#in canon except for confidants he never lets on his real personality...

[findyourlovely]

Lots of speculation on when these two fell in love in the original timeline— here’s my personal head canon:

Michonne falls for Rick when he kills the claimers. I always felt like this was true and when Danai confirmed it I just knew I could trust their vision with the new spinoff. I started shipping Richonne together in the “must’ve been something else” era but I wasn’t actually expecting AMC to have the balls to follow through. but Michonne’s “you’re okay because I’m okay” moment sparked the hope that this relationship was really happening, just off the symbolism of what this moment meant for her.

She’s never felt like she had someone who could step up to protect her but Rick fully proves himself in that episode. That is a man who would do anythinggggg to protect his family. She doesn’t judge him, she understands he did what was necessary. And after the way she lost Andre, she could never trust her heart to a man unless he had that level of grit to protect his own.

I think she’s consciously aware of her love for him as they entered those gates at Alexandria. She doesn’t tend to initiate physical contact with Rick, but this moment with him and the kids in the car is an exception. This is her recognizing exactly how hard this journey has been for Rick and she knows that he did it anyway. For her. He lets her lead him into the future and she’s starting to wonder if it could be one where maybe they build something together for real(it’s already real she’s literally a mother to his kids and his closest confidant and he stares at her ass at every opportunity).

Ricks shenanigans with Jessie set things back but I still think she already knew her own feelings. It’s just not something she would let herself really think about until they’re in a stable place.

I think for Rick, he starts to fall in love with her after she tracks them back in S4. I don’t think he knows it yet but the way he slid down that door in happiness cannot ever be anything but loverboy behavior. This man is elated to see her and 100% would have been okay just staying holed up in that house indefinitely. She makes Carl laugh. And the next day he straight up asks her to commit to coparenting with him, so clearly Rick isn’t trying to risk a separation ever again. Michonne’s presence restores his hope. And he loves watching her sweet relationship with Carl.

Rick consciously understands the depth of his feelings for her outside those gates of Alexandria(or in the moments leading up to it). Because that man would have never walked into that community if not for Michonne’s sake(not even mentioning the 100 mile march to get there). He knows that well enough to tell her so! And now he tells her he’s struggling with how “the rules keep changing” in part because he knows she’s the one he wants to let in, and the implications of pursuing that are monumental for him and his kids. Who else matters enough for this much self reflection?

Ofc we have to wait for Rick to deal with his PTSD rebound first, but the foundation is right here. These two were already it for each other, they just needed to feel safe enough to lean into it.

Y’all let me know if your timeline is any different.

[solemn-marauders]

Personal Sebastian Sallow Headcanons (pt. 1/?)

◆ He's an October Scorpio - The characteristics line up so well and I really like the idea of him being one of the older students in his class ◆ Is the younger twin - Anne never lets him forget it. ◆ Sebastian's looks favor his father's - This plays a role in Solomon's hostility towards him. ◆ He’s Scottish and was born and raised either in New Towne Edinburgh or on the outskirts - Edinburgh in the 1800s was a foul place to live, at least in the city center, Old Towne. - I see his parents being drawn to Edinburgh. It has such a vast history and holds a lot of knowledge, but they knew they wanted to start a family and decided to settle down away from the city proper. - I don't see them having a grand mansion, more so a comfortable townhome ◆ His parents are published authors - The funds from this is what allowed them buy property in New Towne. - They left a modest inheritance to the twins that they will receive when they turn 17. ◆ After their deaths, Solomon sold the house and most of the items within to gather money to afford to care for two children. - Sebastian and Anne were able to stow away some of the parents' belongs, such as; their favorite books, jewelry, pocket watch, photo albums, and letters. ◆ His parents have portraits at Hogwarts - After the portrait versions of themselves learned of their real-life deaths, they asked to be stowed away when it came time for Sebastian and Anne to attend Hogwarts to avoid a possible unhealthy fixation on the paintings. (Imagine a scenario similar to when Harry found the Mirror of Erised and visited it every night to stare into it.) ◆ He's a virgin - Since I've given them an October birthday, the Sallow twins were 14 when Anne was cursed the summer before their 4th year. After she was cursed, the entirety of his focus and drive went into Anne and finding a cure. The only exceptions to this, pre-5th year, were his academic studies and his friendship with Ominis. - In his 3rd year, a 5th year girl took an interest in Sebastian and propositioned him to teach him the ways of physical pleasure. She was pretty, older, and he liked the attention. She thought he was cute and liked the idea of being the one in control. He was 14, she was 16. It never went past oral though. - Sebastian didn't like the idea of "ruining" (using era-accurate verbiage here) a girl because he would kill anyone who did that to Anne. - The 5th year girl played a role in giving him the confidence (charm, flirtation, etc.) we experience later. This led him to snogging other girls while in his 3rd year, but only those in years above him. He cringed at the thought of Anne hearing firsthand about his escapades from someone in their own year. - He had his first kiss at the age of 12 though. A traveling merchant's daughter who was the same age and visited Feldcroft for a few days before moving on to the next town. It was extremely awkward but also adorable. - Sebastian is canonically very well-read. That does not exclude literature on the topic of intercourse just because he's a virgin. He's read everything he's been able to find and has his own hidden copy of the Kama Sutra stashed away. ◆ He's naturally athletic - Working in the Feldcroft fields while growing up has kept him healthy and in-shape. Being an avid dueler has also helped. - He tried out for the Quidditch team his 2nd and 3rd years, but lost out to older students. He had planned to try again, but Anne's curse changed everything. ◆ He becomes a Beater for the Slytherin team his 6th year - You cannot tell me that this man doesn't become more broad and muscled as he grows. With shoulders and arms like that, his competitiveness/prowess, and his desire to impress Thea (MC), he becomes one of the best Beaters Hogwarts has ever seen.

[perhaps-sunlight]

Self-rec time! What are your favorite five fics that you've written and why? After replying to this ask, feel free pass on to five other writers to spread the love. 💗

Hi, thank you for the ask 💗 It's difficult to pick, not because I think all of my fics are amazing, but because writing takes a lot of effort so I only make time to write the ideas that I love. Right now, as a survival technique, my favorite fics are my three WIPs (one in each of my fandoms).

Focusing on my completed fics, in descending order:

5 -- In Your Image (Harry Potter, Tomarry):

It's rare for me to finish writing a fic and look back upon it with the feeling that I accomplished everything I intended from the outset. This is one of the exceptions. Aside from phrasing and word choices that can always be improved, I am satisfied with my Tomarry take on The Picture of Dorian Gray, and I'm especially proud of the climax and ending.

4 -- Inventing Paradoxes (Harry Potter, Tomarry)

This is a sentimental favorite. I came back to the Harry Potter fandom during the pandemic as a coping mechanism, so I wanted to write something lighthearted and happy (though one could argue I should've picked a different ship). With the Paradoxes series, I regained confidence in writing, a skill that had grown rusty, and I also got a lot of support from my readers, which made me feel like part of a community during a difficult period.

3 -- Perhaps Love (Digimon, Takari)

Another sentimental favorite: I first started planning / writing this fic when I was a teenager, upset with the non-canonical ending to my first ship. The heydays of the fandom have long past by the time I posted, but I was able to find readers who felt similarly disappointed and appreciated the ending that I provided. As with many of my stories, Perhaps was written around three pivotal scenes, and when I reread them years later, I can still appreciate the emotional impact that I was aiming for.

2 -- (never) let me go (Harry Potter, Tomarry)

I've always been and am still fascinated by the concept of death. As a teenager, I wanted to write a story where Harry struggles with the concept of immortality as the Master of Death because it means leaving his loved ones behind, but I didn't have the life experience to pull the story together. After discovering Tomarry, I reframed my original idea into a story about the acceptance of death: both from Harry, who doesn't want to lose someone he loves, and from Tom, who's afraid of moving on.

It's sort of a strange story, and I still find things I'd like to improve when I reread it. However, I was happy that it found readers who enjoyed its strangeness and super flattered that it was bound into a little book!

1 -- Once Upon a Fairy Tale (Digimon, Takari)

Like In Your Image, this is one of the few stories where I feel that I satisfactorily translated my complete vision to paper (and more). I enjoyed exploring how two characters can fall in love and yet still not be together, a theme that I revisit in other works, whether consciously or subconsciously. And when I reread the story, I can discern the hopes and dreams of a person who has yet to experience the ups and downs of real life, which fills me with bittersweet nostalgia for the innocence I once had.

Thanks for reading my rambling!

I'll tag @moonytear, @isalisewrites, and @kippipies (but no pressure at all!).

[jesse-cosay]

pls share no exit au i want to cry

The no exit au is exactly what it sounds like. Jesse gets his first exit and Lake can't come with. There are not return trips on the train, not for impossible/unsolvable problems at least, and Jesse can't get back to them.

This was partly inspired by Weevilo's fic, which really got me thinking abt the possibilities of what would happen if Jesse hadn't come back!

In this au they didn't run into the apex, and were on the train a little longer because there was no Big Confrontation to push Jesse's number over the edge.

Jesse gets off the train and still tells Nate everything, Nate believes him to some extent, but his parents don't. Because really, who would? It sounds crazy and Jesse has been a missing person for months.

Eventually, he goes through some therapy (real therapy) once things settle down, but it's a struggle because everyone and everything is telling him to let go of Lake. To move on.

But Lake is still alive. Still out there. And it's a lot harder to move on from something (someone) when you know that they don't want you to.

Without any real support (because while his family loves him, they can't truly believe the stories Jesse tells them without proof), Jesse gets a bit depressed. He hangs out with Nate a lot more too, since Nate says he believes him.

Nate, consequently, feels a bit of responsibility towards Jesse. He sees how his parents not believing him hurts Jesse, he sees how distressed Jesse can be after a particularly bad day, and he sees just how sad Jesse is when he talks about Lake or the train. Like he misses it.

With Nate as Jesse's only confident, it takes a toll for him, too. And after a few years of the two of them stewing the train does come back.

But it comes for Nate.

Who (though not immediately) soon stumbled across Lake. A shiny metal person, just like his brother had described to him. Except different. Older and taller- not as warm and friendly as he'd pictured.

It doesn't take long for Lake to make the connection, to see the resemblance. Nate and Jesse looked so similar. They promise to help him off the train because Nate is a connection to Jesse they never thought they'd have again.

Nate gives Lake hope. He tells them stories, he's silly and happy to explore the train- something that Lake hasn't been in a long time.

And Lake sees the way Nate tries to take others pain and make it his own. They see the way Jesse's grief has become Nate's. How he feels responsible. And even when Nate is helping them, whether he realizes it or not, Lake reminds him that those problems aren't his. That he can't control other people or how they feel. That it's not his fault.

I should also mention that Nate's number starts out broken, because really his problem is that Lake is on the train (the reason the train picks up Jesse in canon), but once he learns not to make other people's problems his own, it zeros instead. Because Lake being on the train was never his problem to begin with.

Then it's Lake and Nate standing at the exit, with Jesse on the other side.

And it's- they can't touch. They can't go through the door, because it's Nate's exit. But they still talk a little.

"I waited for you. I was always waiting for you. I'm not gonna go anywhere this time."

Nate and Lake argue about his exit, because Lake wants him to go back and Nate has decided that- while Lake being stuck on the train isn't his problem, he doesn't really care. He may have learned his lesson and got his exit, but he isn't going to make the same mistake and leave them there.

So they go to the engine and confront one-one much like in canon, devising a plan before they get there instead of after.

And they all live happily ever after!

[brown-spider]

Hi! I really love your Spidersona Sunny, they're such a mood. Ngl they crack me up with how done they already are with the whole hero gig😂 and I was curious about something.

Do you think Sunny and Miles would get along? They seem like they would be great friends for lots of reasons, like their shared love of art and how similar you said their worlds are. Also maybe a shared kind of disillusionment with heroing, cause let's be real, there ain't no way Miles is coming out of any of this even slightly okay. Highkey think he was a little depressed before he got jumped by hundreds of spider people and after having the friends and mentor he was desperate enough to give up his passions for, only for them to gaslight and betray the hell out of him, plus whatever fucked up shit that's for sure happening in Btsv, it's gonna get so much worse. That and I think Miles would find Sunny's ability to juke the canon, kinda like he does, so awesome. Deadpool joking about Sunny avoiding plot trauma by running off screen is everything. They just say, "nah, fam I'm good" and just leaves🤣

Miles: If you teach me how to juke canon I'll watch Deadpool for you.

Sunny: Deal

I feel like Miles could make friends with anybody tbh 😂

Miles and Sunny's attitudes towards heroing are a bit different, i think. Miles stepped up to the mantle after building up confidence that he deserves it, that he can be someone ppl rely on. He's outraged by the idea that Spiderman as a symbol of heroism/hope can't "always" win or can't do "both." He also has bit of pettiness around the lack of reward/freedom/gratitude for being Spiderman; it comes with the territory of being a teenager who does selfless deeds on the daily only to get grounded or have his roomate not bother to dial 3 numbers or be told that he isnt allowed to stop his dad from dying-

Ahem.

Whereas Sunny doesn't have a sense of duty or optimism towards being Spiderman. They don't WANT to be someone people rely on, they NEVER believed that one person could "always" or "do both", they're resigned to the things happening around them.

Sunny doesn't know about canon events, courtesy of their Peter not telling them because they freaked out at the mere concept of a multiverse and want nothing to do with HQ outside of removing anomalies from their own dimension. Deadpool makes 4th wall breaking jokes but Sunny sees it the same way you and I would react if someone pretended to break the fourth wall; its just a joke. Like "haha, what if we were in a simulation." Of course, ever since they found out about the multiverse, those jokes became much LESS funny to them 😬

So yeah, Sunny dodging canon doesn't come from a determination to live up to what they think Spiderman should be, or out of defiance of The Way Things Are like how it is for Miles, its the exact opposite. They're avoiding responsibility and expectations, they've decided that nothing they do will make a Real difference except to make them More Depressed when they inevitably fail.

If Miles told them about canon events, their response would probably be something like "......... I wish you hadn't told me that." Because what are they supposed to do?? Not only are they being told that Fate has guaranteed certain tragedies occurred to hundreds of thousands of heroes WAY BETTER THAN THEM- but ALSO that those same far-more-skilled-heroes have dedicated themselves to making sure those tragedies continue to happen. So tell them, what the heck are they supposed to do??

They wouldn't do anything. But they also wouldn't stop Miles. They hate the concept of fate and would hope he breaks the algorithm with his friends and saves the day, because its way easier to place their faith in people who can Actually make change than to get involved and get themself hurt.

[ratasum]

So, why we made Zojja a councilor.

At its core, Zojja's story has consistently been about running away.

It's not overt, but it's pretty clear: from the moment Snaff died, it's been about keeping everyone at arm's length so she doesn't hurt like that again. She isn't your friend. She isn't anyone's friend. The only person she lets get anywhere close to inside her circle canonically is the Savant.

And even then, she specifically treats you like a lackey and even calls you "Minion" (even if she corrects herself).

If she lets other people in, she loses. They can see that she's hurting deeply. She's a young woman, and though we never get to know her real age, it's implied she wasn't older than her early 20s. And Snaff loved her like a daughter, and she loved him, even if she bucked back against his ideas. He encouraged it, even. And then he was gone, because they let people in.

She never needed anyone to not see her for just her genius or to "want her just for her" because it never played into it, and it was never an issue at any part of the story that we see her in. She knew she was smart and that was a non-issue- she was a genius! A highly experienced golemancer, heir to Snaff's legacy! There was no inkling of her feeling like people were using her- one of her key flaws was her tendency to use others to keep distance.

She is confident, stubborn, self assured, and above all? Kind of selfish! She doesn't need other people except when they're useful. She doesn't need help unless when she dictates it. It's what makes her tension with Kudu so interesting. He went a similar path, and she didn't realize she was starting to walk it too.

My friend and I had played with Zojja being still in contact with the group for several years in our rp stuff, though we had considered reworking it with the release of The Expac. And after... events, we decided to mostly chuck it. Not just because we were a couple of the many disappointed with what we got but because Zojja's story had no line through to the story she'd had since the jump...

...except that she was still running away. Pushing away people she knew. People were reaching out to her, trying to keep up, but she refused it. She didn't want to be seen or perceived as weak. This had nothing to do with her being needed and everything to do with Zojja's continued push to not be seen as a person with feelings and fears. The stuff about her not being reached out to give talks or teaching anymore doesn't fit either- she was never doing that to begin with. She had other irons in the fire she was busy working with, and other than taking Taimi as her apprentice, she's NEVER done more than push heavily for the Snaff Savant prize to honor her late mentor.

If anything, all it did was stretch this out in the long term. It wasn't an arc or healing, it was just more of her running from everything. Taking on ascension wasn't healing it was a permanent hiding place. And it wasn't satisfying because we weren't allowed to sit with it. We got no mention of Snaff, she brushed off Taimi despite preparing to do to her what happened to herself with Snaff, and they boiled her problems down to... not feeling wanted. Even worse that they presented her continuing to run and refuse to let people in (even the wizards- they're encouraging her to ascend and leave everything she loved behind, remember) as a good thing.

We even accept it without any pushback. We don't even get time to sit with her. She gets fifteen minutes, is Wizard Lobotomized off-screen, and then promptly hurried out of the story so we don't have to worry. We know where Zojja is she just doesn't give a shit about you anymore! That's great; you should be happy!

(To say nothing about the fact that the ONLY commander she should've greeted with fondness is an asuran commander. She has next to zero interaction with anyone else. I honestly just cannot stand what they did with her; there were a billion ways they could've done it and made it feel organic and I would've even accepted her ascending but it was shoehorned in so hard and we got no time to see any of her "growth." We just got told about it and that was that.)

It doesn't jive with anything else. To say nothing about the galaxy sized plot hole her being missing for eight years provides when Taimi couldn't keep a secret if her mouth was glued shut and WE KNOW SHE WAS REACHING OUT. So was Logan, and he doesn't say anything. We deal with Rata Sum repeatedly, nothing.

Zojja was famous. She wouldn't have just never been mentioned as missing.

That aside, we wanted to play with the fact that her being there was just a continuation of her running away from her own grief. I didn't want to let her bury it, especially knowing she'd refused people who DID care.

We also wanted to play with the criticisms of Rata Sum anet has hammered in. Zojja was harmed by the culture there as much as the Savant is, as much as Taimi was. Someone needs to fix it. Making it a councilor who literally has two lines in the personal story just feels cheap. Making it Zojja, finally realizing she doesn't need to keep pushing people away, doesn't need to keep running, doesn't need to blame everyone else for her own grief and guilt.

Going back to Rata Sum, taking on an open council seat and facing down the system that hurt her so damn bad, hurt Taimi, hurt every young asura coming out of the city, felt more organic in the end. We still have her go to Amnytas and stay there for a little over a year. There's genuine tension, a back and forth on whether she should stay with these people who tell her she's so special and her magic is so good and important and powerful or return to Tyria to face her pain head on and actually let the people around her love her and help her heal.

She decides not to join the cult in the end. And it'll be hard work- using people is what she does. We see it in the early PS. And it's hard! A lot harder than having the cult wipe everything about her chronic pain and injuries with Super Special Magic (as someone with chronic pain let me tell you how much THAT pissed me off) and letting them just wipe away all the bad memories and pain by making her an immortal who simply does not care about the Little Things back on Tyria.

She goes home, and eventually takes up an open council seat to push back against Flax. No one's more stubborn than her. She will drag Rata Sum into the modern era if it takes forever. She'll take time to heal, let people in. Let the people that care about her actually care about her.

Healing takes time, not magic. She'll get there.

[knightinink]

2, 3, 5, 15 Damien and Pip

Ooh I get several! I'm excited, lets get into it!

(ask game here!)

2. A canon or headcanon hill I will die on

Damien: I know I've talked about this a couple times here, but I will never concede when it comes to discussing Damien's behavior & why he does the things he does & acts the way he does. My main argument: He does evil because he has to, not because he wants to. What do I mean by this? I'm talking about how this mean & evil antichrist is merely a front he puts on to protect himself, because underneath it all, who he truly is, is a very insecure little kid, who never got the chance to really make lasting friendships & develop his social skills, so he puts up walls of anger to protect this vulnerable part of himself that he doesn't want others to see, because he doesn't know what will happen if they do. He is afraid. Very afraid. (Obviously the only one to see past this mean & evil persona is Pip, & everything is okay when he does).

Pip: His burn scars & his insecurities surrounding them. (They range from his face, down his arms & fingertips, & down his torso, with some even on his legs, but they're barely noticeable there). Once he was healed-up enough, he tried everything he could to cover them up, ranging from clothing to makeup, but there wasn't a long-term solution to covering them up & he was not willing to accept that. It took him a long time to get comfortable with them, & even into adulthood, while it doesn't affect him as often, he still has days where he doesn't want to leave the house. Damien feels awful about making Pip feel this way, because it's his fault in the first place that Pip now looks the way he does, & tries his best everyday to build the Brit's confidence & make him see himself the way Damien does.

3. Obscure headcanon

Damien: Horns!!! As he grows & matures, his horns follow suit. They start off as just small little black nubs that barely poke out through his hair, & he couldn't be more excited to show them off to everyone. As he gets a little older they start to grow longer, & eventually take on a golden hue, similar to his father's. He was absolutely terrified however, the first time they fell off. He couldn't have been older than ten when he burst into his father's room one morning, holding onto them as blood slowly dripped down his face, alongside his tears. Satan quickly calmed him & explained that his horns will shed, & that they will grow back bigger & brighter than the ones before them.

Pip: The Pirrip family has a weak immune system, explaining why all of Pip’s family died but him. Pip's is still weak, & he even brushed fingers with death one time when he was still living in England, where he caught scarlet fever & just barely survived. He didn't come away from it unscathed, however, as he has some minor respiratory issues that causes him to have lower-than-average stamina for an eight year old.

5. Best personality trait

Damien: He's not too sure he has a good personality trait, which causes him to become even more insecure & guarded. Pip tells him that it is his ability to read others very easily & very accurately, & can understand where people are coming from. It's not empathy or sympathy, but some kind of unknown allows him to just get other people, even if he doesn't realize it or understand it himself. Ironic, considering he can do this for nearly anybody & everybody except himself. He's charismatic in a way that doesn't make sense on the surface, but there is a lot about him that is shrouded in mystery, even to himself.

Pip: This kid has the patience of a saint, & will wait as long as he needs to. Perhaps, some think, this is why he's stayed with Damien for song long, as he's the only one that seems to be able to handle the antichrist & his outbursts. Patience is eventually rewarded, however, & Pip was rewarded with getting to know the real Damien Thorn.

15. Worst thing they’ve ever done

Damien: He nearly started an apocalypse. He had just turned eighteen, & had officially taken his father's place (or more accurately, his father's advisor's place) for the throne as the King Of Hell. This official transfer of power came with a lot of literal power, which caused his body & mind to go into an overload, causing him to take on this beastial demon form that was stories tall & towered over everyone. He went on a rampage & eventually broke free to the surface, where he caused dozens of casualties in the town of South Park. The only one able to bring him out of this state was Pip, who Damien nearly killed in the process. Damien remembers none of this, other than the terrified look on the Brit's face when he started to come-to.

Pip: Killing Miss Havisham & setting the rest of The Satis House ablaze. Despite having rescued Estella, the old woman's screams & wails as she burned alive still haunt him to this day, & he still sometimes has nightmares about it, hearing the woman in the back of his mind. He felt even worse when he broke things off with Estella once he left for the States, as she had nowhere to live, & no family to go to. He had killed her "mother" & made her an orphan, just like himself; a fate he wouldn't wish upon anyone.

[hsr-texts]

I made another HSR oc so I hope you don't mind me putting his mini lore here. I just made him a couple minutes cuz I remembered that HSR canonically has social media (probably) sooo-

Social Media Influencer OC anyone?

~~~

Name: Yuhang

Pronouns: He/Him

Path: Destruction

Element: Quantum

~~~

Yuhang is a famous Social Media Influencer. Even outside the Loufu he is popular and talked about sometimes. As all social media influencers are, it took him awhile to rise up to where he is now, but as a long life species he had plenty of time. Some people enjoy what he does, the content he posts aren’t much. Some photos of himself, some of him promoting something, saying something inspiration (and other things, tbh idk what a social media influencer does in full-) However others think he’s let the popularity get to his head, while his fans thinks he’s just your average influencer that just so happens to have a big following

(But of course no OC is complete without trauma y’know)

Both are incorrect, to some degree (mainly his haters) Yuhang honestly hates attention, having eyes on him and having people treat him differently due to his “status”

So why did he become an influencer if he knew there was a chance this would happen? His younger sister. During an attack where many mara stuck monsters invaded, he was desperate to find his sister to take her to safety, if only he was fast enough then he wouldn’t have to have seen his sister dead.

A funeral was held and after it, he was allowed to look through some of his sister's items to keep as a memory. As he looked around, a diary fell out of a bookshelf (her room was preserved until this day) and landed on a certain page. One of the passages caught his eye.

“When I’m older. I want to be famis, to bring peeple motivation to continu on. To show everyone life is worth it and to follow there dreams. Is that cheesy? Maybee, but I want to help my broter to be more confident, so we can be famis togeter”

Despite her obvious spelling mistakes as she is young, Yuhang was able to comprehend what she wrote. He didn’t think he’d ever get over his fear of being looked at. But…

And that’s how it started, although it wasn’t his sisters final wish, it was a fish she had, a wish she wanted to do to in hopes to make others happy. And if she was going to be happy if she saw her brother cracking out of his shell? He was willing to put away his fears.

He never expected to be popular but he continued, and deep down he hoped that wherever his sister was watching him. That she was proud.

He never got over his fear, but he hides it well when he’s out and about. At home though he’s more like his usual quiet self as he writes stories and poetry.

His “online” personality is an energetic yet laid-back man. Always willing to help and wants to look on the bright side of things. His content shows this as well usually.

His more real self is, as I said. A quiet person, he’s more soft spoken and enjoys his alone time.

~~~

Honestly I love him alr despite me creating him just today. I should probably work on him and Aniya more before creating another one shouldn't I...

-🫧

Aww how lovely! He reminds me of the oc I'm working on actually!

Except she's not from Xianzhou and is from Perlas, a sea planet based off of the Philippines.

I'm still working out the specifics but I have a general idea now thanks to everyone's posts :D

[yuukei-yikes]

you are so right about takane and kano being besties. they are late night gossip buddies!!!!!! any contradicting canon can rip that from my cold dead hands

they would 100% goofingly share the worst hot takes with each other as some kinda game. or like. point at something random and be like "i need your strongest opinion on this right now." just…. the friendship vibe that i can only succinctly sum up as "late night gossip buddies"

and personally i feel like post-str takane would probably be the person kano would be most comfortable with confiding in because she's just the right ratio of outsider-to-insider. i mean yobanashi deceive is basically just kano traumadumping to ene right lol

LIKE FOR REAL!!!! EXACTLY!!!! SRRY IN MY LAST ASK I ALREADY WENT OVER KANO&TAKANE PARALLELS BUT MAN THEYRE EVERYTHING TO ME THEY ARE BEST FRIENDS!!!! chaos duo for real.

kano making all these parallels. knowing takane is just like him fr because she's also playing a role, she's got the same kind of twisted personality, how out of all people he chooses HER to open up to for the first time, says he's not looking to make her dislike him, says he's jealous of her ability to doubt people & her sense of self, also in the novel route THEY DIE TOGETHER....

he sees himself in her and how he'd like to be. like theyre so so SO similar. like him she is playing a role yet takane manages to know who she is and what she wants or likes or hates. like him she's also someone who's lost their most precious person yet manages to move forward and keep going without resenting anyone and in fact going out of her way to help someone else. kano is so insanely jealous of it all💗

sorry. i will go insane about takane AGAIN i literally just did in the other ask but teehee MORE

takane's resilience, determination and will to live and help and love and forgive despite everything always gets me. she's so warm and loving *punches wall* its why i love her so much and also why i hate second manga route so much. takane would never kill herself. shoves this in ur face

like that's why takane gets opening eyes in the first place!!!!! opening eyes was the ability that was allowing azami to appear before others inside the daze and once she gives it to takane, azami is at the brink of disappearance (holds head remembering azami keeps giving out her snakes as a way to save as much people as possible even if it means dying BUT THATS NOT WHAT WERE TALKING ABOUT) but this translates into takane as well. like even if she is dead she wants to be out here. she will make a place for herself. takane has the will to live, and will always make it out of anywhere as long as she's got herself, even if she's alone. she literally projects herself into existence even when dead thats how damn stubborn she is. determined to tell haruka her feelings as SOON as she realises them without thinking of what that means for their relationship because that's just not her priority, her priority is to let him know in the first place. AUUUGGHH. TAKANE BEST CHARACTER EVER I LOVE U TAKANE also why harutaka is so awesome because it's cute that out of everyone its TAKANE with all these characteristics who gets the love story arc and then actually manages to have a happy ending with someone as loving and caring as haruka!!! and it goes both ways!! except im not talking abt haruka so!!! sniff sniff... str harutaka... (holds head)

erm. yeah. anyways. sorry for going crazy again. i just love takane💗 LITERALLY I JUSY MAKE EVERYTHING ABT HARUTAKA SORRY OK RIGHT KANOBACK TO KANO

i think kano is the kind to notice all these things and be like Man. wtf. but like i said!!! i hate the antagonistic light of it. i know kano's an ass and thats sorta the point, but isn't he like. like the shit he does to takane and the way he talks of her from his pov grazes the unlikable. because we all love piece of shit morally gray characters like kano like i LOVE kano, he's such an interesting character and i love all the nuance u need when consuming kagepro and seeing everything he does but shit likethe way he acts with takane goes a little over the line to me bc it has no real basis other than angry at takane by proxy to shintaro and/or the jealousy (but then again its not like the jealousy is made into such a big deal in the first place and its just a passing comment) like it just seems unfair and uncalled for. like he's REALLY taking it out on her and then played as a joke.

SO TO ME. KANO HELPING TAKANE WITH HER BODY MEANS A LOT. he can go cry outside LATER. to me that is his way of apologizing too. in his little twisted way!!! like not only is here ur body but i will hold you and dry you and get you clothes and some food and water. takane allowing someone to pick her up and see her when vulnerable and kano helping someone his sister adored it just rewires my brain. theyre both silent thru it all but make it through. AUUUGGHHHH IT WOULDVE BEEN SO GOOOOD

AND YEAH EVERYTHING U SAID 10000%% takane being the perfect ratio outsider to insider is SUCH A PERFECT WAY TO PUT IT AUUGGHH also gossip buddies prank masterminds BEST. FRIENDS. FOREVER. for real!!!!

[lollytea]

Hunter finished the Cosmic Frontier books and was ravenous for more to read so Luz pointed him in the direction of fanfiction.

Hunter is a staunch completist when it comes to what he reads. If he never managed to finish the book series, it would have bothered him immensely. And as a person completely unfamiliar with the concept of fanfiction, he adapts the same mindset. If Hunter does not read all 28k fics in the Cosmic Frontier archive, can he even consider himself a real fan?

This results in him spending hours clicking on every single fic (No exceptions!) and reading it thoroughly. He's such an enthusiastic reader and fan in general that his comments are always lengthy essays where he gushes about all the details in the fics that he likes. I can not stress enough that Hunter has nothing but good intentions. He wants to happily nerd out to other people who like the same stuff as him. He's not here to be a bitch.

However, Hunter has a very hard time understanding the concept of "Alternative interpretations". Like. He has extensively studied and analyzed the Cosmic Frontier books. He's gathered all the extra tidbits and trivia and lore that exists. He bought a human realm tablet just to browse the wiki. He practically is the wiki.

So basically, Hunter believes himself a reliable authority on everything Cosmic Frontier related. This results in him pointing out every inconsistency, inaccuracy and non canon compliant detail in every fic that he reads. And...I have to state once again, he is not trying to be a bitch. He thinks he's being helpful. He even adds a bunch of smiley faces to his corrections. But he's so confident in his own knowledge of the subject and so bad at tone that he comes across as smug and conceited. There are people in CF forums who want his ass crucified because he just never shuts the fuck up. On his "Um actually-!" bullshit under every single post, he is infuriating.

Anyway back to the homophobic thing. Hunter does not understand that just because he interpreted O'Bailey and Avery as brothers, that does not mean that this is an objective fact. Because he's Hunter and when it comes to Cosmic Frontier, he is always right.

So he considers writing them as a romance to be an inaccurate depiction so he likes to "helpfully" let the author know so they don't make that mistake again.

Man spent like two weeks reading a 300k Slow Burn and once he's done he's like "This was excellently written!! What an awesome use of the lore from chapter 17 from book 5 that is rarely elaborated on. I have one note though! O'Bailey and Avery aren't in love! Don't feel bad about making that mistake though! There's over 3000 people in the archive who did the same thing. But don't worry, I've been letting them know! :) Anyway, I also like the--"

Hunter is very new to fandom spaces. Hunter is very eager to be involved in fandom spaces. But he just....has to learn a few things.

Eventually, his stickler-ness over canon compliance will loosen a bit. And the world will never be the same once his Werewolf!O'Bailey fic drops.

Hunter keeps getting in trouble for leaving comments on Avery/O'Bailey slash fics where he politely explains that they're actually more like brothers and the love they have for each other is not supposed to be romantic.

He's like "Luz, I got called homophobic today. What does that mean?"

Luz, swiveling around in her desk chair, wondering how the FUCK her fruity little freak of a friend possibly managed this. But then when he explains what he did, her soul leaves her body.

"Don't..." She begins patiently. "Don't do that."

"But they were wrong."

"Don't do that."

[tzrv-arch]

DEVELOPMENT MARCHES ON... With the events of Fantasia come to a close and everything seemingly falling back into its old place while everyone falls into their old routines, for Ivan the developments of his challenge and the temporary realm means change.

At the end of his challenge he’s looked at what defines him, how he defines himself and how he lets himself be defined. Returning to his world temporarily gave him the push he needed to move on and resolve himself to his new purpose. 

Fantasia, while temporarily allowing him a form that makes it easier to interact with others, was the first steps towards trying to approach others not as king, but as person. A lack of human appearance makes it harder once more, but it left him wanting to be part of the people here.

That means, he’ll be around more places in Spirale. Although the likeliest places to meet him remain the Fibonacci library and Savior’s Respite, he’s roaming about wherever his height permits him.

In a minimum effort to adjust to the modern age order to “facilitate” communication, he will forego his archaic speech... exceptions when he wants to be pompous or when he slips. He’s 100% able to parse most of it as is (as all other Servants are too), he’s just not used to speaking it himself. 

Peaaasaaants....? Big WIP, but he’ll be more open to participating in things beneath his status. Got a pride vs curiosity thing going here.

With dropping some of the royal pretense and his actual personality surfacing, naturally he’ll be contradicting some impressions he left on other characters. He’s far ruder, direct and sardonic than he’s left most others believe he is. On the other hand he’ll also let some teasing and a shimmer of a boisterous personality shine through. You could say from now on he’ll talk with strangers kind of like he’s been talking with Drake so far, except worse since he’ll be worse with her too??

actually let me apologize here for him

alignment’s still locked to lawful despite it all tho hahaha. in fact he’s gotten far more lawful-aligned after all and is fairly well-grounded thanks to both gudao and gudako’s interactions with him. this will be updated in his app soon.

[keigosbirdie]

FEMALE READER VERSION

Of all Hawks’ secrets, you are the most well-kept.

Version: Female Reader version | Male Reader Version Links: Gifset (art only) | Mood Music

NIGHTHAWK Rating: Explicit   |   Word Count: 13k  | Art: 14 animations, 2 stills (Technically no spoilers, but if you aren’t caught up on the events of the manga you’ll be missing important context. The fic takes place after Hawks’ meeting with the commission.) Synopsis: Casual was the word you used when you first agreed to sleep together. As weeks turned into months turned into a year, those quick and dirty nights blossomed into private moments that earned him little pieces of you. Warnings: Dom!Hawks, Nurse!Reader, animalistic behavior, rough sex, quirk/feather play, light bondage, biting, praise kink, hurt/comfort, secret relationship, talk of past lovers, mentions of death, panic attacks, PTSD, mention of a past, non-canon event. Spicy, then bitter, then sweet.

There was nothing exceptional about your life from an outsider’s perspective. You lived in an apartment on the outskirts of Jaku City, unmarried and childless. During the day you attended medical school where you studied for your doctorate. During the evening you worked as a nurse in the intensive care unit. Then, when you were home, you sat alone for dinner at a kitchen table meant for two.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

For the past year, however, an occasional tap at your sixteenth-story window would break up the lonely monotony. The tap was quite a scandalous secret, not that anyone would believe you if you let it slip. Even you still had a hard time accepting the bizarre reality of the situation; but it was real. Just as real his voice, which you could hear echoing faintly through your apartment.

You glanced up from your lukewarm dinner and dropped your fork. For a long moment, you sat in silence, listening intently until you heard it again. It was him; it was his voice. Your heart pounded against your ribs as you shoved out of your chair and jogged to the window. The part between your curtains opened, but when you peeked through you saw only the glow of city lights below a blanket of darkness.

A frown found your face, and a sigh spilled past your lips. You heard his voice; you would never mistake it for another. It echoed casually against your dim walls again, and you turned your head towards the sweet sound. The television was on in the living room. Your heart dropped at the realization. The little square thing sat on your end table and taunted you with his image. 

There he was. Hawks, the winged hero, being interviewed by a woman in a pantsuit. It wasn’t often he did interviews, so you left your dinner to go cold in favor of watching the program.

He was dressed in his hero costume, his visor lifted to rest atop his blond, wind-whipped hair, and his scarlet wings folded politely against his back. A wide grin graced his face as he exchanged charming banter with the woman. She seemed enamored with his expression, but she didn't know him like you knew him. He was smiling, yes, but the edges of his eyes were crinkled with tension. When he chuckled, his wings folded a little harder against his back. His beats of laughter were calculated. Uncomfortable, that's what he was.

He’d been that way a lot lately.

"So, I'm sorry, I have to ask- Every bachelorette in the country is wondering, is there any special lady in your life?" the interviewer asked. It was airy and friendly in intent, but your lip twitched with faint annoyance anyway. Your face fell slack and you leaned back into your chair. 

"Well, I don't know about every bachelorette," he quipped. His face was a little grainy on your old TV screen, but you could see the slight pink in his cheeks. He was cute. So, very cute. It made you miss him that much more. "But my personal life, well, how alluring would I be if I didn't keep a few things a mystery?"

And a mystery it was, to everyone but you.

Thankfully, the woman interviewing him had enough tact to know when to move on. Their conversation mercifully veered away from his sex life—your sex life—and towards his agency. The television was a wondrous thing. His voice rang through your home despite his absence. It brought sadness, but also a bittersweet comfort. Viewing him live stung your soul. You watched until his interview ended with a commercial break, and then decided not to wait up for him again. That would only lead to another sleepless night. 

Still, the window remained unlocked for him as you called it a night. The yellow glow of your desk lamp died with a click, and you climbed into your bed. Sleep was always difficult. Many nights you laid awake as you thought about your ICU patients. The things you saw in the ward were enough to scar anyone. But if it wasn’t work that plagued your mind, it was him.

Casual was the word you’d used when you’d first agreed to sleep together. It was easy to swallow when he only snuck into your apartment at night for sex. For the first few months, that was it. He’d steal into your home through the cover of darkness and you’d share a violently passionate night. Then, he would vanish out your window until he craved you again. Which, thankfully, was often.

As weeks turned into months turned into a year, however, those quick and dirty nights blossomed into private moments that earned him little pieces of you. You realized you were in too deep when it became difficult to be unbothered by the casual daydreaming of others. His face was clipped to girls’ backpacks long before you knew him, but others, covered so openly in his merchandise, began to make you a touch bitter. His sex life had been speculated about in tabloids since his debut, but to keep your mouth shut while your friends contemplated the size of his penis became hurtful and emotionally taxing.

The only one you could confide those pains in was the man who unintentionally caused them, but Hawks was too sweet. If he knew just how much it tore you up, he’d surely break things off to spare you the misery.

You cursed yourself for getting lost in thoughts of him. Bemoaning the casual chatter of others as he gracefully balanced the weight of the world on his shoulders made you feel weak. You allowed your eyes to close, your breathing slowed, and your body relaxed into your mattress. By the mercy of whatever god watched over you, sleep slowly overtook all your other thoughts.

At least until a shuffle and a squeak made you toss in your sheets. A faint light spilled into your room from the window, and a coolness settled into your bed. You shivered. It was the fresh winter air from outside. The cold wasn't the only intruder. It was him. 

The light was dim, but a dark silhouette of flared wings blocked out the moonbeams. Your heart lurched in your chest at the dominant display. It was a habit of the bird in him to fluff up when his blood was hot. His predatory energy kept you submissively silent rather than greet him.

Floorboards creaked beneath his shoes. The pulls of their zippers clicked with the movement. His breath was heavy as he moved to your bed. You caught a vision of your lover’s face. Little flecks of snow followed in. They danced around the brilliance of his wings and settled into his hair. In the blue light of winter’s night, his gold eyes looked dazzling. They also harbored a glint of violence akin to the blown-out eyes of a predator in pursuit of prey.

It was a familiar look from the strange animal. He’d seemed so open and friendly when he’d first snuck into your hospital room to talk, but he shrugged away at hugs and only laughed awkwardly when you told him he was your best friend. He didn't understand that kind of closeness.

You’d learned how deep his discomfort ran through him when the relationship became sexual. His inept understanding of touch translated to violence in the bedroom. Sex was most comfortable for him when he thought of it as a battle. He'd hold you down and force you open. You'd dig teeth into his arms and rip out feathers with your fists. To submit to his pounding was capture, but to overstimulate him until he was too weak to hold you down was victory. Extreme? Perhaps to those who didn’t understand your trust in one another.

He'd at least offer a sappy hello before he pulled his dick out, though. Not tonight. He eyed you as if expecting you to run, as if he'd give chase if you decided to. Fuck, it caused the warmest tingle between your thighs. You’d missed him too badly to try to put up a fight.

He left his jacket abandoned on the floor, which offered a much better view of his slim body wrapped in his black bodysuit. His canines dug into the leather of his glove before he yanked his hand free with his teeth. You laid silent and already breathless. It'd been far too long since you last felt him. Your body was hot with need at the sight of his rigid wings alone. His eyes swept over you as he toyed with the front of his tan jeans. He didn't come very often in uniform. To watch him fondle himself through his costume was- god, was there a stronger word than ecstasy?

“I want you,” he said from your bedside.

"You can have me..." You breathed out. It was intended to sound sultry, but your tone was more akin to a pleading whisper. Your body ached for him before your heart did, after all. Old habits were hard to break.

"You've been waiting for me, like a good girl, haven’t you?" he cooed. Cooed, quite literally. A low and rumbling song reverberated from somewhere deep in his throat. Not a bit of you was avian, but your body reacted instinctively when you heard your mate's call.

"I should reward you."

His visor glinted in the dim light as he pulled it off his face and let it land on the floor. His earmuffs, too.

You bit down your grin as the weight of your mattress shifted under his knee. His ungloved hand neglected the bulge in his jeans to tend to you instead. Warm fingertips slipped beneath your covers and found the skin of your thigh. A small sigh spilled from his lips, and your body trembled.

"You missed my hands on you, didn't you?"

You only managed a nod as his fingers slid up and beneath your pajama top.

Your body sank deeper into your covers when he moved over you. One knee landed on either side of your hips. His bare hand played with your breast while the still gloved one ran through your hair. The leather of the glove was frigid from the cold, but his body radiated warmth. The sweetness of his cologne mingled with the harsh musk of sweat. The smell of him fogged your mind.

The pads of his fingers pinched and tugged at the pink bud he discovered on your chest, which earned him a harsh gasp.

"That's it. I love it when you sing like that," he chimed. His hot breath ghosted over the shell of your ear. Wefts of his hair brushed against your face as his teeth nibbled at your throat. You were trapped beneath the cage his body made. 

"These cute little tits of yours- god."

He wasn't usually so chatty when he was about to mount you, but every grumble that reverberated in his throat added to the tingle between your thighs. He could devour you whole and you would thank him for the honor.

Your hands slid up the sides of his tight bodysuit. The inky black fabric was harsh beneath your fingertips. You traced the patterns of its gold accents around to his back and up towards his wings. He stiffened when he felt you slide nearer to them. Between the plush feathers at the base of a wing, you wiggled a finger until you found the skin beneath. Then you gave the joint a brutal squeeze.

Instinctively, that glorious wing of his outstretched and shivered. The stems of his plumes flexed against your hand as they puffed twice their usual size. The longest of them brushed against the ceiling of your room, dwarfing your bodies beneath it.

You were always in awe of the sheer size and beauty of them.

"F-fuck. Not fair," he growled, and then his teeth sunk hard into your neck in vengeance. The harsh bite only made you desperate for more, so you fisted his feathers in your hand and gave a sharp yank. He gasped a hot breath into the nape of your neck. Fuck. You couldn't take the teasing anymore. 

Your hands relieved him of their cruelty to pull off your shirt. He faltered when your bare breasts were exposed. His golden irises became thin rings as the darkness of his pupils devoured them. The tip of his glistening tongue wetted his lips.

It was your turn to stare with sharp desire as you heard the click of his belt, then the pull of a zipper. You pushed yourself up to get a good view of him working his dick out of his bodysuit. The throbbing muscle hit him in the stomach. The sensation made him hiss between his teeth, and you whimpered in reply. 

"Hhm, you must be really hungry, the way you're staring at it," he mused before he spat into his palm and ran the wetness along the shaft. He quivered at the sensation. You quivered, too.

"Please." Your cheeks were flushed, and your chest quaked with desire. "I want to feel it, please." 

"Oh, don't worry. You’re gonna have all of this. Gotta get that pretty little pussy ready for my cock, though, don't we?" he hummed.

He reached into his plumage and pulled out a long, red feather. The thing wriggled between his pinched fingers as he presented it to you. The way it moved was unnatural, but you timidly took it in your grasp. The look on your face must have been telling of your confusion because he chuckled at your expression. He gave no direction. Instead, he watched with a mischievous curiosity as you turned it in your palm. The barbs vibrated independently of one another against your skin.

Your breath heaved when you realized why he had given it to you. His hands slid down your stomach as a pair of red feathers brushed against your sides. They dipped into the hem of your shorts, then pulled the fabric, sliding them down your legs until you were deprived of them. The cold from the open window seeped into your most sensitive places as his hands caressed your hips.

His fingertips stopped over a series of divots and deformities in your flesh. They were painful mementos of the night you met, and reminders of the sacrifice you had made for him a couple of years prior. He was a stranger when you chose to forgo your own survival to shield him from death. His bottom lip disappeared between his teeth as he relived the agony with you, but placed kisses all over the scars. It felt like a plea for forgiveness, so you ran a loving hand through his hair.

A soft sound spilled from him, and then his head dipped down to drink in the sight of your bare body. You were naked beneath your shorts, so he hummed through gritted teeth when he teased your legs apart. He'd seen it all many, many times before, but the sight of your glistening pink sex brought about his cooing again. The sound was a deep and beautiful melody unlike anything you'd ever heard, but also purely sexual. It was his body's call to yours. It beckoned you like a siren.

“No panties, huh?” he murmured. His breath hitched and vibrated with his lustful song. “You’re already so wet, my god… how about you put that feather of mine to use?”

He sat back on his haunches. Those narrow eyes bore holes into your exposed body as he spat another thick glob of saliva onto his palm. His hand found his cock. His eyelids fluttered at the contact and he groaned softly as he pumped around it. His eyes drank your every movement. 

You spread your legs for his gaze and then brought the pulsing feather between your thighs. He could feel through them, in a sense. The thought alone caused you to exhale a soft moan, but it was anything but soft when the vibration teased your sex. He groaned, too, at the contact. 

Your body flexed and wiggled when you pressed it hard against your clit. The sensation made your eyes roll back. Your slickness dampened its vanes despite its semi-hard state, and your hips ground into the pleasure. He observed. His hand pumped faster with each desperate whimper his feather worked out of you. 

It wasn't long before he couldn't take simply watching anymore. 

The roughness of his stubble dragged along your breast as he closed his teeth around one of your pink buds. He suckled, and your fingers tangled in his hair as his feather jolted from your grasp. It worked your clit without your help, and hot air blew from his nose as he jerked himself off. You used the distraction to sneak a hand between your bodies. You wanted the hot skin of his cock against you. You wanted to touch and play; to taste and feel. A thick whimper spilled out of him when you ensnared his throbbing dick in your palm and squeezed.

His feather stopped pleasing you.

"I didn’t give you permission to touch, did I?" His wings flexed. The feathered limbs grew massive as their quills stood on end in a frightening display. They were beautiful and plush, but deadly weapons all the same. “Testing me, huh? You're that desperate for my cock?”

Yes, fuck yes you were. You opened your mouth to reply, but your voice cut out when he grabbed you by the wrist. He jerked your hand away from his sex, and you whined. Usually, you were a bit of a hardass. It wasn’t easy to make you crumble, so he looked so devilishly proud of himself when you’d submit beneath the weight of him.

His teeth bared in a deliciously appealing smirk. "I’m gonna have to do something with these hands of yours if you’re gonna grab at shit without permission, yeah?"

You nodded a little too eagerly. His voice was heavy and deep with a depraved need to dominate you. To sully your skin with his desire. You weren’t going to stop him.

A cluster of feathers gathered in the air around you. You had nothing to fear, but watching them circle like small predators overhead made your heart pound against your ribs like a drum. They swarmed you and ensnared your wrists. The strength of his quirk easily had you overpowered. Your hands slammed into the headboard, pinned down by his feathers which trembled with excitement. You were now at his mercy.

“You’ll get your hands back when you’ve earned them,” he informed you through gritted teeth, but you were so mesmerized by the features of his face you hardly heard his words. Beautiful, that's what he was. You'd never told him how his appearance left you breathless. It could scare him away if you said such sweet things too often, but you’d held your heart back for so long it only felt fair to let it beat this once. 

“You’re so gorgeous,” you whispered.

He trembled. His eyes widened in startled confusion, and then his cheeks dusted the faintest shade of red. God, that only made your heart thump harder. His did, too; you could feel it rattle through his chest and against your stomach.

"What was that?"

You bit your lip, embarrassed, but echoed the statement a bit more sheepishly. "I said… you're gorgeous."

Your mattress groaned as he folded back onto his knees. The flaming red limbs on his back lowered until they rested against your sheets. Something about that sweet little compliment tore into him like nothing you had ever said before. That desire that flickered behind his eyes blazed out of control. His kisses landed on your knees before he placed a gentle caress of his lips on the innermost part of your thigh. So close to your pussy that the heat of his breath made you slick.

His other glove was abandoned somewhere on the floor, which rendered both his hands bare. A low groan spilled from him as he pressed his thumbs into either side of your heat. His jaw went slack and his breath erratic as he spread you open.

"So are you," he said, but it was muttered so softly you almost didn't hear.

His head dipped down. The tendrils that framed his forehead fell over your midriff as his tongue caressed your twitching flesh. The hot, wet muscle lapped hungrily between your folds. It flicked at your clit, and your legs trembled on either side of his head. His mouth working you open like that was enough to fog your mind entirely.

“You like that?” he cooed between the slurps of his mouth against you. "Oh, I bet you fucking do."

You replied with only a strangled whimper as you tugged uselessly at the feathers that bound you. You were desperate to comb your fingers through his downy hair, to fist it in your hands and press his face hard into you. A low chuckle flowed from his open mouth and tickled your flinching flesh. Another cry tore from your throat.

“My poor baby, so desperate,” he sighed after placing a kiss against your clit.

His poor baby. He hummed that phrase with such possessive intensity. He was right. Even if it was unspoken, you and your body belonged to him and him alone.

The warmth of his palms traveled back up your stomach and squeezed your breasts roughly. “Forcing you to wait so long for me, did I neglect my sweet little Chickpea? Hmm, I better make up for it, huh?"

God, the way his husky voice reverberated against your flesh was the most delicious form of torture. You bit your lip and nodded, and he rewarded you with a finger. It slid carefully into you, and his hand caressed your insides. You cried a loud, indecipherable string of mangled words. All grasp on language left you as he curled his fingers up and flicked his wrist.

“Aw, what are you trying to say, Sweetheart?” he huffed. All the little nicknames only pushed you further into your need for him. “You wanna feel my fat cock push into that pretty little pussy?”

A sharp inhale burned your throat.

“P-please!” you choked. Your voice was cracked and pitiful when it finally tore from you, and a wonderfully wonton sound fell from him.

“Please what, huh? Please what?” he gasped.

“Fuck me! I want it- I want your cock- PLEASE.”

“Ohhhhh, that sounds so pretty comin’ outta your mouth,” came his long, low growl. As a reward for your begging, he dragged the wetness of his tongue along the length of your little pink slit.

The rough material of his jeans slid down your inner thighs as he mounted you. The shaft of his hot, bare cock pressed flush against your sex. Clusters of his feathers bunched behind the bends in your knees and forced them back, which splayed you helplessly open. You watched as he bit into his lip and rubbed himself against your wetness. You couldn't look away as the most intimate part of his body sheathed itself in yours. 

The most delicious pressure overwhelmed your aching senses. Fuck. FUCK.  He moved slowly. It may have been meant as mercy, but to your sex-starved body, it felt torturous. The ridges of his dick caught at your swollen walls before the tip of it pressed agonizingly slow into the bottom of you. 

“Hawks! Oh my god, I can’t fucking take this!” your throat jerked and trembled just like your aching thighs. Your hips pumped in desperation for friction where your bodies connected. “Give it to me, give it- I swear to god- FUCK!”

Once you gave him control of your body, he lost control of his own. The mattress groaned when he slammed into you. His teeth dug into your throat, laying his claim on you as he panted for breath. His loose belt buckle beat at your outer thighs, and your bed frame groaned in protest with each merciless thrust. His hands dug into your flesh and locked you into his jarring pumps. He pinned you down as if he expected you to play the fighting game, but you didn't resist his cock this time. You didn't want a battle. You wanted your lover. Your moaning whimpers broke and cracked as his jerking hips rocked the wind from you.

He pounded into you too fast for your mind to keep up. Your scarred body buckled and stung under his animalistic need, but the shockwaves of pleasure that rolled through your core kept you begging him for more. More. More. 

His mind was so fogged that he lost his focus on his feathers. The clusters binding you down came loose without his influence, and you easily pulled out of them to throw your arms around his neck. His wings spread out and bristled until they were pressed against the walls, puffed and massive. His forehead was against yours. His hot breath puffed in your face, and his beautiful body was pleasured with yours. 

"Fuck, fuck! Please- Let me come inside you," he pleaded. His eyes were hazy and fogged, his mouth was slack and face a deep red. His body’s cooing song was so loud you could feel it in your own chest. The familiar smell of his cologne intermingled with the musk of sex and blurred your mind. You wanted every piece of him he'd give you.

"Y-yes, please, please," you begged between the hard smacks of his skin against yours. 

Your eyes shot open as his pace quickened. His wings… they were falling apart. Those beautiful eyes of his lulled further into the back of his head with each bone shivering slap of flesh. His teeth bared and his lips twitched as he pressed your bodies roughly together. Shivers rolled through his muscles, and those fierce wings of his were reduced to twitching little nubs on his back as he came.

You ran your hands between his shoulder blades as you marveled at his feathers. They littered the air as they weaved feverishly around one another. The gentle touch of your hands brought Hawks down from his high, and his feathers slowed until they lazily spun like autumn leaves. You pulled him down into a tight embrace and buried your face into his hair. He heaved into your chest, and you watched all the little pieces of him flutter around your room in the light of the moon.

He often lost control of his wings when you made love. They'd fluff up and flap wildly when he came, which often knocked shelves from your walls and your lamp from your bedside table. That was the first time he shed his feathers, and you were in awe.

"Are you okay?" he asked. His voice was gravely and shuttered between labored breaths.

“Yeah, I’m just... admiring," you said as you stared over his shoulder. He glanced behind him, and his cheeks tinted the faintest shade of pink when he realized the pitiful state of his wings. The little red feathers spread all around your room stilled in the air and swarmed to his back, returning his iconic limbs to their full glory.

“Er, you managed to pluck me. How embarrassing,” he quipped. You were so sore and exhausted from his sex all you could manage was a little laugh. You were a gasping mess, though, when he finally pulled out of you. The loss of pressure was a relief, but it also left you feeling empty. You laid quiet and trembling as he leaned back to marvel over the mess he made of you. His thumbs spread you open again, and he let out a breathless moan as you felt his come leak from you. His head dipped between your thighs. That beautiful tongue of his flicked out and lapped at the mess on your pussy. The warm wriggling of the muscle shocked your swollen clit and made you cry out, but you couldn't bear to ask him to stop. It satisfied something in you to watch as he licked you clean of your slick and his own come.

When he was content that he'd cleaned you thoroughly, he laid his body carefully beside you in your bed. His fingers tangled in your hair as he locked you into a kiss. You could taste the sex he licked from you on his tongue. 

The sex was always feverish and ravishing, but the afterglow was your addiction. In the beginning, it was rare. To kiss and caress crossed the line into his discomfort, but the more he learned to trust you the more of his affection you earned. The man who feared human touch began to ask for hugs every visit. Kisses became frequent and pleasant the more he let you do it. Then came sex that felt less like vicious wars and more like making love. Yes, after everything you did to earn his intimacy, nothing felt as lovely as lying naked beneath his plush plumage. 

His feathers caressed every inch of your aching body. His warm mouth, still wet from the sex, pressed gentle kisses onto your face. Your head rested against his arm as your breath slowly steadied. His wing flexed and rested on your shoulder as if tucking you in beneath a plush comforter.

“Mm. You like that?” he pondered breathlessly. His fingers trailed up your scarred side until they combed through your hair. There was a ginger softness to the touch that made your heart quiver. He smiled at you, those yellow eyes pierced through the dim light and into your soul. as you reached your hand out to run your fingers under his jaw. 

“Do you need to ask?” you hummed. Your cheeks were still red and your chest quaked as you slowly came down from the high. 

He laughed. What a lovely, airy sound. You hummed in the glory of the moment. And, for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, you could breathe again. Typically, he’d spend his days off kicked back on your living room couch with a tall bottle of something hard in his hand. You’d go a week or so without seeing him when things got tense in the hero world, of course, but in the last two months, you’d had him for only a handful of nights. It was concerning, but you knew better than to ask. No matter how close the two of you had become he would never talk to you about work.

“It's been a while since you last flew in,” you noted as you got comfortable beneath his plumage. His body beside yours was the definition of comfort. Your mind could only be at peace when he was safe in your bed. “It’s nice to see you again, I was worried.”

“I know, it’s been too long. No need to worry, though, Chickpea, I’m right here,” he replied. His slow exhale tangled in your hair, and his hand's gentle touch found your cheek. He offered no explanation for his lengthy absences, but he and his crimson wing caressed you with apologies. 

You relaxed to the sound of his steady breath through the dim blue light of your bedroom. The wing he draped over you was so plush and warm you could easily fall asleep. You might have, if not for the fear of waking up without him. You scooted closer to wind your arms around his chest and bury your face in his neck. 

"I really wish you could stay," you whispered. 

To let your love get in his way was the last thing you wanted, but it was the utterance of a moment of weakness. It was uncharacteristic of you, the pathetic way it sounded, and you felt him stiffen under your arm as he soaked in your request. While there was never a confession of love, you'd tamed the wild bird with years of patience and earnest affection. He was loyal to you. It was cruel of you to ask for something you knew he couldn't give.

“Ah… I would if I could help it, you know that,” he sighed into your forehead, “but I can try to stay until morning.”

“Please. I’d like that.” It came out like the voice of a frightened child, but it was difficult to hide your need for him anymore. 

If you dwelled any further on the possibility of him vanishing, your emotions were going to get the better of you. You played with the feathers draped over your shoulder to calm yourself. A small one by your face was pinched between your fingers as you rolled the barbs around.

"Your wings are filthy," you mused. Dirt particles littered the poor things. You were sure, with some rooting, you'd find a few bugs he’d picked up in the air, too. "Actually, all of you is filthy. You got dirt all in my sheets, bird brain."

"Oh. Shit, my bad," he murmured as he sat upright. You shivered when the warmth of his wing left you.

"Hm, it's fine. Throw your clothes in the wash and I'll get a shower ready for you, sound good?"

“Sounds good.”

The bed creaked in relief when he stood. His frame was slender and small, but his wings at least doubled the weight of him. That was evident with how smothering being beneath him could feel. He kicked off his pants, though his body was still covered by the black and gold bodysuit he wore beneath them. It warmed your heart to see him carry his uniform out of your room and hear him tinker with the washer on the other side of the wall. The sound of the cloth being tossed inside followed by the creak of an opening cabinet seeped through the drywall, followed by the pop of the detergent lid coming off.

He was intimately familiar with your tiny abode. You’d made sure things stayed in the same place so he'd know where everything was the next time he'd visit. You'd been especially anal about it since he'd often be gone for such long periods at a time. When he returned, you wanted your home to feel like it belonged to him, too.

A sensation overcame you as you laid alone in your bed. The sheets were warm from the love you’d just made. Despite his tongue cleaning you off, you could still feel the faint warmth of him inside of you. His contented sigh found you through the wall and your heart burst.

To the rest of the world, he was a hero, but he was so much more to you. You'd give anything to have him completely. For his voice to echo, groggy and sheepish, against your walls every morning. To get to kiss him goodbye before the sun rose, and to welcome him home every afternoon with a warm embrace. For a ring on your finger; a crib in the bedroom. That wasn’t the kind of life that was meant for him, though. As long as he was afraid of you being hurt, those secret nights were all you’d ever have. It made sense. He had enemies, and you could only imagine how your quiet life would turn upside down if you ended up in the pages of a tabloid.

You only spent time together in the privacy of your apartment. Even after two years of being close to him, there was so little you knew about his life separate from you. What little you did know only made you frustrated on his behalf. You held out hope that it could eventually change, for your sake and his.

Preening Hawks was your favorite thing to do with him. There was something special about being across from one another in the shower, naked, warm water rushing over your bodies as your fingers smoothed and placed his dampened feathers. It took the first year of your friendship for him to allow you to touch them at all, so it was an obvious display of his trust in you. Which was understandable. His wings were an integral part of his identity. You watched as he ran his hands over his face and into his hair. His expression was in a relaxed state of bliss as your fingers picked through his plumage.

With his massive wings on either side of you like plush, padded walls, it felt like nothing in the world could get you. His laughter echoed around the small room as he told jokes and stories. It was okay if you didn't have anything to say, or if you just wanted to listen. He would talk for you when you fell short, and that's usually what got you laughing. 

Through the gentle moment, though, you couldn't help but let your emotions get the better of you. During times like those, when his visits were few and far between, your mind danced around the question of why. The possibilities bounced between him either being in danger or losing interest in you. Both were scary thoughts since he had become such an integral part of your life.

"Would you mind if I ask something?" you pondered, which accidentally interrupted a story he'd been telling about an intern of his.

"Depends what it is.”

"Well… there are a million girls out there who'd gladly do this with you," you mused, and it was true, even if it stung a little to remember. "Did you decide to do this with me because it was convenient?" 

That had been your reason, initially. Hawks spent a lot of time hanging around your apartment and he just happened to be wildly attractive. There were no feelings when he’d first asked if he could fuck you. That didn't come until later.

He laughed, and you glared at him.

“Self-doubt, huh? That isn’t like you. Me being away a lot’s really shaken you up, huh?” 

"It's not self-doubt, I'm just genuinely curious," you quipped as you pulled a feather from his wing. They'd moult if they hung around too long, so pulling out the loose ones was a help to him.

"Well… what we have going on is far from convenient," he said. "If that's what I was going for, I'd go after a pro that could keep a secret. It ain't easy to sneak away like this, you know."

So even a pro hero would have to be a secret for him? Did Hawks have any chance at all for a normal life?

“I wanted you, and if I want something, I go for it.”

You swallowed down a breath you’d been holding, but you didn’t say anything else as you watched his eyes dance around the bathroom in thought. 

"And I wanted you because… well, there were a lot of reasons. The night we met was a big one, I guess.”

You looked away. That night felt taboo to mention, considering all the guilt you knew he harbored. Your scars weren’t his fault. Several villains were on a rampage, and your hospital was in the destructive path. You were just another civilian, caught in the crossfire. His feathers tried, but they couldn’t get you out of the building. You’d been partially crushed beneath the rubble. 

“I was sure it was the end of the road for me. It would have been if you and your quirk hadn’t been trapped inside with me. You have a forcefield. You could have used it to protect yourself, but you bubbled me instead. You were gonna die. I was so sure you were gonna die and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it.”

Still, your lips wouldn’t move. You’d spent ten months in an ICU after you were crushed beneath the weight of two stories of concrete. If not for the healing quirks of EMTs, you wouldn’t have survived at all. If not for your sacrifice, Hawks wouldn’t have, either. Still, it wasn’t his fault.

 “Still hurts to know I couldn’t help you when you needed me most, but when I looked in your eyes, there wasn't a hint of fear. All I saw was determination. I never met someone who was so sure of their choices, even in the face of death," he recalled. Your emotions skirted between sadness and flattery as you heard his thoughts. If only you could live up to that selfless picture of you, now. “I know a lot of pros who could only hope to have that kind of resolve.”

“Damn, when you tell it you make me sound like a badass,” you quipped, and your laughter bounced around the shower stall.

“I mean, what are the requirements to be donned with the title of badass? I’m sure you’re overqualified. Either that or you’re fucking crazy, which is also a possibility.”

You snorted.

“I'm not crazy. My job is to help people after they've been hurt. If I bubbled you instead, I’d be saving every person you’d live to protect. Before they would need a nurse like me. It’s just what made sense.”

He was silent for a moment as he absorbed your reasoning. You tended to be rational, even in the most emotional of situations. But that borderline-robotic way of thinking was a by-product of your own miseries.

You were a nurse in a world overcome by demigods and treachery. Some of the things you'd seen in the OR would haunt you for the rest of your life. And, sometimes, those ghosts came to torment you in your dreams. That made it hard the first time Hawks slept in your bed. You would sometimes wake with tears in your eyes as your voice quivered out sobs. Your past lovers didn't understand that part of you. The broken part. The part that had been poisoned by the darker side of this superpowered world. 

That's what fostered your love for Hawks. When he had awoken early that morning to you crying beside him, he’d only reacted with a patient embrace. He adored the bright parts of you, but he also had a solemn understanding and respect for your darkness. Having that connection through your mutual suffering was a kind of bond you’d never had before him. And now that you had it, you couldn't imagine life without. 

You went back to preening. You pressed up on your knees to reach a bit higher on his wing, and he watched intently. His voice died into silence as his gaze swept over your naked form, which dripped from the steam of the shower. It wasn't a surprise. Often, he would get lost in himself as he observed you, like a curious bird. It felt like a wordless compliment, so you silently allowed his eyes to explore you. Not that his hands and mouth and cock hadn't already drawn a map of you in his mind.

"Whatcha thinking about?" you teased playfully, and he hummed in response.

"How you look at my wings… I like it."

"Everybody looks at your wings," you said dismissively. A half-smile graced your face.

"You’re right. They do. People admire me because of what they’re capable of. It's what people think of first when they think of me, and rightfully so. They're hard to ignore. But when you look at me, you look at my face first, my wings second. It's like you admire them because they're a part of me, not because of what they can do. I appreciate that." 

Your fingers in said feathers slowed to a stop as he spoke. You smiled a little to yourself as you brushed them against a feather. He shivered. "Your quirk is a part of who you are. That's why I like cleaning them for you. It feels like I get to give you something special, but wings or not, I'd still want you."

Falling in love with Hawks was the best and worst thing you’d ever experienced. The pleasure of those beautiful moments seeped into your soul like a warm cup of tea. But the anguish that followed after he flew out your window… there wasn't a simile that could correctly describe the immeasurable pain. 

Your response must have triggered a long series of difficult thoughts for the bird. His head tilted slightly, his eyes hardened in expression and his brows furrowed as he soaked in your confession.

"In the year we've been doing this… has there ever been another man?" he pondered. The question jarred you. Occasionally, he'd get a touch possessive of his time with you. He’d asked a time or two who you were texting. You knew him well enough to pick up the hint of jealousy despite his light tone, but he never asked anything so outright.

“Well, look who's got self-doubt now. You sure are eager for a lot of questions and confessions tonight. What’s gotten into you?” you asked.

He shrugged. “You asked a question, so it's my turn now. Besides, we’ve been close for a couple of years. We've been intimate for half of that. just seems a little silly to keep up the fuck buddies act. Or is it just me?”

Fuck buddies act? You bit your lip. Hard. When he was with you he was so relaxed. This seriousness was unusual, and it made your wet skin rough with goosebumps.

"It's not just you," you confessed. 

For a short while, the bathroom was filled with only the sound of the running shower as you collected your confession. 

"There hasn't been another man since you. I mean… I've gone on dates a few times, but it never got that far," you replied. The moment another man kissed you… Well, kisses felt dirty if they were with anyone other than Hawks. "I know this thing you and I have going on was meant to be a no strings attached kind of affair, but… Well, if I’m being honest with you, it feels wrong trying to sleep with anyone but you. I like what we have, and I've always got the impression that you really do, too."

He didn't say anything. You weren't sure whether or not that was what he wanted to hear.

"Have you?" you asked. "Been with anyone else?"

You’d never asked before. At first, it was because it didn't feel like your business. Then, when the thought eventually made your heart ache, you didn't ask because you didn't want to know. But now that you had come clean, it only felt fair that he did, too.

Air left his nose and his head bobbed back until his wet hair pressed against the shower stall.

"Once,” he confessed, and he sounded ashamed now that he knew you never did. “I used to have this on again, off again thing, before I knew you. I messed with her a few weeks after you and I first… well, you know. But only once, then never again.”

You’d thought it would crush you to learn he’d been with someone else, but it didn’t sting like you thought it would. Probably because you didn't know specifics. If you knew what woman had her hands on him, if you could see it, it probably would destroy you. But the apologetic way he said it put your heart at ease. He mumbled like he knew it would hurt you, and he didn’t want it to. But you weren’t wounded, and your feelings weren’t perturbed. He never promised you anything, just as you’d never made promises to him.

“Why’d you stop seeing her?” you asked as you scooted closer to smooth shampoo suds down in his hair. He only shrugged at first, then sighed in contemplation when your fingers combed along his scalp.

“I’ve never had a place I could go to, you know?” he said. “I’ve never had somewhere like this, where I can lay my head for a little while and just be…”

“Pampered?” you suggested as your hands moved to massage his shoulder blades between his wings.

He breathed out a little laugh, but shook his head. “Yeah, but that’s not what I was thinkin’.”

“Out with it then,” you teased.

“Well… I’ve never had somewhere I’ve felt safe and... cared about?” he said, though his eyes were distant and lost when he said it, as if he wasn’t sure he should have.

“I gotta always be looking over my shoulder. Gotta always have a mask on and hope no one ever sees through it. But here, everything’s relaxed. You couldn’t care less what my ranking on some chart is or how much money is in my pocket. You don't give a shit about heroing or the tabloids. You’re the only person in my life who asks for nothing other than my company. I feel human here. I didn’t want to jeopardize that, or what I had with you. That’s why I stopped seeing her.”

Your mouth went dry. While your nights were long and passionate, you’d never whispered sweet nothings. You’d never told him how much he and his company meant to you because you felt he wouldn’t want to hear it, but he kept coming back. For a year he had clung wordlessly to what little affection you gave him. If he’d told you this a year prior, you would have given him so much more love.

“So you do have deeper feelings for me. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

He was silent, as you’d expected him to be. He both craved and feared the closeness he’d formed with you. At times he’d drown you in sweet little bits of affection, but, when things got too deep, he would shut down. Through the last couple of years, you’d broken through a lot of his walls, but the cold influence of the commission would always be with him. Even if he was in love with you, he’d never understand how to tell you.

"Because of who I am when I fly out your window,” he began. The reverb of his voice against the shower stall took you off guard. You didn’t expect him to answer. "There are things I know you want from me… things that I can’t give you right now, and you deserve more than that. That’s why I never planned on telling you… Fuck. It was never supposed to be like this…”

He spoke more to himself than he did to you at that moment. There was an internal battle going on in his mind; one you'd never really be able to understand, but you wanted to try. 

"You mean you never meant to get attached?"

His silence was telling.

"It's okay," you said. "We don't have to talk about anything you don't want to." You took a hold of his hand, but he flinched away from you. He was regressing back into old habits. It had been months since he’d last recoiled to your affection. Something was terribly wrong. The recoil was fine. It was okay. Whatever he needed to feel comfortable. "I'm sorry-" 

"No, I'm sorry," he interrupted. He rubbed the wrist you had touched as if you'd burned him. His brow was knit and his mouth became a harsh line. "Sometimes it feels easy and other times it doesn't, but I'm trying."

"I know you are. Like I said, we don't have to talk about feelings." 

He stared at you, and the longer his gaze rested on your face, the softer it became, "I want to try." 

You nodded and wrapped your arms around your naked knees. The shower had been turned off long ago by a cluster of his feathers, but the soothing steam still lingered around you. 

“It's just… this is difficult. One day someone may shoot me out of the sky. The thought of you still being right here, waiting for me, when I can never come back… It... kills me." He paused, his eyes hazed over as he swallowed his emotion down. The rawness in his voice struck such an unpleasant chord that your own eyes pricked with bitter water. "That's why I didn’t want attachments like this. But I didn't mean for all this between you and me. You snuck into me slowly, I didn't even notice until it was too late."

"Is this supposed to be flattering? It sounds like you're likening me to a parasite or something- heartworm," you quipped in an effort to dispel the heavy tension. He smiled, but only for a moment before he rolled his eyes at you. 

"Just… listen to me," he said, and your eyes trained on his as your mouth closed. "If that ever happens… If there comes a day you've been waiting for me, only to find out I'm never coming back, please know that I cared for you."

He didn't use the word love, but that's very much what he was trying to convey. In a way, you’d kind of always knew. It was why he’d said it, how he’d said it, that made your eyes prick with tears at their corners. The thought of what he was implying petrified you. Hawks was so skilled, so powerful, so almighty. Despite all his power, though, he was human, just like you. The night you’d met proved how possible death was for him. Nothing could keep him safe forever, not even your forcefields.

But he’d never talked like this before. He was always so light-hearted and relaxed. His work and the dangers associated with it was off the menu of conversion topics. What had happened to bring all this darkness up now?

"You talk like you’re preparing for death." 

Again, he didn’t reply. His silence was more terrifying than anything he could have said, but trying to pry him open would only break him, it seemed. So you didn’t.

“May I kiss you?” you asked instead. 

He nodded.

You leaned forward and breathed into his ear. He shivered when you placed a gentle kiss on the shell of it. His earring pressed against your lip was a gentle and familiar feeling, but after you heard all he had to say it also felt fleeting. He always had some ulterior motive or hidden reason for every little thing he did. It's as if he said all this because tomorrow would be the day he was gone.

“I’m not preparing to die.” Your kiss gave him the courage to speak. "I have too much to live for. It’s just always a possibility- for anybody, really. But heroes especially. I just wanted it off my chest is all."

He smiled at you, but you’d seen every smile in his repertoire, and this one was faker than your stick-on-backsplash. The air never felt so tense between you. Not even the night you met, dying feet away from each other. It all felt so… heavy. The weight of it pressed hard into your chest.

“Er, this reminds me, while we're on topic, I got some things going on at the agency. I hate to say it, but you won't see me again for a little while. I don’t know how long. It could be a couple of months.” His disposition remained fake casual. His shoulders and face were relaxed as he enjoyed the steam of the shower, but his wings tensed. You felt it in your palms as you preened him.

"You're in trouble," you said. Your mouth went dry as the realization drained the color from your face. 

"Trouble? Me? Nah. Just work stuff."

He spoke with a relaxed air about him, but he couldn’t lie to you. 

"No. You've been acting off all night. You’ve been making all these confessions. Talking about death, telling me you're going away for a while. I know you better than you think I do; something big happened and you're trying to tie up loose ends in case you don't get out of it okay," you rambled, and the more you talked the higher your voice became. It trembled and wavered with building fear. 

He stared at you. That silly face of his melted into a thin line and sharp, angular eyes. Those tricks worked when no one was close enough to see through them, but you knew his genuine smile like the back of your hand. You saw right through his facade, and he was annoyed by the very determination he just prided you for. 

"Can't get anything past you, can I?" 

You didn't whimper, but your eyes became glossy with emotion. It was a strange mixture of panic, sorrow, and rage. You had no idea what he'd gotten into, but you also knew he would never tell. He placed preserving missions above all else, which made sense but was frustrating.

"I don't know what's going on, but you need to get out of it if you're thinking it's something you may not come back from." 

"Things aren't that simple. I chose this life, I gotta follow through."

"No, I chose to be a nurse when I was sixteen and understood the implications of what I'd have to go through. You were fucking six when the commission took you, and they spent all that time gaslighting and taking advantage of you-"

"We aren’t talking about that right now, don't use it against me.” 

"Use it- what? I'm not using anything against you! You’re the one alluding to death! There’s nothing wrong at the agency, there’s something else- something terrible-" 

"Drop it.”

“How can I?!”

"Because I said so." His eyes were narrow and mouth a tight, thin line. You could read him so well. He was regretting this. All of this, because now you were onto whatever suicide mission he was embarking on. But, as his lover, how could you just sit back and silently watch him throw himself into a danger that had even him shaken?

You got louder, and he got louder. You tossed bitter, confused words back and forth until he was screaming. Until you were screaming back at him. Your calm, laid back demeanor slipped through your fingers the moment you realized he could be in over his head. That, if you let him leave, this could be the last night you’d ever spend with him. Your anger was driven by your fear for his life, and his was driven by your inability to let it go. 

He was still screaming. You were still screaming. You were fighting him. He just told you you were the most important person in his life, and you were spitting venom. 

You stopped.

He stopped.

Your hand came to your bare chest as it heaved in an attempt to steady your breath. The other came up to wipe the tears budding in your eyes. He looked away from you, his brow tugged heavily downward, his jaw clenched together in shame.

"Let’s just breathe, okay?" you pleaded.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," you whimpered into your hand. "Out of everyone in the world, you're the last who needs to say sorry, so don't. It's just- it's not right, okay? You're too… I don't know, selfless? I watch all the time as that gets taken advantage of. Doesn’t it get tiring? Even your name is some dirty secret. I've been sleeping with you for a year and I don't even know what it is-"

"Yes, you do," he argued, his lip wavered with weakness for one vulnerable moment. "You know me- you know my name."

Desperation laced between his words and strung the sentence together. It wasn't easy to see your lover look at you that way, just begging for you to let pieces of him go. It was hard to accept it, but whatever name he went by prior to heroism didn't exist anymore. Neither did the once innocent child it belonged to. You tried to respect that, but it was unfair he was denied a basic human right: to have a name. 

"You're Hawks, I know, I'm sorry… it's just… how much is left of yourself that actually belongs to you? How long until there’s nothing left to give? People have taken so much from you that you’ve become numb to it; do you even know what you're missing out on? Do you even know how lonely you are? When’s the last time anybody even asked if you were okay?"

He realized, then, that you weren't angry at him.

You were angry for him.

His eyes shifted to yours, and he nibbled at his bottom lip before he muttered with the quirk of his mouth: “Well, you ask me that pretty much every time you see me.”

There it was. The crack in your voice. The crinkle of your nose and the tremble of your lip. You cried, and he sat there across from you, still bare as his wings lowered to either side of you. His expression didn't change, and, for once, you couldn't read it. You didn't want to be so upset, but knowing he was in some kind of dangerous trouble that shook even him was too much for you to bear.

"I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions. It’s just… Do you have any idea how many heroes I've wheeled into the morgue? People die on my table all of the time. Every time is just as hard as the last, but the heroes- those are the ones that destroy me. Because every time someone in a cape lands on the table I know their families are waiting for them at home, just like I wait here for you.

"I saved you once, but you're so far away from me, too far for my forcefields to reach you. Hearing you say you’re going away- all I can think of is coming into work one day and finding you c-... covered in a sheet."

His wings moved up from the shower floor. The feathers were dark with dampness as their joints pressed into your back. You sat there like that as he let you cry. Really, what else could he have done? What else could you have done? Of course you were angry. You would be for the rest of your life over how his panned out. His childhood was taken from him, his understanding of human affection was still stunted, even after all the time you spent gently undoing what damage had been done. Now he talked like one wrong move would end it all.

"It's… difficult," he began, though he couldn't make eye contact with you. He usually couldn't when you had discussions like this. "Being a hero isn’t what I imagined I would be when I was a kid. And sometimes I do ask myself: 'what is this all for? There's always going to be a new bad guy. Why does it matter?' And then I think about you…" 

He went silent for a moment; you could see the little battle behind his eyes. The battle between his affection deprived confusion and his need to be closer to you. To explain himself. 

"I think about you and it reminds me there are good people who are worth fighting for. As long as you are here and there are bad people out there that could hurt you, I have to be out there, too. And, yeah, sometimes I get afraid. But as long as I have these wings, I'm going to use them to keep this world safe for you."

He’d never felt so close to you, and yet so far away. He thought even more of you than you anticipated. A part of you felt touched you'd become a cornerstone for his sanity in such a hostile world, but the other part felt sick. If he wanted to fight for you, that was fine.

But to die for you; that would be unforgivable.

The urge to argue the worth of his life weighed heavy on your heart. If you did, he would call you hypocritical, considering your own history of self-sacrifice. It wasn’t the same, though. His self-worth depended on his usefulness to others and little else, and you feared the day that usefulness ran out. What would Hawks be, if not a hero? It should have such a simple answer, like what you would be if not a nurse. But it didn't. It never would.

You leaned forward to pull him into a tight hug. Perhaps when he was anywhere else you were unable to protect him, but right there, in your arms, you'd use whatever you could to keep him safe. Your bubbles, your kind words, anything. 

"I understand," you said, because you knew there were no words that could keep him away from the hero path. It wasn't just a part of his identity; it was all he'd ever known. "Just… don't forget when the heroing is said and done, you'll always have a place here if you need it."

He hummed a small, contented coo at your kindness. Of course, you didn't have to tell him that. He already knew. Why else would he spend so much of his precious little free time cuddled up to you? 

"I'll remember," he promised as his arms and damp wings curled in to squeeze you against him. 

You and Hawks bathed in the comforting darkness of your bedroom. Your window was frosted from the bitter cold outside, but his body heat kept you warm in the safety of your bed. Or nest, rather, as Hawks tended to construct mounds of tangled comforters and wadded up bedsheets to hide in as he got comfortable. You were buried beneath the mass of cloth and the cocoon of his wings as you tried to fall asleep. It was a difficult undertaking since you didn’t know when you’d see him again. You were so tired, but you wanted to be awake to hold him for what little time you had left. 

You wouldn’t have gotten any sleep, anyway.

Often when Hawks slept in your bed you'd awaken at strange hours. Sometimes this was due to your own nightmares. The subject bounced between the traumatic things you’d seen at the hospital and the night you’d met. You'd wake to find that you’d encased your bed in your protective bubble during your sleep, and Hawks' wings squeezed you gently against his chest. Other nights, it was Hawks' anxiety that would keep you awake.

During the day, his guard was discreetly up. He carried carefree conversations as if unbothered, but those well-trained feathers of his were on constant guard. Really, he never had a moment to breathe. This was something you never would have understood the depths of if you weren't woken by his anxiety in the midst of the night. The anxiety he kept bottled during the day often let itself out in the form of night terrors. He'd mumble. Roll. His wings would twitch over you. His face would morph into an agonized expression, and he chirped in distress. A good, gentle shake was usually all it took to pull him out of the bad dream. 

That night his nerves reared their head, though in an unorthodox way. Apparently, you did fall asleep, because you awoke with a small grumble when you felt the mattress groan, followed by a heavy weight draping over your body. You let out a long whine of displeasure, but the weight just got heavier. You turned your head and opened your eyes to find Hawks, but he wasn't gasping in his sleep. He laid over you, wings puffed but flat on either side of your bed as he stared at the bedroom door.

"Hawks? You're squishing me." 

He didn't answer or turn to look at you. Those sharp eyes of his danced around in panic, his feathers raised as they sensed every small movement in your apartment. You dropped your head back onto your pillow with a sigh. 

"What's the matter?" you pondered.

"Shh," he hummed. "I felt something…"

You laid and listened for a short while, but all you could hear was the lady in the apartment above you walking across her floor.

"It's my neighbor."

"What if it's not?" 

Whether the display was the primal instruction from the bird in him to protect his mate or if it was a by-product of the harsh reality of the life he lived, you weren't sure. Either way, his calm and almost lazy facade cracked. When the world was quiet and his feathers could sense every mundane movement in your apartment, his anxiety that those small bumps in the night might be something that could hurt you overwhelmed him.

The little display was an annoyance to your sleep-deprived brain, but his first thought in the midst of his worry was to protect you. That spared him from your groggy wrath. 

"Lay down, McNugget. There's no one there," you grumbled, but he didn't turn his head away from the door. 

Feeling your hand on his face seemed to snap him back into the moment, even if just a little. He leaned into you and encased you in his wings. It felt like a protective gesture, but the warmth you found beneath them made you hum pleasantly. The fluffy white cloth of his hoodie rubbed your cheeks as he cuddled into you. Well, actually, it was your hoodie. 

At one time it was just some old thing you'd snagged from a thrift store on a chilly day. It was much too large for you, though. When Hawks came into your life later on, you'd cut holes out of the back and hemmed it up. That way he'd have a little something to throw on when it got chilly at your place. He never said it out loud, but he loved the thing. He'd go looking for it if you didn't leave it laying out in the living room. 

"I know you usually have a lot to be afraid of, but you don't have to worry about protecting me. I'm a badass, remember?" you whispered into the shell of his ear. His shoulders relaxed just a bit, and he puffed out a little chuckle. 

"Yeah, I know. I just… I want you to be safe. That's all." 

Your gaze softened, though he couldn't see it in the darkness. You didn't need Hawks to protect you. You didn't need a hero. You needed a best friend; a lover. Between the both of you, he was the one in most need of saving.

"Shh," you hummed gently. Your hair lifted from your pillow and danced slowly around your face as if gravity was lost to you. He scrunched his nose as your locks brushed his cheeks, and his wings settled flat as a ring rose from the floor around your bed. The translucent wall came together above your bodies to form a hard, bubble shell.

"You've been the hero long enough. Let me be the protector tonight,” you said. His throat bobbed against your shoulder as his arms wound around you. He settled, but you still felt his unease.

“What’s got your feathers ruffled?”

“You shouldn’t have to protect me,” he said. His voice was muffled since his mouth was pressed into your skin, but you still heard the sadness in it. “I should be taking care of you.”

You blinked as you soaked in his words. For a year you pined for such romantic things to come out of his mouth. Of course he’d wait for a night like that night to say such sickeningly sweet things. The future that used to feel so full of mystery and excitement had become dangerous, uncertain, and disappointing.

“You don’t have to be the hero every time,” you replied.

“But if I’m not a hero, what am I?”

His question was an echo of your fears. The ambient light from your window filtered dimly into your forcefield, but your eyes couldn’t adjust with tears in them.

“I don't know if I have the answer you're looking for, but... Do you remember when I was in the hospital?" you asked. "When you first came to see me you brought a twenty-piece box of chicken nuggets, and while I was trying to eat one you laughed until you were crying because it looked vaguely like a penis.”

“Vaguely? It had balls and everything,” he recalled, and you rolled your watering eyes.

“Whatever. It was stupid, but it was the first time I laughed since I was trapped in that hospital. And, well… when they said I’d never walk again you helped me out of bed. I cried myself to sleep some nights, but you were there, still trying to save me. You were trying to be a hero then, too, but you became my best friend. If nothing else, that's what you’ll always be to me.”

A sound came out of him akin to laughter. You shot him a look, then hooked your finger under his chin. You wanted to see his dumb grin when you berated him for poking fun at you. When his eyes met yours, though, they weren’t crinkled with laughter. They were red and watering.

“Oh, Hawks,” you breathed, and he tucked his face back into your arm to hide his vulnerability. He never cried before. At least not in front of you. He was always the immovable one, virtuous and strong. Moments like this reminded you just how human he was beneath it all.

“I’m right here. I’ve got you,” you assured him in a whisper. Gentle promises spilled from your lips like lullabies, and he clung to every word with heart-breaking desperation. You whispered every sweet nothing you could think of to ease his pain, but you didn’t have that kind of power. 

You had no power at all.

His world always seemed scary to you. You feared for his life every day, but the thought of him being ripped from your arms overwhelmed you that night more than it ever had before. The protective bubble that encased your bed would keep him safe for as long as you could fight sleep, but what of the morning? You’d be safe at home, and he’d be lost somewhere in the dangerous fray of his duties. Far away from your warmth and the apartment he found so much comfort in. 

This would not be the last time you held him. You had to believe that, but what if it was? What if this sleepless night was your last together? 

Tell him you love him, you thought to yourself. Tell him before you never get the chance again. 

You bit your lip as you felt his trembling breaths on your collar. You prepared your lips for the taste of the confession, but he was so vulnerable, more so than he may have ever been before. He didn’t need you to tell him about your affections, he needed you to use them.

You placed a reassuring crown of kisses along his forehead, and he gripped you so hard his knuckles were surely white. 

When you’d cried as a child, your mother would lay in your bed and sing lullabies until you fell asleep. Your voice was untrained and awkward compared to hers, but you tried your best to use it. Your off-key tune echoed back to you in the dome of your forcefield, and your cheeks pinkened with how childlike it sounded. Your embarrassment interrupted your lullaby. He stirred against your chest.

“Don’t stop,” he said. “Please, sing to me.”

You cleared your throat as you gathered the courage to start again. His eyes fell closed as your song settled into the safety of your shield. His feathers relaxed, and his face went slack as sleep slowly overtook him. You sang until his tears stopped flowing. You sang until he was asleep in your arms. For as long as you could, you laid awake. If you succumbed to sleep, so would your forcefield. So would your promise to keep him protected through the night. As time moved slowly forward, sleep inevitably began to settle into you, too. It was as terrifying and as peaceful as death.

“I love you,” you whimpered as you felt your eyes grow too heavy to fight back open. “Please… stay safe.”

Credits: 

A massive thank you to my wonderful friend and editor, @fuwafuwagem​! If you thought the fic looked especially polished, it’s thanks to her efforts!

Also a big thank you to my buddies and beta readers: @dendriticheep​ and @narcolepticroses​! Thanks you guys for being such sweet friends to me ;u;

And a huge thanks to YOU, for reading !

Authors Note:

I’d love to do a lot more fanfictions like these! If you have any suggestions or requests for animations or animated stories like this one feel free to submit it to me!

[zai-doodles]

OK OK this is my last question for real this time, I say with complete confidence

I just… MAN you really sold me on platonic Nalu!!! Would you please give a poor, desperate soul (me) some of your platonic Nalu headcanons? Or even just one is fine, I know writing all of these up must be tiring lol

bestie im literally having a blast stop apologizing im kissing u so platonically ily

ONTO THE NALU HCS

i actually have a bunch of stuff written for them so imma just throw it here

Natsu is so fucking acearo its not even funny They're besties, natsu would protect lucy with his life and lucy would do the same but its platonic i swear guys- Lucy is the first NEW person natsu gets close to after lisanna, bc this boy is so tired of having ppl taken from him without his fucking say so Like idk natsu works so hard to be strong enough to protect his family and then his dad and childhood best friend disappear without a trace when he's not even around to help?? Boy thinks he's cursed I fully believe that Natsu would rarely leave gray and erza's side as kids bc he was worried he close his eyes and they'd just be gone It gets SO much worse after lisanna dies

Idk the actual age when this happens in canon but im saying he was probably like 11 and had known lis since he was like 4 Erza and gray r also really shaken by her death but the thing that really fucks with them is how it changes natsu bc if u thought these 3 were codependent before oh boy All this to say that lucy was like, an exception, and its probably why erza and gray were so quick to be like yes shes great bc they were more just excited and kinda relieved natsu made a fucking friend without them or the guild involved I think his job was taking longer than he wanted, and he was growing really frustrated and impatient with the fact he hadn't found anything abt igneel and happy was trying to cheer him up but in my mind when natsu's bummed he's bummed he meets lucy and she's just so nice But its also that shes also kinda fucking weird and natsu just latches onto that bc to him weird is normal and comfortable and it makes him bounce back and idk it goes kinda similar to how it goes in canon without natsu and happy being weirdly antagonistic and Lucy isnt as put off by how bat shit crazy natsu is bc she just finds it fun and like a breath of fresh air Like lucy grew up in such a suffocating proper environment, so when she meets natsu and his fucking crazyness shes like omg finally my life is so boring Lucy is genuinely looking for excitement and adventure so of course she goes with natsu to join fairy tail And I think it takes natsu aback how ready she is to go with him but i think in his mind because she wasn’t deterred by his “quriks” like most ppl he was immediately like new family fuck yea Bc idk that's just how his mind works bc subconsciously i think natsu knows he is difficult or weird so he's learned to latch onto the people who don't mind that abt him and that's just so happened to,, only be ppl who had to put up with him in fairy tail Not to mention a part of him probably believes it's his fault that igneel left in that kid way where u just feel like everything is ur fault oop Also also i think that lucy literally has no frame of reference for like, a normal healthy friendship, so she kinda just takes natsu's lead and oh boy is that a mistake Like after lucy joins the guild natsu is just CONSTANTLY hanging around her the way he did with erza and gray when they were kids and lucy, again having little to no sense of how friends work, just kinda lets him and gets use to it, she actually really enjoys having that sort of attention bc idk she's never really experienced having someone WANT to be around her just cuz, like the closest thing she had to friends were her servants who were literally obligated to be around her all the time and any “friends” her age she had were forced to hang out with her bc of her family I think Gray and Erza start to worry a bit that if Natsu is too overbearing he’ll end up pushing lucy away bc they're all under the assumption that lucy is a normal person with normal boundaries and a normal childhood So they pull natsu aside like hey bestie maybe don't growl at people when they look at her she might think ur mean and stop wanting to hang out with u Bc they KNOW how natsu is and they dont mind but they're also 2 traumatized orphans who don't have a normal frame of reference for how other ppl work, but unlike natsu they usually air on the side of caution It kinda eats at natsu a bit and he tries to give lucy her space especially if she gets even a little annoyed with him Lucy starts to notice but doesn't say anything bc she just figures he's probably bored with her bc she genuinely believes she's just painfully uninteresting in every way And then she gets kidnapped And natsu loses his fucking mind :D Bc for fuck sake this boy can NOT have a friend without them being taken from him High key it goes like, the same as canon bc i like how that went But the AFTERMATH Oh fucking boy Natsu literally doesn't leave her side This is where, i think, Natsu starts breaking into lucy's apartment lol Its treated as comedic but there's an underlying tension where natsu is just extremely hesitant to leave ever or even let lucy leave And that's when lucy starts to be like aight this cant continue Not in a mean way in just a, idk how to function if i can't be alone ever and it lowkey brings memories of her childhood which is also bad bc natsu isn't her keeper nor should he be And that's not what natsu is TRYING to do he's literally just so scared that if he blinks wrong shell disappear they figure it out tho bc they r friends and UGH i just wanT them to talk and cuddle platonically bc UGH I LOVE THEMMM

[mockiery]

<3 I was wondering.... are you gonna do another fic? I loved grounding.

Do you think Jake is a horrible flirt? I bet he flirts with Layla and thinks Marc getting protective of her is funny. Plus she blushes horribly. She isnt used to the suave cool flirtations.

thank you!! and i am! the fic i'm working on now is marc and steven focused and i feel like i need to finish it before i move on to more jake and layla stuff. its all the same post-canon continuity as "grounding" and "carving" and actually take place between them, so i feel like i need that baseline before i continue past "carving" in the whole course of events i have going.

In short, yeah, Jake can be a bit of a flirt. He goes out and socializes in ways Marc and Steven would not. In my Aroace Jake (which has a lil treat at the end you might like <3) and Jake and Music hc’s/metas/rants, I mention as much. He’s got a communal connection in ways Marc and Steven don’t. On top of his cab-driving work in meeting people constantly, he'd go to a bar, a dance club, a diner (eyes emoji), etc. and be a face among the masses, big passing ships in the night energy. Jake doesn't let himself have "real", long-lasting relationships with those around him (with exception to Gena and her kids at this point, though who can blame him? He tells himself it’s for the diner food and the good coffee, but it’s for Gena’s and her boys’ companionship more than anything), but he does get to be someone's late-night (one-night-only) friend and companion. It's anonymous, almost. Temporary, no lasting consequences. 

I see Jake as aroace, and for him, flirting is just another tool in the arsenal of social skills he’s cultivated. It’s often pretty fun too. While he’s a master of masking and socializing, I think he does have trouble picking up people’s social signals about romance especially, at times. Practically, the difference between fun, playful banter between friends and a good portion of romantically-and/or-sexually-charged banter (i.e. flirting) is pretty slight. 

After a night trading jokes and challenging conversation, tearing up the dance floor together with someone(s) I could see someone making a move and/or inviting Jake home and it surprising him, more in the early days of having a night life of his own than later on. He does perfectly well when someone’s attraction is made clear and explicit in their words, but he’s had to learn to anticipate the possibility of someone’s attraction even if not explicitly stated. 

That’s all more about how Jake responds to flirting, but Jake himself? He lives for the banter, the back-and-forth, the game of it. He’s not going to initiate the flirt, but if someone sends a clear cue to do so? He’s down. Most of the time, anyway. Jake banters and jokes around with anyone he meets, and he takes as much enjoyment in the platonic banter as he does the romantic. It’s a game, and he’s strategic, thoughtful. He’s piecing together the puzzle of this other person, seeing how they respond and what’ll make them laugh, what’ll make them playfully nonreceptive versus genuinely nonreceptive. Flowery language, suave confidence, cheesy lines, compliments, subtle innuendo, jokes, sharing stories, talking life, physical closeness, dancing, intensity, gentleness, or just. Him being genuinely himself, not trying to perform the socialization.

It’s when nothing else has satisfied the other player in this game that he lets go of the performance. And sometimes, that’s what pulls people in the most. 

I think when people make a move to be physical with him, to invite him home, I think sometimes he accepts. It’s more game, more back-and-forth, more dancing, and, above all, it’s fun. 

He never stays the night, never sleeps over. His companion(s) for the night is that: for the night. And they know it. Jake may perform, but he doesn’t lie or mislead. The performance is him, heightened, more than it is someone else. 

Now, finally, to Layla. Jake doesn’t flirt with Layla. At least not for a long time. In the early days of being known to and well-into being *accepted* by Marc and Steven, he’s incredibly careful in how he interacts with Layla. Beyond the occasional half-irritated “hermosa”, Jake wouldn’t dare. He’s not going to cross that line. Layla isn’t his. She isn’t anyone’s, but she certainly isn’t his. They didn’t have a relationship, even if he’d pretended to be Marc around her on occasion in the past. That still wasn’t for him. Marc and now Steven's relationships with her are their own. Jake is so used to and inclined to try and stay out of their way, of their lives, of course he’s going to keep his distance. It doesn’t occur to him that she’d want to get to know him, who he is. Beyond what he does for his brothers. But him.

It takes time, but eventually, they become legitimate friends. It doesn’t start with flirting, it starts with Jake stating compliments of her as fact. Because they are, of course. Just observations. Maybe someone disrespects her or belittles her, and he gets angry, of course, but he goes off about how fucking wrong this hijo de puta is, that she’s a genius and, frankly, a saint for not kicking the bastards ass then and there, that they’re fucking lucky to have been in the same room as her, much less have the privilege of her competency and talent brought to their work, I can’t fucking believe this idiota, you’re too fucking good to deal with this shit. Mierda. Fuck.

And Layla is just staring at him, this being the most affection he’s ever shown her. A little more time, more growing comfortable in their dynamic as a system and with Layla, perhaps they’re about to have a night out, maybe for a mission, where they need to dress up, and Jake’s taking lead on recon, and he sees her all done up and, unlike Marc’s stunted speechlessness turned physical affection, Steven’s astonished showers of compliments, Jake? Jake tells it like it is. This ain’t gonna work. 

Why? 

You’re gonna fucking kill everyone in this joint when we step through the door. 

Cue Layla’s confused, surprised look. 

One look at you and every poor bastard in there’s heart is gonna stop. Can’t get intel if you’ve dropped all the sources by being so fucking gorgeous, hermosa. 

Layla’s face heats up immediately and she laughs, taking his arm in hers as they head out. 

From the back of their mind, Jake hears, Kinda cheesy, man. 

And then, I dunno, Marc, I thought it was lovely. And it’s not like he’s wrong. 

No, I know, trust me. She’s… she’s something. 

You should be a poet, jefe. 

Shut up.

[earliebirb]

i’ll save you a seat

steve/tony, established relationship, canon divergence, 1673 words

(inspired by this deleted scene from the avengers [2012])

“Waiting on the big guy?”

“Ma’am?” Steve looks up from his sketchbook, eyes squinting against the sunlight. 

He meets the gaze of one of the waitresses working at the caf��. Her long blond hair flows down to her chest and she is dressed in the café’s signature uniform: pastel orange blouse, black skirt, and a white half apron tied around her waist. 

“Iron Man,” the waitress clarifies, lips quirked up in a knowing smile. “A lot of people eat here just to see him fly by.”

“Right,” Steve says, lips twitching at their inside joke. He opens his mouth to say something else, but a familiar silhouette in the distance catches his eye and breaks his train of thought. “Uh, actually…”

He nods at the sky. The waitress follows his gaze.

The object grows larger, approaching at a high speed. It morphs into a blur of red and gold that streaks across the blue sky right above them, sending a gust of wind that ruffles the waitress’ blond locks. The figure lands a short distance away from the café with a distinct metallic thunk — the sound of gold-titanium alloy hitting concrete. 

All around him, people begin to whisper among themselves with excitement, some even taking out their phones to document the spectacle. Although Steve can’t really say he enjoys the attention, warmth still blooms in his chest as he observes the approaching figure. He finds himself hiding an involuntary grin behind his hand.

“Always a dramatic entrance, huh?” The waitress chuckles.

“You know it.” Steve sighs with fond exasperation. All eyes are on Tony as he walks toward the outdoor area of the café, the nanotech suit peeling away from his body. The excited murmurs and whispers increase in volume.

When Tony finally arrives at the table, he bends down to plant a kiss on Steve’s cheek. “Good morning, beloved.”

“Mr. Stark-Rogers,” the kind waitress greets with a smile. “The usual?”

“Please, Beth. I told you to call me Tony.” Tony reaches up to slide his sunglasses a few inches down the bridge of his nose, giving her a disapproving look that makes her chuckle. “And yes, please. Thank you.”

“Table’s yours as long as you like,” she says before disappearing into the indoor part of the café to relay the order. Steve knows she means it, too. She’ll make sure of it, just like she always has for the past few years.

The café had been Steve’s favorite café, at first. He visited the place often, especially during his first few weeks in the twenty-first century. He developed a fondness for their sesame seed bagels and the lovely view of Stark Tower from his favorite outdoor table, although the latter is a fact Steve would never admit to Tony even on pain of death. 

However, the café quickly became Steve and Tony’s favorite café when their reluctant camaraderie bloomed into friendship all those years ago. Even before they started dating, Steve and Tony already established a weekly ritual of having brunch at the café whenever their schedules aligned. 

Tony did eventually admit to Steve that he found the café’s coffee to be subpar. He did, however, insist that the café was his favorite, albeit for reasons different from Steve’s. Not for the bagels, not for the exceptional view of Stark Tower, and definitely not for the coffee, but because the café was a place full of memories. His memories of the two of them, his memories of Steve:

“That café was where I first made you laugh. Like, really laugh. I’d seen you smile or chuckle before, but that kind of full-body laughter? That was a first. And I remember thinking that… I really, really liked the way you laughed.”

It has been seven years since Steve first sat at this very table and sketched the figure of Stark Tower looming before him. Beth is still working at the café, having made her way through the ranks. Now a co-owner of the café, she has developed a friendship of sorts with Steve and Tony — both of whom she claims to be her favorite regulars. Tony likes to joke about how she probably says that to all of her regulars, something Beth always denies vehemently. 

Steve turns his attention back to Tony, who has taken off and folded his sunglasses, letting them hang from the collar of his shirt. 

“Would it kill you to take the elevator and walk?”

“It’s not like I do this every single time. Besides, why take the elevator when you have a flying suit? That’s just ineffective.” Tony makes a face as he pulls his chair out.

“‘S good exercise.”

“I exercise plenty.” Tony sits down on the chair across from him, scooting closer to the table. Under the table, his ankle brushes Steve’s. “Besides, we just engaged in a vigorous workout session this morning.” Tony bites his lower lip, giving Steve a lascivious wink.

“Tony,” Steve reprimands, but finds himself unable to say anything further, not when the back of his neck is heating up at the memory of what they were up to just a few hours ago. While Steve immediately showered afterward and headed straight to the café, Tony decided he wanted to sleep for a few more hours, promising to join Steve later. 

Tony grins before leaning forward on his elbows to peer at Steve’s sketch.

“Which lucky building are you sketching today, honeybunch?”

He squints and frowns when instead of a building he finds a rough and nondescript sketch of a person’s face. 

It could be anyone to the untrained eye, but Steve’s pen strokes are sure and confident, having rendered the same jawline countless of times. 

Every single time, Tony’s figure never fails to fascinate him. Always so beautiful from every angle, in every light. Steve knows it well enough by now to be able to sketch him simply from an image in his mind’s eye. 

Still, nothing beats the real thing. Steve takes in the sweep of Tony’s dark lashes and his coffee brown eyes as he appraises the drawing.

“It’s not a building,” Steve says instead. 

Tony hums noncommittally, tilting his head at the sketch and giving it one last look before leaning back in his seat. “How was your morning run?”

“Uneventful.”

“Really?” Tony says distractedly, his attention on Beth who is once again approaching their table with his cup of coffee, black as midnight.

Tony engages in more small talk with Beth as she sets the cup and saucer on the table, asking after her husband and kids. There is an easy and carefree smile on his face, crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes.

All the while, his fingers are fiddling with two sugar packets Steve knows he will only use one of. He is always buzzing with energy, parts of him always in a state of perpetual motion, finding it near impossible to stay still. 

Steve also knows that he won’t finish the coffee because it wasn’t made by Steve or himself.

These little idiosyncrasies are details that make up Tony, the little quirks that only Steve knows.

The little things that make you mine, Steve thinks privately. He feels something inside him softening at the thought.

“Sorry, honey,” Tony says when Beth eventually leaves to take another table’s orders, his smile soft and affectionate. “You were saying? Running was uneventful?”

“Yeah,” Steve says quietly, “nothing really interesting.” He admires the way sunlight turns the tips of Tony’s dark hair into a lighter shade of brown. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’re still the highlight of my morning.”

Tony huffs, rolling his eyes, but his lips curve up into a pleased smile and his brown eyes are warm with affection as he meets Steve’s gaze. He reaches for Steve’s hand on the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. The band of vibranium around his husband’s ring finger gleams in the late morning sunlight.

“I better be, after waking you up with one hell of a—”

“Tony!” Steve exclaims, knocking his ankle against Tony’s in warning. “Stop it.”

“What? It’s the truth! You really did enjoy it when I—”

“There are children around,” Steve hisses, casting a furtive glance at a nearby table occupied by a family of four. 

Tony laughs softly, his shoulders shaking with it. Still holding his gaze, he brings Steve’s hand to his lips, pressing two feather-light kisses to the back of his hand. He continues holding Steve’s hand against his mouth, and when he speaks Steve feels his lips and the bristles of his goatee brushing his skin.

“Sorry, baby, I can’t help it.” Tony hides a smile against Steve’s knuckles. “You’re just so pretty when you blush.”

Steve looks down, avoiding Tony’s eyes in favor of staring at the cookie crumbs next to his half-full cup of coffee that has long since gone cold. His cheeks are still burning, and Tony’s words are not helping.

“See?” Tony says, before planting a kiss to his knuckles. “So pretty.”

Steve shuts his eyes with a defeated sigh. “Please just drink your coffee.”

Tony chuckles again but Steve hears the clink of ceramic, a cup being lifted from its saucer. “Aye-aye, Captain.”

He only allows himself to open his eyes when Tony gets distracted by some pigeons, immediately launching into a spiel about the one time he was attacked by a pigeon who was apparently really determined to steal his sandwich.

Steve nods along dutifully, reacting at appropriate times throughout the story, but all he can think of is that sitting there, at a café’s outdoor table on Park Avenue on a bright Sunday morning, his husband sat in front of him talking a mile a minute, is that there is nowhere else he’d rather be.

His gaze falls down to where Tony’s hand is still holding his, even when his other hand is gesturing animatedly as he tells his story.

Yes. Steve thinks, smiling helplessly at the twinkle in Tony’s eyes — the one that appears whenever he gets excited. I’m home. 

[sineala]

Final thoughts on the mini series? I love hearing your views ❤️

Thank you for asking! I really appreciate your asks!

My answer is a little long so it is going under this Read More.

A Captain America/Iron Man team-up series is something I have wanted to see for literal years, and I assume that this is a desire that I share with many other Steve/Tony fans. The other big team-up stories that exist (everything that got collected in that one Cap/IM anthology trade as well as One Night in Madripoor) are certainly well-regarded in fandom and, yeah, I'd been hoping for more. So I was really glad when this was announced, although honestly I would have preferred it to be called Tales of Suspense for the sheer nostalgia value.

My confidence about Marvel's current ability to write stories about Tony Stark, specifically, meant that the bar here was actually fairly low -- like, as long as Tony wasn't an asshole who was hated by all his friends, I was probably going to like it no matter what, and even if he was an asshole, at least it would be a comic book with Steve and Tony on every page. (It's harder, in my opinion, for Marvel to write really bad Steve comics; for me the usual fail state of bad Cap comics is more "well, this is meh.")

So I was pleasantly surprised to find that this series was, in fact, pretty good. Let's call it "really good." I'm feeling generous. It's not perfect, but I am so glad it exists. I have bought so many of the variant covers and am going to buy the trade because I want to communicate to Marvel that they should make another one exactly like this.

I was pretty sure this was going to be good even from reading the promotional interviews with Derek Landy when they first announced the book. I know the interviews are designed to make you want to buy the book, but everything he was saying in them about how he was taking inspiration from ToS sounded really good and he seemed to see the characters the same way I did.

So, yeah, I think he nailed it.

I like when superhero comics concern themselves with what it means to be a superhero, and he really went there with this one. I liked that the villain was someone whose motivations were presented like they might belong to a real person (superheroes are dangerous vigilantes!) as opposed to "but I don't want to cure cancer! I want to turn people into dinosaurs!" But mostly I think he really did a great job with Steve and Tony.

There's a dynamic you see a fair amount of in fanfiction that's basically "Steve and Tony take turns comforting each other" and that feels like what this was, to me. Except canon. Tony is upset and hating himself and Steve cheers him up! Then Steve is upset about Secret Empire and Tony cheers him up! And they both play it off a little as "you're being weird" but it's clear that they really care about each other and reading it is like "Wow! I read that fic! I think I wrote that fic! And here it is in canon!" so, y'know, I feel really vindicated in my assessments of these characters.

(Tony being upset that Veronica never called after spending the night with him is, like, Peak Tony. And the bit with Tony hating on himself and Steve being like "that's not who you are to me" is perfect. I think Steve's Captain America Speeches were on point, especially his defense of superheroing in #5. Also him cheering Tony up.)

All the little emotional moments were really, really solid. Steve at Tony's apartment in issue 2 giving him a pep talk! Steve showing up at the end of issue 5 with coffee! And of course the comfort bits. I mentioned those. But, like, they were the best. I feel like even the MCU Steve/Tony fans who don't ordinarily do comics would like this one.

I also really enjoyed that the plot was related to previous canon events. And I don't just mean the canon deep cut of using The Overseer from Iron Man #29 as a villain. It's rare for comics to refer to things that are more than a couple years old, so I was pleasantly surprised that the Initiative played a major role. I also enjoyed the Secret Empire references -- for all that Secret Empire is relatively recent, I feel like canon hasn't dealt much with the fallout in the sense of dealing with how Steve feels about this. So him having to wear Hydra Cap's armor was an interesting and welcome move, and honestly I think it's even more interesting that Tony seemed to be way more upset about that than Steve was. There's probably a fic in that.

(I know I have said it before but I feel like there's also interesting fic potential in the fact that neither Steve nor Tony have personal experiential memories of either of the two things they're upset about. When the Initiative happened, Steve was dead; Tony was alive, but his brain delete covers that period of time, so he doesn't remember it. When Secret Empire happened, Tony was in a coma and Steve was stuck in a weird forest inside a Cosmic Cube -- while both of them certainly know what happened, they didn't live through it in the usual way.)

(Okay, there's also room for fic about Tony inviting Steve up to his apartment for coffee. Heh.)

The art was, in my opinion, mostly decent. Usually "decent" is good enough for me (I have loved a lot of runs with art that could have been much better) but in this case I feel like there were moments where it was clear that Steve was supposed to be good-looking -- like, the bit with the women swooning over him in issue #1 -- and the art just didn't get there. Basically I guess I did not click with the artist's Steve. The Tony was fine, except for the panels where he was shorter than Steve while in armor. But, you know, it was fine. The Alex Ross covers were Shiny.

If I could change one thing about this series I would have had Steve and Tony be on-panel together more. For a team-up mini, I kind of want... teaming up, you know? And while they were certainly on the same side, a lot of this, especially the last couple issues, were Steve and Tony separately figuring out what was going on in the plot and communicating it to each other while not anywhere near each other. I'm not saying they have to be handcuffed together but I would have liked them to stick together a little more. The pacing of the plot was fine, sure, but I wasn't reading this for the plot.

The plot definitely seemed to be wide-open for a sequel, though. Which I appreciate.

But anyway, yes, the characterization was perfect and the emotional moments were perfect and I will take twelve more of these anytime, please and thank you.