#it could still make a good birdy snack or something

[many-gay-magpies]

sad moment. very sad moment. there was a ladybug on the floor of my study hall classroom and id spent the first 20 minutes of class trying to keep it safe and preserve it so i could take it outside with me when i left for the day. id managed to get it onto my table but it went back to the floor and i figured that was fine, it was pretty slow-moving so i could probably find it again when the time came, except i lost sight of it for a bit and didnt realize how close it was to my foot and accidentally stepped on it. now i feel obligated to take it outside with me and lay it to rest in a plant or something

[scoops-aboy86]

Your Smile Is My Favorite

Prompt Used: Summer reading (@thehairandthebanished) and cheesy pickup lines (@softsteddieseptember) | Your Smile Is My Favorite | Rating: T | CW: mild body image issues | Additional Tags: chubby Steve Harrington, gay Eddie Munson, pining, bizarre communication through intricate pickup line rituals, Robin loves these two idiots

I wrote most of this while on a 11 hour car trip, I’ll post it to ao3 later. 🥱 Still the 4th in my time zone though!

It’s hard to stay absorbed in a book when Steve Harrington is swimming laps in his little red shorts, but Eddie is managing. 

Sort of. Kinda. 

Okay, not really. Or at all. 

But he’s read Return of the King so many times before that he can fill in any paragraphs his eyes accidentally skim over from memory, so it’s fine. And he definitely rolled high on stealth by being smart enough to bring sunglasses, because Middle Earth has nothing on his view of Steve’s chest while the guy does the backstroke. 

Earlier in the summer Steve would have been poolside with Eddie and Robin, sprawled out in the sun snacking on pizza and chips with them and letting Eddie draw him into their umpteenth debate on which is better, Coca Cola or Mountain Dew. Now he’s going at it in the pool like he has something to prove, or diving in over and over while complaining about his form. 

Which, Eddie thinks, is a very fine form indeed. He’s thickened up some since their harrowing adventures last Spring Break, transformed from merely good-looking to downright beefy in a way that makes Eddie’s mouth water and fingers twitch with the urge to rake through that tantalizing chest hair, test the give of Steve’s deliciously softer pecs and stomach. It’s starting to become a problem. 

As if Aragorn, son of Arathorn, would have an easier time concentrating on a book about the Party’s adventures if Arwen were parading around in front of him while scantily clad, Eddie thinks, trying to make himself feel like a little bit less of a pining loser. 

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Robin says, sounding bored from the next lounge chair over. She hasn’t even looked up from her own book. 

Eddie considers protesting. He could; they’ve never actually discussed the way they’d clocked each other as queer during Spring Break, he has plausible deniability. 

Instead, he says, “Got a camera you can loan me, Birdie?”

She snorts, sliding her bookmark into place as she turns towards him on her lounger. “No, but now that we’re talking about it, can we talk about how your crush is visible from, like, space?”

“He is not!” The protest tumbles out of him before Eddie even thinks about it, and his cheeks immediately flare red under layers of sunblock. It’s not like Robin would talk about the way her platonic soulmate had recently put on some extra weight like that, Eddie is just a moron. Well, he’ll just have to blow past it and pretend he’d been… bluffing about his crush not being Steve. Yeah. “Uh, I mean. Fuck, I’m not being too obvious, am I?”

Robin’s grin is smug, and definitely a little bit at his expense. “Not really. You’re super easily distracted when there’s more people around, so the kids haven’t picked up on it yet.” She glances back at the pool and the expression softens to amused affection. “It’s written all over your face right now, but I’m pretty sure dingus over there has this fixed idea about your type being all dark clothes and leather and tattoos. He’ll never figure it out on his own, completely hopeless.”

That’s a relief to hear. Eddie relaxes beneath the shade of his poolside umbrella, glances down at his book again… 

And snaps it shut and scrunches up on his side to face her too. He’ll be able to find his place again later, more or less. The occasional splashes of Steve reaching one side of the pool and flipping around to swim back fades into the background for the first time all day in the face of this new, unexplored conversational territory. 

“So,” he says matter-of-factly. Because he’s reconciled with this a long time ago: Robin has literally helped save his life a number of times, she’s safe. “Clearly you’ve got me all figured out. And there’s no way you could be around that all the time and still get anything done without being… oppositely inclined.”

She nods, and the teeny tiny bit of him that had been braced just in case he was wrong relaxes. “Yeah. I don’t see the appeal, but I’ve literally seen a few girls walk into things when they catch sight of him.”

Eddie snickers, like the hypocrite slightly wired on nerves and relief that he is. Curbs, trash cans, the glass doors of Family Video… he’s been there, done that, and been forced to turn it into a bit so no one catches on to what all of those instances had in common. (Steve smiling at him. Steve looking at him. Just, Steve.)

“Not as many lately though,” Robin confides, a little sad. “Shallow bitches.”

“Shallow as hell,” Eddie agrees. One hundred percent. “They have no idea what they’re missing out on.”

“It’s taking a toll on him,” she continues. “You know, how his hair kinda deflates a little when he’s bummed out? Those great big puppy dog eyes come out and it’s all—” her voice drops in a possible Steve impression “—‘Is it me, Rob? What am I doing wrong?’”

Eddie huffs a wordless disagreement with that whole sentiment. Wrong with Steve? Wrong with Steve? There’s nothing wrong with Steve, in his opinion. Badass scars, heart of gold, hair of the gods, and a little more meat on his bones making him even more solid and dependable? Sign Eddie the fuck up. 

Sure, there’s also the nightmares and a general jumpiness whenever the phone rings or lights flicker or a radio starts to crackle, but the same can be said of pretty much everyone in the Party, Eddie included. It’s perfectly understandable after everything they’ve been through, the number of times they’ve helped save the world. 

“I think that’s why he’s leaning so hard into swimming again,” Robin adds. And even though she seems totally casual, there’s something… not pointed, exactly, but definitely not dull behind her words. She’s giving him a look that Eddie can’t figure out, because he just doesn’t have the same kind of in-tune-ness with her that she and Steve display on a regular basis, having conversations with nothing but stares, blinks, and funny eyebrow twitches. 

He tries anyway. Even pushes his sunglasses up into his hair for a clearer look, but message not received. Frowning, he glances over his shoulder at the pool again. “Because he’s… upset about not going on dates lately?”

Not that Eddie had been paying attention or anything. Not that he’d daydreamed hopelessly a few times that it was because Steve was hung up on him, lingering a bit more than necessary when dropping off and picking up the kids on Hellfire days. Inviting Eddie to hangout days like this. Taking Eddie up on it whenever he offers to smoke the guy out, usually when they both have dark circles from sleeping poorly blooming under their eyes and everything about the no longer in peril world around them feels like too much. Springing for fast food whenever they get the munchies, since Eddie supplied the grass…

“Because he thinks there’s something wrong about him,” Robin corrects, “that he needs to work out.” 

Oh. What—oh. Eddie blinks, reorients, and realizes that the thing he hadn’t been able to read before is concern. “But… he looks so good,” he says dumbly. 

Steve is self-conscious about his weight? Oh no, that won’t do at all. Eddie’s mind is already racing through ways to reassure their friend that he looks great, fantastic, amazing, all the positive adjectives that he knows. He wants to build Steve up, make sure he knows that there are definitely people who would absolutely jump at the chance to be with him. 

Or, you know, right here. Or something. 

Splashing sounds draw his attention back to the pool, and it’s Steve wading up the shallow end towards them, apparently tired out for the time being. And Eddie… panics. 

“Damn, Harrington,” he blurts out, “is it hot out here or is it just you?”

Which is. It’s. Something out of that terrible pickup lines book one of the Corroded Coffin guys found at a yard sale a few weeks ago—he can’t remember who exactly, maybe Jeff?—that they’d all howled over, reading the worst ones out loud in ridiculous voices. Why the hell is that what popped into his head?

Steve pauses with one foot still in the pool, squinting at him. “Uh… It’s definitely hot today. Are you… overheated or something? I could get you some ice water.”

“No, I’m good,” Eddie manages. And then, because he’s an idiot, he continues, “Have I told you lately that you’re very attractive? You must eat magnets for breakfast.”

He catches a glimpse of Robin out of the corner of one eye. For a second he hopes that she might step in and save him from himself, but nope; her face is frozen in a look of appalled fascination. No help coming from that quarter. 

“I,” Steve starts, stepping the rest of the way out of the pool and putting both hands on his hips like he doesn’t know what else to do with them. “Dude, are you high?”

If only he were. The proximity of Steve’s naked, dripping wet chest and the gentle roll over the top of his swim trunks seems to have roughly the same effect on him though. 

“Nope,” Eddie squeaks. His face feels incandescent, and he can’t even blame it on a sunburn. And still he opens his mouth again, because he’s already gone this far, might as well commit to the bit. “But we should smoke up later, sweetheart. I think weed be really good together.”

That one wasn’t from the book. It’s an Eddie Munson original. If death took him now, he would not hate it. 

Steve looks to Robin, who shrugs and throws him a towel. He catches it and starts drying his hair, returning his attention to Eddie with a perplexed look. “Low blood sugar?” he asks, and it takes a second for Eddie to place that Steve is still trying to guess why he’s being so weird. 

As if the Freak of Hawkins needs something so pedestrian as a reason. 

“We can order pizza,” Robin suggests in a strangled voice. She’s trying so hard not to laugh, which is good. Probably. 

Eddie can muster a little gratitude for that, right up until he opens his mouth again and “Oh, are you craving pizza? Because I’d love to get a pizz-a you” falls out. 

… Maybe he does have low blood sugar. Or, like. A brain tumor or something. 

Steve sends Robin another look, then shrugs and heads inside the house. Presumably to order pizza, and hopefully for Eddie’s sanity to put on a shirt. 

As soon as the glass door slides shut behind him, Robin whips around and whisper yells, “What the hell was that?!”

Eddie throws himself back on his lounger and covers his face with both hands. “I don’t know. I wanted to cheer him up, make him feel good about himself or something, but—”

“And you thought hitting on him would do the trick? Very badly, I might add!”

“Oh, like you know anything about what works when hitting on dudes!” Eddie shoots back, even though she’s right. So very right. Cruelly correct, to a poor gay man who is suffering. 

He rolls over on the chair, only putting a knee or elbow through the plastic straps beneath him a few times before flopping face down and tugging his own unused towel over his entire head. It’s almost restful under there. The lounger cradles his face a little too high because the back is still angled slightly up for, you know, lounging… and Return of the King is dry and solid under one shoulder, twisting his frame a little oddly, but other than that…

~

By the time Steve comes back outside, Eddie barely notices. He feels slow and drowsy from the heat, everything muffled by the towel. But he does hear a scrape over the concrete beneath him and cracks an eye open to peer through the gaps in the chair. 

It’s a slice of pepperoni and extra cheese on a paper plate, positioned directly below his head, right where he can smell it. 

Fuck, okay. He can’t not get up for food freely offered. It’s just not how Wayne raised him. 

“There you are,” Steve says brightly when Eddie emerges and resituates himself with the plate in hand. “Feeling better? Seemed like the heat was getting to you there.”

“Must’ve,” Eddie replies with a weak laugh. “Thanks.” For the pizza, and for allowing him some semblance of dignity to fall back on after… whatever that had been. Because Steve, above all else, is a good dude; something Eddie has been all too aware of for over a year now. 

Steve passes him a can of Mountain Dew and taps his own Coke can against it like a toast. “Don’t mention it. And, uh, Eds…” He’s starting to smile, just a little. “I know this is going to sound cheesy, but I think you're the gratest.”

Somewhere to Eddie’s other side, Robin chokes on her drink and has to cough a few times to clear it. 

Eddie just stares, jaw dropped open and feeling flushed all over, heart in his throat. Even with his hair still wet and smelling strongly of chlorine, Steve has somehow retained that signature swoop. Maybe he fixed it while he was inside, procuring pizza and slipping into an old and raggedy high school gym shirt that makes him only slightly less biteable. 

And that smile, fully bloomed now and brighter than the afternoon sun. Like he’s decided, playfully, to meet Eddie at his level no matter how dumb it is. 

“Alright,” Robin rasps. “Okay. I’m just gonna go inside to finish my summer reading while you dingi do… whatever this is.” Followed by the creak of her chair as she clambers off. 

“Don’t mess with the thermostat,” Steve calls after her. He turns slightly to do it and releases Eddie from his tractor beam stare, letting Eddie breathe again—when had he stopped doing that? And then those hazel eyes are back on him, hypnotizing. “Well? Cat got your tongue, or do you have any more?”

The words are… different, now that they’re alone. Quieter. Steve is leaning forward slightly, legs over the side of the chair as he faces Eddie. Elbows on his knees and Coke can dangling forgotten from one big hand. His stare is intense in a way that is almost too terrifying to try to read into. 

Eddie wets his lips nervously. “No, I… I’ve got more.” He sits up a little straighter, turns to put his feet down on the shaded but still warm concrete and face Steve head-on. “I’m no photographer, but I can picture us together.”

It sounds, feels, almost terrifyingly like a confession. 

Steve’s grin gets impossibly brighter and Eddie is back to not daring to breathe, because what is happening. “Are you a camera? Because every time I look at you, I smile.”

Which is. That’s. Does he? Eddie is having some sort of out of body experience trying to think back. 

The part of him that’s still anchored in bones and nerves and skin takes a deep breath. Committing to it. 

“Of all the beautiful curves on your body, your smile is my favorite,” he hears himself say, and it’s probably the plainest, most honest words he’s uttered in his entire twenty-one years of life. 

It’s not like he thinks Steve is going to punch him for saying it. Or even for saying it like that. Good dude, inescapable. But he wasn’t expecting the guy’s eyes to go big and molten, or for him to swallow hard, all while that amazing smile never dims. 

“I’m… Shit, I’m going to give you a kiss, Eddie. If you don't like it, you can return it.”

And then Steve leans forward, and does. 

~

Half an hour later, Robin comes back outside to check on them and finds the two young men twined together on one lounger. Steve is sprawled half on top of Eddie, who looks like he’s holding him in place with both legs and teasing a half eaten slice of pizza against Steve’s mouth. Steve snaps at it with his teeth, and Eddie yanks it away but then goes back in to tap it against his lips anyway with a laugh, loose and easy. Happy. 

They both look so happy together. 

She knew it. All she’d had to do was get those two pining idiots talking about something real—even if Eddie had surprised her with a deeply unexpected means of doing so. Whatever, he’s weird, nothing new there. The important thing is that her plan to end her two best friends’ ridiculous mutual pining for one another had worked. 

And Steve hadn’t believed her when she’d insisted that the metalhead definitely doesn’t think it’s a bad thing that his clothes all fit a little more snug these days. Ha. One more tally on her own You Rule column. 

Feeling magnanimous, Robin decides to wait until they’re done with lunch to turn the hose on them. 

Permanent tag list: @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @sofadofax @irishvampireboy @oatmilk-vampire

@wheneverfeasible @hamiltonswiftie @grtwdsmwhr @yesdangerpls @theseaofdespair

[sanscat0414]

Aftercare~ +18

Hawks x Reader

MDNI!!!!

Scenario: After a steamy night, Hawks takes care of you.

Masterlist

————————————————————————

You both are panting, Hawks on top of you as he held him self up. He looks at you, with the most goofy and adorable eyes. He lands a kiss on top of your head and smiles.

“I’m going to pull out now.” He said softly and removing himself from you carefully.

It wasn’t your first time in bed together but this time he was partially rough so he wanted make sure your okay. You let out a small whine as you felt the fullness leave you. You’re still trembling but your hands still reaching to hold your birdie. Hawks chuckles at your cute display and rolled over to the side and held you in his arms.

“How you feelin? I know I was a more rough than usual. You’re not hurt yeah?” He whispered quietly into your ear.

Your brain was throughly fried form the intensity of your interaction and all you could go out was “So~ So good~”

“Good. Now I’ll be right back okay?” He said as he let go of you.

You whimper at the lack of physical contact of your man as he walked off to the bathroom. You stared at the ceiling as your recall what just conspired trying to get your body to listen to you but you still tremble from the overstimulation.

After a few minutes Hawks walked back in and gently picked you up. He carried you to the bathroom and helped you wash the mess you both made off. It felt incredible having his hands running through your hair and just having him close. Once he was done he pick you up again and placed you down in the bath. He stayed with you for a bit before trying to He walk off again but you held his hand.

“Stay~” you whined.

“I’ll come join you after I put our sheets in the laundry and changed the sheets.” He said gently patting your head.

“But I wanna now~” you complain but still let him go.

“It’ll only be a few minutes.”

Hawks personally didn’t mind having the mess, he loved having his scent on you and yours on him. But he knew you didn’t like feeling filthy in your own fluids. He changed the sheets and made himself know to you once more. He carefully walked into the bath and sat down. Once he got comfortable he pulled you towards his chest and held you as you both relaxed in the warm bath water.

“Feeling better? Less fried now?” He asked.

You gave him a small hum and leaned back your head to look at him. You smile at him and he returned it. You loved the sensation of being in each other company and listening to Hawks hum a little as he held you. The two of you stayed like that for a while until you two need to get out before becoming prunes. Hawks handed you one of his shirts and shorts which you gladly accepted.

Once the both of you were changed, he picked you up again and walked over to the now mostly clean bed. Once he placed you down, he got on to the bed with you and let you find a position that comfortably for the two of you.

“Want some snacks? Movie? Anything?” He asked.

He was alway so sweet especially after an extra rough session. Hawks knew he can be a bit much sometimes and feels no matter what he always were the one doing the aftercare except for when you totally fry his brain being Dom that is.

“That sounds nice. Maybe some sweets?” You said looking up at him.

He nodded and sent his feathers to grab your favorite sweets.

“I love you~” you cooed and kissed his cheek.

“Dove~ you missed.” He joked and kissed your lips.

You giggled at the act and place your face into the crook of his neck.

“Thank you really. I appreciate that aftercare. “ you said as you stared up at him.

“Of course~ I’m the king of aftercare! I gotta make sure my queen is well taken care of.” He joked as he handed you to your favorite sweet.

You smiled as he put something on for the both of you to watch. You both fell asleep after a bit cuddling close to one another.

———————————————————

Next Morning:

You reached out to pull Hawks closer only to find an empty space. You groggily opened your eyes and saw Hawks already dressed to go to work.

You gave a little moan of annoyance, not to him but the fact that he can’t stay longer.

“Morin Cutie.” He said turning towards you.

“Stay? For five more minutes?” You whined.

“I would but got morning patrol Dove.”

You nodded and tried to get up only for your legs to give out and nearly falling flat on your face. Luckily Hawks caught you before you could.

“Take it easy. I’m guessing you sore from yesterday.” Hawks said as he helps you up.

“Yeah. It was soooo worth it.” You said happily as you wobbled yourself to the bathroom.

“Be careful okay? Don’t slip, I put the bottle of painkillers on the bedside table. Oh and I made toast so you better get to it before it’s cold.” He said.

“Okay~”

“I LOVE YOU!!” He shouted before he was about to leave.

“LOVE YOU TOOO KEI!!!” You shouted back.

Hawks can’t help but think to himself how lucky he was to have someone like you. You showed him so many new emotions and tough him new things. You showered him in affection when he needs you the most. He took one last look at were you were before flying off to be everyone hero.

[rae-gar-targaryen]

as blue as your taste (i taste the same) [mickey “fanboy” garcia x fem!civilian reader aka “cielo”]

A/N: For Fanboy’s fangirls, more Fanboy and his cielita linda. (Remember, reblogs make the world go round!). Fic title from I’ll never tell you where, fic vibe inspired by a twittering little birdy who knows only one, two-syllable word (iykyk). 

Pairing: Mickey ‘Fanboy’ Garcia x fem!reader (aka “Cielo;” as always no use of y/n – my readers are written ambiguous, but with a latina!reader in mind.)

Word Count: 3.8k (what a joke I am) of a sun-soaked morning drenched in promise, the taste of coffee, and of your love (beneath your tongue)

Warnings: my writing is its own warning, smut, so 18+ ONLY – p in v sex, unprotected sex (look, it's fic, let's suspend a certain amount of disbelief about what's advisable), touching, fingering, spit as lube, v mild daddy kink (oops i gave away the twittering little birdy reference.)

Summary: Your boyfriend, Mickey, is home and is keen to cater to you early in the morning, whether it’s with a cup of coffee, or all of him. Loving is easy, it’s partial to teasing, tugging, desperation, and softness [part of the Fanboy y Cielo ‘verse.]

--

Hardwood floor, however elegant, bears the inescapable curse of being cold first thing in the morning. And the bedroom floor is chilly and smooth as ice against the flats of Mickey’s feet as he slides out of your shared bed, extricating himself from your snuggled warmth. Your shared bed – something he’d never tire of. 

Mickey cursed his internal clock, burned into his being from the repetitive, intensive military training and the value of routine imbued in every recruit. But if it wasn’t for routine, he wouldn’t be awake at 5:00 a.m., even while on leave. If it wasn’t for routine, he would still be in bed with you. If it wasn’t for routine, he would wrap his arms around you ever-tighter, ensconced in the cloudlike grip of dreamy sleep – his reality, even better with you in his arms.

But he was a man of routine. Except that today there was no barracks check. No drills. Nothing to do with his time in this moment, except to be awake. 

Stretching his arms, Mickey reveled in the popping of his joints and the pleasant tingling burn in his muscles as he made to stand, glancing over his shoulder (not enviously, he swears – but adoringly) at your still-sleeping form, starry-eyed at the sight of you clad and snuggled in his grey sweatshirt. 

The well-loved – not worn out, thanks very much – baggy one he’d worn to your first movie date, when he’d come over to your house with an armful of snacks and a perpetually sunshiney grin. You’d chosen “The Thing” (a horror sci-fi classic – and he could respect a woman of taste), and ended up burrowing into his shoulder, snuggling into the warmth of the very hoodie you were wrapped in now. He couldn’t remember now exactly when it had become a permanent fixture in your home. But now he couldn’t envision it on anyone but you. 

And you hadn’t stirred at Mickey’s departure from your bed – perhaps, Mickey thought, forlornly, perhaps you were used to being in it without him when he was gone for months at a time. The absence just as much a part of your routine as morning laps were a part of his. He shook his head gently, the now grown-in curls caressing his forehead gently at the motion. He refused to let himself dwell on that, when he was home now. When you were together. 

And you had done such a good job of maintaining your shared home while he was away. And as much as MIckey loved seeing you during your FaceTime calls, he would be remiss to say he didn’t also relish catching glimpses of the lived-in domesticity of your space in the background. The sight of your favorite blanket rumpled into the corner of the couch off to the side of your camera. A water glass left on the coffee table. Your golden retriever, Artoo, sprawled on the kitchen tile, snoozing gently while you spoke to your beloved through the little glass screen of your phone. 

It was the least he could do, Mickey thought, to give you some of that domesticity back while you slept. To contribute to your home in ways he otherwise couldn’t while away. 

With that, Mickey slid his feet in preparation over the cool hardwood once more before standing, before slipping quietly from the room, and beckoning Artoo to follow with gently-clacking paws. 

–

The laundry had been started. The dishes from last night’s dinner removed from the drying rack and put away. Artoo had been walked and fed and was now curled atop his cushion with his favorite rawhide chew. And, perhaps most importantly, the softly-burbling coffee maker had filled up enough for Mickey to pour a cup, steaming, and prepared the way you liked it best. 

Slipping quietly back to your bedroom with the porcelain mug generating a welcome warmth that seeped into his fingertips – a contrast to the still-frigid surface beneath his feet – Mickey slid beneath the covers on his side of the bed. Mindful of the fact that you were still sleeping, your features angelic, smooth, and untroubled in that way of deep sleepers, lavender haze cloudy and dreamlike.  

The desire to let you sleep was at odds with the desire he felt as he gazed upon you, his cielo. His morning sky, radiant, even when compared to the purpling, blooming dawn of the expanse outside of your window, casting the room in a sweet morning glow. Bathing your features, resplendent, as though you were made to be seen in the morning light. And perhaps you were. 

It was no secret that Mickey’s days began with you, his name on your lips and his first thought when he awoke, no matter the distance between the two of you. And his nights (when he was lucky), ended with you, too. Lucky to be ensconced in your touch, with the wax and wane of your skylight pull, a siren’s song beckoning him into the bygone era of your devotion, ever lost to time in its eternity. With your breath fanning across his face, and your lips on his. 

And wouldn’t it be so nice to begin his day this way, too? 

Gently, Mickey set your coffee mug on the bedside table nearest him before turning back to you and bending to skate his hand, warmed by the sweet heat of morning caffeine encased in porcelain, beneath his (your) hoodie and along the skin of your waist, tracing up your side and along the ridges of your ribs. 

Bending, Mickey revels in the slight gasp that his touch has emitted from you as you begin to stir, quick to follow the teasing traipse of his fingertips with the skating bridge of his nose, and the sweetest skim of his lips along your neck, trailing up, up to the bridge of your cheek.

What a way to wake up.

“Good morning, tease,” you rasped, twisting in the sheets to separate Mickey’s lips from your neck so that you could crack an eye open, taking in the sight of your beloved leaning over you. “What time is it?” 

Instead of responding, Mickey pressed forward further, closing the gap between you two, to press his lips fully to yours, the softness of his (your) hoodie pressing into his chest as he sucked your lower lip between his. A little something like ardor blooming, aching in his chest as he withdrew in time to see the flutter of your lashes as you opened your eyes fully at his departure. 

“Still early, Cielo,” he murmured, nudging his nose along the bridge of yours, cocking his head to press another kiss to your cheek.

You hmmm’d at Mickey’s attentions, the tingling sensation of goosebumps erupting across your skin – no matter how many times your Mickey has kissed you, no matter how many times you feel his lips across your skin, it garners the same reaction. As though your very person was surprised, pleased, to be the recipient of this man’s love. 

The cool air of the room bit across your face, now that Mickey had retreated from you some. Prompting you to snuggle into his (your) hoodie, and burrow ever further beneath the covers to shield your legs, your slipper-socked feet, from the bite of cold air. 

“I have to get up,” you sighed, wistful that your time beneath the warm cocoon of your comforter was coming to an end. “Artoo needs to go out, and…”

Mickey silenced you with a press of his finger to your lips,

“S’alright, Cielo, I took care of it. And the dishes, and the laundry. I wanted you to sleep in. You know, you work so hard, … and I come bearing gifts,” Mickey passes you the still-warm mug from the nightstand, into your eager fingertips, pleased at the look of gentle surprise that crossed your features.

“You did all my morning chores?” You asked, cracking voice warming with the first grateful sip of your morning caffeine, ever-careful not to belabor too much the loss of the feel of his finger from your lips in favor of coffee. “Oh,” you groaned at the feeling, the taste, of the divinely hot liquid down your throat. “Holy shit, babe. This is amazing.” 

Mickey felt himself flush, a pleasing prickle tickling the tips of his ears and warming his cheeks. Though whether it was at the pleased noise you had made, or the praise that had dripped from your lips, he wasn’t sure. Both were sure to get him going. Coupled with the sight of you in his (your, damnit) hoodie, and he was working his way up to being a total goner.

“Haré cualquier cosa por ti, amor,” Mickey breathed, easing an arm around you as you pressed into his side, sipping happily at your coffee. Anything for you. “I know how you like it.” 

You raised an eyebrow at your boyfriend then, at the perhaps-innuendo, “You do, do you? Careful. A girl could get used to this level of service.” 

“I do,” Mickey assured, using his arm around you to guide you between his legs, allowing your back to rest against his chest. “And you know, as a dutiful soldier, I’m only happy to serve you.” 

You huffed through your nose at that, an undignified little snort, gently knocking your elbow back into the crook of his side. 

“You’re corny when you’re horny, I just want you to know that,” you chided, your voice lilted and teasing. 

“Me?!” Mickey spluttered, indignant. “What a rude thing to say. I bring you coffee in bed, I let you sleep in my hoodie, and this is how you repay me?”

You twist in Mickey’s arms, coming to face him now, resting on your knees and leaning past him, brushing your chest to his as you place your coffee cup gingerly on his bedside table once more. 

“You’re right,” you sigh, mock consternation coloring your voice. “Maybe it’s just me that’s turned on. Hot guy brings me coffee in bed? How can a girl resist?” You slid your arms around your boyfriend’s neck, allowing your fingers to tangle in the curls at the base of his neck and tugging lightly, causing Mickey’s head to tilt, his jaw to jut ever-slightly upward, pleased at the groan that burned its way from his throat to your ears. “And don’t act like you don’t like me sleeping in this hoodie.” 

And you loved him like this, if you were honest. Teasing, sweet, as he is. And slightly at your mercy. 

You allowed your eyes to drag over your boyfriend’s angelic features, his honeytar eyes swirling as he took you in, in kind. The flash of white teeth behind full lips, parted, waiting with bated breath for your next move. Cinnamon burn married with honey sweetness. 

Your lips met his, then. Full and flush. 

And isn’t it just like Mickey to overwhelm your senses, even when you’re the one –barely– in control? If the sight of him at your mercy wasn’t devastating enough, the feel of his silken curls between your fingers was unmatched in its ecstasy, second only to the feel of his lips on yours. The clean, warm smell you associate with him surrounding you, bleeding into the taste of him on your tongue. Paired remarkably with the taste of the coffee he’d made, rich, bold, and wanting. His sweet little hitch of breath, music to your ears. 

“Rude,” Mickey murmured as your lips parted, “a rude thing, you are.” 

“Rude, hm?” You pecked another kiss to his pouted mouth, a mocking, quizzical little question. “So I shouldn’t let you fuck me now?” 

And isn’t just like Mickey … To render you breathless as he flips you beneath him? Teasing giggles punched from your lungs in exchange for the ever-sweet surprise of his display of strength as he surges over you like a tidal wave of want. 

“Don’t fucking tease me, Cielo,” Mickey breathed, lips inches from yours as his molten-whiskey eyes roved your form. “Don’t you wanna be a good girl?” His hands, warm and firm against your skin, steadied your wriggling thighs as he skated his palms along your legs and up, up, up and beneath the loose hem of your hoodie that skimmed along the tops of your thighs. 

As Mickey’s lips met yours once more, heated and heady, the tips of his fingers toyed with the hem of the underwear you had slept in. You gasped at his touch so close to where you (always) wanted him, allowing Mickey to slide his tongue along yours, deepening the kiss as he tugged your panties down your legs, allowing you the slightest of wriggles of your hips to aid him in his effort. 

And if your teasing before hadn’t done it, the feel of your back pressed to his chest as you had chided him, the feel of your thighs beneath his palms was certainly getting him there, the ache that so frequently accompanied his desire for you, rendering him half-hard. Because of course a touch was all it would take, when he (always) wanted you. 

His cherry cola girl, sweetly radiant and resplendent beneath him. Unfairly resonant of some kind of solar goddess in the lavender-gold hue of early-morning sunlight awash on the creme color of your bedroom walls, splashing along the skin of your now-bared legs, beckoning him to paint you with the reverence you deserved – an eternal piece of art worthy of worship. The very notion of you, heavy in his bones, keeping him grounded whenever he was away, even when he was in the sky.

“I’ll be good, M,” you sighed, gripping Mickey’s wrist with wanting fingers, guiding one of his hands over the top of the hoodie, over the curve of your breast, and allowing his palm to rest along the plane of your throat, pressing a sweet kiss to his fingertips. “I’ll be good if you’ll be mine.”

And who was he to refuse?

And for as many times as you had told Mickey that the was sunshine personified, that his smile was dazzling, that he was the source of light in every room – he could say the same for you, of the sight of the golden light of morning dancing in your eyes, causing them to swim with sunshine and pleasure – with your love for him so naked and plain before him. 

Kneeling between your parted thighs, one hand on your throat, the other squeezing the skin of your hip after he had absconded you of your panties. You brought your legs up to wrap loosely around Mickey’s tapered waist, encouraging him to touch you, with an impatient roll of your hips against the warmth of his thigh just barely within your reach. 

Mickey chuckled at your resulting huff of impatience, conceding with sweet sin. 

Pressing his index and middle fingers past your lips, you accepted them eagerly into your mouth, the warmth of you around any part of him enough to make Mickey close his eyes with a groan. 

“That’s good, baby,” he praised as you gently sucked his fingers, allowing them to work gently in your mouth, satisfied with the feel of your saliva coating his fingers before withdrawing them, rewarding you with a dazzling smile as he took in the glisten of you along the skin of his fingers. “Don’t worry,” he assured, leaning forward to press a kiss to your neck as brought his fingers down to run through the seam of your bared pussy, your spit and the wetness already gathered there allowing him to glide his digits along your folds. 

Your love continued to stroke you, one finger probing closer, closer to your entrance as he lavished attention with piteous lips along your neck, a heady, whiskeyed series of kisses with a chaser in the form of nipping teeth. Plucking and playing you as only he could. 

“M, God,” you gasped, as he finally, finally, slid a long finger inside of you, urging, beckoning, demanding, the heel of his hand pressing against your clit as you continued to roll your hips against it. 

Mickey’s other hand traveled up your side, pushing the hoodie up as he went to bare your tits, a light scrape of nails over a pebbled nipple enough to make you yelp, bucking your hips evermore into the hand that cupped you as he continued to finger you. 

“M, please,” you whined, the pressure building inside you painfully exquisite, but not quite enough, “I w-wanna come with you inside me.”

And who was your love if not merciful? Especially when you begged for him, so pretty? So piteous?

 “Y-yeah,” he breathed, shifting to allow your legs to release his waist so he could shuck his boxers down, his hard length prominent, curved. “Gonna fuck you, pretty girl. My good girl.” 

And his pull over you as you reached down to guide his length between your slick folds was oceanic. You’d do anything he asked, if only he’d just — and with a snap of his hips, a groan, and a pitch forward to bring his hands down by either side of your head, Mickey was seated inside of you, rendering you full. 

The surge of him was like the wax and wane of the tides as he began to roll his hips into yours, thrusting at an even, but weighted, pace – every thrust that much harder, harder, harder…

You turned your head to the side to press a kiss to the wrist of the arm that rested there, bringing your own arms up to greedily drink in the feel of your love, skin on skin. 

And, oh, the firm, defined feel of his chest beneath your fingertips was worth any minute spent dreaming about it instead of touching it – because you could touch him now. 

For his part, Mickey was awash at the feel of you around him, silken and warm, like a bolt of eternally-pleasing velvet only he would wrap himself in. The feel of your lips along his skin, of your touch along his torso, your fingers making their way once more to bury himself in his curls, tightening and tugging at a particularly hard thrust of Mickey’s hips. 

And there you were, a veritable garden blooming beneath him, your soft-petaled heart open and bursting with your love as you moaned for him, the sound like honeyed nectar to Mickey’s ears. 

The feel of Mickey inside of you, of the heavy drag of his cock with each flexing thrust was the sweetest torture, satisfying but not quite enough as you urged him for more with your body. Your hands twined in his curls gave a particularly harsh tug as you surged upward to meet Mickey’s lips, catching his lower with your teeth and giving an insistent, but gentle scrape, the bite of someone starved. 

You were so close, so close… Just a bit more… 

“B-baby,” you gasped, “p-please, Daddy, please…” your whimper escapes your lips, the word meeting Mickey’s ears, two syllables drenched in your desperation, your desire. Syrupy and sinful, from your lips to Mickey’s ears. From Mickey’s ears, down his body, tingling along his skin. Your sweet urges, all for him.

And had you ever used that word with him before? Mickey wasn’t sure (and he was sure that if you had, he would recall it) – but the sound of your sweet, breathy moans, the sound of that word was going to play on a loop in Mickey’s mind, burning into his bones in perpetuity. As ever-present as his desire for you. He was sure of it. 

“Please,” you breathed again, dropping your hands to his sides and allowing your nails to drag along the skin of Mickey’s hips and up his torso, your thighs tightening around his tapered waist, soft, sock-bedecked feet locking in place behind him to pull your beloved closer, closer to you. 

He groaned in your ear, a desperate, jumbled rumble from somewhere deep in his chest as he acquiesced to your pleas, surging, deliberate as he continued to fuck into you.

“Say it again, baby,” he urged, inching a hand down to where your bodies were joined, the promise of his precise touch over your clit, where you needed him most a threat enough to make you weep. He gripped your jaw with his other hand, forcing your eyes to lock with his as the cinching warmth of an impending orgasm began to bleed its way through his veins. “Fuckin’ say it again,” he pleaded. 

And it had clicked, just as Mikey’s fingertips brushed your clit, causing the blush of that tightening coil inside of you to begin to burst – he had liked what you’d spilled from your lips, like the dirtiest secret. 

You gazed at the looming glimmer that looked so like desperation behind your love’s eyes, wild and wanton, parting your lips to give him what he wanted – knowing it would result in him giving you what you wanted. 

“Daddy,” you whined, fucking back onto Mickey’s cock with insistent rolls of your hips, and urging his touch along your clit, “Please make me come.” 

And who was he to refuse? 

As the moon in the sky controls the tides, you beckoned. And Mickey had no choice but to follow, rolling his thumb insistently over your clit as he fucked you, a seafoam wave of staticky pleasure overtaking you as your orgasm crested, thighs squeezing Mickey’s sides as the whole of you tightened around him like a viper. 

Pleasantly warm and venomous, your pleasure bleeding into Mickey’s as the two of you joined. 

And like a venom, your desire had spread, bleeding and burning its way through Mickey’s veins as he continued to roll his hips into yours before he spilled himself inside of you, the feeling of him giving you all of himself until he was spent made you want to pen sonnets – an incomparable feeling of secondhand ecstasy at the knowledge that you had given your love this pleasure.  

With a groan, Mickey extricated himself from you – you truly had wrapped around him like a snake, eyes roving over your blissed-out form to confirm that he hadn’t been too rough with you before allowing himself to settle in by your side…

“Soooo,” Mickey sighed beside you, his breath steadying as he came down from his high, from your collective exertion. “Daddy, huh?” 

You rolled your eyes, swatting his arm playfully with the back of your hand, “Please. As if you didn’t like it.” 

The sheets slipped against your skin as Mickey pulled you – still wearing his (your) hoodie, now pulled back down to cover you once more – across the bed, all liquid limbs and pliant bones, into his arms. Pressing a kiss into the side of your head and retrieving your forgotten coffee cup from the bedside and depositing it once more into your waiting fingers. 

“You liked it too, Cielo,” he noted, snickering at your semi-disgusted face at the dissatisfying sip of now-cold coffee. 

“Well, yeah, Mickey,” you replied, ignoring the offending coffee in favor of the pleasure of his now stroking along your hair, the two of you settling back into the lazy morning as the sunlight along the walls began to blaze orange. “You’re still so fine.” 

“And does it blow your mind?”

--

Tagging: @withahappyrefrain  @thegirlwhowritesfics @xbamboowishesx @friendly-neighborhood-blondie @abibliophobiaa @clints-lucky-arrow @inklore @phoenixhalliwell @ohmagawd-life @thematthewmurdock @mrshipsmcgee @p3mybeloved @letmeplaytheliontoo @vestrangel @moonlight-prose @aphrogeneias @levylovegood @thatredheadwriter @2clones-1kamino @zombieaurora @shadeds-library @writercole @ijustwantedplums @justalonelyslytherin @gretagerwigsmuse @fanboysfangirl @siriusfahey @joaquinwhorres @gingerbreadandpaper @the-navistar-carol  @alexxavicry @jadore-andor @fanboygarcia @lavenderluna10 @thedaredevilsgirl @fluffyprettykitty @mickeyluvs @mothdruid  @maxmayfield @eagerforthesky @melinacalhounxo @marvelousmermaid @callmemana @spencer-is-amazing @mxgyver ​ @n3ssm0nique ​@mothdruid   

[afewproblems]

For the angst prompts ;

"You look like hell." "I feel like it."

Famous Eddie showing up on Steve’s doorstep years after Eddie left

Oooo love this idea, thank you very much for sending it Nonny! I hope you enjoy!

***

"So, he's back in town," Robin says instead of a greeting into the receiver, a leading lilt in her voice.

Steve sighs and knocks his head into the wall beside the mounted hand set, "yeah".

She hums, the sound crackles over the line like static in Steve's ear.

"You want me to come over?" Robin asks carefully, as though dismantling a bomb, picking through what to say as gently as she can, hoping it's right.

And Steve hates it.

He hates that even after all these years, Eddie Munson can get right under his skin like this.

It should have ended back in '88, when Eddie had left them all behind to 'make it big'.

Or at least, that's what the note had said.

The one in hastily scribbled blue ink, dropped on the cold and empty side of the bed that Eddie had left. Steve had awoken alone, with only the note and the smell of weed and cigarettes and sex on his sheets.

He had tried calling the trailer, only for Wayne to pick up and explain that Eddie had been planning this for weeks, 'didn't Ed tell you?'

Eddie had left for New York along with Gareth, Jeff, and Grant, bound for city lights and a better music scene.

No, Eddie hadn't told him, but Steve didn't say that. How could he?

Instead, he thanked Wayne, his voice hoarse, and hummed something close to a yes when Wayne asked if Steve would make sure to drop by when he had time, the Pacers season had started after all.

"Steve?"

Robin's voice breezes through the phone again, jolting him back to the present.

"Sorry Birdy," he sighs, shaking the last memories of the Munson's from his mind, "don't worry about me, really".

She scoffs and Steve can almost picture the way she's certainly rolling her eyes, "I always worry about you Dingus, that's what I'm here for".

"I know".

They talk for a little longer, speculating on how much longer Clinton will last in office now that the truth has come out and which of them would host the finale of Seinfeld --'it deserves a special night Steve, we are taping it, getting as many snacks as we can, and indulging in some good old misanthropic comedy'.

He tells her goodnight after another half hour, and insists that he'll be okay.

And he will, of course he will.

It's been ten years since Eddie Munson set foot in Hawkins, and there was absolutely no reason for them to run into one another.

Well, sure, he still kept in touch with Wayne over the years --how could he not when the old man seemed to pull excuses to see him out of thin air.

Robin had always cautioned Steve on his continued relationship with Wayne, questioning why he insisted on maintaining contact with Steve.

But it was nice to have someone to watch the game with over a beer, the occasional barbecue in the summer and hell, Steve had even celebrated a Thanksgiving or two or three with Wayne Munson.

With Steve cutting off his own parents years back, it was nice to feel like he had still had someone looking out for him.

And really, there was no reason for Eddie and Steve to run into one another.

Steve would be fine.

***

It's almost a week after his call with Robin that the doorbell rings and Steve's world comes to a stop.

He's putting away the small grocery trip, and to call it that was a bit ridiculous considering the snack to fruit ratio, but Robin had been very specific about their Seinfeld watch party slated for the coming weekend.

Steve opens the fridge door to pop the milk in, tossing a, "coming!" over his shoulder as the bell rings a second time.

Steve hopes it isn't his neighbor again as he makes his way to the front hall of his small home. It would be her third time angrily telling him that the tree in his backyard had shed even more crabapples over the fence and into her yard.

And considering their postage stamp lots, where else was the poor tree going to do it?

"Look Mrs. Patterson," he says wearily as he flips on the porch light and opens the front door, "I'm going to do something about the branches this weekend--"

But it isn't Mrs. Patterson standing on his front porch.

It's Eddie Munson.

Steve blinks, feeling as though part of himself has been wrenched from his own body to watch from above. His palms are sweaty all of a sudden and there's a tightness in his chest that grips his lungs, he can't breathe.

Eddie tries for a half wave and a smile, but the effect is lost as Steve continues to stand in shocked silence.

He's thin; Eddie had always been on the lanky side but his shoulders were still broad and he was strong enough to lug his band equipment around. He's almost gaunt now, with deep set bags under his brown eyes. His curly hair hangs somewhat limp over his shoulders and he reeks of stale cigarettes.

But it's undeniably Eddie Munson standing at his front door.

There are so many questions, and Steve wants nothing more than to demand answers if he can manage to get the words out without yelling.

What are you doing here? Why are you here now? How did you know where I live?

How could you leave like that?

"You look like hell," Steve says instead, his grip tightens on the door frame as Eddie drops his head in a nod.

"I feel it".

His voice is slightly deeper, more gravely in tone now than it was ten years back.

But perhaps that's what screaming into a microphone and partying in New York for ten years will get you.

"How did you know where I live?" Steve asks after another beat of strained silence.

"Uh, Wayne, I ask him about you a lot and about half the time he'll give me an answer when he's not calling me a dumbass and telling me to call you myself".

"Wayne has been telling you about me" Steve says faintly, feeling as though he might be sick on Eddie's shoes.

Wayne, someone that Steve had been looking up to, getting advice from, and spending so much time with, had been doing so just for Eddie.

All this time.

Robin had been right to tell him to be careful.

"Leave," Steve whispers suddenly, making Eddie step back in surprise, "I don't want to see you, either of you, again".

"Wha--no, Steve, wait!"

But the door is already closing, slammed against Eddie's hands that knock and knock, pleading with him to open the door, to just hear him out.

But how can he?

It wasn't just Eddie showing up after all these years, but on top of that, everything that he thought he had with Wayne had all been some ploy to help his nephew keep tabs on him.

He'd let himself be hurt again, by another fucking Munson, one he thought he could trust.

Steve locks the door and flips off the porch light, uncaring of the muffled curse from the other side of the wood.

He doesn't want to hear what Eddie has to say, after all, Eddie hadn't cared enough to stick around all those years ago.

Why should Steve?

[acheel-and-cat]

Hi, I’m really scared to post this, but this is a Monty vampire au I’m working on. This was inspired by this from @eat-the-lemons. This only a part one, I’m hoping to make this a three part but who knows? Shoutout to my epic proofreader, @parathepineapple. Tell me what you think I love feedback!

Monty woke up. He felt… different. There was no voice in the back of his head compelling him to do things and he felt heavier. I’m human again! He sat up and checked his surroundings. He appeared to be in Esther’s house, it was nighttime, his mouth hurt, and he was hungry. He got up and slowly crossed the house to the kitchen, still getting used to having human limbs again. Once he got to the refrigerator, he grabbed some grapes for a snack. He popped one in his mouth and almost puked. Jeez, that tastes awful! Why does it taste so bad? He tried another but he also had to spit it out. He tried to eat other foods but everything made him feel sick. He decided to take a walk to try and find something to eat. He walked around Port Townsend for a bit, trying to find something even remotely appetizing. The best he got was the spike in hunger when passing the blown up butcher shop. He could smell the blood from the meat and his stomach growled. Okay, well that’s not normal. He started walking back towards Esther’s house as the sun started rising. It hurt. Why did it hurt? It was the sun, it should not hurt. Monty had to stop four times under a shady tree just to catch a break. When he finally made it back, he was horribly tired. He decided he needed help with this odd illness and then went to bed. Since he was no longer a crow, Monty had to travel the human way to London. Luckily he knew where Esther had kept her emergency money. It took him awhile, but he did manage to find their office. He hoped Charles answered the door, prepared what he was going to say, and rang the doorbell. He heard a muffled voice coming towards the door.

“Monty?” came the surprised voice of Crystal.

“Um, hi. I, uh, I have a problem. A real one this time,” he stammered out, scared of her reaction.

“Hey Charles,” she called behind her, “we’ve got a birdie who needs help!”

Charles came over to the door, and with his ever present smile, and lead him into the Dead Boy Detectives office. Monty was surprised at how homey it was. Edwin was sitting at the main desk and Charles lead him to sit in a chair across from him. Charles went to stand next to Edwin and Crystal sat on the couch on the right.

“Monty. You have a case for us?” Edwin asked, looking at him curiously.

“Listen, I’m not connected to Esther anymore, this is an actual thing,” he said, hoping they would take his case.

“Go on then mate.” Charles gave him a reassuring smile.

“Well after Esther was dragged away, I woke up human again. But I don’t think I’m quite human. I haven’t eaten anything since I woke up, everything tastes horrible, except blood smells really good. I can’t be in the sun because it hurts, and I get really tired during the day,” he told the detectives, hoping they could help.

“Well, that is odd. Charles? Crystal? What do we say?” Edwin asked his colleagues.

“We don’t have anything else going on, I’d say let’s go for it,” Charles told the room. Crystal nodded at him, “Let’s figure out what’s up with you,” she got up and moved to the main desk.

“This is definitely a supernatural problem,” Edwin told Monty, “Charles can you grab Dichotomous Key for the Supernatural? It is the large forest green book on the top shelf.”

“Sure mate,” Charles said, grabbing the book, “jeez, this thing is heavy!” He brought the book over and set it on the table with a thump. Edwin cracked open the cover and began going through the list.

[butterfly-writer]

Surprise!

Hawks x Male!Reader

Summary: Y/N wanted to give Hawks a gift, but why? No reason! It was just a random day and he felt like it. And Y/N decided to pick up a new hobby!

★☽A/N: I love crocheting, and so, I’mma make the reader a pro at crocheting (Couldn’t be me but I’m still learning:DD) also- Fluff generators >>>

Contents: FLUFF - Reader being good at crocheting

══ ⋆★⋆ ══

Y/N is just walking to the stores during a random day of the week. Hawks was busy during his hero work and patrolling his part of the street. Y/N walked along the racks of items until he stumbled upon a coupon for “Crocheting lessons.” Of course, he was intrigued by this.

Then, it hit him. ‘What if I crocheted something for Keigo?’ It was brilliant! He could learn a new skill and also make a gift for Hawks! He immediately called the number by the time he went home and scheduled the course and paid through online.

In just a few weeks with extra hard work, Y/N managed to crochet at the beginner’s level and as the days went by, he could create all kinds of stuff!! All the crocheted items he created, he would give them away for charity since he didn’t want Hawks to know and to help children in need. All those things involves like: clothes, tote bags, messenger bags, gloves, stuffed animals, etc. It was an excellent skill to develop and it definitely saves money (Except the expensive yarn- It’s super expensive where I come from.)

══

A few days went by as Y/N created the most awesome gift box! It was gonna be filled with Hawks’s favorite sweets, snacks, flowers, etc, including the crocheted items he made.

Hawks started to notice his lover’s suspicious antics but didn’t pay that much attention because of his busy work at his agency and including the increase in crimes ever since All Might retired. 

Y/N ordered a bunch of Lego flowers and Hawks didn't notice the package that arrived. Taking that advantage, Y/N grabbed the package and started to build it and managed to build it all in just one day. Then he went to the stores to pick up some of Hawks's favorite treats and paid for them.

Back at home, he used the box that he bought and put all of the stuff he bought into it. He looked to the side to see the two crocheted items he made, grabbing a roll of wrapping paper and started to wrap the items in it. He wrapped it into an adorable bird patterned wrapping paper. Putting each gift carefully into the big box and writing a handwritten letter.

Grabbing the big box and hiding it in the closet, Y/N covered the box with a bunch of clothes that he left to pile up in his closet. With a mischievous chuckle, he grabbed his phone and texted Hawks.

[Y/N]

Keigo

[Birdbrain]

ye?

[Y/N]

Got a surprise for you!!

[Birdbrain]

Really????

[Y/N]

Yes :DD 

[Birdbrain]

what is it?

[Y/N]

It’s a surprise dumbass

I can’t tell you now!!

[Birdbrain]

awwhhhhh :(( 

Y/N closed his phone with a smile on his face.

All he got to do is wait for his birdy’s arrival

══

Y/N was watching on his phone on the couch when he heard the door open. “What’s my surprise?!” Hawks asked excitedly as soon as he walked into the apartment. “You gotta find it yourself!!” Y/N yelled with a smile on his face, not looking at Hawks. “WHAT? No fair!!” The blonde pouted, taking off his hero costume’s coat and walking up to the sofa. “C’mon love! Give me a hint, please?” Hawks pleaded with puppy eyes.

“It’s in our apartment.” “That’s not a hint!!” Hawks complained, making Y/N chuckle. “Too bad, sweetbird.” Looking up from the couch to face Hawks, grabbing the back of his head and giving him a peck on the lips. “Fine!” Hawks said in defeat, walking around the apartment to find the surprise. “Wait- Are you my surprise?” Hawks asked from the bathroom, “Of course not!!” Y/N yelled out from the lounge. ‘Where could it be?’ Hawks wondered. Then it hit him! ‘The bedroom! Why didn’t I think that earlier.’ He sprinted to the bedroom and practically trashed the room until he stumbled on the closet. He opened the sliding closet door and he saw a peculiar large pile of clothes, grabbing all the clothes and tossing them to the side and found the massive gift that was hidden.

“Found it!!” He yelled. ‘About time.’ Y/N smiled, getting up from the sofa and walked into the bedroom. “Well? Open it.” Hawks smiled at Y/N like a child on Christmas, opening the box’s lid and seeing all kinds of gifts in it. “Today isn’t even my birthday, why on Earth would you prepare this?” He asked, “Just wanted to show my love.” The H/C haired softly smiled.

Opening each gift one by one, he finally came to the two wrapped gifts. “Which one should I open?” Hawks asked, looking at his boyfriend. “I say.. The bigger one.” He replied. Hawks nodded and opened the bigger gift first to see a stuffed animal! It was an axolotl in Hawks’s signature colors. With a dramatic gasp, his eyes glimmered at the sight of the gift. “This is adorable!!” He said, holding the stuffed animal in his hands. Putting the axolotl down, he then opened the other wrapped gift and it was a sweater! But it was in Y/N’s signature colors. “It’s in your colors!” Taking notice of the colors on the sweater. He put it on and looked towards his boyfriend’s E/C eyes. With a smile, he jumped into Y/N’s arms. “Thank you, thank you so much!! I love them!! I love you so dang much!!” He smiled, hugging Y/N in a tight hug.

Y/N chuckled as he hugged him back. “You’re welcome, songbird.” Holding Keigo’s cheek and looking at him with caring eyes. “I would do anything for you.” He said, before kissing Keigo affectionately.

══ ⋆★⋆ ══

[ayashitetsuko]

In their Noe Valley residence, Jim and Izzy kept a photo of one of their hikes. It was easier than all the hikes they had been on, but that one was special.

The hike started out as per normal. The couple talked about trivial things, saying hello to every stranger they met. They were resting and enjoying their snack when Izzy began to get serious. "Birdie, love."

"Hm?"

"I'd like to ask you something. But you don’t have to answer now."

“So, why ask?"

"It might help us with some planning."

"OK. Shoot away.”

"Do we have a future?"

Jim was stunned.

"Right, that sounds a bit harsh. I meant to say, how do you imagine our future?" Izzy spoke softly. "Are we good just the way we are today? Or is there something you wish to do differently?"

Now that was something Jim could not answer instantly. They took another bite of their meal; Izzy reminded them to think it through.

Once they were done, Jim promised they would. Izzy pinched Jim's cheek and gave them a kiss. The couple went back to talking about that slasher gore movie they wish to see next weekend.

-

The next days were back to normal for Jim. They returned to the fast-paced kitchen of the fine-dining restaurant they led. Jim thought nothing of their conversation until they sped down the street of San Francisco on their motorbike and thought of things.

With their past girlfriends, when it comes to the future, marriage was something that they would jump into right away, no questions asked. But there were certain fears about being with a man who was almost old enough to be their father.

There were times Jim would walk in public with Izzy and feared what people had in their minds.

But fuck what others thought. What did Jim honestly feel about their relationship?

Many words were forming in their mind, but the one that stuck was relief.

Izzy took care of Jim. He arranged plans for the two of them; he listened to Jim's ideas and made them happen. He spoiled them with kisses and gifts. He did not make Jim feel ashamed for asking for help.

With him, Jim did not have to be strong all the time---that was a relief.

As the traffic lights turned green, Jim decided that this feeling was important to them.

-

“How do you feel?”

Jim sat at the dining table; they no longer have cramps, but they still carried the hot water bottle around. Izzy was busy preparing dinner, but Jim got the impression that he was available to talk. “I have been thinking.”

“That’s not my question, but sure.”

"I want us to be married."

Izzy stopped. He put down the plates and lifted his head; eyes fully on his lover.

"Yeah, I …” Jim moved their hands around. “I love what we have so far. And I think we need to build on that. We can start by being married."

Izzy said nothing. He continued on gazing at Jim. He considered the glints in their eyes, the way they fidgeted with the water bottle. "I agree."

"You do?"

"Yes. It's what I want. I want that for us.”

“I … wow, that’s … that’s great.” Jim smiled awkwardly. How does one react to such happy news? But luckily, as always, Izzy had the answer—Papi always had the answer.

He reached out to kiss Jim on the forehead, before sitting down next to them, grabbing their hand. "Yes. Let’s work towards that." He kissed Jim’s ring finger and pulled them into his embrace.

A year later, Jim received an antique ring with green gemstone as a birthday present. Izzy went on his knees in front of Nana and the Jimenez.

[breesays]

My son, my sun

Where did my little boo learn to talk to plants? We take plant babies from Gramma Lita's massive yard, recently started propagating them in water. Nothing for the first couple of weeks. Then Des said, "Mama, let me hold them" - and he took the bulb in his hand, looked lovingly at that little would-be-could-be plant and spoke to it in a way that astonished me. "You are so beautiful" he said. "You are doing such a good job. I am so happy to see you." I died, they thrived.

Four nights ago we unwrapped a fragrant bath bomb and I said, "Mmm, rose" and he started serenading me, from the "wonderful roses" part of "Til There Was You" and who can even do that? I feel like if I want to sing something, even casually, I have to start from the top. He vocalizes the percussion part of songs. Chh chh chh. Probably not revolutionary, but something new for my brain.

Some of the moms who got a spot in TK are reporting back that one of their kids "goals" for the year is to count to 20. Oh. Des can count to 100, and in Spanish. The other day he taught me how to say "knees" in Spanish, which is when I found out he can sing "Head Shoulders Knees and Toes" in a second language. He remembers numbers really well, and has a good grasp of time. He can math way more at 4 years old than I could at like, 7 years old - and that's just because it's interesting to him, measurements and doubling things and how old was his friend Felix when he turned 2? Sometimes I just have to say, "That is a calculation I can't do on the fly, buddy."

He's growing his hair out long so he can make it curly, like his friend Vienna and his cousin Emerson. I wish he liked to read books together more, but maybe that will come later. It's OK if that's an interest we don't share. We make up new words until we're too tired, me channeling the IKEA catalog. Sometimes he says, "I have an idea - let's count to the highest number we know" to which I reply, "That does not sound like fun to mama, can we play a word game instead?" He also loves blowing up and popping balloons. Actually, he loves doing a lot of things with balloons - keepy uppy, birdy-flying, inflating then deflating, using them as stamps, talking about them on his imaginary YouTube channel...

He likes to eat seaweed snacks and will basically try any food at least once. He loves tomatoes, so much so that he will eat them like an apple. He steals my sushi and told me the pumpkin seeds needed "more paprika."

He makes funny observations. I took him to my work party recently and I told him Erica was in charge. When we looked back at photos from that night he asked, "Does Erica ever go home?" I said "Yes, of course, she has two kiddos of her own - why do you think that she doesn't?" He said, "Well, she's in charge."

My therapist is retiring at the end of the year, and then I won't have anyone to tell me what's healthy or adjusted anymore. I told her that sometimes Desmond says, "You know, Mama, I love Dada more than you." I respond: "That's OK, my love for you doesn't change." It doesn't hurt me, it makes me curious - what is he trying to accomplish? That non-judgemental curiosity they tried to summon from the depth of my cold being during the "can we save this marriage?" time - there it is! Therapist said: It's remarkable that he even vocalized this. It's called secure attachment.

For awhile I also wondered - does Des need therapy during this transition? He has asked why we don't live together anymore and I said, "not all families live together" - but all the families he knew of, did. So we got a couple books. Representation. Therapist said: Unless he is acting out, or it's disrupting, he is ok. Again, the fact that he's even asking these questions is GREAT. I do a value a good question-asker.

I'm still writing my book of essays and I've recently hit 38K words. I've considered publishing under a pseudonym, because I don't want to FIGHT about asexuality. I just want some previously unlearned people to know that it EXISTS. I publish most of my revelations and feelings about being Ace on my Medium. The blog that upset him was titled "Ace Week 2023" - and posted on Medium. I didn't have the time or mental capacity to react at the time. I just chose not to. Spiral, if you must - I will not add any fuel. But I did feel mad, when I unboxed that compartmentalization --

Sometimes I want to be kind and gentle and empathic because, wow we didn’t know anything, did we? There wasn’t the vocabulary for what I was experiencing. There were no alternate storylines to draw inspiration from. But sometimes I am furious, violated, underestimated. 

If you just light the path, everyone will find their own way there, right? I’m the deer in headlights, then I run towards the inevitable crash. Scampering off into the unlit wild was somehow more intimidating. So, blind yourself. Numb yourself. Anything to get to the other side.

[ramenwithbroccoli]

the little birdie lore. hand it over. (plz and thank u and here is the creetur that comes w the ask 🐦)

I'M GLAD YOU ASKED (and here, have some snacks for the bird 🌾)

Little Birdie in a silly little hat

To start our analysis, we have to do what one's doing when listening to Little Birdie - imagine birds in hats. So here are some of them:

Prety fabulous, right? These birds sure do look good in their hats. What's stopping them from wearing them all the time?

The answer is: physics.

When we put a bird who flies in a fancy hat with the rim, it's deemed to lose it - it only takes one blow of the wind or wing motions to send it out into the sky never to be seen again. And when it comes to rimless (it's that even a real word?) hats like beanies, it would be hard to keep them from simply sliding off, due to birds being so aerodynamic.

Losing a hat would not only be sad, it would also be difficult to retrieve it. Even if it's possible, there's one pretty big problem: birds don't have hands. So they can't really do this.

I know, disappointing. But what does that mean to us?

Little Birdie is working with someone

There is someone - probably a human - working with Little Birdie to keep his hat in place. While this could take a form of putting it back on his head whenever he flies back teary eyed, holding it in his beak, I'm pretty sure we all figured a way better solution.

A ribbon (or maybe a thread or a cord of some sorts)

Simply tie it around your bird's neck and boom! Peace and love on planet earth. However, as mentioned above, birds don't have hands so they can't really tie it themselves. Even with a ribbon being quite stable, somone still would have to check up on it, periodically, to see if everything is still alright. Seems like much of a hassle, right? So why would anybody do that?

I'm pretty sure most of us have seen this post somewhere (wanted to link it but it turns out op deactivated so here's a screenshot)

While it may not be true for every bird - various posts point out that only ceratin species of birds feel butterflies in their stomachs when their mate can wear some colorful accesories - it's still an interesting fact that might help with our investigation.

But why would someone do this for Little Birdie?

Sure, we love birds, but why give this particular bird an unfair advantage? The answer is simple: the hat is a payment for service. At first i thought that Little Birdie works by gathering and selling information - after all we all heard someone say "a little birdie told me"- but that wouldn't make sense, as the hat is easily noticable so it would be quite a disadvantage when you have to sneak around and eavesdrop.

Then it hit me - the hat isn't only a reward, it's also a storage space. Little Birdie might just work in transport, right? Nothing malicious. However...

Little Birdie as a dealer

There isn't much space under the hat of a bird. Even if your thing is small, it also can't be heavy as to not cause too much discomfort, so you can't really get your tungsten cube delivered that way. That's leaving us with transporting light, small things. Someone would put them in a hat, secure it on Birdie, and then the person who the thing was delivered to would take it out and also adjust the hat again.

But why would they use a hat instead of a bag with bigger carrying capacities? Not only would it be more comfortable, it's also profitable because you could carry more stuff in there. That might be because a hat raises less suspicion. When you see a bird with a bag, or perhaps a pouch, you'd know that something is carried there. But a hat? Maybe a bird is just a little silly. Maybe its head feel cold when he flies so high in the sky (Why does he fly so high? To avoid someone detecting him?). You don't think about it too much, you just leave it be.

Another point is, Little Birdie can't really take the package out of his hat himself, which would be easier with a bag. When it comes to valuable transport - let's say, rare seeds from some rare fruit from another part of the world - he can't just reach in there and sneakily eat one without anyone noticing. He could take his hat off to do so, but he couldn't put it back on, meaning he would be just an ordinary hatless bird again.

But why would Birdie do that? Is it all a job? An unresolved part of shady past? Does he even know what he's doing? That questions might never be answered. I just hope that one day, Little Birdie might be carefree once again - with or without his silly, little hat.

[riarozelle]

Bitch, what’s for dinner?

This one shot is based off a tik tok, it’s linked further down

Sergeant Marcus Van Dam is my OC that is dating Captain John Price

This is a YPTP AU type thing

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43570252/chapters/110911731

Warnings: Fluff, Soap being a brat, flirting, kissing, hickeys  ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Marc puttered about the kitchen, dodging his and John’s black cat Brick and their black Newfie Splash, he and the rest of the 141 were on leave for New Years.  Unfortunately they all decided to visit and annoy the ever loving shit out of him and John.

 Out of the corner of his eye, Marc spotted Gaz reaching towards the cooling rack that held the cookies that he and his brother, Steven, made earlier that day.

 He swatted the Brits hand away, “Oi! Out of the kitchen!” he huffed already shoving the twenty-nine year old out.

 “Come on, I’m hungry!” he whined, digging his feet into the tile, unsuccessfully staying in the kitchen.

 “I’ll let ya’ll know when the foods done.” Marc was able to shove the older out and into the living room, Gaz nearly knocking down Alex who caught him.

 “Whoa! You good?” Alex asked as he helped Gaz balance himself.

 “Birdie won’t let me have a cookie.” Gaz pouted.

 Alex chuckled, “Hey B, could I have some carrot sticks?” he asked.

 Marc nodded, “Sure, baby carrots or no?”

 “Yeah, baby carrots are good.”

 “WHAT! How come he gets to snack on something and not me!?” Gaz gawked.

 “That’s cause Al asked, you tried to sneak into the kitchen, besides those cookies were still cooling down.” Marc explained, grabbing a small paper plate, putting a handful of baby carrots onto it and handing the plate to Alex.

 “Thank you.” Alex chirped before planting a kiss on Marc’s cheek.

 “Yep yep.” Marc replied, kissing Alex on the cheek.

 “Argh! That’s so unfair!” Gaz whined before plopping down beside Kate on the couch and sulking.

 “Life’s unfair!” Marc called before going back into the kitchen and continuing to make dinner.

 Out in the living room, Soap was scrolling through Tik Tok and came across a video.

 https://www.tiktok.com/@dustenconti/video/7153026766087408939

He decided to be a little shit and showed John before daring him to basically recreate the video with Marc.

 “Now why would I do that?” John asked, folding his arms.

 “I’ll give you fifty bucks.” Soap offered.

 John shook his head, “No.” he denied.

 “How about this, if Birdie reacts negatively, you can punch me afterwards, or he can punch me.” Soap suggested.

 John sighed, “Fine, but if he cries it’s your head.” He warned as he stood up from the armchair.

 Soap grinned, he followed after the Captain, pulling up Tik Tok, he was going to record it.

 Marc looked up to see the two enter, “You aren’t getting any cookies boys.” He said stirring the mashed potatoes.

 Soap held the phone up and gave a thumbs up to John, the older took in a breath before saying the line.

 “Bitch, what’s for dinner?”

 Marc looked up at his partner with a hurt expression, “Mashed potatoes.” He said softly.

 John immediately felt bad, he quickly hugged the shorter, “I’m so sorry, Soap dared me to, if I do something like every again, I want you to slap the shit out of me for even considering to do that.” He said kissing his lover on the head.

 Marc sniffled before glaring at Soap who lowered his phone slightly to give a sheepish smile, “For the vine?” he tried.

 “Gaz! You can have a cookie as long as you punch Soap!” Marc called.

 There was the sound of rapid footsteps as Gaz ran into the kitchen, punched Soap in the gut before snatching a cookie and going back into the living room.

 Soap wheezed as he hunched over, “I deserved that.” He coughed, rubbing his stomach.

 “Yes you did, now go out to the living room.” John ordered.

 Soap slunk out of the kitchen, going to Ghost to get loved on.

 John looked down at Marc, “Will you forgive me?”

 “I don’t know, I might need some help.” The shorter said with a smile.

 John chuckled, “No problem Love.” He picked up Marc, setting him on the counter, the two kissed, whispering sweet nothings to each other.

 At one point Alex entered, pausing at the sight, “Please don’t fuck each other near the food.” He pleaded, his nose wrinkled at the thought.

 Marc snickered as he kissed John on the nose, “Don’t worry, we’re just kissing.” He assured, hopping down from the counter.

 Alex grabbed a can of coke from the fridge, “Uh huh, when is the food gonna be ready?” he asked, popping the tab.

 Marc rolled his eyes, “It’ll be done in a few minutes, now everyone out!” he demanded.

 “Even me?” John asked pulling his lover into his chest.

 Marc huffed, “Even you now scat!” he gently shoved the taller to the doorway.

 “Alright alright, but first,” John kissed Marc and proceeded to leave a bright red hickey on his neck.

 Marc moaned softly, John smiled, smug and pleased with the reaction he pulled from the shorter.

 Marc not one to back down from a challenge grabbed John by the front of his shirt, keeping him down to his height, he left a hickey on his lovers neck, bright red and very visible.

 “You cheeky little shit.” John chuckled, he kissed his partner before leaving the kitchen, and being met with whistles as everyone in the living room could clearly see the hickey.

[mysticrosed]

what  good  is  a  dragon  if  it’s  not  a  weapon?  a  tool,  a  means  to  an  end,  something  with  a  purpose  beyond  existing.  his  father  understood  power,  but  he  never  understood  how  to  share  it.  if  only  he  had—maybe  then  he  could  have  bent  a  dragon  to  his  will,  made  it  more  than  a  magnificent  creature  tethered  to  pacifism.  what  a  waste.  "i  am  not  a  snack;  i  am  the  main  course,"  he  says and  turns  to  show  off  his  body  like  it’s  the  one  thing  in  the  world  that  makes  sense.  because  it  is.  in  a  life  filled  with  scars  and  curses,  his  perfectly  maintained  form  is  the  one  thing  he  controls.  that  single  scratch  on  his  lip?  it’s  a  mark  of  taste,  a  reminder  that  even  flaws  can  be  beautiful  when  chosen.

he’s  not  stupid,  though.  he  knows  when  he’s  outmatched,  and  a  dragon  tips  the  scales  in  ways  he’s  not  willing  to  test.  he  stops,  spins  on  his  heel,  and  meets  the  other’s  eyes  with  that  familiar  smirk.  "master?  my  lord?"  he  echoes  with  a  laugh  that  dances  on  the  edge  of  mockery.  this  could  be  an  opening,  a  way  to  turn  an  adversary  into  an  ally.  and  maybe,  just  maybe,  the  dragon  could  still  be  useful.  "but  if  you  prefer  something  sweeter,  you  can  call  me  love,  babe,  my  dear,"  he  offers,  his  voice  dripping  with  irony.  his  father  would’ve  had  him  learn  the  lyre  if  he  knew  how  much  his  son  enjoyed  the  sound  of  his  own  voice.  "and  i’ll  call  you  birdie,"  he  continues  with  a  casual  wave  toward  the  wings.  it’s  almost  endearing,  this  back-and-forth.

he  steps  closer,  each  movement  slow,  measured,  his  eyes  flickering  between  the  dragon  and  the  celestial  being.  "we’re  both  good  with  a  sword,  so  why  not  use  that  to  our  advantage?"  he  suggests,  offering  a  hand  as  though  the  gesture  itself  could  change  fate.  but  he  knows  they’re  not  fighting  for  the  same  reason.  he  wants  to control the netherbrain,  wants  to  rise  above  the  gods,  to  be  the  one  in  control  for  once.  "truce?"  he  says,  and  the  word  hangs  in  the  air,  heavy  with  the  weight  of  all  that  it  could  mean.

Few can challenge the demigod... He isn't one to shed blood unnecessarily, yet it's not everyday he is able to fight the true evil that is the kin of Bhaal. The stranger may claim to not follow in his father's footsteps but heritage is hard to fight, especially when magic is at play. There is nothing simple about being a child of an otherworldly entity. Pretty bird. The nickname would make his heart flutter in the sweetest way if uttered in a less violent context. His grip on his sword tightens, body taunt in preparation to repel a strike or lash out at his opponent.

Rook's words are met with a disapproving click of his tongue. "If you knew anything about dragons, you would no one does not simply command a dragon as ancient as Lasera. She does as she pleases. My words are but a mere suggestion to her. She values by words but is not bound by them. She's here of her own free will. If anything, she smelled an after dinner snack." He remains alert, eyes glowing with celestial energy until Rook turns away. Although the glowing magical energy in his eyes fade away, the suspicious look he casts Rook does not. He doesn't trust Rook but he'll need his help and the help of his companions if he is to stop Gortash, Orin, and the Netherbrain.

Slowly sheathing his weapon, he lets a beat of silence pass before continuing to speak. He doesn't love the idea of giving Rook a ride but there is something being said about keeping your enemies close... "So what should I call you then?"

[an-angel-in-the-garden]

lilly ~ a game was mean to me ╥﹏╥ please have some hot bleach boys comfort me ( i was thinking grimmjow, hitsugaya, maybe urahara if u wanna throw him in ~ and anyone else u feel like adding) ~

Of course dear Birdie! All of the comfort from all the hot and pretty people! More notes at the bottom

Grimmjow

Grimmjow is horrible if you want comfort for anything, its not something he's really used to and he's gonna need help with it

When it comes to you being upset however he notices it right away not only because he pay close attention to you but also because as an Arrancar he can smell the change to your normal scent

Though he will notice that you're feeling upset Grimmjow wont bring it up right away instead he hopes that you come to him about it

Though he isn't really great at giving comfort he will do his best to get you feeling better from cuddles to snacks or just being someone you can lean on you just need to tell him

Grimmjow is a bit rough and might tease you a bit depending on what's got you down but never anything big and if he even goes to far he will do anything to make you feel better for weeks

If it was someone who made you upset dont tell him a name unless you want that person to disappear, a game well its time for him to get your mind off it, just not feeling well dont worry he's here for whatever you need

On a number rank Grimmjow hits 3/10 he's not good at comfort on his own anything you want or need you have to to tell him and he can be really blunt but he does try to make you feel better

Hitsugaya

When it comes to comfort Hitsugaya is okay with it he might need a little to get use to it but he does well

Hitsugaya knows how to comfort you the problem comes from how busy he always is

With him always working its unlikely for him to see if you're upset and at times he might even make it worse because when he does notice he might find it a bit childish

He doesn't really intended to be harsh but Hitsugaya is very blunt and still learning how to softer with people tell him if he says something he wants to fix it

After realizing you need comfort it gets a bit easier though he doesn't give comfort often he knows how to thanks to his friendship with Hinamori

Talking is a big part of Hitsugaya's comfort plan for you he wants to know why you're upset and what happened if its something he can help with he will, if not then he here for you to lean on anyway

Hitsugaya gets ranked 7.5 out of 10 he really is doing his best and he loves making you smile it just doesn't always start off well

Urahara

Urahara is amazing at comforting you he is just the best for it no matter why you might need the comfort

Not only can he always tell when something is bothering you but it could be anything and he wont judge you for it all he wants is to help

He might not seem it to onlookers but Urahara is very sensitive to those around him sure he himself might not be open about things but he pays attention to those close to him

He is very flexible when it comes to most things and comfort is one of them no matter what you need he can almost always make sure you have it

Physical touch is the best way he show you anything, affection or comfort it doesn't matter its not something he does with anyone else however if you dont like that dont worry he'll make sure you're okay another way

If you need advice he has you, something to distract you already on it, just someone to lean on well Urahara plans to always be here for you truly your happiness is something he keeps in mind always

When it comes to comfort Urahara ranks a solid 10/10 no questions asked. He is fantastic and is great at making you feel better no matter how long it may take

Nemu

Nemu in the beginning is worse then Grimmjow when it comes to anything people related comfort being a low for her but she gets better

She is a very fast and good learner though she can come off as harsh when it starts it is a new learning experience for you both

it might take a few times but it wont take long for Nemu to be able to see the signs of when you need comfort she also takes the time to make plans for it

Nemu is like a cat you can hold her and talk with her when you need comfort and she might not always do something but it always seems to help at least a little

Though she can get very busy Nemu always makes some time for in the day even if its something small like having lunch with you or just at the end of the day to rest

As a very observant person when it comes to you nothing really gets past her and more often then not when she sees you pouting or upset in anyway she is likely to just ask outright

On the rank of comfort Nemu gets a nice 6.5/10 she has some rough spots but she does her best and gets better then longer she learn what it means to care for someone

Renji

The second best here when it comes to comfort and he just get's better with time he is just such a good boy

The only real low point Renji has is that he can be just a bit dense unless you keep your emotions on your sleeve or outright tell him he doesn't realize that you're feeling down

He might see you pout and ask about it but something like a game being mean to you might just make him tease you more still he learns fast when is okay for teasing

Super good with comfort once he sees you need or want it he is the best person to get physical comfort from anything from cuddles to kisses or just being a should to lean on

Verbal comfort is also good from him, he can give good advice or make fun jokes to cheer you up and Renji is just a positive guy who wants you happy

He already likes to spoil you a bit and when your down its even more with nice pampering sessions so you feel your best

Comfort is something Renji's great with he might take a bit to get there but once he has it down he only gets better a very good 9/10 that can become 10/10 with some time

OH its finally done! This took so long and I am very sorry about that, I was hoping to get this done sooner but the writers block was so real. I think I might be over it so I plan try and get something out soon! I hope you enjoyed and thank you all for reading and being patient with me. Next up will be some Hellsing things!- Lilly

[schrodingersauthorii]

In honor of Salvage Ch. 18, I have prepared the first chapter of my Phoenix Salvage AU. @muffinlance , there’s one scene that’s 100% an improvement in my overall writing structure I pulled from you, and I bet NOBODY can tell which one it is.

—————————

The young soldier must have somehow heard the blade coming. He didn’t have time to cry out, but the panic stains his face. Not quite the easy death Hakoda wanted, but unavoidable, and still far kinder than leaving him to the sea.

Two years of fighting had left many too-young Fire Nation soldiers dead on this deck, but this was different than a battle. Different even than a mercy kill, back when they thought maybe Fire Nation prisoners would simply accept a fate other than death.

The soldier wouldn’t have left them any choice in the end. But he hadn’t forced their hands. Not yet.

One of the men murmured a prayer, a simple benediction for the journey to the next life. This wasn’t the clean up after a battle, and there might not Fire elders speaking rites for the kid somewhere across the sea. The soldier might only have what they give him, and they're pragmatic people- not cruel.

The Fire Nation burns their dead. That would be kindest, but if they could safely build a pyre, then they could have safely kept a firebending prisoner. The young soldier have a sea burial.

The corpse vetoed this. Violently.

Akake and Tuluk yelped, dropping the suddenly burning body onto the wooden deck.

Fire shouldn’t be green and purple, Hakoda barely had to think, and the fire disappeared. He blinked the sparks out of his eyes, and the deck was as clear. No fire, purple-green or otherwise. Just a vaguely soldier shaped mound of ash.

Hakoda reached down to touch it: barely warm, and not so much as a soot mark beneath it.

Something stirred. Something tiny. Hakoda grabbed it without giving himself time to think about it. Whatever it was squirmed frantically in his hand.

Hakoda looked down, expecting- something. A still beating heart, perhaps. A reptile or worm, at the very least. Something repulsive and macabre. But a tiny, down-feathered bird trembled in his hand. He brushed ash off of soft, orange wings. Even filthy, the fledgling glowed like sunrise.

“It’s a bird,” Hakoda said, dumbfounded.

“A bird,” Tuluk repeated.

The bird cheeped in distress. Hakoda started to pet it, but it nearly fell to the deck in its effort to escape his hand. He quickly cupped it with both hands instead. The bird pecked at his fingers.

The entire deck stared in stunned silence. What were they supposed to do with a bird?

————————

Tolko presented a box hastily stuffed with hay from the albatross-pidgeon coop. Hakoda carefully dropped the chick inside. It burrowed down into the loose “nest,” still cheeping incessantly.

“He’s so cute,” Tolko gasped. “What are we going to do with him?”

Tolko stared at the bird with love already in his eyes. The bird stared back with… suspicion. At the very least.

Hakoda’s temples begun a warning throb.

“Ask Kustaa if he can… find anything,” he finally said.

Tolko cooed at the bird as he walked away.

Hakoda felt a dreadful portent hum in his bones: this would not end well, and there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop it.

------

“What is that?” Kustaa asked.

“A bird,” Tolko said. And held the chick up to Kustaa’s face, as if not seeing the puffball was the problem.

“Which might also be a Fire Nation soldier. The Chief wants to know if you can find anything.”

“A soldier.”

“Yeah. He was drifting past, we fished him out, but he was. You know. A Fire Nation soldier. And he said he was a firebender. So.”

“So what?”

“He kind of...died. And spontaneously combusted. The bird was in the ashes. See?”

Tolko brushed the bird’s head and held up a sooty finger. The chick couldn’t really floof in anger- it was already at maximum floof- but it gave its best impression of outrage anyway. Tolko hastily placed it on the table before it could tumble out of his hand.

“This is a bird,” Kustaa said. “I’m a healer, not an ornithologist. Or a shaman. All I’m qualified to say whether or not YOU have brain rot.”

“Umm…” Tolko mumbled.

“Any headaches? Blurred vision? Acute pain in your arms or legs? Motor difficulties?” Kustaa asked as he prodded Tolko’s arms.

“No?”

“Then we’ll work with the assumption that Spirits were involved, not Swamp Fever. Hopefully, a minor Spirit.”

Kustaa leaned down in front of the bird.

“Can you understand us: peck two times, then three.”

Low and behold, the bird did… then stared at them and pecked a deliberate pattern of some sort.

“I don’t understand that,” Kustaa said.

A storm of outraged peeping.

“I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do about it. Are you a Spirit, one peck for yes, two pecks for no.”

Two pecks, and more outraged peeping.

“...Are you a bird?”

In hindsight, it was incredibly bold of them to assume Zuko knew more than they did about anything.

--------

Tuluk entered Hakoda’s office after a single knock, and Hakoda’s temples immediately resumed pounding.

“Apparently, the bird insists he is the soldier, and NOT a Spirit,” Tuluk said.

Hakoda pinched the bridge of his nose. And resolved to make an offering soon. There were stories about shapeshifting Spirits who forgot they weren’t human.

“Keep an eye on him,” Hakoda said. “We’ll head to the nearest port and find an Earth Sage. This is exactly the kind of trouble we don’t need.”

Tuluk nodded grimly.

A thought struck Hakoda. “How did…?”

Tuluk sighed. “Lots of questions. Lots of patience. Kustaa is positively charmed with the little menace.”

“He’s a bird.”

“A mean one,” Tuluk agreed. “But he’s warmed to Kustaa and Tolko, for stars knows why.”

Hakoda didn’t like the idea of a Spirit getting… attached to his crew, but he liked the idea of an upset Spirit on his ship even less.

“Keep an eye on them, please,” Hakoda said.

Tuluk nodded, understanding in his eyes.

“I’ll do my best, but that’s a conversation you need to have with Kustaa and Tolko. Probably the rest of the crew, too.”

Hakoda’s headache sharpened with knife-like intensity. Tuluk eyed him with concern.

“Chief. Nobody will blame you if you need a drink before that. Kustaa’s almost ordered a shipwide medicinal order.”

Hakoda sighed.

“After,” he promised. And didn’t clarify after what.

—————————-

Their youngest crewman tucked the surly creature into his parka, from where it eyed everyone and everything with deep suspicion. Tolko kept up a mostly one-sided commentary, which the soldier-bird seemed surprisingly engaged with.

“Do you know his name?” Punuk asked as Tolko showed the bird their snack break offerings.

“No,” Tolko said through a mouthful of salted fish. “It’s the character for ‘righteous rule,’ but we couldn’t figure out the pronunciation. So Birdie it is.”

“Birdie” cheeped aggressively enough to attract the other crewmen’s attention for the first time in hours. There was still work to be done, and his constant noise quickly faded into the background.

“That’s terrible. How about… Sparky? Ember?”

“Blaze.”

“Inferno.”

“Red.”

“You can’t call him red, he’s pink.”

“He’s definitely more orange than pink.”

“Orange still isn’t red.”

Ragnalok tossed an empty water skin at the pair.

“Stop torturing the poor guy. He already died once today.”

The trio went quiet.

“Way too soon, man,” Panuk said.

Birdie was… worryingly quiet for several hours after that.

-------

Tolko roused in the middle of the night, awakened by a faint stirring of downy feathers and soft cooing. Birdy was awake. Tolko couldn’t see it, but dawn must be on the horizon.

Birds liked dawn. So did firebenders, presumably. It was early, but Tolko wasn’t tired-tired, so…

Tolko scooped Birdy up in one hand and slid out of his hammock. “We’ll go top deck,” he whispered as he tucked Birdy into his collar.

Birdy cheeped in a maybe grumpy, maybe affirmative way. But it was soft, so Tolko didn’t think he was upset. Birdy was very, very good at communicating when he was upset, bird or not.

It still seemed uncharacteristic. And Birdy was slumping on Tolko’s shoulder in a way he hadn’t yesterday.

Tolko scooped Birdy back into his hand, and Birdy just… cheeped quietly. Cheeped once and fell silent.

Okay. It was early: Birdy might just be tired. It was a Thing, that birds got sleepy when it was dark- even if it wasn’t actually night. They’d go topdeck and watch the sunrise, and if Birdie still seemed off he’d come back and wake Kustaa.

Tolko climbed the last stair just as the sun broke free of the horizon. Birdie chirped softly again, and Tolko held him out into the light.

“It’s beautiful,” Tolko said.

And Birdie once again caught fire on the Spirits damned deck.

[invcntions]

he watches intently as she speaks, a trait banks knows he's picked up from their father and yet his features hold none of the judgement usually found on the older male's expression. he was simply processing it. her life. birdie's been taking the chance to live it and despite how much he's had to miss his sister in the process, banks couldn't be happier for her. at least one of them has seen the world beyond fancy hotel rooms, had the opportunity to make mistakes without the pressure of what it could mean to get something wrong. “ good for you. ” he shakes his head gently, a faint smile tugging to his lips as blue eyes dart quickly over the sea before pulling back to her. “ they're going to murder you, no doubt about that, but still — i'm proud of you. ” words tease softly. there was no question their parents would be pissed, but in time they'd get over it, find a way to spin whatever she's been doing as planned and educational in front of their friends. once they'd managed that it'd be like nothing had happened. at least, nothing they hadn't approved of. “ i've got to say, life has kind of sucked without you. nice not to have anyone to cover for when they steal snacks from the pantry, but beside that... it's not quite the same being a team of one. ” he only half-jokes, leaning back gently in the chair. “ so, you got a place out here? one your favorite brother can hide out in? ”

SHE STIFLES A GROAN AT THE MENTION of their father. it's one thing admitting the truth to banks — they've always been on the same team, hid in the same cupboards, exchanged glances at the same dinners — but her parents would scold her to no end. not that it bothers her that much, but it would still be a sure way to ruin her europe experience. all those feelings are quickly set aside at banks' revelation. « OH ? » birdie gasps, a wide variety of emotions crossing her face — surprise, delight, worry. she wants to ask how on earth banks can be here with another man when their father is just a breath away, but before she can even open her mouth again banks has already manoeuvred the conversation onto her. birdie takes a deep breath, olives placed back onto the plate. « i couldn't do it, banks, » she admits bashfully. « well, i could, but ... i didn't want to. » she looks up at her brother, smiling apologetically. « it just ... would mean i'd done it. you know ? done the thing mom and dad wanted me to do and i'd have my business degree and i'd be good to work for them and i just ... i can't do that, with my life. it's my life. » it sounds stupid saying it aloud, but it's a relief to be able to. « it was really nice seeing you again before they kill me though. »

[novamirmirsblog]

Chocolate Sauce

prompt: 'You're already hyper as it is, I don't need you to be sugar high while fucking me.'

Request: no

Word count: 854 (ish. I wrote some more on my phone and I forgot the word count. I’ll edit it in a bit <3)

Warnings: Suggestive content, Swearing

Tag list: @d14n4ol

"I have an idea to sweeten things up in the bedroom" you saunter into the lounge and flop by Natasha's feet

"No."

"But you haven't even heard the idea yet-"

"No y/n."

Natasha loved you and everything that came with you. Including your hyper-ness. You were always told that there's no such thing as 'being hyper' and therefore, you were led to believe that there was no such thing as a sugar rush.

You were wrong.

You had quite possibly the worst reaction to sugar Natasha had ever seen. Your natural state was already quite high energy but add sugar to the mix and it was borderline dangerous.

The rest of the team adored how hyper you would get from the simplest things and regularly exploited it, much to Natasha's dismay. One particularly dark day, Natasha had thrown out all sugary snacks. She had failed to remember the cans of coffee Bucky kept in the fridge and you had been dared to try one. Coffee was even worse than sugar.

There was one thing worse than all the sugar in the world combined.

Chocolate sauce.

Natasha wasn't sure what they put in the sauce that was different to normal chocolate but whatever it was, sent you doolally.

The two of you had been on a date when the ice cream sundae with chocolate sauce came out. The two of you had agreed to share and that was something Natasha was eternally grateful for because she hated to imagine what would have happened if you had eaten the whole thing yourself. Safe to say, it was eventful bringing you back to your shared room. You had wanted to say hello to everyone and look at absolutely everything.

When Natasha had successfully gotten you home, your attention turned on her. The sex that night was wild. Like completely mind bending. It's not that sex was boring before - far from it. But that night was one she wouldn't forget any time soon. That being said, she didn't enjoy dealing with the fallout of a cranky y/n coming down from their sugar high.

God you were miserable after.

It's why Natasha dismissed your idea of 'sweetening' things up in the bedroom. She knew exactly what that meant - you wanted to bring chocolate sauce into the very healthy sex life you guys already had.

"Tasha I really think chocolate sauce could be a good idea. I could make you feel so good baby. Why don't you want my tongue licking sauce from you?"

You shuffled up and began to lick her neck and collar bone, nipping along her shoulders. Natasha let out a groan and gave you more access. You bought your face up to hers and left your lips a fraction away from hers.

"This way, you can stop imagining what I would do and actually experience it. You think I don't hear you in the shower sometimes?"

Natasha stilled. She had no clue how you had heard her. She had made so sure to be quiet. So sure that you had been out of the room.

"A little birdie told me that you often dream of that night..." Natasha let out a little moan as you whispered those words into her ear, kissing and sucking just below the earlobe. Wanda had told you once when she was extremely drunk. Words had just kept pouring from her mouth and who were you to stop her when she told you how much Natasha thought about your sugary filled sex escapade. Unfortunately for Wanda, Natasha’s thoughts were sometimes extremely loud, especially when she had to watch you lick whatever utensil you had been using to eat, her mind flashing back to how it was her body your tongue should have been on.

In truth, you wanted chocolate sauce introduced to the bedroom because you just loved it so much and you thought that if you made it worth Natasha's while, then she would be down for you eating it. Unfortunately, things had not been going to plan.

"I really don't think it's a good idea... You're already hyper as it is, I don't need you to be sugar high while fucking me." Natasha let out a shaky breath and gently ran her hands through your hair, trying to pull you closer.

"Thing is detka, I really think it is." You knew that Natasha loved it when you spoke Russian. Her pupils would always expand and she would breathe a little heavier.

"Promise you won't get cranky the next day?"

"Darling, I would never be cranky with you." You hooked your thumbs into her waistband and kissed her bottom lip briefly.

"That's not what I meant. I know you'd never be cranky with me but you locked Clint in the washing machine last time because he was 'looking at you the wrong way'..."

"Detka, I promise not to lock Clint in the washing machine."

"Then you have a deal Y/L/N. Don't make me regret this..."

"Never sweetheart." You kissed her properly this time, finally allowing her what she wanted. Her hips bucked up towards yours.

Clint walked into the lounge, a plate of waffles carefully balanced as he poured chocolate sauce over them.

"Ew, guys, what the fuck! Get a room. I don't need this while I'm eating my breakfast!"

You looked devilishly at Natasha. "What a great idea Clinty Winty." You grabbed Natasha with one hand, sauntered over to Clint and grabbed the chocolate sauce by making him think you were going for the waffles.

"Toodles Clint!" you shouted out as Natasha followed quickly behind you, back to your shared room.

“My chocolate sauce...”