from any Jedi, and he was powerful in the Darkside. He was not half grown and he cut down Xanatos with almost no effort at all. Before the night was over he and the Mandalorian had taken Initiate Kenobi and left the planet.” 

It was sparse at best, and there were so many gaps in the story that Mace could have ridden a Bantha between them, but so too were all of Jinn’s reports. Those that didn’t involve a simple end to the story and the rest was filled with ‘I followed the Will of the Force’. 

Mace was not his biggest fan.  

“I fear that the dark child plans on corrupting Kenobi. The boy is already prone to anger and aggression.” 

That was true, but the same could have been said about Mace when he was Kenobi’s age. 

“And the Mandalorian?” Tiin asked, a deep frown on his face. 

“I could not say why he would aid in taking Initiate Kenobi,” Jinn admitted, bowing his head. 

“Perhaps it was for revenge,” Sifo Dyas offered up, his mouth turned in a grim line. “Many Mandalorians were injured during the battle on Galidraan. Perhaps the battle was not enough.” 

A grim thought. 

Mace’s stomach turned. Depa’s grip on her stylus tightened. Through their training bond Mace could feel her intense concern for the youngling. 

“Either way, I will pursue them and uncover the truth,” Jinn announced. 

The room fell quiet. Mace exchanged a look with Yaddle and Giiett. Tyvokka didn’t look any more happy about it than anyone else felt. 

“That may not be the best idea,” Poof said gently. “You are grieving, Master Jinn. Perhaps it would be best if you stayed at the temple for a time.” 

“I do not need time,” Jinn said swiftly. “Initiate Kenobi needs someone to find him, immediately, and I am the only one who knows the Mandalorian and the Darksider.” 

Eeth Koth looked to Tyvokka, who in turn shook his head. 

“You were not the boys guardian, Qui Gon. And he is not your Padawan. You are too emotionally invested in this matter,” Tyvokka said gravely. “We should send another.” 

None of them mentioned it, but everyone had heard about how devastated Kenobi had been when Jinn had refused to take him as his padawan after the show he put on at the Initiate competition a month or so earlier. Now Kenobi had fought off pirates and draigons at Jinn’s side, and he still referred to the boy as ‘Initiate’. Anyone else would have taken the boy for their padawan in a heartbeat. 

Many would have already, except… 

“Unacceptable. I will find Initiate Kenobi,” Jinn insisted. “And I will bring him back.” 

Finally, Yoda spoke again. 

“Feel that you have failed the boy, you do. Choose to pursue him, for Obi Wan’s best interest or your own redemption. Which do you seek?” 

“I cannot allow a random knight to go after them,” Jinn argued. “The Mandalorian and the dark child are more dangerous than you can imagine!” 

“According to you, the Mandalorian also fought by your side against the draigon’s.” And according to some of the miners they had contacted before Jinn gave his report, he had also helped him disable bombs set to destroy the planet. Curious that Jinn didn’t see pertinent to mention that. 

“That was to save his own life. We have no idea what a Mandalorian would do to a Force Sensative child, let alone a Jedi Initiate. We need to rescue him.” 

“You’re right,” Mace said evenly, catching Jinn’s eye. “We need to. Poof is correct. We all know that Xanatos was important to you, whatever may have happened in recent years. Stay home for the time being. Rest in your chambers, visit your friends, sit in the creche. Trust in the council to retrieve Kenobi.” 

“Have faith in your fellow Jedi, you must,” Yaddle added. Jinn drew himself up to argue before it all seemed to deflate. For just a moment his shields slipped, and the grief and guilt came rippling out to wash over the Council members. Depa gasped quietly at his side. 

“Yes, master’s.” 

Mace could count on one hand the number of times Qui Gon Jinn had actually listened to them. He could only watch the maverick Jedi bow to them and leave, his shields drawing back up around him. 

The door closed soundly behind him. 

“He really should speak to a Mind Healer,” Poof said sadly. Mace had to agree. They’d tried to get him to do as much after Xanatos first left the Order, but Yoda had advised them not to push him on the matter. 

They’d listened. 

Now, Mace wondered if that was the best idea. 

Speaking of Yoda… 

“Why was Initiate Kenobi sent to Bandomeer without an escort?” Mace asked suddenly, drawing all attention to himself. He was the youngest in the room by far, not counting Depa. “When Initiates are assigned to one of the corps they’re typically escorted by a Knight, or a Master who already belongs to them, aren’t they? So where was Initiate Kenobi’s?” 

“Going to Bandomeer as well, Qui Gon was. Look after the boy, he did,” Yoda said helpfully. 

“Yes, and that worked so well,” Koth frowned at the Grand Master. 

“Circumstances we could not have foreseen, there were,” Yoda pointed out. 

“True, this is. Yet still, more caution we should have used,” Yaddle argued. “Did this one purpose, didn’t you? To push the two together, yes?” 

Yoda’s ears drooped minutely. “A good pair, they would make. Show me, the Force did.” 

“This is why you asked that other Master’s interested in the boy not act?” Tyvokka asked with no small degree of unhappiness. The master was well known for his care of Younglings, something that his own apprentice had inherited. Somedays Mace wondered how neither of them were full time creche masters. 

Depa looked to Mace, startled. He frowned at her, but nodded once. It was true. Yoda had staked an unofficial claim on the boy. He wanted him for his own current lineage, and while Dooku was unable to take a Padawan while he had Komari Vosa, and Feemor had been undercover as a shadow until only a week ago, Qui Gon was the only one who could have done it. 

Mace let his irritation flow into the Force. 

The old Jedi’s meddling was getting out of hand. Had the Council of Reassignment even authorized Kenobi’s transfer to Bandomeer, or had Yoda gone over their heads in this scheme of his? 

“A great Jedi, Kenobi will be,” Yoda said again, tapping his walking stick on the council room floor. 

“If he returns,” Sifo Dyas said grimly. 

“We need to send someone after him quickly. In that Qui Gon was no wrong,” Koth admitted. 

“It will have to be someone who is good at laying low, and good at tracking to get close enough to the Mandalorian and the ‘dark child’ he spoke of,” T’un mused. 

“Perhaps Tholme and his new Padawan?” Omo B’ouri suggested. “Vos is one of the Kenobi’s old creche-mates.” 

“Much darkness I sense in Vos,” Yoda argued, shaking his head. 

“...Feemor,” Mace said suddenly. “He has Shadow training, he’s recovered from his last mission, and we don’t have another lined up for him yet.” 

On top of that, suggesting Feemor would get him closer to getting Yoda to agree, since Feemor was Yoda’s Grandpadawan. 

Or should be, if Qui Gon hadn’t publicly disowned him. It was one of the biggest reasons Feemor had asked to train as a Shadow, instead of continuing on his Councilor path. 

Whether Feemor was still Yoda’s Grandpadawan by rights or by sentiment, Mace’s suggestion did the trick. 

Yoda nodded, slowly. 

Good. Trying to go against Yoda as council meetings was light trying to fight the tide. The Grand Master had much sway over the rest of them. 900 years of being with the Jedi would do that. 

“Very well. Send Knight Feemor after Initiate Kenobi, we will. Retrieve our lost Initiate, we must. Learn more about this ‘dark child’ too, we shall.”

No one disagreed. Mace took a data pad from Depa and started writing up new mission orders for Feemor, as well as arranging for his funding for the mission. Hopefully it wouldn’t be a long one, but the Force was tilting around them. New shatterpoints appeared and disappeared everyday. 

Only time would tell where the future would lead. 

Mace commed Feemor to come receive his new mission.