#Storm manipulation

[bluerosefox]

One in the Same

Hmmmm

Hmmmmm

So we know during the time Tim lost in spleen (his Red Robin run) and wakes ups next to the pit he almost believed he had been tossed in the Lazarus Pits.

What if

Now hear me out.

What if he actually was.

But what if instead of gaining Pit Madness, he unlocked his past life memories.

His memories of being Daniel 'Danny' Fenton and Danny Phantom.

And once the memories returned so did his ghost form and powers.

And as Tim sits at the bottom of the pits, crossing his legs and letting all his memories slide back into place he questioned what to do now. He pondered for a moment and hummed tapping a finger to his chin.

Maybe he'll play the Pit Madness card? After all Ra's chucked him in here to either turn him into a mindless rage machine he could manipulate or see what the Pits would do to a mind like Tim's. Or Tim could pretend to be a silent rage, a calm before the storm.

Well, Tim grinned his eyes glowing green as he stared at the surface of the Lazarus waters above him, he was very good at lying this life time around. After all he was Tim 'I can even lie to Batman and get away with it' Drake-Wayne and he did used to be Danny 'Commit to the bit' Fenton/Phantom.

He was going to have fun playing that fruitloop named Ra's like the cheap kazoo he was.

[blaiddraws]

new creature dropped; wandering island in the ocean that's actually a giant sea monster that feeds off the excess life energy of its inhabitants in a symbiotic relationship

[jayktoralldaylong]

"MelJayVik can never work."

Just say you're weak and you hate challenges. 🙄

Also, what challenge? The SECOND Mel understood just how much Jayce cared about Viktor, she was LOCKED IN. My girl had no hesitation.

"We will find Viktor." "Don't worry Jayce, he will come back to us."

Don't play with my girl Mel, her mother is Ambessa, the flexibility was built into her genes. 💀🔥

[heavenlygirl222]

[reality-detective]

Watch a severe thunderstorm explode to 63,000 feet tall in a matter of just minutes tonight in northern Illinois.

Is this natural? 🤔

[cupid-http]

jim morrison. a poet with the soul of a rockstar. 💫

[georgiapeach30513]

You Won't Get Time, Part 2

Summary: your brain never shuts off.

Pairings: Steve Rogers X Reader, Johnny Storm X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings:  explicit sexual content, explicit language, mild form of self harm (rubber band snapping), slapping, biting, unprotected sex, PIV sex, cream pie, nightmares, depictions of drowning, underage drinking, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 7K

Previous

Series Masterlist

Biting your lip, you pace around your bedroom. It seems of late that’s all you do, and you’re always doing it alone, while somewhere the people you hold closest to your heart are elsewhere. How is it that when you need someone no one is around? Or is it because you’re ashamed of what happened? You never actually ask for Steve, you just know eventually he’ll come asking for you.

But what actually happened tonight? Everything was fine. Perfect even. People got to see you with Steve. In a way it is like marking your territory, and he was marking his. And it was amazing. Until he told you that you couldn’t stay. You didn’t understand why he never allowed you to linger. It’s like there was a bit of shame.

But then Bucky. You take a quick look in the mirror, and almost hate the person you see. Hate the way your eyes look a bit more sunken in and worn. You pull off every bit of clothing you have, and toss it into the hamper before walking into the Jack and Jill bathroom. You had to get Bucky off you. If you were a braver person, you would have jumped into the river. But who would have saved you then? Or is that what you want? To wash everything away and give up on whatever was going on? You’re just tired.

Turning on the water as hot as you can stand, you step in. Scrubbing and scouring at every remnant Bucky left behind. You wish you could just be open and honest with Steve, you just want him. But you get a feeling that Steve wants you to — take care of Bucky. It wasn’t all the time, and that’s why you allow it, but Bucky isn’t Steve. And Bucky went further than Steve would have allowed. You couldn’t cause another fight between them because of you.

And then afterwards. You walked to the river, trying to find some clarity, or contemplate washing away the evening, or something. You aren’t even sure what you wanted to do. Just run away and forget all the noise that is constantly surrounding you, and within your own mind. There’s only two times that it ever stopped. Well, there are two people that make the buzzing noise in your brain stop. And here you thought it was only Steve.

But why did Johnny have to invade not only your moment, but your mind. He is asking questions that you just couldn’t answer because — because you just couldn’t, and you didn’t want to. He wanted you to think about things, not realizing that was exactly the opposite of what you try to do with Steve. Because with Steve things just cease to stop moving. And it’s beautiful that you don’t have to think you can just be. Didn’t other people get that luxury?

Steve is your sanctuary. More than a friend or brother, he is your soulmate. Your other half. He is your everything. And how dare Johnny try to make you question the way things are with Steve. Nobody ever understood, and you just get tired of explaining it. You shouldn’t have to. Yours and Steve’s relationship was for you and him. People couldn’t understand the extreme complexities that make up your single minds.

Nobody could understand how precious things are with Steve. Mostly because he didn’t show the real him to people. But in the privacy of just you and him, you are blessed with seeing the man outside of the tormented soul he presents to the world. That’s love. Steve trusts you to be his vulnerable self. The one he keeps locked away from everyone because from experience, you and Steve were always the one left behind.

Bucky and Becca couldn’t understand because they still had their parents, and each other. Had yours and Steve’s parents not died, you might not have ever had this bond with him, and you’re grateful they’re dead. It beats the alternative of mourning their death forever. Constantly longing for people who are never coming back. You didn’t need them. The universe brought you what you needed. Steve.

You pop your neck as you walk back to your bedroom. Feeling cleansed from Bucky and him. Johnny had a death wish if he thought that being in your presence was a smart idea. And if Steve knew that he was questioning your relationship, it would not end well for Johnny. And yet there’s a part of you that not only wants to keep that hidden from Steve but also, maybe, you wouldn’t mind seeing him again. You shudder at the thought.

You reach over to your bedside table, and put a rubber band around your wrist, and give it a few pops. Taking a deep, slow inhale each time you let the rubber slap your skin. Exhaling before you pull it back. You take a quick check at your window before allowing your eyes to flutter close. Another night alone.

The Barnes’ thought you guys were grown enough now to do whatever it is they wanted on the weekend. It’s nice most of the time. Except now you just feel cold. Dreadfully cold. Hugging your knees to your chest, you clench your eyes close. It’s not the first time this has happened, and eventually sleep comes. Along with visions of the past. Ones you try to bury.

You pop the rubber band a few times. Feeling like your skin is crawling. Cold. Dark. Alone. Leaving you to wait for someone to save you. Except in your nightmares they never do.

——

Steve pushes your bedroom window open. He came in too late to use the front door, and the Barnes’ are already awake with the TV on in the living room. So he has to sneak to find you. He had too much weed last night. You hate seeing him high, so he waited. With some company before he came to you. He’s crawled through your window so many times that he could do it any form of inebriation.

Taking his shoes off, along with all his clothes, he lifts the covers and slides in behind you. Snaking an arm over you. His hand slides up your arm until he feels your wrist. Not only is one of those ugly bands on you, but your skin is warm and swollen, “Goddamit, Rio,” his voice is gruff behind your neck, but you don’t respond.

Your head twitches violently, and he hates himself. Heat doesn’t course through your blood, it’s like you're as cold as the day he pulled you from the river. “Rio?” His voice is met with a garbled cry. “Rio?” Still it’s nonsensical words that sound heavy. He hates having to shake you awake from these dreams, but they increase in severity if he doesn’t.

“Rio, baby, come back to me,” he leans over your body, hearing a strangled breath. It’s like you can’t escape the hellish nightmare, and you are causing yourself to drown. Your breathing is shallow, sounding like you're choking on your own saliva. “Rio? Rio! Please, I can’t lose you. Rio!”

Your eyes roll into the back of your head before he panics, shaking your body, until you’re gasping for air. Coughing at the invisible water in your lungs before looking up at him with so much confusion, until he pulls your body into his lap. Cradling you like a small baby, “I’m not going to lose you. I can’t. Rio, you’re my salvation. Please, don’t do this to me. I told you if you’re in that space to call me.”

“You’re late,” two words that cut him so deeply. Certain things don’t have to be spoken to understand what you mean. He’s late, meaning he was out high. “Does she have a name?”

“Don’t go there,” you are the one that was rudely woken up. You were sleeping. Maybe not peacefully, but you were sleeping. And he crawled through your window, and held you. And now he has the gall to tell you not to go there. You could have used him earlier in the night. Your nightmares don’t come if he’s with you.

“Have you at least washed her off you.”

“Did you wash Bucky off you?” Leaning to the side, you bite his arm. It wasn’t meant to hurt. It’s just aggression at his words.

“You allowed that to happen.”

“And you seemed like you really hated it, too,” he gets another bite, and he growls in response. “I hate it when you do that.”

“And I hate it when you act like I’m not enough for you. And don’t give me a dumb excuse that you have to let people know I don’t mean that much to you. That’s sick, and I’m done with your games,” still being cradled in his lap, he pinches your mouth. Thumb and forefinger on both sides, causing your mouth to hang open.

Like fire, even with warmth, there’s a danger to it. The flames have their way of causing pain. Licking and striking each other. You and Steve are passionate and painful. Leaning forward he licks a stripe up your neck, ending with his tongue tickling the inside of your mouth. “Suck it.”

“No,” you respond around the muscle. You aren’t sure where his tongue has been tonight. You’d be damned if you taste another woman. “Get off.”

Keeping his hand on your mouth he leans back, staring at you intently and confused. You never met him with resistance. It is a weird, and yet liberating thing. You hate to think that the brief conversation with Johnny had any effect on you, but you didn’t respond to Steve with eager enthusiasm, but with defiance.

“What?”

“I don’t want something that’s been inside another cunt,” he looks hurt. Not angry, and you want to plead for forgiveness, but also see where this goes.

“I haven’t touched another woman tonight.”

“Oh? And last weekend?”

“That was different,” you blow a puff of air up at him, wishing he would remove his hand. “You went on vacation with your little friend, and I was lonely.”

“I get lonely, too,” how dare he blame you. You’re tired and wish to sleep, and here he is blaming you for something he did. You deserve vacations, but deep down you know Steve doesn’t like the idea of you wanting to leave here.

“Maybe I should find me another cock,” he slaps the side of your leg with his free hand, but you just smile. “Does that bother you? Thinking about another man hovering over me. Leaving bruises on my skin from how tightly he holds onto me. Have someone that isn’t you fucking into me, and not only does it feel good, but I love it? Is that why you allow Bucky to fuck me? Because I don’t love him like I love you? And I don’t want him fucking me?”

“You’ve never said that,” you shouldn’t have to. How many times have you said all you want was Steve. It’s subtle, but it’s said.

“You’ve never asked. You just know I’ll do what you ask. And I get lonely, too,” you repeat the sentiment again, hoping that Steve catches it and understands.

“You take another cock, and I’ll never forgive you,” you stare up at him with cold dark eyes. Hating him for even thinking that. “You belong to me.”

“Then quit allowing our brother to fuck me!”

“Then tell him, no. If you hate it so much, just tell him, no. You never have, so I assumed that you must like it enough,” you roll your eyes, and get another slap to your leg. “Quit being a little bitch. What is wrong with you this morning?”

“I get lonely, too!” He clearly hasn’t heard you. He doesn’t get that you hate being alone. It’s a visceral reaction, and when it happens you go back to all the bad thoughts.

“Yeah, and fucking doing — why is the rubber band on your wrist again, Ri? You said you would tell me if you felt like doing that again. Why do you need to hurt yourself?”

“Why? Because I came home after being used while everyone in your fucking friend group watched, but I’m not good enough to stay there with you, no. You just want everyone to know I’m your little cunt bitch that lets you fuck me whenever you need it. And after being used, I didn’t have anyone to hold me when I needed it. I came here alone, and was left to my own thoughts, and the bands bring me back to reality. When I flick my skin, I’m here in the present. When I don’t I’m in my mind in the fucking river fighting for my life, and you weren’t there to save me,” Steve’s grip on your cheeks softens before he lets his arm fall altogether.

Letting himself be defeated as he lays back on your bed. “You’re not even going to apologize, are you? Bucky fucked me in front of your friends, and I had to come home alone. I get tired of being used by you two.”

“You think I use you?” You’re not sure what he would call it.

“I think that’s all you allow yourself to do. Do you love me?”

“Yeah. You know I love you. You know you’re the only one that quiets my thoughts, too.”

“If you don’t want me to feel like I’m being used, be there for me when I need you. It works both ways, but you’re the only one taking, and I’m so tired of giving, and everyone gets to see me giving,” if it was Steve that everyone saw you with instead of Bucky, maybe you wouldn’t feel so raw. But it was like a sick game to see you pass around between the two of them.

He twists his head while looking at you, and you’re tired of talking. At a party Steve does use you. He stakes his claim in front of everyone and lets them know that you’re untouchable. You belong to him, and no one can ever have you. “You didn’t call me.”

“Shut up,” you whisper, turning your body to straddle Steve. You pull off his old shirt, and watch his eyes roam over your body as you start to grind on his naked self. “Don’t act so surprised, Steve. What’s the rule? No panties in the bed, that way if you need me, you can just have me. You got in my bed naked. But now I’m the one that needs you,” still grinding on top of him, you lean forward, kissing up his neck.

“Why so late?” It is already morning. You can see the warm sun rays start to peek through the window. “Don’t lie to me.”

“We were discussing you coming out next weekend,” you sit up, cocking an eyebrow. “There’s reasons I don’t want you there.”

“Why?”

“Initiation.”

“Such as?” He moans as his cock starts to get harder. His body comes alive with your juices. You didn’t care what the initiation was as long as you got to be accepted into his world. And be with him without shame.

“I don’t want to put you through that.”

“You don’t want to give me the chance to accept? Or is this about you?”

“If you’re a ride or die — there’s things you have to do to prove you're loyal to the group. Even the women. You’re still in school. And I’m biding my time for us to…us to…fuck just stick it in,” he is rock hard, and you’re weeping for him. Your body craves the way he feels so much. It’s like the only way you stay alive, and present, and with him that doesn't involve a painful reminder of what your current life is.

“Ri, I’m dying. You’re soaked, and I can’t think right now,” he’s stalling. Distracting you with his dick, so you forget all about what it takes to be part of his group. “Ri. Please, baby.”

Adjusting your weight, you reach between your legs, guiding his steel length to your core. Not even teasing your entrance, you push through. Not stopping your descent until he’s fully sheathed, and you sigh. Looking up at the ceiling while his hands explore your curves.

At the party it’s so hard and fast and just about getting off, but in the privacy of your bedroom it’s like you’re discovering each other for the first time. His calloused fingertips move over every inch of your body. Ghosting over your supple skin before settling on your tits.

They gently graze over your pebbled peaks, tweaking and teasing them until they’re as hard as his cock. Giving them a hard pinch before you start bouncing over top of him. Riding him like it is your job. Like it’s your purpose. Steve stares up at you like you’re a goddess, and this time, you take his pleasure. Steal it right from his lungs with every whining moan that echoes from his sinful mouth.

He may like things rushed, but you love when he worships you. Staring up at you like you’re the only person in the world while your body swallows him. Fusing the two of you as one, just like you are meant to be. Nothing feels as good as Steve. Nothing is more beautiful and pure as when the two of you connect.

It doesn’t matter the pace that you move over him, it just matters that he is in you. A part of you. Something so beautiful, and you can receive the best pleasure known to man. This isn’t taking, it’s equally being in awe and so in love with each other. The universe dealt you and Steve some of the worst cards, but you have each other. Of all the bad in your life he is the only good. The solace outside of the chaos that you seek refuge within.

“Shh, Ri, you’re getting too loud, baby. Look at me,” opening your eyes, you lock eyes with him, holding his gaze makes this experience so much more intense. Like the two of you are floating in the clouds by yourself. Don’t even notice anything around you. “There, right there, baby. Fuck, you’re amazing. Heavenly.”

That’s how he feels to you, heavenly. If you could take him and you and live in the middle of nowhere and survive off each other’s touch, you would in a split second. “My god. Ri, this is…uhhh,” his eyes roll into the back of his head, and now is the time you need him.

“I don’t want you to leave me,” he stares up at you confused, and lost in his pleasure. “Don’t make me get off. Fill me. Come inside me.”

“Don’t ask me, we can’t.”

“I’m on the pill,” it takes him no time to push his hips up, and flip the two of you over. Slamming his hands on your bed frame, and he rails into you. Fucking you so deep you swear you see stars. Nothing in your room is visible anymore. Just Steve.

You run your nails down his back, and settle on his ass, pushing him even deeper into your soul. You want to feel him for the rest of the day. Walk funny. Keep a part of him inside of you. “Yeah. Steve, I’m going to…I’m going to…oh fuck, fuck — fuck me!”

Biting on your lip, you let the words grunt out of you as your walls clench around his cock. Putting him into a vice grip as it milks every bit of his delicious thick cum. Spurting his seed into your core just where it belongs. The first time you have ever felt him like that, and you sigh as you smile up at him, but his face falls.

“He’s came in you, hasn’t he?”

“What? No. No, Steve, don’t ruin this. It’s just been you. Don’t. I-I-I can’t. Just don’t right now. Love me. Love me!” This has taken a drastic turn and you try to bring him back to you, and into this moment. It’s a struggle to register just what it is he’s asking.

“Ri?”

“You were the first. I-I-It has only been you. Don’t fight this. I need your touch right now. Don’t leave me this time. Please, don’t,” what is it with him and always finding a dramatic way to leave when you just want his touch, and to hold you? It’s like he’s forgetting an important part about being inside of you.

“You’re lying to me,” his voice is so flat and without emotion as he starts pulling out of you. Giving you no time to relish in the feeling of him still inside of you. “Why are you lying?”

“Steve, please, just look. Look at the mess we made. Look at…look at me. Don’t. Just don’t run away,” you feel your heart start to crack into tiny little shards as he stands up from the bed. Leaning down to pick up his clothes. “Steve. Just lay in bed with me a little bit. I’ll keep you inside of me the rest of the day.”

“I don’t want him touching you anymore. And don’t ask me to go to those parties.”

“Steve?” You can’t even hide the tears that well in your eyes. “We were going to hang out tonight. You can fuck me on the couch in front of everybody. Really claim me. They’ll never touch me.”

“Rio, I’ve got…I’ve got some things to do today.”

“You bastard, Steve Rogers,” you don’t raise your voice as he opens up your bedroom door.

“Clean yourself up,” he closes the door gently, but you launch a pillow towards the opening. Holding in a scream as you make a muffled sound in your throat. Going to your closet, and throwing on whatever you can before going into yours and Becca’s shared bathroom. Angrily brushing your teeth. Two can play that game.

Becca opens up her door. Looking up and down at you, while she leans against the frame. It only pisses you off further. You assume your gums are bleeding by how harshly you brush them. Finishing up by spitting into the basin, and turning to glare at her, “What? What could you possibly want?”

She walks into the bathroom, grabbing up her own toothbrush before looking at you through the mirror. Turning back to you, and she leans into your ear, “You’re leaking,” your hand goes in between your legs, and you gulp. Steve’s cum.

“You know, if you want to be Steve’s sloppy little slut, maybe you should have the decency to fuck him outside of my parents’ house. And maybe you should clean yourself up just like he asked. I wouldn’t be awake if you weren’t so damn loud.”

“Why don’t you ask your brother how loud I can be, you bitch,” you spin around, and close the door on her. She hated you, and you know she hates the idea of you being with her brother even more. Fucking Bucky. He had to ruin the first good thing you and Steve could have had. And the worst part is, you didn’t even get to enjoy your first creampie. Or the second.

You just have to get out of here. You didn’t want to stay inside all Saturday. If you’re going to be alone, you’re going to be alone outdoors. Riding your bike. Going anywhere. But clearly going alone. Steve is going to have to stop being such a scared little shit. He’d see how much the two of you are meant to roam the world together, and without these people surrounding you. That’s what he needs. To get away. Maybe you should see what you can do about finishing high school early. It wouldn’t take too long. Maybe a few weeks. You could do it, and it would be worth it to have him how you want him.

——

Sniffling you start to stumble again. Giggling when you fall onto the train tracks. Today was hell. Any day where you have to think too much always is, but today was particularly bad. Your body itched, and you cried, and laughed. All day until you were able to swipe a few bottles of Boone’s Farm, and stuff them in your backpack.

Even though you struggle, you manage to stand back up, and attempt to balance on the tracks. Wobbling, but righting yourself until you fall onto your back, and you groan at how uncomfortable the backpack feels underneath you. Lumpy and pushing into your spine in an aggravating way.

“Ugh,” maneuvering it off your back, you pull out another bottle. “Ooh, blue this time,” removing the top you take a long swig of the drink. It now tastes like a delicacy, and you’re thankful for that. Placing the cap back on, you lay back on the tracks, and gaze up at the night sky.

“I hate you,” you wonder who it is you’re talking about. Definitely Steve, but a small part of you is yourself. You’re only refuge is Steve and somehow you always fucked it up. You should have relished in that moment today, but instead you pissed him off. What else was he supposed to do? You betrayed him and you had to think.

No one had even come looking for you. Becca wouldn’t. She hates you as much as you hate her. She couldn’t understand the pull you and Steve had to each other, and she was probably jealous that he chose you over her anyways. But with you it wasn’t even a choice. Your parents had all died to make sure you ended up together, and you are constantly fucking it up.

You feel your eyes start to get heavy. With the stars as your blanket it’s a comforting feeling. It isn’t too cold tonight, and you have a break from your brother that crawls into your bedroom, or the other one that you allowed to come inside of you. You let the stars spin around you, lulling you into a sleep.

Fighting to keep your nightmares at bay while your dreams are losing the battle. Happy domestic times where you have a home constantly flooding, or you’re drowning in the tub. Spirals of weird shapes and faces. Grotesque and still beautiful in its way. You feared the river, but thanked it for bringing you closer to Steve. The water tried to win, but like a knight in shining armor Steve defeated it. And now you were forged together.

“Oh my god!” You can still feel his lips on yours for the first time as he breathed life back into you, and you clung to him. It was the second time your life course changed forever. “Rio!”

“Go away,” you moan, turning to your side. “Holy fuck,” sitting up, you scoot away from him. “You’re not Steve.”

“Why the hell would I be Steve? What…?” He picks up the bottle of wine, and you try to take it from him, but he’s too fast, “How much have you drunk?” Johnny takes a long pull of the bottle before he spits it out. What a waste, you could have drank that. “This shit is disgusting. Blue Hawaiian? They didn’t have the strawberry one?”

“Already drunk,” hiccuping, you let your eyes start to close again. Blocking him from the evening. If you blocked him, maybe he would go away.

“Ri, drinking by yourself is usually a sign that there’s a problem,” rolling your eyes open, you stick your tongue out at him, blowing a raspberry, and he chuckles at you. “Falling asleep on the tracks sounds like a horrible idea, too.”

“The train hasn’t worked for years,” he smiles, taking another drink from the bottle. He keeps his eyes on you, actually swallowing the neon liquid. “I thought it tasted like shit?”

“Yeah, still does. But I can’t have you drinking alone, or I’ll have to call you an alcoholic,” he’s insufferable. You had another bottle, so you grab your backpack, and pull out the final one. “Cherry? What did you do, rob the grocery store, and you didn’t know what to get, so you got a little bit of everything?”

“You know me so well, Johnny. Tell me more,” his eyes make a slow descent down your body before taking a drink. “That’s what I thought.”

“I know you think you and Steve belong together, but you have the most twisted version love I’ve ever seen.”

“Yep, that’s my cue to leave,” it’s a bit of a struggle to stand up with the bottle, but you do it. Bending over to retrieve your backpack, some of the cherry wine pours onto the ground, but you don’t care. You just start walking.

“I know that anytime someone brings him up in a negative way, you run away,” asshole. It’s best not to react, so you take another drink. Hobbling down the tracks. Tripping over your own feet. “I know that he’s allowed to be with other women because he doesn’t want his weird ass gang to have a part of you, but you behave and stay at home waiting on him.”

Things are complicated between you and Steve. No one would understand. That’s a promise you and him had made years ago. They couldn’t understand because they didn’t want to. “I know that every time he fucks you at a party, you leave looking sadder and sadder. Nobody ever cares how you feel when Steve is always the problematic one. Always getting arrested, and needing bailed out of jail. And then he whines and goes to you for the comfort that only you can provide.”

“And I know you’re,” you spin around too fast, and everything goes in slow motion as your body shakes and wobbles before you feel gravity start to pull you down, but Johnny moves quickly, grabbing at your waist, and pulling you into him. And you gulp as you stare up at him. His jaw is oddly pretty.

“I’m what?”

“An asshole who they won’t allow in with them.”

“You wanna know the real secret, Rio? I don’t want to be part of them. I didn’t want to go through the initiation because it’s demeaning and fucking sick. The worst way to prove your loyalty, and it’s just so they all get a taste of each others’ property. Because that’s all you are,” what the hell is he even talking about. You were property. You were to be used. And that’s how it shows they’re loyal. You head starts spinning in the process of trying to put it all together.

An odd noise builds up in your throat, and Johnny has you spun around in his arms, leaning you over the tracks, and you hurl your guts out. Eyes watering as your body expels everything from the night, and still he holds you. Never stops no matter how disgusting this is.

When everything is released from your body, he pulls you back into him, “Get on my back.”

“No. Let me lay here in peace,” weirdo. He just wants you on top of him. And you can’t have that. You have to be alone until Steve finds you. Because that’s how it always happens.

“The temperature is dropping.”

“And I can’t go home drunk,” he doesn’t wait for you to get on his back, just places you on there, and you don’t want to fight. You’re tired of fighting for the night. You’re just tired. You let your head rest on his shoulder as he continues to follow the tracks. “Where are we going?”

“To my house,” it’s a simple enough answer, and you can think of the consequences later. He feels quite comfortable, and you let him carry you into whatever next fight that this will cause. It will cause an uproar with Steve, and Johnny may not be here the next day, but it was his decision. He wanted to talk about steve’s problems with the law, but has no problem with being the reason Steve gets in trouble again. If he’s caught.

You feel him walking up steps when you finally open your eyes, and look around confused. He carries you to a couch before he walks back down the narrow hall, and starts moving around a small kitchen. You look over everything, smiling despite the sick taste in your mouth. “I’ve got extra toothbrushes if you want to um, well brush your teeth,” he peeks over to you on the couch, nodding towards the back of the hall.

You follow where he’s looking, smiling even bigger, “This is a train car.”

“Yeah,” how can someone just respond so simply to that? There is no explanation as to why he’s living in a train car. And what exactly is in the other ones. “The next car over is the bathroom, and the one after that is my bedroom.”

“How? And why?”

“Storm Railroad Company, really?” You’re a fucking idiot. Of course. “I don’t know, I like living in the middle of the woods, alone, so nobody can bother me. Asked my granddad if I could, and he said, sure. So here we are,” he walks over towards you with a plate, and you stare at it. “It’s buttered toast. Here.”

He sits down on the other end of the couch, as far away as he can get, and you keep staring at the toast. “Why are you being so nice to me?” No one has every showed you kindness like this. It’s like he’s wanting to take care of you just when you need it.

“Because no one else takes care of you,” for someone who has had such a short life, you have felt more pain than most. Your life changed drastically in a short amount of time. You nearly drowned, and continue to have nightmares, but you have Steve. “Eat, Rio. There was no food in your vomit. When was the last time you ate?”

“This morning I had some powdered donuts,” taking a slow and timid bite, you look out in front of you, so you don’t have to see his face. It pisses you off because he’s being not only nice, but sweet.

“It’s nearly midnight,” you shrug your shoulders. Your bites start to quicken as you let the simple meal take you away from this morning with Steve. Johnny is too observant, and too smart. You feel his eyes on you, and you wish you could just go into a small hole, so he couldn’t see you. And then there is a tiny, minuscule part that wishes he’d look harder.

“What’s on your wrist?” You shrug, picking up the other piece of toast, and he reaches over to pull your wrist to him. His soft fingers rub over the area before he sighs. “You want to talk about why you do that?” you shrug again, stuffing the remaining bread in your mouth, and he stands up to gather your plate.

“This could be easier if you just talk,” this could be easier if he just knew.

“Why do you care?”

“You fascinate me,” he slumps back on the couch, and still keeps the same amount of distance from you. “You want that toothbrush now?” You shake your head no, and look back towards the kitchen. “You thirsty for something that’s not cheap ‘wine’?” You give him a nod, and he smiles as he gets up. Pouring you a glass of Sunny D before the same routine happens. Still just as far away.

“Sunny D? Seriously?”

“I don’t want to hear any lip from the girl who was drinking Blue Hawaiian Boone’s Farm, you understand?” You giggle as you take a sip from the cup. “That was a genuine smile and laugh,” the way he looks at you should make you uncomfortable. He studies you. But instead of feeling an unease, you like being noticed.

“I do that sometimes.”

“You should do it often,” conflicting worm up your chest with that admission. He likes your laugh, but what do you have to laugh about?

“Not all of us grew up rich and with our parents,” he gives you a single nod, and you have to look straight ahead again. He’s intense in a different way from Steve. With Steve you know him better than you know yourself, and know what his intentions are. Johnny is a mystery, and it puzzled you why he even cares. You are a nobody, while he’s from the richest family in town. He’s privileged in a way you could never understand.

“You want to tell me about the band on your wrist?”

“Why do you care?”

He sighs, realizing cracking you isn’t going to be easy. All you want to do is go around in circles with the same responses. “Maybe I just want to talk to you.”

“Snapping it on my wrist is like remembering what real life is. You know the saying pinch me because I’m dreaming? I have nightmares about drowning. Not always, but a lot of the time. And it just helps me remember when I’m awake and when it’s just a dream that can’t hurt me,” he reaches for your hand again but pauses before touching you. “What?”

“Can I take it off for you? Just for tonight?”

“Why?” It’s an odd question.

“I’ll wake you up if I see you’re having a nightmare,” you stare at him. Actually analyze him because you have no idea how you’re supposed to respond to that. It shocked you to have someone that wanted that responsibility.

“How will you know if I’m on the couch?”

“Oh, you thought you were sleeping on the couch? No. I have a gigantic bed back there. It’s not like we have to sleep right next to each other, but you look like you need some luxury. Are you still hungry?” You shake your head no, and he stands, holding a hand out towards you. “I won’t bite.”

You should run away, and go home. Pretend all of this didn’t happen, but you don’t want to. It feels like the first time anyone has ever truly cared about your well being. You aren’t sure what Steve thought the rubber bands were for, but he never truly asked, just asked why you are wearing them again. Making yourself that vulnerable to Johnny feels freeing. Like a brick that you’ve carried on your back for a while was removed.

You let him lead you to the bathroom car, and you stop. “I need to pee.”

“You need to brush your teeth, too. Here,” he reaches into a cabinet pulling out a never been opened toothbrush, and hands it to you. “You want to take a shower?” Yes. You can’t tell him that. “Let me get you one of my shirts, and some boxers. I know it’s not the most ideal, and had I known you would be staying the night, I could have been prepared. But I also didn’t know I would find you on my walk home.”

Without responding, he just wanders back into what you’re assuming is the last train car, and you just stand there. It’s overwhelming to think someone is as kind to you as Johnny. There had to be some form of a catch, nobody does all this for nothing in return. But you couldn’t quite figure it out, unless it is just physical with him.

He jogs back into the middle car, and you have to tell him. Be up front with him, “I’m not going to have sex with you,” he lays the shirt and boxers on the vanity for you, and stares at you oddly. Scratching the back of his head as he contemplates how he’s going to kick you out. There it is. That was always what he was after. You should have known.

“I wasn’t planning on having sex with you either. Number one, you’re drunk. You’re sobering up, but you’re still drunk. Sorry, you can’t consent to me when you’re partially intoxicated. Number two, pretty sure you’ve got whatever with Steve, and I’m good. Number three, I’m not interested. You look like you need a friend more than you need another man shoving themself into you.”

You nod. Stepping into the room that he had fashioned as the shower, and close the door. You couldn’t look at him after that confession. It’s a lot to process while your brain is addled with the usual bullshit, but nasty wine on top of it. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you call out to him. You can’t ever recall someone saying sorry, and it sounds genuine. Why is your life so fucked up? And why did you keep digging yourself a deeper hole? Whatever this was, Steve would never think it’s innocent. “Johnny?”

“I won’t say anything if you don’t,” that helps. A little bit.

Stepping into the shower you turn it as hot as you can stand. You didn’t realize how cold you have gotten. How being outside in the night, and this — situation, has made you freeze. You hate being cold. Cold brings out the bad thoughts and feelings. You let his shower wash them all away. Didn’t even care to see the feelings swirl down the drain. You were going to do this. Go on a journey to gods know where. All because you selfishly don’t want to be cold, or alone. And Johnny is a friend. You desperately need a friend.

Nobody had even called or texted you tonight. The lost and forgotten girl. The Barnes’ couldn’t wait to get rid of you, but you thought Steve would have sent something. Guess it means he found another woman for the evening. But you got to have him inside of you all day. You wonder if that meant as much to him as it did you. And wonder what it is that let him know what Bucky did. Another moment stolen from you.

But there’s comfort in knowing that nobody could steal these moments from you. Because they wouldn’t even know. If your friends want to abandon you, and your family, and your soulmate why couldn’t you abandon them? A deep pang in your stomach reminds you that you could never abandon Steve. Just the thought of being without him feels like torture. One of these days all this pain would be worth it.

Maybe.

Next

Masterlist

@tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @peaches1958 @seitmai

@smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989

@pandaxnienke @rogersbarber @theinheriteddutchess @musingsfromthemitten

[mintytrifecta]

Still thinking about stormchaser!Gladstone

[iggyshippingcorner]

A/O timeline my beloved… once Stone can think through Robs pheromones he goes oh shit… this is how I can smell different moods on him! (Rob probably does use some kind of blockers.. or just has VERY good control of himself so there s not a lot of variance other than “resting” and “angry”) Cue , totally, absolutely, 100% NECESSARY (I wasn’t gonna get that information any other way, Doctor!) flirting with the target… (-)

Stone on his way to give Robotnik a goddamn aneurism because he’s a sadistic brat <3 going to get scent-marked within an inch of his life when he comes back and that’s only the beginning of it— goddammit Stone get that smug look off your face right this second or so help me GOD—

[luckycheesefoodie321]

I FINISHED ONYX STORM

WHAT THE FUCK (SPOILERS)

I knew we’d always go the way of Dimitri. He even left a “don’t look for me” note like him.

But there’s someone who else who has gone venin and it’s either Garrick or Bodhi. Garrick is missing but he could be chasing down Xaden. Bodhi hasn’t been mentioned but suddenly Violet is now the dowager Duchess of Tyrrendor.

It has to be someone significant enough for Xaden to be surprised.

Did Xaden force Sgaeyl to cut off their bond also?? Bc Tairn is asleep but fine so it’s not like Sgaeyl could’ve gone with Xaden.

And what did Imogen do that Violet asked for???

Also the dragon eggs missing means maybe Xaden cashed in the deal with Dunne or whichever place it was??? Unnbriel?

Andarna has to have rebonded with Violet and obvi everyone knows Xaden is venin, so they’re ready to kill her to get to him.

OH WAIT NO IMOGEN ERASED HER MEMORY AT VIOLETS REQUEST.

Hmm. This better mean we get a random sweet moment where Xaden proposes, they get married, have their last night together where Violet bangs venin!Xaden (because we all know that scene is in the back of everyone’s thoughts), and then for… Xaden’s safety? Or maybe he has a mission that Violet doesn’t want to jeopardise?? Idk. She requests her mind erased.

And so whatever tf the next book involves is Violet trying to recover her memories of the events that passed.

I also see what yall meant about Dain and Sloane. Another wing leader falls for a first year. There was something incredibly funny about Dain trying to “pick up” a second year healer in the local town while he was exhausted and pissed off.

Anyway

Rebecca it’s on sight if I catch you

[karmaismyfriend]

Gaslighting 101😈

☮️💟☯️

[rafamonzo]

R.Tanaka - From the series " The Wedding of the Earth"

http://rafamonzo.tumblr.com   / http://tanaka-clan.tumblr

[valenteal]

What is Arahabaki? What is Corruption? How do they differ from each other and For the Tainted Sorrow?

Ok so Chuuya theory coming up. I’ve been idly toying with this for a while, never really dedicated a ton of brain power to it but I think it’s come together in my subconscious to post at this point.

So. Chuuya might be a clone. This is a genuine possibility. This doesn’t mean he’s inhuman, it’s specifically stated that Chuuya is genetically and physically indistinguishable from a normal human, which in my mind means that he is human, even if he wasn’t born naturally. I don’t necessarily think he has to be a clone but I’m not ruling it out.

Here’s the thing though: N and the other Arahabaki researchers didn’t just copy the original experiment that created Verlaine. N thought that the whole thing was monstrous even with his own incredibly skewed morals. So there’s something different about Chuuya.

Here’s how I see it: Chuuya’s handed over to the Arahabaki team by his father who is also a military doctor. His original ability is unknown, somehow affecting inanimate objects and causing them to glow and under some unknown circumstances he could create a singularity from a single coin. Incredibly powerful. But limited by the fact that the human body and brain has fail safes to keep us from hurting ourselves. Humans don’t use all of our physical potential because doing so could lead to severe damage to ourselves. Like what happens when Chuuya uses Corruption.

So Chuuya’s original ability is turned into a singularity, changing its very nature and manifestation, as shown by the change of color from white to red. I have multiple theories on what it originally was but I won’t get into that right now. The point is: Chuuya’s gravity manipulation is a result of the singularity housed inside him, which we know because Verlaine has the same gravity control that Chuuya does and it’s unlikely that they started with the same Gift. Somehow, using their singularities, Chuuya and Verlaine are able to warp space and time. Because that’s all gravity is, the curvature of space time around mass and energy. The singularity is under control and can either be turned on and off at will (unlikely) or is somehow contained in another plane of existence that only the Gifted who created it has access too (my preferred theory). Idk what that other plane of existence is, but for now I’m thinking of it as a pocket dimension. I think it exists in the same space as Chuuya like an aura that doesn’t interact with anything around it unless Chuuya wants it to. It can’t be seen or felt by things in this dimension but if anything were to somehow get into its dimension it would behave similarly to a supermassive Shwarzschild black hole. Or maybe Chuuya’s is Kerr and Verlaine’s is a Shwarzschild… actually yeah that based on their fight.

But what about those limitations of the human body? What about Corruption? What about the Persona Model?

I think that the Persona Model is akin to dissociative identity disorder, in that it’s a separate consciousness housed in Chuuya’s mind, but unlike DID it’s unnatural and doesn’t originate from Chuuya’s psyche. It’s a mental state created by the researchers that allows Chuuya’s mind and body to bypass all limitations imposed upon it by basically turning off huge portions of Chuuya’s brain. The lines of code thing Verlaine talked about, the Persona Model, exists in Chuuya in a very different and much less sophisticated way, because Chuuya doesn’t need an artificial intelligence when he already has a natural intelligence, unlike Verlaine.

So to answer the questions asked in the title: Arahabaki is Chuuya, the code name given to him and the research team behind him. Corruption is the artificial mental state he enters to gain access to the full potential of the singularity. Arahabaki is all of Chuuya himself as well as the people who created him while Corruption is one specific aspect of Chuuya created by those people, and For the Tainted Sorrow was his original ability. I say that because I don’t think he has ever actually called his gravity manipulation For the Tainted Sorrow, just Gravity Manipulation, which is actually so sad to me.

[starlight-bread-blog]

If Aang had accepted his role as the Avatar, he might not have had to leave Gyatso.

But he didn't. He ran away. And when he woke up, he saw the exact consequences of that. He won't do it again. It was hard, really, really hard, but when it came down to it, he had accepted his duty to kill the Fire Lord.

And then he didn't have to. Funny how things worked out, isn't it? He just has to keep moving forward.

[heavenlygirl222]

Dana Ward

[ranticore]

Cuinn POVs... 2!

meeting ilya. he seems nice!

*

The warm spring breeze blew in across the Amha steppe and rocked the new bowers above the walled village of Kosa, rousing Cuinn from his nest. There was a damp softness in the air that foretold a light misty rain but no great showers or thunderstorms. In his home flock he had dreaded the turning season, no matter how he preferred the warmth; the snow was gone for another few months and his feathers would become stark and painfully visible again.

Old fears and vulnerabilities were not the providence of a king. He rose from the nest and wove it as the sun struggled to pierce the clouds, twisting the branches back into a neat circle. Mikalai would call later, he’d promised. Cuinn would trust no other promises, and only Mikalai could spur him into neatening his nest. Only Mikalai could even be permitted to see his nest so close without being chased away or dropped off the tower.

The flock below rose like loose tea leaves in a cup, calling to one another for positioning. One of the annoying cobs touched down briefly on the perch that projected from the mouth of Cuinn’s bower, rocking the structure, and Cuinn was forced to emerge to put some order on the fliers. The warp was light, more a suggestion than a dragging current, and he was carried nicely by it with very little weft to tug him off course.

The flock pulled close around him, the youngsters calling out their news. Newcomers, they said. Humans and harpies both had arrived from the south. One spoke of a large wheeled cage, in which a trio of new harpies had been perched for the journey. Odd. Could they not fly? Or were they imprisoned, mistreated by their falconers? It was always the most likely possibility.

He didn’t bother to wonder if they had a king. No human-raised harpies had kings, aside from his own ragged little flock. Still, though, as he turned into the weft and banked on a wingtip to follow his flock’s directions, the commotion at the gates of Kosa resolved into a sharper image. One fly-by was enough to spot the strange vehicle, pulled by a pair of horses. The bars partially obscured the shapes of harpies inside.

The humans waiting at the gate with their three other carts were in discussion with the lord of the gate. Cuinn’s low pass elicited gratifying yells of alarm. They were impressed with his size and ferocity. Whether or not their harpy captives would be was another question, and one about which he cared far more.

He swung up into the sky again on the warp and landed on one of the wall watchtowers, his talons curling around the perch pole that had been nailed up only a couple of weeks before, under the lord’s new inclusivity objective. The rest of the flock circled in slow rings, each trying to catch a glimpse through the bars before rising again to settle on one of the lesser perches around the tower, on the battlements and roofs of buildings around the gate.

The gates creaked open. As the heavy vehicle made its very slow, earthbound crawl up to the keep, Cuinn alighted upon it. Ignoring the stupid humans’ cries of alarm and their arm-waving efforts to spook him off, he lowered himself to his belly on the roof of the cage and looked down over the edge, his head tilted so that one large pale eye could look inside.

The three harpies did not appear overly mistreated or upset. They perched on padded bars and huddled together companionably. They were two small cobs and a pen, of a kind Cuinn had not seen before on the steppe; small straight beaks with exaggerated, heart-shaped nares, useless little claws that would never be useful for killing prey emerging from their white feathery feet. Their colours were good, at least, an interesting addition to Cuinn’s flock; white underneath and dark on top. A cob and a pen were grey with an interesting iridescence, while the remaining cob was a soft and light brown, though as he turned his head to blink sleepily at Cuinn he revealed large, beautiful brown eyes dark enough to hide the pupil.

The three roused quickly at the brown one’s chirp of surprise. Alarm flitted across their neat little faces and the pen burst into a whirlwind of activity, calling for human aid with a low, round-edged voice, so different from the piercing cries of Cuinn’s eagle-kind.

Alerted, the humans sent one of their own to climb onto the vehicle roof to dislodge Cuinn with a long rake for gathering straw. He ripped it from their hand and cast it away, then lifted into the air to avoid another strike.

Mikalai had mentioned diversifying the flock, so Cuinn could only conclude that this was what he had meant. He flew ahead, beating hard to rise into the warp so that it would bear him easily to the keep. There, he found Mikalai with Lord Andrei and Yuriy, all three in discussion in the old mews ring.

Cuinn landed on one of the perching blocks and shrieked for Mikalai’s attention.

It was always gratifying to see Mikalai drop his silly talks with other humans to come to speak to Cuinn.

“They are message-senders from the south, a town called Mira,” Mikalai said, not bothering to ask what Cuinn wanted. That much was obvious. “They’re interested in sharing falconry resources with us; not wealthy enough to maintain a full eyrie of their own. The attacks of the crawling beasts have grown frequent there. So we have taken on some of their messengers who will speed communication between there and here. The birds are faster on the flat than anyone else.”

Cuinn nudged his beak against the crook of Mikalai’s neck, denting the man's skin with its point. There was surely no human more sensible than Mikalai, but this felt odd. Permanently stationing strange harpies here was one thing, but for a village with no wealth? No way of prospering? They didn’t deserve the aid of Cuinn’s flock.

Mriya swept over the mews, her voice happily announcing the arrival of the first human representatives from Mira. They arrived on horseback, banners flying above them, and to Andrei they presented a gift offering of nicely woven cloth patterned with geometric shapes, pleasingly hard-edged. They had nothing for Cuinn, though he did stare pointedly at them until their horses began to prance nervously, and Mikalai’s placating hand on his breast was required to make Cuinn avert his eyes.

“They were unsure about bringing their birds here,” Mikalai murmured, leaning closer to Cuinn’s face. Cuinn opened a winglet to listen as Mikalai dropped his voice. “They have never worked with a king before, or a flock that gets free run of the village. They’ll need time to adjust.”

Cuinn hissed disparagingly under his breath. Well, the humans being insufficiently deferential would be easily fixed by a display of might, but truly it wouldn’t matter. As long as they understood that any harpy brought here was his subject, they would have no quarrel.

Presently, the cage rolled up across the lawn to the mews. The three harpies inside were fully awake now, still pressed together as they peered out at their new surroundings, and their new king. The cage front slid back and, with a look of doubt about this odd practice, the handler gestured at the harpies and let them have their freedom.

The pen burst out first; the largest of the three, she had taken a customary dominant role over the cobs. She landed on the roof of one of the old nesthouses, cooing nervously. The grey cob followed. Cuinn was pleased and proud to see that his new subjects were indeed very fast on the flat, their pointed wings slicing through the weft with precision.

As the brown cob emerged he instead made a beeline for his handler’s shoulder-pad, his pretty brown eyes alighting on Cuinn with shy curiosity. He, like the others, wore a leather harness with a scroll case on the back, though it was empty.

Cuinn puffed out his feathers at the cob, a preamble to a threat, just to ensure the newcomer didn’t get any wild ideas about his place in the flock. The cob pulled in his feathers and appeared to shrink, revealing his light and fine form under the clean brown and white markings. He did not challenge Cuinn and closed his winglets, though his eyes continued to linger curiously.

Mikalai and the humans sorted out the newcomers’ accommodation. Messenger harpies would need to be quickly accessible for the humans in both villages, so they would be stationed relatively near the keep. Cuinn watched from a distance this time as the bowers were made ready, and the messenger trio settled in. He watched their food be brought out; a steaming grain mash with nuts and seeds, not a scrap of meat in sight.

“They call the pen Strelka, the grey cob Lexei, and the brown is Ilya,” Mikalai murmured into Cuinn’s ear. “They were not human-raised.”

That explained the appropriate de-escalation shown by Ilya. He knew how to behave appropriately around creatures other than humans, and wouldn’t have to be taught, as all of Cuinn’s human-reared subjects had. But these pigeonkind harpies had likely never seen a king of Cuinn’s type, accustomed to their own kind. If they had heard any wild rumours about Cuinn, they did not show it.

Over the next few days the new harpies were shy but not shut-ins, exploring the hybrid skyline of Kosa with their swift and neat flight. A few mornings later they started carrying messages, and one would always be gone for the day, at the other village, before winging back rapidly through the sky to arrive that evening. Another of the three would be sent out in their place. In this way, only two were at Kosa at a time, and it appeared three had been chosen to ensure safe redundancy.

Soon, their usefulness was proven. Only four days after their arrival, Ilya came darting through the air to the messenger station, where he sat and rang the bell until someone came to accept his message. The call for battle came up seconds later, and the swirling mass of Cuinn’s flock rose into the night. Half went south to the other village, which was still too destitute for Cuinn himself to visit, though he was reassured by Mikalai that the small village size meant that only a half measure of harpies could protect it.

Cuinn alighted on the roof of the messenger tower to watch his harpies fly off, and looked in to see Ilya still panting after his sprint through the strong weave, the open message-scroll unrolled under his fluffy white feet. His human handler was speaking words of praise to him, holding up a cup of water for him to drink from.

Cuinn let himself into the tower through the tall arches. He wanted to see more of Ilya, whose delicate features had been fascinating to him since the messengers’ arrival. Ilya glanced sideways at him and chirred in surprise, while the handler jumped and took a step closer to Ilya with visible nerves. The humans from the other village were not comfortable around Cuinn and showed it, giving him an unnecessarily wide berth. They were not accustomed to harpies who rivalled themselves in size.

Cuinn hissed softly at the human, warning him not to attempt to get between him and Ilya again. Ilya was Cuinn’s subject, after all, not the human’s. The hiss worked, for once, and Cuinn was able to extend his neck to look more closely at Ilya. He was undoubtedly pretty, a rare thing in the flock, with his clean colour blocks and almost pastel brown beside the white, his little pink claws poking out from the white feathers.

Cuinn’s body knew what he wanted before he did; he desired to nudge closer into Ilya’s clean white breast feathers. He remembered Salmon Scale Flash and Midnight Stars, rare beauties from his home flock. Tiercels. And what king was complete without tiercels of his own? He’d never entertained the idea with regards to the human-reared harpies in Kosa, deeming them overgrown chicks with bad attitudes and muddy feathers, but Ilya was not like them. In fact, he preened under Cuinn’s attention, fluffing up his throat feathers.

His voice, finally raised in speech, was heavily accented, but the soft low tone was gorgeous to the ear, like a brush of down. “Hello, Ice Storm over Orra,” he said. “I often see you watching me. You are just as striking in life as I was told you would be. More, even.”

“Do you like my village?” Cuinn said, his voice a sibilant hiss beside the rich tones of Ilya. He had never taken a tiercel before, though he had been taken as one, of course. Thunder Strike on the Ama had not bothered with preamble conversation, he had simply descended from above to snatch Cuinn out of his ragged nest.

“Very impressive,” Ilya said. “Ours is not so prosperous. We have no walls to protect the groundlings and the eyries are bare. Here is so much better. If only I could stay.”

The human had relaxed, seeing the conversation. It was not one he could follow so he had started sweeping away bedding-straw from the messenger nests, paying no more attention to the harpies.

“With my flock, and my protection,” Cuinn said, hopping down off the rampart to stand by Ilya’s perching pole, so that they were eye-level, “your village will soon be prosperous, as well, and then it will be my village also. Kosa is already the envy of all flocks. It will draw even greater envy with you in it.” It was somewhat clumsy, but, for a first attempt, not horrible. Or so Cuinn hoped. He could see Ilya become receptive, his eyes lidding with relaxed curiosity,

“What do you mean by that?” Ilya cooed, extending a winglet to cover his face as if in embarrassment, or shyness. “I’m only a messenger.”

“You are a great beauty,” Cuinn said forcefully. Ilya chirred with delight and covered his face entirely, his feathers rising.

Enough preamble. Awkward as it might have been, the deed was done. Cuinn was satisfied he had made his intentions clear. He hopped onto the perch, into the cramped space that remained between it and the roof, and seized Ilya by one ankle.

lya’s eyes widened and the look in his dark eyes was one of challenge, not resistance. But the human yelled, and kept yelling as Cuinn launched off the perch and into the night sky, Ilya dragged in his wake like a piece of prey to be taken to Cuinn’s bower and enjoyed at his leisure.

Cuinn had killed and carried bigger and heavier beasts. He was a white dart wheeling into the weft that swirled around his spire, blatant in the night sky, and many of his flock followed his progress from their own perches and bowers. He flitted through the round opening and cast Ilya down onto his nest.

Ilya crouched there, his wings half-spread so the feathers softly cupped the air. Now was no time to immediately declare him Cuinn's; there were protocols to follow, offers to be made. Cuinn had to prove himself capable of providing.

He stalked around the nest for a moment, rummaging through his ramshackle pile of belongings, and emerged with something he hoped would match Ilya’s beauty; a golden egg from the keep he had gotten from Andrei once, which opened into two halves so that small objects could be stored inside. It was the gift that had marked Cuinn's acceptance of the lord's rule over the groundlings of Kosa; not a rival, but an equal.

The metal surface was shaped into swirls and flowers, with little gems winking as they turned. He hopped back to Ilya and placed the egg beside him, opening it up to display the rich, deep indigo blue of the velvet inside. It was a rare colour to find outside human villages, and inside them as well, given its signifier of wealth.

Ilya watched the blue fabric with wide eyes. His particular shade of powdery brown looked very good beside it, standing out against the white down and sheep fleece that lined the nest.

Cuinn placed the other half on the other side of Ilya, to frame him.

Natural law dictated that tiercels remain in the nest to be spoiled, so it was where Ilya stayed. Until morning, anyway, when the bell requesting Cuinn's attention rang in the dawn light. Cuinn lifted from his nest, leaving Ilya dead asleep, and spiralled down to Mikalai at the rooftop base of his spire.

"Is he there? Yes? Unharmed?" Mikalai sighed loudly, his hands planted on his broad hips. "They're not going to like this. Ilya has to work tomorrow after his rest day."

"The Miran dovekeepers want to know what you did with Ilya," Mikalai said, in a tone suggesting he didn't need to guess what Cuinn had done. "They're not happy about one of our flock attacking theirs."

Cuinn nudged into Mikalai's side affectionately. He could not explain the laws of the world to a human who could not experience them, but Mikalai seemed to understand this. Cuinn indicated the spire and his bower, where Ilya slept.

Cuinn snorted, blowing back Mikalai's hair. It wouldn't do to have a tiercel work at all, no matter how many rest days he had. The remainder of his life would be a rest day.

"No, look," Mikalai sighed, tugging at one of Cuinn's mane feathers to show he meant business. "We can't have a freeloader here, and he's not ours to keep. He belongs to Mira and the handlers, and his own flock."

Cuinn shook his head.

He didn't budge on the topic, even as Ilya emerged later that day to visit the messenger tower, where his dinner was waiting. He flew down and gave a little start to find himself accompanied by Cuinn, who shadowed him down to the platter of pigeon-feed waiting for him. The human handler was there and at the sight of his wayward charge he gave a great exclamation and darted forward to check Ilya's ankles where Cuinn had grabbed him.

Nobody was allowed to touch Cuinn's tiercel but himself, and when the human came too close he was there, slashing with his own massive talons to get the man away.

Ilya chirped, watching over Cuinn's spread wing as the human cradled the bleeding gashes on his forearm. Ilya was not put off at all by the sight of the blood, or Cuinn's defensive fury. In fact it seemed to please him.

Cuinn hissed at the handler sharply and lashed out again. He hooked his talons in the man's coat and dragged him towards the ramparts, prepared to toss him over, but at that moment the inner door burst open and Yuriy was there. He took stock of the situation, Cuinn's foot crushing the handler's shoulder, and darted towards Ilya. Only this would convince Cuinn to release the man, whom Yuriy immediately seized and pulled through the door to safety.

A loud crash; the handler's food bucket fell to the floorboards and spun for a moment before toppling, spilling out more grain mash. Ilya made a noise of delight and hopped down from the perch to take advantage of the windfall.

"If you are hungry only tell me," Cuinn said, standing guard at the door.

"To speed our flight, they keep our crops empty," Ilya said, with an air of great injustice. "So we are always hungry. That man, he is the worst, I never want to see him again."

So Cuinn swore to him that this would be the case.

None of the humans appreciated the significance of Cuinn's choice. He chased away anybody who dared approach Ilya, until it came to pass a few days later that everyone had learned their lesson and no longer attempted to go near the tiercel. The messenger humans from Mira sported bandages around their forearms and shredded clothing, which they took to Lord Andrei along with their other complaints.

Predictably, Mikalai came to mediate. Cuinn had situated Ilya in one of the nicer towers, close enough to the walls that any outsider harpies might feast their eyes on Cuinn's wealth, while still being defensible. When Mikalai's voice called from the other side of the inner door, interrupting Ilya's careful preening, Cuinn bristled but did not sound a warning.

"Who is he?" Ilya asked, rearranging how his wingtips sat. "He speaks to you often, as though you could reply in his language."

Cuinn placed himself between the door and Ilya. "He is as close to a king a human could get, he is honourable. I trust him."

"But a human?" Ilya said, with sincere confusion.

The door came open and Mikalai did not step closer, remaining on the threshold at a respectful distance. Cuinn let his puffed feathers fall flat and his silhouette turn sleek again.

"They're very angry at you," Mika rumbled. "Those handlers from Mira claim we stole Ilya."

We? Cuinn widened his eyes, signalling disapproval.

"I know," Mika said. "I've tried to explain. They think it's wrong to have an idle harpy sitting about on their tab, they have to pay their part for room and board of three birds. Understand?"

Cuinn understood that the humans were ridiculous and ignorant, yes. He turned his head away, his eyes sliding half-shut. He wasn't going to entertain such nonsense.

"Andrei also has concerns that you're so occupied with Ilya that you won't be ready to defend the village," Mikalai said. He leant against the door frame. "I agree with him. The rest of the flock are aimless now and the falconers can't get them to understand why you're suddenly playing favourites."

That had Cuinn turning back to face him. He hissed softly. He would show them 'defending the village' now that, for once, the place had occupants worth defending.

Mikalai left him there. He perched himself on the edge of the tower's landing platform, waiting for the evening alarm bells to ring. They had not sounded since the battle at Mira, making it increasingly likely with each passing moment that there would be an overdue attack.

"He seems to think you're weak," Ilya observed lightly. He perched behind Cuinn, with his grain rations. "That you're not going to defend the village."

"I will," Cuinn said, bristling at the slight.

He was given a chance to prove his dedication only that evening. As he ripped open a bag of grain and poured it into a bucket half-filled with water, the clanging of the mustering bells broke the night.

Ilya's feathers stood on end, his big brown eyes widening. Cuinn first ensured that the door was locked, and that there was enough space for Ilya to take off to escape any potential harassers. Then he launched into the cool air, surrounded by tolling bell and the calling of his flock. They swirled around him like snow into a slow, spiralling column formation, waiting for the falconers below to rouse and bring their horses and weapons down to the fields.

Mriya darted up with lightning speed, her jesses snapping in the wind, and she let out a piercing cry to indicate the southern field complex. As she slid away again towards it, Cuinn turned to squint down towards the south.

The field was dim but getting brighter, torches flaring into life and spitting out sparks into the dark. Cuinn saw the black coiling flank of one of the crawling beasts among the potatoes. The soil boiled around it, churning up into a mess of smaller beasts that writhed and looped as the acid of their bodies caused the crops around them to steam.

Members of his flock dipped abruptly to greet their respective falconers as the humans came racing out of the mews on horseback. Yuriy in front led the charge to the field, slipping through the portcullis to reach the bank of torches.

Cuinn called his flock and folded a wing, his soaring flight flinging him down into a shallow bank, his beak pointed below the horizon to catch as much good warp as possible. The fields rushed up with bone-breaking promise and around him his fellows peeled off to follow the falconers' directions. Cuinn alone bore straight down on the big crawler, tipping back into level flight in time to swing his killing talons forward to bear. Harpies advanced in a neat line, snatching up the small worms on the wing without landing, while Cuinn caught hold of the big crawler's metallic skin and grounded himself.

But it was a king's privilege to fight on the ground. He mantled his wings over his prey to steady himself and moved one foot to crush the head of the creature, knocking it back down into the dirt before the flailing jaws nicked him. He squeezed its long, fleshy body, his talons stabbing in as his grip crushed brutally. The others were flying back around, writhing baby worms in their talons, and made to drop their quarries in the larger bonfire built by the torches. The stink of burning crawler filled the air.

Black oil bubbled up around Cuinn's feet. The thing bucked and writhed and almost threw him clear, forcing him to release one foot and kick down, stamping into its back over and over. The thing struggled still but with sluggish movements, the tail kinking weakly in the group as the pincers opened and closed on nothing. Jaws large enough to sever a human leg were rendered useless.

As soon as it was still enough, he spread his wings. With a series of massive downbeats he did what no smaller cob could ever manage; he took to the air while carrying a grown crawler.

Alarm shrieks rang up around him. His mouth open as the effort made him pant, he hauled his prey into the air and caught the breath of the warp. It took him and pulled, bearing him to the bonfire. He swung up, rode his momentum high until his wings stalled and he had no choice but to drop the crawler onto the bonfire.

It plummeted into the flames, where its black grease ignited and punched out a wall of fire. The heat shoved up under Cuinn's wings and cast him higher on the column. Far below, the humans had called warnings and dived to the side to avoid the burst of flame and now swarmed back to it, using long-handled sticks to poke the burning crawler back into the heart of the fire, so that all of it was reduced to ash.