#*bites your beak gently*

[inlovewithl3vi]

I can imagine mammon biting you when he gets jealous

Like you could just be talking to your friends at RAD, accidentally ignoring him for quite awhile. After you get home you don’t pay attention to him then either. You had already promised Asmo to try out a new face mask with him wich just made mammon more jealous

Eventually you have time for him and walk with him to his room. Before you can even get there Satan stops you and asks for your help to prank Lucifer. You end up leaving mammon, promising him that you’ll go with him after dinner.

Then while you’re eating he can’t even get a word in with you, his brothers are taking all of your attention. After dinner you start to head to your room to change into something more comfortable before going to mammons room.

When you get there you already see Belphie laying in your bed asking you to go to bed with him. Except Mammons already outside of your room, prepared to chase off his brothers.

Before you can even say anything he answers for you, angrily telling him no before dragging you back to his room. You’re silent as he drags you behind him. When he gets to his room he slams the door shut behind you, locking it too.

Immediately his lips catch yours in a heated kiss. He keeps you pressed up against the door as his hands slide around your body. His he beaks apart before immediately moving to kiss down your jaw and to your neck.

You don’t even realize what he’s doing until you let out a loud yelp when his teeth dig into your skin. You can feel him smile before he lets go and gently licks the mark he just left. “Gonna show em' that you’re my human” he mumbles before moving to another spot and doing it again.

The next morning you try to keep your head down, your RAD uniform not covering the many bruises and bites that Mammon left. Of course he purposely left them in spots that weren’t covered, not to mention the ones that others couldn’t see.

Much to your dismay Asmos the first one to notice, immediately giggling and turning to you asking what one of his brothers did that to you. whether or not you tell him is up to you, although he is going to find out eventually no matter what (Mammons probably gonna brag about it anyway). Although Asmos definitely gonna pout a little about how it wasn’t him doing that to you.

[dipperpepper77]

Dipper delusions

Lads as BFs. Prank

How do they react to pranks?

Tw: Just casual roasting of the boys. Also implied NSFW for Zayne. Also you catch a stray in Caleb’s. But I adore you.

Sylus: You couldn’t even send the message out. You reached your phone. Typing out “Sylus I got in a fight”… but Sylus already texted you. “Ha ha.. good prank. Look up and wave at Mephisto.” You sighed gently. Typing “indulge me then. What would’ve you done?” His response was classic Sylus. “Do you want the bloody details or want to get my keys and go to the mall?” You hummed. You did want to go on a spree anyways. Why fight the man who loves you? You went to type again but Mephisto opened it’s beak. Showing Sylus’s car keys. You took it. Jumping back as Mephisto pretended to lunge to bite you (like father like son). Sending a message to Sylus as you choked the bird. “Sylus your fuck ass bird tried to bite me.” You got a message notification you barley heard through the caws and struggle of Mephisto. Oh.. you’re so doubling your shopping spree because of this damned bird.

Rafayel: You sent him a message. Thinking it was semi funny. “I went swimming at the beach with Tara.. tell me why I heard the fishes talk?” Rafayel sent a message back quickly. “What did they say?” You smiled softly before texting back. “They said you’re a bitch.” You smiled to yourself. Until you saw the unmistakable sound of a car peeling into the parking lot of the beach. The disheveled and tired artist walking towards the shore. Grabbing your hand in the process. “I’m not! Y/N.. tell them I’m not! I should cook them for this level of disrespect. I’ll never come back!” You had to stop yourself from laughing. Telling him it was a joke. “.. that’s not funny. I almost waged war on my people.” Long story short. You had to analyze every single painting he made that day as punishment. And no.. you still didn’t know the difference between banana peel yellow and the Amber paste he made out of protocores.

Zayne: The most difficult person to prank. Everything goes over that overworked brain of his. You texted him a quick “at your work.. would love a full examination” and a picture of you at the lobby. You were wearing a skirt. Deciding to make your love life more active. So imagine your shock when he responds with “I’ll be down there. Full examination? You’re wearing loose clothes. Do you have an infection? Irritation?” You literally had to grab the wall. This man. You literally just got your bag and left. Sending him a “no. I was trying to get you laid.” You saw a tall eye-bag riddled man rushing to the lobby. NOW.. you got his attention.

Xavier: This man is probably asleep let’s be so real. So you called. Hearing him groaning and moaning like the old man he is. You could’ve sworn you heard his bones crack too. Dust collecting in that room every-time he gets up.. ancient ass man. Belongs in a museum as a relic. (Okay roast over. He fought me in kitty cards so I’m MAD).

“Xavier? I can’t find my keys. Can I spend the night at your place?” Oh. That old ass man is speeding to the door. Now.. your prank comes in. “Thanks lumière!” That man’s face darkened. “I’m making dinner.” You were apologizing. Quickly saying it was a prank. Xavier cooking? That was a threat.

Caleb: Another person that wouldn’t be done through messages. He was doing your hair. He sat on the couch and you sat on the floor in front of him. Dozing off at how his nails grazed your scalp softly. That was until you got a bright idea. (Not bright. You’re in a dumb competition and you’re winning. Jk. 🐺 you’re so swag!) You hummed. Speaking softly. “Do you think Gideon does hair? He looks like he’d be gentle like you too”. Caleb’s hands tightened a bit. Speaking in the soft voice you’re used to. But, with a little edge to it. “No. Hit by a plane. Poor guy.” You were shocked. Looking up Gideon’s socials. He was fine? Literally.. he was out with friends. You looked at Caleb. “Oh? Thought we were talking in future tense still”. For the love of Gideon. Don’t ever mention him again. The next time Caleb saw Gideon. He just started pinching him discreetly. Poor man didn’t even do anything but be referenced by the person Caleb loves.

[lazycats-stuff]

Hey can I ask for a batbro reader who begged for a bird and finally got one but the bird ended up hating everyone except for reader and Alfred (he deserves it) and is super protective of reader to the point that it bites anyone other than Alfred who gets close to him and always cuddles with the reader.

Reader is a mama bird and just blames everyone but his bird, can you make it a green-cheeked conure because just look at how cute.

I'm not a bird person... But they are so damn adorable! The one on the left is smiling!😭 Animals are great and adorable... I won't use a gif for this fic. Also, this is short, but sitting too long in my drafts anyway. And, also got new glasses today! I can see everything in 4k. It's nuts lol.

Summary: (Y/N) has his birds. He is a mama bird.

Warnings: (Y/N) being mad, Earl the bird is a grumpy one.

For years on end, (Y/N) begged Bruce for a bird. He did everything he could to prove to Bruce that he was responsible enough for a bird. Everything. He learned everything there is to know about birds and how to take care of them. Especially with green cheeked conure because they are so damn adorable.

Bruce was hesitant. (Y/N) played the Damian card, saying Damian had all of his animals. Whenever Damian brought an animal it was all fine and nothing. (Y/N) couldn't even bring a damn bird home.

Bruce defended himself in saying that Damian's animals can't fly off and that taking care of birds and four legged animals. At this point, (Y/N) was ready to raise hell and blow the manor up with his rage. Why is a bird such a big deal?!

Bruce isn't an idiot and knows that (Y/N) is close to his breaking point and knew that (Y/N) would bring a bird in the house, sooner or later. So Bruce has devised a plan. He would get a green cheeked conure for (Y/N)'s birthday. (Y/N) has proven himself over the years to be responsible.

(Y/N) was still pissed when his birthday came around, ready to ignore Bruce all day if needed. And when the celebration rolled around, (Y/N) was mad when he came into the living room, more so when Bruce was all smiles.

" I know you and I have been at odds for a while due to you wanting a bird. " Bruce started and (Y/N) crossed his arms, making Bruce smirk. " But, I saw how responsible you are in the last few years and well, your bird is here. " Bruce said, just as Alfred brought a cage in with a gorgeous greened cheek conure.

(Y/N) was speechless before hugging Bruce tightly, saying thank you again and again so fast that Bruce laughed, turning (Y/N) to walk to the cage. Alfred put the cage on the table and (Y/N) opened the door, slowly reaching his hand towards the bird. The bird was a bit hesitant, but moved closer to the hand.

(Y/N) tried not to explode from the happiness, he couldn't startle the little bird, could he?

It has been a month since getting this bird and (Y/N) has named him Earl, since he was grumpy most of the time, just like an old man named Earl who hates kids playing outside. A grumpy old man in a bird's body. (Y/N) loved Earl and Earl loved (Y/N) too, allowing (Y/N) to put him on his shoulder.

Earl loved being on (Y/N)'s shoulder, chirping away and gently pecking (Y/N) with his beak. (Y/N) was over the moon ever since his birthday. He loved Earl and his grumpiness and finally wasn't mad at Bruce.

However...

Earl became protective of (Y/N), even refusing to let anyone get close to his owner. Alfred was the only exception. Earl would bite anyone who would come near (Y/N), making them yelp. Jason was mad, glaring at Earl who almost, seemingly, glared back at him. The two were rivals. Damian has decided to somehow win Earl over, but that wasn't going to happen anytime soon.

Dick and Tim thought briefly about getting rid of Earl, but (Y/N) would lose his shit about it and being murdered by him. Because (Y/N) would do it. They would be dead the moment he would find out and the manor would go kaboom, taking out everyone in it.

And Earl was fully aware of the fact that (Y/N) would protect him. It was comical to see (Y/N) blame his brothers for doing something to his bird, even when Earl was faking it. The boys saw that Earl was smarter and Jason once said that there is a human in that bird body.

Earl recently, however, did something that nearly made (Y/N) explode. Earl managed to fake an injury. He was walking with his wing, as if that wing was in pain and somehow injured. (Y/N) knew that none of his brothers would ever do something to injure Earl.

But he was still mad about it.

But when he saw Earl faking it, it was shocking. He never saw anything like that and he realized that he needed to have some sort of higher IQ to manage to do something like this.

Alfred, the only person that Earl allowed near (Y/N), laughed his ass off when he heard it. He didn't know that birds could be that smart. Bruce on the other hand, questioned why he got the damn bird.

Sure, it was to make his son happy, but still. He didn't expect Earl to be so connected to him, but connections with humans and animals are often strong and Bruce in all honesty, should have seen it coming. It's always one person and maybe a bonus person that an animal respects, loves and protects and the rest are in danger from being pecked by an animal. In this case, it's Earl.

Bruce still didn't understand the name Earl. Sure, the bird might be a grumpy one, but, he wouldn't question (Y/N) and his choice. But that bird does have a beak on him.

But Bruce doesn't regret it in the slightest. Seeing his son happy is the best thing he could ask for. And he wouldn't change that for the life of him. Even if it meant that Earl would hate them forever.

[stararonia]

COURAGE IN A CAN

– pairing: law x f!reader

– nsfw: semi-public sex, mentions alcohol, fingering, choking, piv, Penguin is a wingman

– summary: Nami and Vivi decided to throw a Halloween Party in their apartment, with the rule that all guests are required to wear costumes. A certain college student wearing a snow leopard suit catches your eye.

You spotted Law across the room, his expression a mix of annoyance and reluctance. Luffy, who, dragged him along to Nami’s party, was off mingling with other guests leaving Law to fend for himself.

As you approached him, a playful smile tugged at your lips. “Not a fan of Halloween parties?” you teased.

Law rolled his eyes. “I’d rather be anywhere else right now.” He crossed his arms, the snow leopard ears on his head twitching slightly as he glanced around at the costumed guests. “Too crowded.”

“Law, it’s a party. Nami’s party to be specific.” You laughed.

“Yo Law!” Shachi yelled, jumping him from behind and dangling his arms over his shoulders. In a half-drunken state, he handed him a half full can of beer. “Have a drink…” he slurred, drool dripping on his shoulders.

“No.” Law replied. However, he didn’t give the can back. Penguin approached you three and pulled Shachi off him, playfully punching Law’s shoulder.

“Live a little!” He insisted, taking a swig of his own can. “I hope to not see you at the dorm room tomorrow, okay?” He looked at you, lifting his eyebrows. With that said, Penguin left, his plastic beak falling on the floor as he wiped beer off his mouth.

Exasperated, Law brought the can to his lips and drank.

“Not bad.” He admitted, looking at it suspiciously. Then he looked at you, taking another drink and passing the can your way. “Not bad at all.”

Smiling, you accepted it and finished the rest.

“How drunk are you?” You whispered in Law’s ear as he pinned you against the cool wall of the apartment’s bathroom.

“Mmm, not much.” He murmured, biting your lip. The noises of the party were loud, the smell of smoke and pizza didn’t intrude your private moment. All of those noises faded as you two gave each other the attention deserved.

“Just enough to get reckless?” You asked, taking the snow leopard ears off his head. You cupped his face with both hands, and looked at him with a half-lidded smile.

“Only reckless with you.” He replied in a husky tone, closing the gap between your faces. Law picked you up and placed you in the bathroom counter, not breaking the kiss.

Both of you were naked, and the heat radiating between your bodies made you two sweat. Law’s delicate fingers explored your body as the kiss grew passionate. His grip, touches, and hold on your skin was tantalizing as he moved his lips to the column of your throat, licking and biting from the base up to your lips.

“Ah-” you moaned, wrapping your hands around his neck as his fingers met your entrance. When he slowly penetrated you and kept a steady pace, Law smirked. “Mmm, I think I like you.” You whispered as you supported yourself on the counter. Your body followed his movements and pace.

“Really?” Law inquired, lifting an eyebrow as he quickened his pace, grabbing your neck, lightly choking you. “I’ve had practice.” He inserted a third finger and put his thumb on your clit, gently brushing against the sensitive area.

“Oh?” You breathed, shivering. You gripped the edge of the counter tightly and closed your eyes, letting the pleasure wash over you. Law had his free hand pin one of your wrists firmly down, making sure you didn’t have a change to escape his grasp. “Well whoever gets fingered by you is lucky as hell.”

Law stopped and took his fingers out, replacing them with the tip of his erection. “I don’t get like this with anyone.” He replied darkly. Then he slipped in, receiving a moan from you.

“Mmm,” you groaned, pulling him closer. “Then…how?” You whispered in his ear, biting it.

“I read.”

Law put his hands on your thighs and slammed into you, hitting the spot inside that had been neglected for so long.

Fully sheathed in you, Law groaned as you two shared another kiss. Both sets of lips showed no care with each others’ as they collided. The kiss was desperate and the mix between your saliva and alcohol you two drank was a reminder that liquid courage went a long way.

“You feel incredible.” He moaned into your shoulder, his hair lightly tickling your face.

You two surrendered your sensations and vulnerabilities to each other, listening to the sound of skin on skin as the night passed by.

Without realizing it, you two followed Penguin’s request. Law wasn’t in his room the next morning.

[fishsticksloser]

That episode where raph goes feral bc he was lonely how would it play out with his s/o, like he becomes territorial,it can be fluff or spicy whichever one you're comfortable with.

Prize

F!Raph x gn!reader

Warnings: smut, feral Raph, p in, biting and claws, a little rough, turtle noises?, swearing, would this be a predator/prey thing...?, Raph focused piece

A/N: My sister wanted Raph to make turtle noises, so turtle noises there will be. Figured it would be best with feral Raph. This is kinda short so I apologize. :)

Raph had been left alone again. Not purposely of course, but he was separated from his team. The team said that he'd been lost for at least a few days, they weren't sure. Because of Raph's feral behavior, you and his brothers were the one sent out to find him. Going through the old bunker levels and tunnels that had been collapsed before Raph was able to move the rubble, you could hear hissing and growling.

Raphael turned his head toward your approaching footsteps, he tilted his head slightly; a confused expression on the broad face. His large tail swished, the spikes along the side of his tail were pointed directly at you. The feral tone in his voice did not seem to be welcoming of your visit.

"Hey, big guy..." You smile softly, kneeling a little ways away from him. You didn't want to alert him, you didn't want him to mistake you for a threat. You watched him smell the air, seeming to somewhat recognize your scent. The low rumble of his growls turned into quiet chuffs.

Raphael slowly crept towards you, his tail continuing to sway as he examined the surroundings. His claws dig into the dirt of the tunnel, his mouth opened slightly. A low rumble emitting from his chest, his eyes locked onto you asking an unspoken question. What were you doing here?

"Raphael?" You whisper, sitting down on the ground for him. You hold your hand out for him to get a better smell. "Do you remember who I am?"

Raphael looked at you, tilting his head in confusion at the words you said. He was able to recognize your scent, but he wasn't able to understand the words you spoke. He took a step closer, his claws digging deeper into the dirt as he began to examine you. Your scent was familiar, but Raph couldn't remember exactly who you were to him.

"Mate... I'm your mate, Raph." You explain softly, feeling him press his beak to your hand. "Mate... Your partner." You continue, wanting him to recognize you as his person, his lover.

A low rumble comes from his chest, the muscles in his shoulders flex as he tilts his head once more. This was his mate, his partner. Raphael began to sniff and circle you, his claws tearing up the land as he moved.

"That's right, big guy. Yours..." You whisper, moving to gently cup the side of his face.

Raphael moves closer, pushing you onto your back as he continues to sniff, lick, and nip at you. His body is practically hovering over you as he examined his lost lover. Raph lowers more of his weight onto you, he's trying to show his affection.

"Hey, big guy..." You smile as he starts to nuzzle your neck. He chuffs and sniffs against your skin, his claws tearing at your clothes. You'd never dealt with Raph after he'd been feral for so long, maybe it was normal? "You... Want them off?"

Raph chuffs in reply, continuing to tear at your clothes with his claws. But his teeth soon joined, tossing the tattered clothes aside. He presses his beak to your stomach, a low rumble filling the air again as he churrs. You gently pet his head, but Raph suddenly pulls you close, growling loudly.

"Oh shit…" You hear Leo say and more footsteps move closer. Raph's growls get louder as he pulls you closer. You were his mate - his. He had claimed his prize, he wasn't planning on sharing. "Raph, buddy…"

"I'm okay, get out of here before he rips your heads off." You huff at his brothers. They were reluctant due to how Raph was acting, but you assured them that you were okay and they quickly made their escape. "All yours, Raph." You sigh as his growls become chuffs again. His tail swished vigorously, still prepared to fight for what was his.

He wanted more... More love, more affection, more...

"You're okay, big guy... No one else is here, I'm all yours." You try to reassure as he moves to chuff against your thigh. You were his and he was taking you. His tough tongue licks along your body, you were his.

Raphael continues to lick along your thighs, his tongue flicking and tasting. His tongue felt like sandpaper, it was an odd sensation, but Raph made it enjoyable nonetheless. He seemed so eager to please and love, his warm breath fanning over your skin. His large hands gripped your legs, moving them further apart. He wanted more, he wanted it badly.

He slowly made his way back up your body, sniffing, chuffing, licking. You gently touch him, not wanting to overwhelm or anger him. He gently pushed you over, making you lay on your stomach. Raphael began to press more of his weight against you as he slowly mounted you. You gasp, your hips slightly lifting at the intrusion. His claws dig deeper into the dirt, sniffing and licking every part of you he could reach. Raph was still on guard, prepared to fight any intruder or rival that came near you.

Raphael began to slowly thrust, making sure that every movement was slow and steady in order to please you. His broad body remained on top of you, slowly gliding in and out. His snout nuzzles the back of your head, his large hands gripping your hips tightly.

You were his. There would never be another. He would mark you, keep you safe, loving you in a way no one else ever could.

Raphael continued to make slow and deep thrusts, wanting to make sure you felt his affection. He didn't want to go too quickly in fear of hurting you. His snout presses into your neck, making sure you felt every thrust. Chuffs and moans filled the air, echoing throughout the tunnel. Raph was pleased, this was what he wanted. To protect and love you. With the chuffs echoing along with his heavy breathing, and with every small sound you made, Raphael could tell he was doing something right. He was using everything to claim you as his.

Raph took his time, ensuring that you felt every moment of his love. Every time you made a noise, he felt proud of himself. He felt like a king and having his partner right there with him. With a hard moan, Raphael pressed his hips against you harder. His warm breath like a blanket on top of you, it was a welcoming sensation. He continued to pump slowly, using every bit of his form to please you.

A low rumble echoes around you as Raph quickens his pace. He was getting closer, the chuffs becoming shorter and faster at the same rate of this thrusts. His breathing becomes more erratic, his hand grips your hips tighter. His claws digging into your skin a little. He was so close, just a little bit more. He wasn't going to be able to contain himself much longer.

Raphael's pace began to pick up, he was at his limit. He couldn't contain himself anymore. He began to pump even deeper, even faster. His breath became more frequent as he neared completion. His tail slowly swayed back and forth as he pumped even harder.

Raphael could feel you climax, he increased his pace by just a little bit. His large hand held you tight, he wanted to show you how much he wanted you. His sharp teeth dug deeper into you shoulder, growling deeply.

He could feel himself losing control. He was losing focus, all he was seeing was you. His mate.

Raphael continued to pump, feeling the pleasure of your soft body. His breathing became more erratic — the muscles along his broad back flexed as he slowly picked up his pace.

Raphael could feel the release start to happen. All he could feel was the sensation of your soft flesh, your gentle whimpers. The snapping turtle mutant let out a primal growl as his hips slammed against your ass, pushing himself even deeper inside you. Raphael's breath became more shallow. His churrs filled the air as his hot seed filled you, slowly dripping down your thighs.

Raph began to slow his pace as he finally finished, his large body was twitching and trembling as the adrenaline finally started to fade. His claws loosened their grip and he moved his mouth off your shoulder With a slight chuff, Raph lifted off of you.

He proud. He had done it, this was his mate.

Raphael laid next to you, his large form seemed so content and at ease as he rested on his back. His large head resting on your back, his thumb gently caressing your soft skin as he started to come back to his true self.

[shaiyasstuff]

seasonal feathers | xavier

synopsis : You were a crane, caught and crying in the snow, until he came—quiet, gentle—and set you free. You returned in human form, barefoot at his door, and he welcomed you without question. content : tragic, just tragic :) the crane wife!au

Seasonal Feathers by Kagamine Rin and Len

The snow comes gently, as if it, too, remembers.

From the wintery slopes above the world, soft white feathers drift down—fluttering, spinning, never quite landing.

The wind carries them in hushed circles, painting the trees with silence.

You lie tangled in a thicket, caught where the hill dips into shadow.

Your ankle throbs where it’s twisted beneath the snare of vines.

The cold seeps into your bones. Snow clings to your feathers, heavy and wet.

You cry out—once, twice—your voice sharp against the stillness.

You flap your wings in vain. The pain bites deep. Still, you thrash, desperate to be free.

Then, footsteps.

You freeze.

He steps through the trees, soft and quiet, with hair like winter sunlight and eyes the color of thawing skies.

You shrink into yourself, beak parted in warning, but he doesn’t flinch.

“Hey,” he says, voice low, kind. “Are you hurt?”

You don’t move. Don’t answer.

Your heart pounds wild beneath your ribs.

But he only kneels beside you.

You brace yourself, expecting pain, capture, something cruel. But instead, his gloved fingers reach for the vine around your ankle.

Gently—so gently—they work it loose.

“There,” he murmurs. “Now you’re free.”

You look at him. He’s still watching you, gaze open, unafraid.

For a moment, neither of you moves.

Then your wings lift.

You cry out—a single, soft sound—and rise into the air.

You don’t mean to look back.

But you do.

And he’s still standing there, watching the sky where you vanish into snow.

—•

Night settles gently over the hills, the last of winter melting into early spring.

You walk barefoot beneath the moonlight, the cold dampening the hem of your borrowed dress, your steps uncertain on unfamiliar legs.

You carry nothing.

The world is quiet but for your heartbeat and the sound of snow dripping from the branches above.

You find his cottage just as you remember it—wooden and weathered, tucked between trees, light pooling softly from the windows.

You knock once.

The door opens almost immediately, as if he had been waiting.

He looks at you, eyes kind and quiet. His golden hair is tousled, sleep-soft, and there’s a faint crease in his brow as he takes you in—from your bare feet to the way you hold your arms close around yourself, unsure.

“I’m passing through,” you say, voice small, human, and trembling. “Could I stay… just for a little while?”

His gaze lingers—not in suspicion, but in something gentler. Something like recognition.

“Of course,” he says, without hesitation.

He steps aside.

The warmth inside nearly undoes you. The fire murmurs low in the hearth.

A blanket is folded neatly on the chair nearest the flame.

He brings it to you without a word, draping it around your shoulders like snow settling on a field.

“You’re cold,” he murmurs.

You nod. You do not say you were colder before he arrived, that night in the thicket.

He sets a kettle over the fire.

Brings you tea in a chipped ceramic cup, both hands around it like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go too soon.

He doesn’t ask where you’ve come from. Doesn’t ask your name.

But when you thank him—softly, awkwardly—his eyes lift to yours.

And in them, there is something you cannot name.

Not surprise.

Not wonder.

Just quiet understanding.

As if he remembers a cry in the snow.

As if he knew you’d come back.

You wake to the sound of birdsong.

It filters through the window in delicate threads, mingling with the scent of firewood and early spring.

The blanket he gave you still clings to your shoulders, and the floor beneath your feet is warm from the sun creeping in through the shutters.

You expect to be alone.

But he’s already there, in the small kitchen near the hearth.

His back is turned, sleeves rolled to his forearms as he moves with easy familiarity.

He doesn’t startle when you shift, doesn’t look surprised when he hears your footsteps.

“Morning,” he says, glancing over his shoulder. “Did you sleep well?”

You hesitate, then nod. “Yes. Thank you.”

There’s a pot simmering on the stove—porridge, maybe, or rice. The scent is mild and comforting.

He doesn’t press you with questions.

Just gestures to a wooden stool by the table.

You sit.

Silence folds itself between you—not awkward, but soft, like fresh snow.

He sets a bowl in front of you. “It’s not much,” he says. “But it’s warm.”

You lower your gaze. “It’s more than enough.”

He smiles faintly at that, then sits across from you with his own bowl, hands wrapping around it as if to draw warmth into his bones.

You study him when he isn’t looking.

His eyes are the same. Gentle. Steady.

Like the first time you saw him, when you were tangled in the thicket, the cold pressing into your feathers.

You wonder if he knows it was you.

Sometimes, you think he must.

He doesn’t look at you like a stranger.

When you finish your meal, he quietly pushes a small dish of honey your way. “In case it needs sweetness.”

You don’t say anything. You only nod, fingers brushing the edge of the dish.

Later, when he rises to gather the bowls, he says it again—softly, like a thread pulled loose from the past.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

And though the words are simple, something in your chest flutters—like wings remembering how to fly.

—•

Time passes like petals drifting on water.

You don’t know how many mornings you’ve woken to the sound of his footsteps and the soft clatter of bowls in the kitchen.

How many evenings you’ve spent sitting beside him by the hearth, your shoulders nearly touching, the silence between you thick with warmth and something unspoken.

You never told him your name.

He never asked.

But he calls you little bird when he thinks you’re not listening.

It makes your heart ache in ways you can’t explain.

You’ve made a home of his world.

Not all at once, but in pieces.

You help with the garden—kneeling in the earth, sleeves rolled up to your elbows, soil dark beneath your fingernails.

He shows you how to prune the herbs, how to coax the seeds to sprout.

Sometimes he watches you from the porch, a gentle smile tugging at his lips, and says nothing at all.

You learn to cook over the fire. He teaches you with patient hands and quiet praise.

One evening, you hum while stirring a pot, and when you glance up, he’s watching you—not startled, not amused, just… quietly moved.

“You sing like spring itself,” he says.

You laugh, flustered, turning your face from him.

But his words stay with you.

They linger even after the fire dies and you both sit in the dark, listening to the wind slip between the trees.

You’ve grown used to the way he sees you.

He doesn’t ask where you go when you disappear at dawn.

He doesn’t question the feathers he finds near the windowsill, tucked like offerings between folds of your drying clothes.

But when you return—when your footsteps land soft on the floorboards and your hair smells faintly of river water—he always has tea waiting.

You don’t talk about love.

But you feel it—in the way he brushes snow from your shoulders before you step inside.

In the way your hand lingers on the curve of his sleeve when you pass him the kettle.

In the way you never need to ask if he’ll stay.

This love isn’t loud.

It doesn’t need to be.

Because when he looks at you, it’s there.

In the steadiness of his gaze.

In the softness of his smile.

In the warmth of his presence beside you, night after night.

And in the secret part of you where wings once lived, something fragile begins to believe that this quiet, human life—might be enough.

Some nights, when the world feels still enough to speak truths aloud, you ask him questions you can’t ask in daylight.

You’re both seated by the hearth, the fire worn low, casting flickering gold across the worn wooden floor.

The wind outside hushes like waves over distant snow.

Your voice is barely louder than the crackle of embers.

“If… if there ever came a day,” you begin, your fingers clutching the rim of your tea cup, “when my voice was gone… if I couldn’t sing anymore—”

You pause, breath catching in your throat.

“…Would you still be here with me? Would you still love me the way you do now?”

The question hangs in the air, fragile as a feather mid-fall.

He doesn’t answer right away.

He looks at you instead, long and steady, as if trying to memorize every line of your face.

The firelight softens his features, makes his eyes look even kinder.

“But of course,” he says at last, voice low, certain. “Of course I would.”

Then he smiles—that same gentle, unshakable smile he always gives you when words start to tremble in your throat.

Your heart stirs, overwhelmed by something you cannot speak.

You nod once, quickly, before he can see the way your lashes flutter, the way your lips part and then close again.

You want to believe him.

You do believe him.

But deep inside you, something still coils tight—a knowing.

A shadow.

The part of you that remembers: all songs must end. All feathers must fall.

And yet, tonight… his answer is enough.

—•

One summer afternoon, when the leaves above turned dappled blue beneath the light, you found him resting in the shade, his breath thin, his limbs heavy.

He didn’t yet know how weak he’d become.

You sat beside him, fingers brushing the back of his hand.

He smiled as he always did—gently, for your sake.

But when he rose, his body swayed.

When he spoke, his voice was softer.

And when he coughed, he turned from you, hiding the sound in his sleeve.

You knew what he didn’t say.

You knew, too, what little the life you shared could offer in return.

A small home. A warm fire.

Love enough to cradle the stars. But not coin.

Not medicine.

Not the remedies that could mend what sickness had begun to steal.

So day by painful day, you returned to the loom.

With no more time to waste, you sat before it long into the night, your body aching, your breath shallow with effort.

You closed your eyes and kept your faith.

Every thread you wove was pulled from your own being—your feathers, soft and pale, tugged free with trembling hands.

You did not cry.

With these hands, you fought against the fluttering autumn leaves clawing at the windowpane.

You refused to let them claim him.

Unlike their death, you would not let his life slip quietly away.

Outside, the days shortened.

Inside, the air grew still.

And so the seasons turned again, as they always do.

The end of summer echoed with the chorus of crickets, chirping their slow, sorrowful goodbyes.

One evening, as twilight fell in amber folds across the floor, he reached for your hands.

They were wrapped in cloth, raw from weaving.

You tried to pull away, ashamed of what they had become—but he only held them gently, reverently, as if they were made of silk and starlight.

“You hold beauty in your fingertips,” he said.

Your breath caught.

You looked at him then—truly looked—and saw the wear in his face. The pale wash of illness over his skin. The way his shoulders curled inward against the cold.

Still, his eyes held warmth.

Still, his smile reached for you.

And so you asked him—quietly, as if afraid to disturb the hush that had settled between you.

“If there comes a day when my hands have lost their glow… when I can no longer weave… would you still be here with me? Would you still love me as you did before?”

He didn’t flinch. He didn’t falter.

“But of course,” he replied, even as he turned away to cough into his sleeve.

You heard it anyway.

And when he looked back, he took your hands into his—larger, colder, but steady as ever—and held the pain within your palms as if it were his own.

You wanted to believe the warmth would last.

You wanted to believe love alone would be enough.

But already, the leaves were beginning to fall.

You wake each morning before the sun, slipping from the warmth of the futon as quietly as you can.

The floorboards creak beneath your feet, softened by time, by wear, by memory.

Outside, the wind stirs gently through the tall grass, brushing against the shutters with the hush of waves against shore.

He sleeps later now.

You tuck the blanket higher over his chest, brush the hair from his brow, and listen to the rhythm of his breathing.

Sometimes shallow. Sometimes still.

You press your ear close, just to be sure.

Then you go about the morning—watering the garden, heating water, mending clothes by the fire.

You hum, but more softly than before.

Some part of you has grown quieter with him.

When he wakes, he tries to hide how slow he moves, how long it takes him to sit up, to stand.

You help him with his robe, folding it gently over his shoulders.

He thanks you with a nod and a smile that still holds light, if not strength.

He reads now more than he used to.

Books you bring him from the village.

Stories of distant lands, of flying creatures and gods who touched the earth in disguise.

He tells you which passages he likes best, and you pretend to be surprised when they’re always about sacrifice, about love that waits in silence.

You cook meals he barely touches.

You leave bowls of tea to cool by his bedside.

You stitch warmer blankets and hide your bloodied bandages before he sees them.

The loom remains in the corner, covered now, feathers no longer spun—but your hands ache all the same.

Sometimes, in the golden hush of late afternoon, he plays you songs on the old wooden flute he carved long ago.

The notes are slow, breathy, like wind through bare branches.

You sit with him on the porch, your head resting against his shoulder, and close your eyes.

His breath hitches between notes.

He never says when it hurts.

And still—he smiles.

Still, he reaches for your hand.

Still, he whispers your name like a secret prayer.

At night, when the crickets sing and the moon leans low, you whisper stories back to him—soft tales of birds who fell in love with men, of snow that never melted, of promises that stretched beyond the seasons.

He listens with his eyes closed.

Sometimes you think he knows the truth.

Sometimes you think he always did.

But he never says it.

He only holds you closer, fingers threaded with yours, his thumb brushing lightly over the soft swell of your knuckle.

As if to say, You’re here. That’s enough.

And for now—for just a little longer—you let that be true.

But you know, you can’t let him fade.

—•

You no longer sleep.

Not really.

You close your eyes sometimes—when the fire burns low and the house is still—but your mind won’t rest.

Not while his fever lingers.

Not while his breath stutters in his chest like a bird trying to fly with a broken wing.

Each morning, he looks paler.

His movements slower, thinner.

And still he smiles at you like the sun through mist—soft, dimming, but reaching.

You bring him warm water, wrap his shawl tighter around his shoulders, press your lips to his forehead when he drifts off.

Then you rise and return to the loom.

You’ve stopped counting how many feathers are left.

The pain when you pull them is sharp now. Not just ache, but fire.

It blooms beneath your skin, burns behind your ribs.

The place your wings once lived feels hollow, raw.

And still—you keep weaving.

The cloth must be fine. The merchant said so.

The finer the thread, the higher the price, and the medicine is costly.

You measure each inch of your sacrifice against every breath he draws.

The wind outside grows colder, drier.

The trees have begun to wither.

The garden lies bare, its fruit softened, rotting on the vine.

You pass by it without looking.

There’s no time for tending things that cannot be saved.

At your spinning wheel, the days blur.

You tell yourself just a little more.

Just enough to see him through the next week.

The next bottle of tincture.

The next night without fever.

You no longer notice when your fingers bleed.

You press them to the thread and keep going.

When he calls for you, your voice is hoarse from silence, but you smile and answer.

You hold his hand, warm it between yours, though your skin grows colder by the day.

And one afternoon, while the shadows stretch across the floor and he watches the golden leaves fall with quiet eyes, he reaches for your hand.

You try to pull it back—there’s blood on your palm, and the bandages are frayed—but he doesn’t let go.

“You’ve been working too hard,” he says softly.

You look down.

He cradles your hand in both of his.

Larger, steadier, though they tremble now with effort.

His fingers are cold. So cold.

Still, he holds you.

As if he already knows what you’re doing.

As if he’s always known.

You turn your face away, but he follows your gaze, thumb brushing over the edge of a fresh wound.

“I’m fine,” you whisper, though your voice breaks.

He doesn’t argue. He only leans closer and rests his forehead gently against your shoulder.

Neither of you says what you’re thinking.

That the leaves outside are nearly gone.

That winter is waiting just beyond the door.

That your feathers are running out.

Still—you weave.

Because love like this demands nothing less.

—•

The night is quiet. The kind of quiet that feels like the world is holding its breath.

You sit alone at the loom, shoulders drawn in, bones aching, eyes stinging.

The fire behind you has dimmed to embers, casting only a faint orange glow across the floor.

The last feather rests in your lap—fragile, pale, and nearly translucent.

You’ve been weaving for hours. Days. Seasons. A life.

Your fingers tremble as they work the thread, every movement slower now, every breath more labored.

You don’t know how much longer you have.

How much more you can give.

But still, you keep going.

You speak the words into the stillness—so softly they barely escape you, so quietly you almost hope the wind will carry them away before they’re heard.

“If there comes a day when I am not the same… not human anymore…” Your breath hitches. “…Would you still be with me? Would you still love me, as you did before?”

There’s no answer.

You bow your head, a tear slipping down your cheek.

Your throat tightens around all the things you never said.

All the truths you buried beneath thread and silence.

To be honest, you’ve always been afraid.

Afraid that once he saw what you really were—what you were becoming—he wouldn’t stay.

So you left it untold. Let love be quiet and unexamined, easier to hold that way.

Your hand reaches forward, the last feather between your fingers.

And just before it falls.

Arms wrap around you from behind.

Warm. Familiar. Trembling.

You gasp softly, startled, but he holds you with such gentleness, as if you might vanish if he lets go.

His breath is warm against your ear.

You feel the rasp in his chest, the way his hands shake slightly as they settle over yours.

The final feather rests beside the loom, quiet as snow.

You sit in the golden hush of twilight, the last light of the fire drawing long shadows across the floor. The thread is finished. The cloth lies folded in your lap—delicate, luminous, woven with pieces of yourself you’ll never get back.

Behind you, his arms are wrapped around your waist.

You hadn’t heard him approach. Not over the steady hum of your weaving, or the pounding of your heart when you whispered those words aloud.

You hadn’t expected a reply.

And yet, his voice came—low and tired, yet warm, steady, alive.

“But of course,” he said.

“I’ll love you, as I always have. As I always will. That crane I saved that winter, I will never forget.”

And then his arms had closed around you, gently, as though afraid you might vanish if he held too tightly.

He leaned his cheek against your shoulder, and you felt his breath against your neck, light and slow.

Now, you sit together in the soft quiet that followed.

You haven’t moved. Haven’t spoken.

His hands are still resting over yours, the weight of them grounding you, comforting you, even as their warmth begins to fade.

You want to believe it’s just the fire growing low.

You want to believe he’s simply fallen asleep, like so many nights before—worn from the illness, but still tethered here, still yours.

But you feel it.

The way his chest no longer rises against your back.

The way his fingers are still, curled gently over your own.

The way the silence is different now—deeper. Final.

Tears gather in your eyes, but you don’t let them fall. You tilt your head toward him, brushing your cheek against his with trembling care.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I wanted to save you. I tried.”

The last of your strength aches in your bones.

Your body is hollow now.

There are no feathers left to give, no more thread to spin.

All that remains is this quiet, the steady echo of a promise you both kept as long as you could.

You turn to face him.

His eyes are closed, mouth soft with the ghost of a smile.

You lift his hand, press it to your cheek.

It’s cold now—but familiar.

Beloved.

You kiss his palm.

The callouses are still there, faint now, but you remember every moment they were formed.

His hands in the soil, coaxing life from it. His hands brushing snow from your shoulders.

His hands cradling yours at the hearth, when he told you your fingers held beauty, even as they bled.

You remember everything.

How he brewed tea by touch, never minding the burn. How he always left half his meals untouched because he said he liked yours better.

How he waited—every night—until you came home, whether you returned as a bird or a girl with cold feet and damp hair.

You remember laughter.

A slice of peach in late summer.

A broken mug he refused to throw away.

You remember the way he whispered your name, and how, even when you never gave it to him, he spoke it like a promise.

And now…

Now the room is quiet.

And the world holds its breath.

You let the tears fall, soundless, as they soak into the cloth still resting in your lap.

masterlist

[creator1mpersonator]

Through the Mirror

01. Fascination Street

Inspired by Coraline, reader is gender-neutral, no use of Y/N, google translate french

Taglist: @agaygothicmushroom

Dinner that night came from a local fast food joint that was wholly unremarkable. Everything in that town was unremarkable, it seemed. Your father, bless his soul, was doing his best to make the most of this abrupt change while your mother remained less than pleased about the whole thing (despite this whole move being for their job.) After dinner was done, you helped clean up and jumped at the opportunity to take out the trash so you could escape the stuffy tension between your parents for just a few seconds. You went outside, holding the Glad bag by the knot as you walked to the trashcan by the side of your home.

You took in your street’s appearance at night. The neighboring houses were dark, and a few light posts emanating a harsh orange light stood tall in the street. It was almost eerie, but perhaps that was just your perception. You tossed the bag inside the trashcan and walked back inside. Your mother had left the kitchen table, leaving your father alone to work on his laptop. You felt a bit bad, offering him a smile of encouragement as you closed the front door and locked it for the night. You went up to your bedroom, looking through your boxes and backpack for an adequate set of pajamas for the night before you began unpacking the next day. You decided on a faded band tee and a pair of pants that had cats printed on them before changing and climbing into bed. The house was quiet, save for the groan of the house settling. After a while, you found yourself falling asleep.

When you woke up– or more adequately were woken up– everything was dark. You heard something tapping on glass, and you sat up to see a raven tapping its beak against the mirror. You were astounded to find a raven in your damn bedroom of all places, until you realized you were surely dreaming. You got out of bed, socked feet pattering gently against the hardwood floors as you approached the bird. It cawed at you, tapping at the mirror a few more times before flying through.

Your eyes widened, not believing what you just saw. Even for a dream, that seemed far-fetched. It became more absurd when the mirror reflected swirls of purple as if trying to lure you in.

Even more absurd was the fact you crawled through. You climbed onto the dresser beneath the mirror and went through. It was just a dream, what's the harm?

You found yourself in an alluring tunnel of wonderful colors, and you crawled through into a lavish living area. The furniture was golden with plush purple velvet, the walls had a vintage-type wallpaper, and many extravagant chandeliers hung above you. You stood up to your full height, looking around and taking in the new space when you heard footsteps approaching. A short but rather pretty boy with fluffy lilacl hair and big blue eyes came into view, walking towards you with great purpose.

“There ya are!” he exclaimed, his southern accent heavy, “Vil’s gonna throw a damn tantrum if he don’t find ya!”

He was expecting you? Who was he? Who was Vil?

“I’m sorry, who are you?” You asked, taking a cautionary step back.

The boy blinked at you.

“Oh, yeah. Vil said ya’d be confused,” he sheepishly rubbed the back of his head, “Sorry ‘bout that. I’m Epel.”

“Ah, hi Epel.” You greeted, “I’m–”

“I know who ya are,” Epel cut you off.”

“...Right.”

“C’mon,” Epel said, turning around, “Vil’s gonna bite his manicure off if he don’t see ya soon.”

Seeing no other choice, you followed Epel. Besides, this place seemed fascinating and you wanted to see what’d happen next.

“If you don’t mind me asking, who’s Vil?” You asked Epel, falling into step next to him.

“A real hardass.” Epel grumbled, “He’s da queen of this place, real pretty. He just don’t got the heart to match.”

You hummed, feeling a bit nervous about meeting this Vil now. Epel led you through the halls of the building, and you felt like you were being led through a maze. You also couldn’t help but notice that there didn’t seem to be anyone else there but you and Epel. But, just as you went to ask Epel, he led you into a grand common room. It was similar to the room you entered through, but a grand throne sat against the back wall. Peacock-like feathers sat behind it, decorating it with an air of grandeur and importance and you swore you heard Epel scoff before straightening up like a soldier being inspected.

On the throne sat a beautiful man, more than Epel described. He was tall with porcelain-like skin, and no imperfection was visible. He had shoulder-length blonde hair that faded into purple towards the ends and purple eyes. Another man was standing next to the throne, tall and an oddly fearsome smile sat on his face. He too had blonde hair, though his was styled like a bob and sharp green eyes. A hat with a large plume sat on his head.

“Is that them?” the man on the throne, Vil, asked. Epel nodded, and Vil approached you. He seemed almost happy to see you until he saw something that displeased him: your attire.

“What in the Seven are you wearing?” He asked you, eyes narrowed as he scrutinized your pajamas. You looked down to look at your attire.

“What’s wrong with it?” You timidly asked, feeling like a specimen beneath Vil's scrutinizing gaze.

“Please, Potato-” potato? “What isn’t wrong with it? This is hardly adequate for such a lovely being as yourself.” Vil huffed, as if his being in the presence of a faded The Cure was a personal offense.

“Rook,” Vil called, and the blonde man who stood next to him approached, “find suitable nightwear for our guest.”

“Of course, roi du poison.” Rook said, bowing in reverence and beaming at you before he walked out of the room. Vil sighed and moved some hair out of your face.

“Come along now, you two.” He said, beckoning you with a graceful wave of his hand. Epel followed like a sleeper agent, and you followed Epel.

“No doubt you are confused, potato.” Vil stated, continuing to use that nickname for you, “This is the dorm of the Fairest Queen, Pomefiore. I am the housewarden, and Rook is the vice-housewarden.”

“A dorm? So, this is like a school?” You asked. “Exactly. Aren’t you bright?” Vil hummed, and you couldn’t tell if he was being condescending or not. You also noticed that Vil was in no particular rush to give any context about the rest of the school, or of the other students that should’ve been there. It was a school, right?

Your surroundings were beautiful. You saw a vast landscape outside, and the halls of Pomefiore were clearly immaculate. If Vil was the leader, he certainly did a good job at it.

“This shall do nicely.” Vil said, stopping abruptly in front of a door and in your distracted state, you nearly bumped into Epel. Vil opened the door, revealing an uninhabited dorm. A large bed was in the middle, lacy white curtains hanging from the ceiling as a canopy. Two large stained glass windows were on the wall to the left, with deep red curtains. There was a dresser and nightstand, both of regal design, soft carpet and an empty desk. Warm lights shone above, giving an almost cozy atmosphere.

And above the desk was a mirror like the one in your true bedroom.

“Do you like it?” Vil asked you, and you nodded.

“It’s beautiful.” You said. “Good. I’d hate for you to stay in an inadequate room.”

“What do you mean?” “Well, this shall be your room for when you stay here,” Vil said, gently placing his gloved hands on your shoulders. That made you pause.

“What is this place?” You asked.

“It’s Pomefiore, darling.” Vil said, “I’ve already told you this.”

“No, I mean all of this. I’ve never heard of a place like Pomefiore.”

“Ah, well of course you haven’t. This is a world completely unlike your own.” Vil clarified, gently squeezing your shoulders.

You didn’t have much of a chance to ask any further questions before Rook found the three of you (with startling accuracy), holding something silken in his arms.

“I believe I’ve found something magnifique for notre petit trickster!” Rook happily exclaimed. Right, Vil sent him to find you proper pajamas.

“Wonderful, Rook.” Vil said as Rook laid the clothing onto your bed. It was light purple and silky, with the crest of Pomefiore on the breast pocket. It looked expensive and comfortable.

“I– Thanks, this is incredibly kind of you.” You said, and Rook’s off-putting smile only got wider.

“You have no reason to thank us, potato.” Vil said, gently lifting your head with the tip of his fingers beneath your chin, “we just wish to see you happy and comfortable.” Epel and Rook nodded in agreement.

“It is certainly late, you should sleep. A healthy sleep schedule is imperative for maintaining your beauty, you know.” Vil said, “do you need anything before we leave you be?”

You shook your head.

“Very well then. Goodnight, potato.” He squeezed your shoulder, before leaving. “Bonsoir, trickster.” Rook cooed, leaving second.

“Goodnight, ___.” Epel said, and you noticed his southern accent wasn’t noticeable in his voice the way it was before. He left last, closing the door behind him.

You changed into the silk pajamas Rook brought you, before crawling into bed. The warm lighting created a calming ambience, and you soon fell asleep.

When you woke up, you were back in your original bedroom. And despite it supposedly being a dream, you still had on the silk pajamas.

[maidenofcrows]

More Penelope Headcanons

• Pointy canines! Vampire teeth! Sharp chompers! Because her mother was a naiad, and Telemachus inherits the trait as well

• Pointy ears! Not like elvishly long and pointed. Human sized and pointed. Also something she got from her mother and that her son will get from her

• Very introverted. So introverted. The only two people who (usually) don’t drain her social battery are her husband and her son

• Impulsive thoughts include (gently) biting her husband’s upper arm. Relatively harmless things that mostly cause confusion. Ordinarily, she’s got a pretty good handle on it, but sometimes… sometimes

• Loves animals but is always apprehensive of them at first because they have teeth/beaks/claws and it probably wouldn’t go so well if she tried to bite back

• In a similar vein, she feels horrible about what happened to Argos. She was out of her depth with a hunting dog and her son hadn’t even been able to walk at the time, much less train a dog to hunt. By the time they got him back, the suitors were abusing everything she cared about and she didn’t know how to take care of him without making matters worse, and subsequently is constantly berating herself for “not being clever enough” to figure it out

• Part (not all, but a bit) of the reason she clashes with Telemachus in the Odyssey is because she never really had a parent figure she would really consider stable. The closest thing was her uncle, but he was still obviously going to place his own children first. She’s doing her best

• Sometimes makes jokes about being thrown to the water to drown as a baby, but they don’t land well. Odysseus, however, was the first to offer to throw hands

• “I know it sucks, but thems the rules” she says while exploiting every loophole

• Yes she is modest — wearing clothes that cover more, donning some form of headdress or veil even if it’s not technically necessary, whatever. But it’s not out of any sort of moralistic standpoint, it’s just what’s comfortable for her

• Everyone seems to headcanon that Penelope runs cold and Odysseus runs warm. I am no different. Ice block x Heater respectively

• Everyone’s first impression is always how kind she is, how gentle she is, how sweet she is. All of this is true. She is kind and gentle and sweet. She is also identifying your weaknesses and planning the best way to utterly destroy you just in case.

• While her primary love language is quality time, she will let her loved ones know when she wants physical affection too. And then she becomes so clingy. Human octopus. Gets even worse when she gets married because then her favorite person is right there and maybe if they snuggle long enough they’ll just meld into one being

[jjkamochoso]

Okay, You Can Bug Me a Little Bit

A touch of Angst, Fluff

Sanemi Shinazugawa x gn!reader

Warnings: mentions of bugs

Can be read as a stand alone, but you can find Part One, Quit Bugging Me, here!

It had been about a month since you had last spent time at the Wind Hashira’s estate. His hospitality while you were visiting was surprisingly not lacking in the least bit; he kept your body hydrated with plenty of cups of water, your stomach full with a nice meal, and your mind occupied with rousing conversation that kept you there until the wee hours of the quickly slipping away evening. With much hesitation and some cussing, Sanemi begrudgingly surrendered to the idea of you traversing your way home as the stars began to twinkle in the sky. You had made it back safely, no demons to be found, but it wasn’t like you were worried: first, you were a Hashira and could certainly take care of yourself, and second, Sanemi’s crow, flying above you proudly, was at the ready to speed back to his estate in case of an emergency. When you finally entered your own house, you invited the crow to stay for a while, making some ohagi for him to take back to Sanemi. You would never know that Sanemi blushed for a good hour at the kindness of your gesture, savoring each bite and gently folding the cloth you sent the treats in with such care reminiscent of the way his mother used to swaddle him and his siblings.

That day at the estate had, unfortunately, been put to the back of your mind while you were swarmed with missions all over the place, the nonstop annihilation of demons taking over your every waking moment. There were times, though, that you saw a storm cloud with coloring just like Sanemi’s hair, or felt a cool breeze rush over your skin in such a manner that you couldn’t help but wonder if he purposefully sent it your way.

Today, many moons after you had last seen the object of your affections, you were reminded of him once more. You were almost at your mansion, looking forward to a short rest devoid of demon slaying, when a familiar bug crossed your path.

“What are you doing here, little guy?” you cooed, inspecting the Japanese rhinoceros beetle in front of you. It continued scurrying along, paying no mind to you. You had plenty of time to spare and the day was pleasantly warm; why not follow it and see where it leads you? You stood up, keeping an eye on the horned bug as it walked aimlessly. Suddenly, you were pulled from your daydreams by the sound of a loud squawk as a black bird came swooping in, taking the beetle into its beak.

“No! Drop it!” you cried, swatting at the bird. Your own crow came to the rescue, nudging the bird and making the beetle fall from its deadly grasp. Your crow quickly scared off the other bird, leaving you a sniffling mess at the sight of the injured beetle.

“Oh, what would Sanemi do? I don’t know how to properly take care of these things,” you said, desperately trying to remember any little detail that could help in this situation.

“A container! I’ll be right back, hang in there.”

You ran at full speed to your mansion, hurriedly digging through drawers to find a vessel to transport the beetle back to your house. You grabbed one with a lid, poking holes in the top for air, before sprinting back to your last location. You were met with another familiar face, this time human.

“Your crow sent for me! Are you okay?” Sanemi asked, curiously looking you up and down, checking for injuries.

You were extremely confused.

“You sent for him over this? He’s very busy, you know,” you scolded your crow, who was practically smirking at you.

“Wait a minute, she said someone was hurt!” an enraged Sanemi yelled.

“I said something was hurt, not someone!” your crow replied, cackling.

“You birdbrain!” chimed in Sanemi’s crow.

“You’re one to talk!” she shot back.

“Everyone be quiet!” you finally said, then turning to Sanemi. “I’m so sorry she bothered you and wasted your time. I came across a rhinoceros beetle that was almost turned into bird food in front of my eyes.”

“If it was her, I’m strangling that bird,” growled Sanemi.

“No, no, she actually scared the other one off,” you chuckled while Sanemi’s fists stayed balled up as he eyed the crow viciously.

“So anyway, the beetle looks hurt and I wanted to try and nurse it back to health but I have no clue where to start.”

The scarred man sighed. “Do you have a container?”

You lifted your hand. “Right here.”

“Grab some leaves and dirt and put it at the bottom. We’ll take care of it together.”

Take care of it together? That sounded awfully domestic to you, his words suggesting teamwork sounding foreign (but welcome!) to your ears. It didn’t hurt that him sticking around to help would mean you had more chances to glance at his bare, chiseled chest as well. Speaking of…

“What are you staring at? Get to work!”

His harshness brought you back to earth and you dropped to the ground to gather the materials, eager to settle down your rapid heartbeat after getting caught looking at him. When you were finished, he placed the beetle inside the temporary home, taking precaution to not hold it firmly.

He picked up the container, walking away. “Let’s go.”

“Um, Sanemi? Your house is that way.”

“I know. We’re going to yours.”

Your eyes widened at his authoritative voice declaring himself a guest at your estate before you settled into a mischievous grin.

“Inviting yourself over, Shinazugawa? We’re not even married! The indecency of it all!” you joked, clutching at your chest in mock horror.

Sanemi wasn’t phased in the slightest by your antics. “It wasn’t a problem when you dined with me at my estate last month, was it?”

Your mouth dropped in shock as he just smirked, enjoying teasing you right back.

“If I remember correctly, it was you who invited me in last time,” you said matter of factly.

“Shut up,” he replied, hoping the tips of his ears weren’t too red.

You eventually reached your mansion and Sanemi stepped inside with the container while you went to your garden to pick a tomato for the beetle to snack on.

“What do we do now?” you questioned, cutting up the vegetable into tiny pieces.

“I checked out his injuries and they don’t seem fatal. I think if we leave him in the box for a few days and he survives, he’ll be alright to go back in the woods.”

It was quiet for a long time as you continued chopping while Sanemi stood awkwardly, unsure of what to say or do next.

“You can sit down and get comfortable,” you told him. “You liked that ohagi I made you, right? I’ll make some as a thank you and to show my apologies for my inconsiderate crow.”

“Huh? There’s no need for that,” he said, but his resistance was futile. You were just as stubborn, if not more, as he was, and you weren’t taking no for an answer. Besides, who was he to refuse such a kind, attractive person offering to make his favorite food? He didn’t think he deserved this generous treatment, but he knew it would make you feel better if you repaid him this way so he relented to your request for him to stay for some time.

After your delicious meal, you decided to check on the beetle again. You grabbed some pieces of tomato and lifted the lid off the container, softly placing the food in a corner.

“Hey buddy,” you addressed the unmoving bug, “I’m sorry let this happen to you. You gotta stay strong for me, alright?”

You didn’t notice Sanemi gazing upon you, his purple eyes filled with admiration. You were being so nice to the bug that if it were anyone else talking like that, he would puke at the saccharine tone coming from your throat, but because it was you, it was the best sort of sweet he could ever wish to hear. He silently took up a spot next to you, his arm brushing against your own, causing goosebumps to form across both of your skin at the contact.

“I’m sorry for failing you and letting one of your beloved creatures become so injured,” you told him, unable to look him in eye due to your shame. Maybe it was the exhaustion from your work catching up to you, maybe it was the fact that you weren’t fast enough to save something else, reminding you of all the injured or dead people you had seen over the past month due to demons. Whatever it was, this bug was stirring up a lot of emotions within you, causing your eyes to sting with the beginnings of tears.

“It’s alright, y/n, it’s just a bug.”

“But I know how much you love them! I feel responsible for letting it get hurt under my watch.”

Sanemi frowned. You were definitely taking this a lot harder than he would’ve expected. You were right, he did love these beetles, but there was no reason for you to think you were the cause of this one getting hurt. He knew you well enough to know that, yes, you were upset about the insect, but you were also probably relating the current situation to all the shitty things you’d been seeing in your job. This was another failure in your eyes—he knew that feeling all too well.

“Don’t be stupid, this happens in nature all the time.”

Your bleary eyes just blinked at him and he gulped. That sounded a lot meaner out loud than in his head.

“Look,” he sighed, trying again, “it sucks seeing a living creature get hurt right in front of your eyes, but it wasn’t your fault. I know our job is to protect everything, but stuff like this is inevitable. The bird needs to eat, too.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, wiping your nose with a handkerchief, “I guess you’re right. Thank you Sanemi, that was very sweet of you to make me feel better like that.”

“Sure, whatever,” he mumbled, about to fold his arms across his chest when you took him by complete surprise, throwing your arms around him in a hug. He immediately stiffened uncomfortably, not used to physical interaction, especially not by the person he’d come to love. Soon after, though, he relaxed into your embrace, even going so far as to set his hands upon your back as he returned the gesture. Without warning, you pulled away from his warm body like he had given you an electric shock.

“I’m really sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. I was way out of line-”

“I like you.”

Understatement of the year coming from Sanemi, but it was much too soon to tell you the extent of his whole heart—how you had taken up a permanent spot in his mind, how you had come to fill every crevice of his entire being. Maybe some other day in the far, far, far future he’d gain that courage. For now, this nonchalant confession would have to do.

“Wait, what did you say?” you asked, looking at him incredulously.

“I like you, okay? Don’t make me say it again,” he grumbled a bit louder, looking off to the side in his embarrassment.

Your eyes seemed to sparkle with joy, even as you teased him. “Is this because I’ve been making you ohagi?”

“Damnit, I’m being vulnerable for once, stop messing around! This is hard for me!” he barked while you were trying to stifle your laughs.

“You’re in luck because I think you’re pretty great. Handsome, too.” You playfully nudged his shoulder as Sanemi tried to keep a scowl on his face but failed, a small smile creeping onto his lips.

You pointed at the container holding the beetle. “And to think we’re already raising our first child together!”

“You are such an idiot.”

“But you love me anyway!”

That got Sanemi to let out a snort. You didn’t even know the half of it.

BONUS:

After Sanemi had left that night, taking the beetle with him, you were ecstatic to find him knocking at your door a few days later. The beetle had made a full recovery and Sanemi invited you to help him find a good spot to be released. You stumbled upon a big tree with a pond nearby and both of you decided that it was the perfect place. Opening the container, you let the beetle take its time exploring the area on his own. You and Sanemi sat side by side, watching the beetle as it took its first steps after rehabilitation. With the sun shining on your face, resting your head lovingly against your boyfriend’s shoulder, you smiled.

“This is what heaven must be like,” you muttered.

“Yeah. I think so,” agreed Sanemi, leaning into you ever so slightly.

A few seconds of silence passed as you watched the beetle walk away from the container.

“Kids grow up so fast, don’t they?”

“You’re ruining the nice moment.”

[tonyboneysblog]

MOTHER HEN: PART EIGHT

parings: hawks x mother!reader

wordcount: 3.4k

warnings: descriptions of panic attack

note: I was laughing maliciously while writing this I hope yall know

summary: you, the mother of Fumikage Tokoyami, are just a simple nurse! Who caught the eye of a certain pro.

two weeks.

two weeks without a single word from hawks.

whatever, no time to think about him.

not when poor Fumikage has exams, sweet thing needs help!

“Fumikage, twelve times nine- cmon…”

Fumikage stared blankly at the paper, he may not look it but..he does not know his times tables.

“I-I don’t know.” He continues to stare at the paper filled with different questions you’ve written down

“Twelve times nine.”

“You repeating it isn’t going to help me, mother.” His eyes flickering towards you and the paper.

“Just guess!” You exclaim.

“110!” He exclaims back quickly.

You smack his head gently, “so close- so far…”

Fumikages head whips up, “I was wrong?!”

“By like two numbers, it’s 108.” You pat his head gently.

Fumikages head droops slowly in defeat, “I’m failing.”

You chuckle softly and Fumikages small bit of depression, truly you doubt the entire times table will be on the exam.

You tap Fumikages chin, “keep your head up, you’re not failing anything.”

Fumikages head drops into your lap, signifying that he’s waving the white flag on studying for today.

You pet his feathers gently, your son’s been through a villain attack so you suppose he can rest!

Fumikage did mention a training camp if he passed both exams, thought he wasn’t able to tell you the location since he himself didn’t even know.

You personally wanted to bring him some food when he got home sick- Fumikage could never go over to the houses his few friends were at.

he missed his mama too much, that’s what he said.

Thought your heart was it dismay, you could feel like something was off but you couldn’t quite place it? it was deep in your gut.

if you focused too much on it then it would become nauseating.

But it was just a feeling, not truly affecting your daily life!

If you remembered correctly, Fumikages exams were tomorrow- then the training camp?

well you were quite prepared, you already predicted that Fumikage would pass with flying colors- which he did- so you gave him the most delicious meal your could think of.

With a mouth watering apple pie for dessert.

Sometimes Fumikage confused you, and bird liking apples feels wrong..but Fumikage is also just human with a bird for a face.

Your son’s confusing.

Fumikage is obsessed with apples, when he used to sleep in your bedroom you could swear it smelled like a tangy, ripe apple.

then we he left, so did the smell.

and the apple scented products didn’t help, kids said he smelled fruity so he went for more woodsy scents.

never got the apple out though.

You can take the apple out of the boy but not the boy out of the apple you suppose?

You watch joyfully as Fumikage huffs down all the food you prepared, mostly for him but it could feed a family of three or four.

Fumikages a growing boy- you’re not judging!

“You excited for camp?” You ask with excitement lining your words.

Fumikage muffled out a quick “very” almost choking on his food.

“Don’t talk while eating, you’ll choke.” You point at him.

Fumikage glares at you softly, but fixed his little attitude quickly. Whipping mouth, then pointing towards the pie.

You chuckle softly, cutting the pie dutifully into a thick piece of warm apple pie.

Fumikage holds the plate like it’s a million dollar vase, like it’s valuable.

Then he basically eats it in three bites, damned bird beak.

You can tell on his face he enjoyed it, reminded you of his father but only for a second.

He always said that your cooking made his heart swell.

well he’s not here and hasn’t been for 16 years, no point dwelling on the past.

Which is what hawks is doing at the moment, with Mirko more specifically.

Mirko rests her head the bench, arms behind her head while kicking her legs lazily to a slow tempo.

Hawks is hunched over, his hand covering his mouth while mumbling.

Mirko sighs, “you know I can’t hear you right? Stop covering your mouth.”

Hawks straightens up, leaning back on the bench with a huff.

“I mean- why would I get angry at her for kissing mean?!” His voice growing louder.

Mirkos head whips over to look at hawks, “she what..?”

“Relax, it was only on the forehead.”

Mirko deflates, pouting.

“So, let me get this straight before I yell at you.” Mirko starts slow and calculated.

“You wake up from your little nightmare in her house, then she comforts you like a “baby” in your opinion- kissss your forehead, you yell at her for confusing your small brain and then storm out?”

Hawks stays silent for a moment, staring at Mirko.

“M-my brain isn’t small.” He stutters out.

Mirko shrugs her shoulders, “don’t into that stuttering habit again, commission hates it.”

Hawks sighs softly, nodding.

“Still- my brain isn’t small, I was just confused.” Hawks retorts.

Mirko sighs heavily, agitated that she has to spend her dinner break listening to hawks, “Why are you confused..?”

Hawks plucks out a loose feather from his wings, twirling it in his fingers gently.

“I don’t know..I wanted her to do that but I still got angry.”

Hawks relaxes into the bench, staring up at the stars.

“I didn’t expect her to do it I guess? I worked so hard on trying to get her to like me and when she did that- I didn’t know what to think. Kinda like I reached my goal, but I didn’t reach it the way I wanted to.”

Mirko hums, her feet tapping softly to a faster tempo than before.

“So, your just upset cause you didn’t get the kiss you wanted?”

Hawks closes his eyes tightly, “it’s not that..i guess I didn’t want it?”

Mirko kicks his leg, “You did want it- you practically vent to me everyday on how you want to pounce and kiss on her.”

Hawks scoots farther away from Mirko, “I don’t know then, I dont even now why she kissed me anyways.”

Mirko knocks his ankle again, “She has a whole kid, her motherly instincts probably just kicked in when she saw a sad little birdy.”

Hawks hums, placing his hand over his face blocking the moonlight from seeping in.

Even though hawks was devastated on the fact that the both of you have basically cut contact, Fumikage was ecstatic.

And he even gets to go to a training camp to make his quirk better, with all his friends?

he’s living the absolute dream at the moment.

Until you rudely throw a remote at him.

You hop over and onto the couch, “Your pick.”

Fumikage relaxes into the blankets you threw onto him, what’s with you and throwing things.

Fumikage always enjoyed picking out the movie, always finding gems in the dirt.

Fumikage continues to scroll through all the options, sadly not finding anything that caught his eye.

He huffs, “there’s nothing good.”

“Not true, you just have terrible taste.”

Fumikage slowly looks over towards you with a “are you serious” face, which only makes you burst into a fit of giggles.

“You’re not funny.”

You gasp dramatically, “you’d say that to your own mother?!”

You kick his arm playfully, your laughter dying down at his hardcore facial expression that he’s sporting at the moment.

Almost like he’s planning something in that head of his..

“What’s on your mind Fumi?”

“Where’s that weighted blanket?” He cocks his head to the side, which is not a thing he does usually.

You play dumb, “What blanket?”

“The one you got me so I’d stop sleeping in your room.”

Truthfully, you have no idea where Fumikage is even going with this.

“Sold it.”

“Liar.” He retorts.

you gasp again, “don’t call me a liar!”

Fumikage hums, all you do is just confirm his suspicions.

Next time he sees hawks he’s getting that blanket back.

Hawks doesn’t need any piece of you, plus Fumikage actually did in-fact use that blanket..

Only when he went to his friends though.

And maybe when you worked nights.

not his fault he always put it back where he left it, he has manners unlike another bird he knows.

What should you even do in this situation?

change the subject obviously.

“You going to that training camp tomorrow aren’t ya?”

Fumikage nods, pride swelling into his chest.

“It’s quite exciting.” He responds monotone.

“Yea I can tell by your voice.”

Fumikages face droops slightly, “if I remember, it’s starts early in the morning.”

“Your trying to get out of hanging out with me?”

Fumikages eyes shoot wide open, “no- I-i just meant that I’d have to be there early!”

You hum, “then go to bed, don’t want you all groggy and mean to your classmates.”

“Is that what your co-workers say about you?”

“Bed, now.” You point towards his bedroom door.

Fumikage chuckles out a small “fine”, making his way to the bedroom.

“Night mom.” He calls from the bedroom.

You hum, “Night Fumi.”

You didn’t give me his nightly ruffle and kiss, you doubt Fumikage would notice though.

You wouldn’t be able to see him in the morning either, work starts just an hour before Fumikage would wake up.

You also try your hand at finding a decent movie, though your efforts were for nothing.

The feeling in your stomach wouldn’t settle.

it just got worse until it made you sick from doing nothing.

You stand up, walking over to the bathroom, trying to find some medicine that would deafen the effects.

Probably just an upset stomach, you thought.

The feeling settled, slowly may you add, as you walked over to your nest.

Letting yourself fall into the mess of blankets and small plush’s, including that damned hawks one.

your hands felt- sweaty? clammy more like, you felt nervous for something but it never came.

Reluctantly, you grab onto the soft plush.

It was nice to occupy your hands.

the feeling didn’t leave, only softened.

That’s all you needed though.

After you woke up and left for work Fumikage texted you, just checking on you of course.

He inherited your anxiousness.

Though you continue to work through the day, hoping that Fumikage had fun on his small little trip.

You got less texts and phone calls but the explanation was that they were wringing him dry.

intense U.A…that could be an email.

On the third day of Fumikages training camp, you got not texts or calls.

And when you got home from work, maybe around 11:30? The nausea came back full force.

It was a gut feeling, you tried to calm yourself down but you ended up texting Fumikage a quick message to see if he was okay.

He didn’t respond.

he was probably asleep! That was the logical way of thinking.

most logical.

you turn on the news, mostly to distract your brain from Turing to the worst possibility’s.

Fumikage was fine, no one knows where he is.

neither do you.

You sit down onto the couch, nervously biting your nails.

It doesn’t say anything about U.A. which Is a good sign.

Only says something about a spotted forest fire that they’re trying to deal with, weird that the flames are blue though.

Even more news stations can be seen in the background, they never care about forest fires? It’s not like All Might of Endeavour will be there either, so why do they care so much?

The longer you watch the news, the more information released, it seems like the aftermath of an attack but it apparently has the possibility to still be continuing.

Fumikage still hasn’t texted.

You heart doesn’t drop until they say “U.A.” And “villain attack” in the same sentence.

It’s a fucking fire, and there’s students.

is Fumikage okay?

did something happen to him?

is that why he hasn’t responded?

you can feel your breath quicken, bringing too much air yet none at all at the same time.

The scream that comes from you is guttural.

Your neighbors probably think you’re being murdered, you can’t stop though.

Imagine if you didn’t get off of work.

Would you had to see Fumikages body on the stretcher?

The nausea comes back again, you can feel yourself getting lightheaded.

And sudden knock on the door knocks you from your thoughts, only for a moment.

Quickly, you walk over to the door.

It’s police. They came to tell you Fumikages dead because U.A. Is an incompetent school-

“Y/N” hawks voice calls gently.

You don’t know what to feel, why is he here?”

“W-why-“ “I heard on the news.”

You look terrible, horror is written all over your face.

Hawks holds your shoulders, “He’s okay.”

good thing for that, you practically fall into him.

Sobs rack your throat, you can’t stop crying even though you finally know Fumikage is fine.

Hawks closes the door behind him, slowly pushing you towards the couch.

trying to make you comfortable.

He holds onto you as you cry your heart out, he can feel his ache.

He was notified on the radio before the news was, villains attacked the secret training camp.

He flew like a bat out of hell to make it to your house, he thought about going through your balcony but that would’ve scared you.

He holds onto you, rubbing your back and trying to tell you to just breathe.

You hold onto him tightly, until your knuckles are white.

He brushes your hair gently, taking off his gloves beforehand.

“Y/N, calm down.” His voice is stern but gentle.

You only respond with more sobs.

“Everything’s okay, I promise you.” His voice almost sounds like he’s begging you to feel better.

To feel like it’s not your fault.

You take a big breath, trying to control yourself.

“W-where is he?” You ask slowly through hiccups and sniffles.

Hawks continues to hold you, “most likely at the hospital getting checked for any injuries.”

He can feel your breathing speed up, “he’s fine, he’s a strong kid.”

You push your head farther into him, trying to find comfort in him.

“Why’d you come.”

“…I don’t know.” His voice tender.

You hit his stomach, “I’m not forgiving you for ignoring me.”

He chuckles nervously, “I know.”

“I despise you.”

Hawks sighs, “..I know.”

You hug onto him a little tighter than before, exhaustion coming down onto your body.

You can’t drive to the hospital like this.

“Hawks.” You mumble out from his soft jacket.

“Yeah?”

“Please go get my son.” You beg him.

Hawks nods softly, placing his gloves back on and gently settling your back onto the soft pillows.

“I was planning on it.” He sends you a small goofy smile.

you can’t return it, only just a huff of amusement leaves you.

Hawks makes his way out the door and over to the a hospital that Fumikage would most likely be at.

Hawks guess was correct since he was able to Fumikage next to the vending machines.

Fumikage glances over to hawks, then realizing that it’s hawks he stares dead at him.

“Hi Tokoyami.” Hawks calls cheerfully.

Fumikage tilts his head up, “Why are you here?”

“Your momma asked me to come and get you.”

“Liar, you just gonna kidnap me and bargain my mother for her love to ensure my safe return.” Fumikage says with an 100% serious face.

Is this what you have to deal with everyday?

Hawks smiles, “No, quite the imagination you got.”

Fumikage doesn’t return it, only grimacing.

hawks sighs, “look, your moms worried sick- just let me take you home.”

The vending machine makes a soft clutter as Fumikage speaks, “How’d she find out?”

“The news?”

Fumikage makes a small tsking noise, then dropping to the opening of the vending machine.

“Get me my drink, then you can take me home.”

Hawks laughs, clutching his stomach softly.

This kid is seriously trying to make some trade deal.

Hawks walks over to the vending machine, hitting it in the middle then shaking it.

A loud clunk comes from the opening, fumikage reaches his hand into it only to have two drinks.

He grabs both, a free drink is a free drink.

Then looking at the second one, “my mother, she’s okay?”

“Slightly disturbed, but alright.”

Fumikages words suddenly quiet down, “dkd she cry?”

He talks his foot nervously as hawks nods, then Fumikage hands him the second drink.

Hawks raises his eyebrows in surprise, “what’s this for?”

Fumikage looks away, “I’m aware that your…infatuated with my mother, and I’m assuming that you comforted her when I was unable to. This is a token of my gratitude, Hawks.”

Hawks smiles, snapping open the drinks.

Two birds with one stone, Mirko. He got to technically get good with you and your son!

Fumikage doesn’t make eye contact with hawks again, maybe it hurt his pride to thank someone he apparently despises so much.

Hawks walks out of the hospital with Fumikage, who really only had scratches apparently.

A lot of the other kids had a lot worse, one even being kidnapped.

Hawks wrap his arms around Fumikages waist, lifting the two of them into the air and making their way back to your home.

The flight was quiet, not awkward like last time.

It was enjoyable in hawks opinion.

Walking through the door, Fumikage stops just to stare at you.

Your lips wobble as you open your arms up to him, inviting him into your warm embrace.

Fumikage runs into your arms, shaking.

Hawks didn’t even notice Fumikage was affected by the attack.

Your holding Fumikage so tightly, it makes hawks heart feel..empty?

Seeing something he wished he had, not you holding onto him but his own mother.

Fumikage starts to stutter, trying to not let the tears affect his speech, “mother- im so sorry!”

You mumble to Fumikage that he did everything he could’ve possibly done, that he has nothing to apologize for.

“I-i let dark shadow out of control.”

you hug him tighter, you don’t really understand how it feels to be Fumikage, how it feels to have someone else attached to you.

You can only whisper reassurance into him ears, kissing his forehead softly.

You look over to see hawks standing there awkwardly, so out of place.

The only place you know where to put him is with you.

You reach out your hand to him, he grabs it.

You whisper quietly, “thank you.”

Hawks only tightens his grip on your hand, wanting to feel the pressure of your bare hand against his but he’s unable to due to the thick gloves he wears.

Fumikages cries grow softer until it’s quiet, seemingly fallen asleep.

You smile, happy that he’s home.

But you have another business to attend to so you shift out of his hold, laying him down onto the couch.

You look at hawks, “We should talk.”

He nods sheepishly, following you to wherever you’re heading.

You open the door, sitting on the steps and patting the spot next to you.

He sits down next to you, letting out a small breath he’d been holding in.

He speaks first, “I’m sorry for being angry with you.”

You hum, almost like you’re urging him to continue speaking.

“You confuse me, and I regret..w-walking out like that..” he stutters.

His wings flutter softly, ears growing red as he covers the lower half of his face.

he mumbles something incoherent.

You giggle softly, “What did you say?”

“I-i said I enjoyed…your a-affection.”

You hum, “thank you for the apology, and compliments.”

hawks nods, his ears growing redder.

You pinch his ears softly, “Fumikage wants his blanket back.”

“It’s mine now.” Hawks says sternly.

You laugh and stand up, waiting for hawks to do the same.

“You should get some rest at home.”

Hawks nods, standing up and making his way down the stairs.

Until you grab his shoulder softly, “hold on.”

Hawks looks over to look confused slightly.

You push up his visor towards his forehead, kissing the space between his eyebrows gently.

Hawks wings puff up and almost spread to their full length before he stops them.

“There, your reward.” You say nervously.

Hawks nods, seemingly speechless by your actions.

Then making his way quickly down the stairs, bolting out of there like a mad man.

Taking off into flight, only slightly off balance and almost tripping.

Hawks quickly flies home, shedding himself of his clothes and throwing himself onto bed.

Grabbing your blanket and holding it close.

He starts to giggle and kick his feet like some school girl.

If only Mirko could see him now.

Actually- he can’t wait to tell Mirko.

TAG LIST: comment to be tagged!💕

@lost-in-horrorland @boopjuice @validveenus @qardasngan @arminsarlerts @star-the-rabid-dog @bunni-teeth81 @lightsgore @portgasdbruh @camejlo-35 @marsbars09 @tharae514 @yoongiwantsme @kimahrii @pink-jello-fish @l1vvvvv @miy-svz @bumblebeebutter @lacunaanonymoused @emmmeoo

AUTHORS NOTE:

I am genuinely so sorry that I can’t tag some of you guys, tumblr won’t even let me and I feel like I going crazy😭 I hope the people who I could tag were able to see this next part part and again I’m really sorry! But you better love me again after all that fluff😒

[thedarkestrivernymph]

A Heart Of Gold (alternative ver.)

Warnings: none

Author's note: Can you guess how this connects to the main fic? Are the names familiar?

©Copyright - 2025 - thedarkestrivernymph - All Rights Reserved

Chirping

—is what all birds do, and you did too.

You awoke, shaking your body, feathers fluffing as the warm greeted you once more, the summer months slowly approaching. Yet even the very present slight chill of the fading winter couldn't threaten the good mood you have been in ever since your little fledglings hatched.

One boy and one girl—both with large admiring beads for eyes, sandy brown feathers yet to form, and bellies that never seemed to fully fill, which is exactly why your mate had descended down your home to pick at at the grain and berries the humans offered you. Just thinking about it made your mouth water—yet your little ones seemed to be craving breakfast much more intensely than you, as they began bickering again.

“Mom! Mommy! I am hungry!”

“Mommy—I’m hungry too—”

“No I am more hungry!”

“No! I am—”

“Not true—”

“is true!”

You sighed as they resumed their typical fight; even if they had just awoken, their spiteful spirits couldn't be crushed.

“Maya and Nicho. Dad will come back soon, now—Maya stop biting your brother!” you were quick to reign in peace over the two, but you knew it would not last long before they were at eachother's throats again. You sighed. At least your life was never to be boring again with their albeit cute, yet incessant whining.

Thankfully though, their father was quick to arrive, flowing high and proud — putting on a show for the little ones — before landing in your shared nest, with two fat grains of corn and two berries in his beak.

“Dad—”

“Daddy!”

He placed the corns individually into their open beaks before he put a berry in yours and threw the other between the two, who of course, immediately both lunged at it, but instead of eating it they just held their mouths open expecting the fruit to grow a pair of legs and wander into their throats by itself.

Gratefully with fluttering beaded eyes you gazed lovingly at your mate, crooning softly as you swallowed your breakfast, just for a moment ignoring the two, as you nudged your head against his head, trailing your peak over his neck in a loving, albeit short, session of preening.

“Do you think they will figure it out by themselves?” he asked, charismatic as the day he had won you over with just a look—and then you had won him over with your wistful trilling.

“I think they're still too little.” you cooned back, blinking contently as he began preening you, careful and delicate as always—treating you gently like you could fade when left unattended, like the falling rain would fade when the weather warmed.

It always could be like this and you wouldn't object. Sweet, warm, comfortable. With berries lingering on your tongue, your little ones growing day by day until they would be of age and with Chester by your side until the two of you were old and brittle. Until both of your bones rotted, but even then you would still love eachother.

Forever and Ever. Chester and you.

[novasintheroom]

050. Impress

♡ Pairing - Vash x Reader

♡ Word count - 0.9k

♡ Warnings - none

♡ Description: Vash catches you drawing in your journal.

Part of the 150 Bullets drabble series on AO3

It’s a hobby, you tell yourself. Plenty of people do it.

In the shade of the overhang, you glance over your book and scratch a few more lines down the page. A curve here, some dots there. You bite your tongue gently. It’s getting better. Marginally. And Vash is none-the-wiser to being observed.

He’s slowly taking apart and cleaning his gun. Rubbing a cloth along each piece, careful of where he puts things on the flat rock he’s taken as a ‘table.’ Vash is scrunched up now, making an interesting pose to note down in your journal.

Next to the drawing, you sketch out some lines and notes on his anatomy. Triceps, you write. Brachioradialis. Palmaris longus. You trail down to his legs. Vastus medialis. Gastrocnemius. Back up to his chest. Pectoralis major. Subtly, you put a heart by the name.

“Watcha drawin’?”

So much for subtlety. How did he sneak up on you? Faster than Vash has time to blink, your book slams closed. He’s left with a waft of air blowing in his face and a wide-eyed stare from you. From your side, he lifts his hands placatingly. “Woah, I didn’t see anything.”

Still, blood rushes to your face and you purse your lips, giving him a searching look. “Liar. What did you see?”

Vash’s smile is gentle. Always gentle. “Nothing, really.” Then, that smile turns mischievous. “I didn’t know you drew naughty pictures.”

You splutter. What? “I do not!”

“It’s okay, really!” He waves his hands and walks over to his bag. “Everyone’s into something. Why else would you panic like that?”

The blush has reached the back of your throat. You cough, sucking in air to protest. “I don’t draw naughty pictures!”

He looks over with a smirk, putting his gun back together without looking. “Sure. And I have both my arms.”

“I don’t!” Not only mortified by the suggestion, you’re blatantly outraged he doesn’t believe you. Only one way to rectify this. You stand from your rock and march over to him. Flipping open the book, you shove it in his face. “See! I’m practicing anatomy!”

Vash’s look goes slack, and with care, he takes the book from your hands. You realize he was teasing you too late. He sees your drawings. He sees them. You’re suddenly nervous again, feeling like a child caught doing something wrong. It’s fine, you think, it’s fine, fine, fine.

Vash takes his time looking over your drawings. It’s of him, obviously. Chest bared, missing the scars and wires and plates he feels on the daily pulling at his skin. You don’t know about them. How could you? He never lets you see. But you are studying anatomy. He sees the scientific terms criss-crossing the page in your neat handwriting. On the next page, he sees you’ve sketched him in different poses; some of him crouched as if over a fire, some jumping in mid-air, coat floating wildly behind him. One is just of his face, his smile. The eyes are a little crooked, but it’s impressive, even still.

He sees your hands worrying out of the corner of his eye. Cracking your knuckles. You do it when you’re nervous. “I only have you around to draw,” you explain, trying to save yourself from more embarrassment. Vash hums, and you duck your head. “It’s…an old hobby of mine.”

The next page are close-ups. Hands, feet, mouth, eyes. You have no coloring pencils; everything is shaded charcoal black-and-gray. In the margins, you’ve drawn different worms you’ve come across, with beaks and bug-eyes and many legs. But overall, he’s the subject. He’s the one you’re drawing the most. A strange feeling settles in his chest, and with a slight grin, he hands the book back.

You take it, watching him, wary. “So…?”

Vash shakes his head. “These are really good!”

Your look is dubious. “You aren’t…weirded out?”

Weirded out? Why would he be? He’s never been the subject of someone’s drawings. It makes him feel…he doesn’t know, searching for the word. “No,” he says, “I’m – flattered,” he finally puts a name to the feeling, and his cheeks pinken.

You look down, gnawing at your inner cheek. “It’s something I started doing a few months back. Just…drawing your poses whenever we have downtime.” Finally, a smile breaks on your lips. “You’re very limber.”

Vash laughs. “It’s all the yoga I do.” He reaches up and tugs at the back of his neck. He feels a bit shy, but asks, “Can I watch you draw sometime?”

Your mouth falls open. “Um…sure?”

He kicks at a nearby pebble. “I’m not the best at drawing. But I like to do it too. In my journals, sometimes.”

You perk up. “You do? Of what?”

“Mainly architecture. I tried people a few times, but they…they look like they’re melting.”

You laugh, and he laughs with you.

And later, in the firelight and lamps of your camp, you and he draw together. He practices drawing your face (and it does look like it’s melting, much to his chagrin and your laughter), and you sketch architecture, blown away and inspired by the detailed drawings of derelict ships and abandoned towns and cities Vash has been to in his journals. You trade art secrets, tips, and switch journals with each other to draw in for a page.

You both go to bed with stained fingertips and smiles, happy to have one more thing to bring you together.

[brucewaynehater101]

They are so big and so cute! And if Huggin and Munnin are well above the average size of ravens they could be nearly the size of Tim's torso. Certainly bigger than his head. Plus they are so, so smart. Some of the smartest birds in the world. Imagine Tim getting in kidnapped as a civilian and Huggin simply grabs the key for him while Munnin acts as a look out. Tim escapes without ever being seen.

Tim also has special "bird doors" in his Nest so the whole place is filled with his many birds. Sure not all of them live there because he set up dozens of safe places around the city that are basically just Reall Big Pigeon Roosts with bird feeders in them that all types of birds are allowed in. Also the bird doors are much to small for any human to fit through, much like dog and cat doors are, and they do have actual sliding metal doors on them that are opened and unlocked by proximity of the little cameras he put on some of his birds. Roughly 4 owls, 8 pigeons, 3 Bluejays, 2 hawks, 17 crows, 9 grackles, and 20 ravens have access to his Nest. Are those a lot of keys just flying around the city? Yes. But no one knows the birds are his, Tim is constantly trying to make smaller and smaller cameras for them so that they will never be spotted, and who the fuck is gunna point to a random bird and go "that bitch has the key to Red Robin's house." And be believed by anyone who would help them catch a fucking pigeon that's just minding their own buisness?business??

The only beings who notice the cameras are other birds and the strange sparkly spot on his birds chest? It only gives his birds more Rizz. There was a study about how Zebra Finches actually preferred to mate with those who had on red tracking tags over other colors so what if this is similar? This would also mean that every spring Tim has an exponentially larger amount of birds.

Also the funniest way for the family to find out. It's one of the very rare sunny days in summer where it's Actually Hot in Gothem so the family decides it's the perfect day to use the pool in the back yard of Wayne Manor. Everyone is having an amazing time and eventually Tim gets tired so he sits down on one of the reclining pool chairs for a rest and snack, which is his chocolate free trail mix. He has a large bowl of it and ends up falling asleep with it in his lap. Just as the siblings are giggling and deciding what prank to play, a crow lands next to Tim and sqwacks a few times. Tim mumbles in his sleep but doesn't move so the bird hops up onto Tim's chair and starts to eat out of his bowl. Since it doesn't get shooed away, soon others are joining it. The family watches in amazement as Tim gets *covered* in birds that are casually eating from his bowl. There's even a pair of hawks that are perched above his head. When the bowl is empty, one of the crows bites Tim on the nose, startling him awake and he glares at the feathery fiend and very gently taps it on the beak as he scolds, "Monroe, I told you to stop biting my nose. Wait- you guys ate all my trail mix!" He has forgotten that his siblings are there because it's usually the birds or siblings, never both.

Oh, and when they eventually ask why he hid the birds, Tim simply says, "last time anyone found out, Janet called an exterminator."

I love this so much. Him building little nests all over the city for them is adorable and great. It would be cool if he started that before his Robin years as he was out and about in Gotham. He just built small little safe places for the birds, and it rapidly expanded as Tim got more experience, more resources, and more birds to look after.

Your logic with the keys is fantastic! When the batfam finds out, I bet birds pop by Tim's place while whatever family member is just chilling. Like maybe they are watching a movie and said bat gets distracted by the coming and goings of various birds (the birds probably also mess a bit with Tim or his space as fond pestering before leaving again). Maybe a few are just staring at the family member without blinking or taking a nap.

I wonder if Damian would start to make excuses to go over to Tim's Nest as much as possible. He states he needs to "ensure Timothy is maintaining adequate nesting conditions for the various species of birds" or that he will "test the Nest's security" by dropping by unannounced and breaking in.

Perhaps some of the birds watch over his various family members for Tim? Especially Duke because nobody else works the day shift with him, and birds are more common during the day (and thus less suspicious).

[fishsticksloser]

May I request a Turtles and little sibling reader where they are a common snapping turtle? Because common snappers are typically more feral and bitey than Alligator snappers, so they would probably like steal food and stuff from their brothers while biting them lol

{like really, search up videos of common snappers being fed and alligator snappers. Alligator snappers take the food so gently while common snappers launch out to grab}

-Shadow

Common Snapping Turtle

RotTMNT + gn!reader

Warnings: biting, feral ish reader, short

A/N: I've been putting this off for too long.

Previous | Next

You look a bit different than Raph

It made Heuso a little confused

You have the same strong looking jaw (and it's still very strong too)

But you're smoother, not as pointy as Raph

New comers had to be warned about you

You bite..... A lot

Of course your brothers knew it's instinctual

But still... They had to warn them

You once nicked Casey with your beak

It scared him enough to hit you (this was an instinct of his as well)

Dinner time?

Raph normally puts down your food

Mikey has been nipped too many times

Before the plate even touches the table, your scarfing it down

Your brothers have gotten used to it

It still freaks them out a bit

And no... They don't fight if you go after their food

Once you bit Raph from him trying to stop you

And... That gave everyone else pause

Ultimately you're just a bitier, more feral Raph

[loupy-mongoose]

Slowly, Randy came to his senses.

He didn't get out of bed right away. A sleep that deep and luxurious was hard for him to come by, and he was going to relish it.

What finally convinced him to get up was the smell.

Eggs. Bacon.

Mmmmmmm...

He stretched, remembering the trip and all it entailed.

Rosie...

He sat up and looked around. He vaguely remembered that Perzi had been in here with her when he'd gone to bed, but now they were gone.

He was alone.

He stood up, stretched again, and left the room.

The aroma blasted him as the door opened.

Viviana and Akoya, in human form, were busy in the kitchen. Lav, now in her Mewtwo form, was at a circular table with a plate of syrup-laden pancakes. Beside her, Midas carefully licked and nibbled at his own pancakes, while Momo was messily consuming hers. Randy chuckled at the sight of her.

Guess she'll be needing a bath soon.

Lav looked at him, paused her eating, and smiled. Morning Daddy!

The ladies both turned to him. Viv smiled at her son. Ah, good! You woke up!

Kinda hard to sleep with that in my nose. Mmm!

Viv showed her teeth, her smile turning sly. That was the plan~

I hope you got enough sleep. It's been hours, but I wouldn't blame you if you want more.

Nah. He pulled up a chair beside his children. I'm plenty rested!

His stomach growled. Lav and Midas looked at him, Midas tilting his head in curiosity. Dah hungee?

Randy smiled at the little Mew. Yes. Very. He rubbed Midas' head. Smart boy!

Akoya placed a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast in front of him, then wrapped her arms around his neck from the back. Hope it's good. I know I'm not the best at cooking, but I tried to follow directions the best I could!

Between you and Mom, I'm sure it's fantastic! He turned and pecked her on the cheek. Thank you. Thanks Mom! This and pancakes--that's a lot to make.

Viv set plates for her and Akoya down, smiling warmly at Randy. It's my pleasure! All your happy faces make it no work at all. She watched Momo slap her paws yet again into a puddle of syrup. We'll make sure Momo's bathed as well. You don't need to worry about her.

Randy took a bite, grateful at her words. Then his previous concern resurfaced. ...Where's Persim and Rosemary?

Akoya looked at him, her expression turning slightly defensive. Persim took her out for a bit. He was... really not liking being in the house. She continued before Randy could say anything. We talked it over. He'll be careful. I can't imagine Rosie will want to be apart from him at all anyway.

Randy didn't respond. He poked a bit at the food on his plate as he mulled over it all.

He and I chatted... He... He's sure you're mad at him.

...I was... But I wanna put that aside. I know he's upset about it, so I want to focus on how we can learn from this. He shrugged with a bitter chuckle. I can't exactly claim I was a great father when I started, after all. He lifted another bite to his mouth. I'll find him after I eat. I need to put that water under the bridge.

Randy walked out the back door. Before transforming to seek out his brother-in-law, he looked around the yard. Then, he spotted what he was after.

The blue and white bird, her head tilted up to the morning sunlight.

He smiled softly as he approached her. Hearing his footsteps, she turned to him, her eyes cloudy with cataracts. Hey there, Sivvy.

Sylvia's tiny white beak, chipped and streaked from age, formed into her own smile. Randy!

He took her head in his hands, gently rubbing her head with his fingers. I need to find Akoya's brother, but Mom told me you were out here. So I wanted to say hi.

She trilled happily. You didn't need to, dear boy! I know you have serious business to attend to. I'll still be here when it's settled.

He gave Sylvia's head a soft kiss. Regardless, I'm sorry I missed you yesterday. I hit a wall.

I understand! Please, don't worry about it! You take care of the hurt little one and her poor father, okay? He's worried sick.

Randy nodded, though he knew she couldn't see him. Understood. I'll do my best, Sivvy. He patted her head, backed away, and transformed. Talk to you later.

Good luck with the brother, dear!

And with that, Randy took off.

As he'd learned and practiced, he reached out with his energy. Before too long, he sensed the loud tide that must be Rosemary. He made sure the little bundle in his hand was safe, and set his course for it.

Soon, he spotted Persim floating through the trees and tall grasses. Not sure how to start, Randy cleared his throat.

Ahem.

Persim slowly turned, but not fully. The side of his face that Randy could see was filled with guilt and fear.

Randy smiled before floating to Persim's side. The orange Mew refused to make eye contact.

I'm not mad.

Persim glanced at him. His tiny daughter was clinging tightly to his chest fur, her left foot bound in a miniature splint. Perzi was supporting her with his hand.

Yes, things could've gone better.

But I can say the same about events from my past. Choices I've made...

All we can do is move on and try to do better. Learn from what's happened.

He held out his hand.

Believe me, I know it isn't easy. But Akoya and I are always here to help you, when you need it. ...Not if. When.

Persim looked at his hand, before sighing and taking it in his own.

That's... That's a huge relief... Thank you, Mate.

They exchanged soft smiles before releasing their grips.

Then Randy turned his attention to the little red Mew. He spoke softly to her. Hey, Rosebud. I know you're really scared, and probably don't see me in a good light after taking you from your dad. He handed out his bundle--a small lump of Tamato berry shavings. But I brought you a peace offering.

He held the shavings up by her until she turned. Her eyes were narrowed--a far cry from the usual silent-curiosity they usually displayed. Randy felt his heart break all over again. Would she ever have that look again?

But as he held still, her little nose started twitching, and she leaned toward the berry shreds. She carefully reached out and took some in her tiny little paw, and nibbled on it. Randy smiled, relieved to witness her eating something.

Persim gave them a warm look. You'll win her back, Mate. Just give it time.

Randy sighed as she took more of the shreds from him. Time and spicy shavings.

That's a cute nickname, by the way. Rosebud.

Randy's ear twitched. Huh? Oh, I have been calling her that, haven't I? I didn't even notice.

Mee...?

The timid voice brought his attention back at her. The little Mew was giving him a narrowed side-eye. Realizing he had strayed beyond her reach, he moved the berry shavings closer. She snatched some up and began nibbling again.

He chuckled.

Hopefully this means more spicy shavings than time...

~~~~~~

PREVIOUS NEXT

ARC START

Just so you know, Rosie was fed in the morning. I don't imagine she ate much due to her stress, but she was fed. Randy's just happy to witness her eating.

Also he hasn't put his ring back on yet. XD

[chim-aera]

be good to me

I feel heavy, tired. like dew laden grass wet and scraping stuck to the back of my ankles like plaster of paris, like paper mache dripping and course, glue running down my thighs making every step more and more difficult.

I want to be light. deer light, fawn fast. rabbit racing. I want to bolt and run and run and run. through meadows and glades, let me be Atalanta let me be free. but I sink knee deep into the earth and Gaia gently lifts me out of her mires, setting me carefully onto my own trembling two feet.

everyone is moving quicker then me. flitting like bejeweled little dragonflies into their next chapter, their next page, while I'm left stuttering, stammering in between inkwells trying to wipe the murky stains across my palms trying to force in my own meager scribbles to fit somewhere, anywhere, then my own fragile mindscape.

I'm tired of being a poet im tired of being pathetic

I haven't picked up the pen in months, ages. too long, yet not long enough. I try to hold them down, clench my teeth like stark white enamel shining sentries yet the melonchaly worms its way out of my throat until it's spat into my palm all convoluted and chipper like an owl hacking up a pellet and instead spitting out its own beak.

I'm so tired.

I want to be loved.

gods damn it.

I want to be loved.

I always figured I'd prefer a dear destruction, enjoyable and pleasurable, soak me in honey, bitter with aconite, smile and call me darling as you drown me alive. as hands, rough and tender, crush my windpipe, as it was nearly done oh so long ago.

pull me down by my hair, yank me up by my chin, hold me down. with force, with chains, push me into the floor, the earth, Gaia winces, for I'm no Daphne, be it may, but no bark, no wooden armor will grace this fragile form of mine. no, I'm out in the open as all the hounds' fair game.

call me pretty as you summon forth my destruction, yet put me back together with soft words and praises. I'm used to sewing needles and crimson thread. the seams crude and trying, like everything I ever do if you dare to look close enough.

gods. gods I dont think I want to be destroyed anymore.

I want to be held. I'm tired of this awful, putrid self induced purgatory, let me for once, be held gently, caress my face, cup my cheeks in warm or calloused palms, let me nuzzle into them, desperate, like a cat melting into a caress. let me need you. will I let myself need you?

I've spent a lifetime picking myself apart with embalment tools. scalpels and pliars, neatly dissecting my diversities my dualaties until they were lined up in pretty little jars. an emotional, egregious apothecary if you will. I don't want this anymore.

hold me.

be good to me.

I'm resourceful, yes. like a fox, like a scholar, like a poet, like a fool. I've survived this long on clever little lies and armor sewn from hellebore, ivy coating my skin as a second layer of poison yet it only weakens myself.

I will exist. I will persist.

but gods, I am fragile.

unwind my paper wings, my metal key, see how battered my skull is. my mind clouded and clogged up with words and screaming. insults and fears toxic and tiring. my hands shiver, my body creaks, I want to collapse, into the cool dark dirt. into pillows, down soft and cottony, into someone's arms. hold me gently, hold me firm..

gods, I want to be protected.

that's all I've ever longed for.

but I sheathe my own sword. I've always been my own knight, my own champion, as meager a job I do, i keep myself alive. perhaps this is how Joan of Arc felt, I am not righteous but I understand that madness we deem holy that drives you forward into myth or misery.

In the end, she didnt want to die. no prophecy can warn you of how it feels to be aware, conscious as your soul slips agonizingly slowly from a mortal shell into that shadowed little waiting room we call the afterlife.

I don't want to go out like that.

please.

please.

as much wildness as I still cling onto. the sharpness of my words, the bite in my voice, the curve to my jaw, my teeth, my hands. my fierceness, my sensuality, hides sensitivity. It's armor too, a mask of itself, all honeyed kisses and fae fake frivolity

I'm so scared

I've always been. fear sets into my skull like a second soul. but will I ever discover how to soothe it?

please, please I'd let you destroy me if you asked nicely enough. I'm so used to people wanting to, theres some sick joy in watching something already so broken shatter into nothingness just to pick itself back up on trembling, trivial tenacity isn't there?

kintsugi.

let me dip my scars in gold, glaze my fractured fragments in ichor.

but as pretty as it may be, no amount of metal changes the fact that vase is still broken.

that I'm still broken.

gods. please.

I want to be held gently, because they want to.

"be good to me, I beg of you."

I'm so good at begging.

so please, please.

be gentle, I break easily, and I'm so tired of forging myself back on Hephaestus's irons.

I just want to be held.

please, be good to me.