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strandedincivilisation · 2 years

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@blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO

This surely was a peak moment in your life, really. Whether a high or a low, that is yet to be decided. And you lean towards the low, as of now.

You prided yourself on aiding the Queen's Guardog, Your wit, smart-thinking and quick brain make for a perfect asset in some of his missions, and he's come to regard you as being dependable enough. So much so, that it is not uncommon for the young Earl to invite you for tea and a game of chess.

This time, however, it seems he was playing chess while you were within the board, playing the part of a mere pawn.

A favour, he had asked of you, and confident in yourself, you agreed. Foolish for someone who usually caught onto intentions so quick, really. Almost embarrassingly so. In retrospect, you really should have known. Could you blame him, though? By asking you to play the part as bait for his mission, he avoided being stuffed into a dress and quite the few lady-like lessons (that fell upon your shoulders instead).

And now, here you were. You, yourself, stuffed into a dress, that they made sure would compliment your eye colour, with your hair styled the way Madame Red herself ensured would bring the best attention, getting out of the carriage with Sebastian's aid, and into the party. You feel like you're walking right into a wolf's mouth, but you push forward nonetheless.

You walk around for a couple of minutes, but it hardly takes you long to find the Viscount. Lord Phantomhive warned you, he told you you might be taken away today, but that they would be close on your trail just in case, and perhaps that had you feeling a little too comfortable when you saw the blonde man approach.

You have to admit, you understand why women fawn over him so. He is attractive, symmetrical features, long soft hair, a sharp jawline, smooth-looking skin and deep, lavender eyes with long lashes.

You put on your best smile.

"Ah...I'm terribly sorry, sir" you start off, taking a small, minuscule step back. You play with your hands for a moment in feigned innocence, trying to act as flustered as you can bring yourself to "I didn't mean to bump into you..." Your eyes scan over him discreetly. If his own eyes and their incessant travelling over your body are anything to go by, so far you've got his attention.

And his attention you had. How absolutely delightful. A beautiful little bird, fluttering about the world, so naively, such easy prey for any predators out there that it almost made someone want to put them in a cage, still able to flutter around and be admired, but safe from the dangers of the world. Beauty was pain, for it left so soon, oftentimes because it was taken away by greedy leeches, sucking it away from the world. It almost made one sick to their stomach to think about... Still, there were little lights in the dark. Special kinds of beauty, rare ones, like gems within a rock beach.

You sure looked and acted the part.

"Please-" his voice is smooth, and almost pleasantly warm, like melting butter, easy on the ears. Melodic even, as it rings at such a private volume it makes you have to lean in a bit, bringing about an almost exclusive moment amongst all this people, like you are sharing some kind of secret "- don't apologize, little robin. I should have looked where I was going. I trust you weren't hurt?" His expression seems nearly grim at the thought, and you almost forget you're on a mission as it sets free a nest of butterflies in your stomach. You hold your breath for a moment, and just gently shake your head. He smiles, and this time you think you really might forget why you were here in the first place.

"I'm glad" he speaks up again "It would be such a shame to have any harm come to a beautiful hummingbird..." He looks around for just a couple of moments, like looking away from you bothers him, and his eyes land on you once more quicker than you anticipated "Oh my...are you all alone here? That just won't do...why don't you join me?" He holds his hand out, and you become aware of the mission once again. This is it. The plan has been set in motion. There's no doubt now that he's seizing you up as possible next victim. You take his hand you almost despise the way your body sends an involuntary shiver throughout you. His hand is bigger than yours, yet remains delicate. The hold is firm, but soft. "Allow me to get you a drink, and you can tell me about yourself, yes?" His voice interrupts your thoughts, it's sweeter this time, more alluring, like honey, with this undertone on it you can't put your finger to is it a hint of desperation, or do you just wish it would be?

You comply, accompany him to his seat, and chat for a while as he offers you a glass. The conversation is entertaining, and his smile never falters, however, you start to get uneasy after a while, and it's not because of his eyes trailing your figure or resting on your lips and hands a little too long every now and again. It's more about what he's not doing...you're still here. He didn't put anything in the drink, didn't try to take you to another room. You stay seated, you haven't been bait before, and you just figure patience is of the essence- "I'd be honoured if you allowed me to take you away for a moment, somewhere nice. Just you and me, dear songbird" Ah, there it was. You nod your head, and give your most naive smile, following after him.

You'll be fine, you think, the young Earl and his very capable butler are hot on your trail.

Then, the Viscount takes you out the front door, and to a carriage...Well, unexpected, but you aren't sure about his modus operandi, so you go along. It's a slow ride, but the destination stop arrives quicker than you expected. It's a sort of forest, in it, a clearing with a gazebo. A nice spot, for sure...but far away from the party and all its people...far away from everything, in fact. Regardless, he offers his hand to help you down, and you take it. He doesn't let go as he leads you towards the gazebo, and he doesn't let go when he sits down with you. He doesn't let go.

His free hand cups your cheek, and you focus on remaining as bait, for as long as you can, until you have any kind of lead, anything, no matter how hard your heart is hammering, and no matter if you can't tell whether it's adrenaline or something deeper, and perhaps more carnal.

"You're so very sweet my songbird...I had to bring you here, a place deserving of your presence, without all of that noise...My little songbird, you mentioned having no suitors...I hoped my ears were deceiving me, in a way. To think that no one has been able to appreciate such a masterpiece before...it pains me deeply. Even then, I find myself rejoicing at the thought..." The hand on your cheek slowly moves down, nuzzling down your neck for just a fleeting moment, leaving you aching for the touch again, in a way, and he takes both your hands this time "My little songbird...be my betrothed" You almost choke on your breath, suddenly the aim of the mission hits you like a train and your chest tightens uncomfortably. You splutter and stutter through your words, dumbfounded, thrown off your game scarily quickly "...I...I beg your pardon, My Lord, I am sure I misunderstood you, please come again...?" You ask slowly, voice a mixture between hopeful and shaken "My little songbird..." His grip on your hands tightens. It's not painful, but it's a tense reminder that you're still being held in place "You captured my heart the moment you came in...what is it you desire? Money? Travels? Wonders shown before your very eyes? I can give you all you could wish for, if only you'd be mine."

Damnit. You work too well.

"...My Lord, I...I don't know what to-" His voice cuts through quickly, like he is trying to crush any counter arguments with it alone " Please, my little songbird...if you don't........I really wouldn't want to have to take drastic measures..." You gulp slowly, but you choose to push through. This is a change of plans, but it may guarantee that kidnapping. That's what you came here to do in the first place, is it not? This is surely just some twisted trick to get you to fall victim to his business. It will be fine. Sebastian said he can track down the gas they believe he uses to knock out the victims at his home. It will be fine.

You shake your head "My Lord, you flatter me, but we just met..." His grip tightens further "Darling please just say yes..." It comes out in a whisper, so gentle that it throws you for a loop when paired up with his expression and his hold on your hands "Please say yes" he repeats again "I would hate to have to get...upset" His voice almost drops, for a moment, and you try to remind yourself that it's going to be fine, and that this is the outcome you've been looking for, being a victim to his business, so you shake your head once more "I'm really sorry, Lord Chamber, but I can't accept your offer just like that..." His eye almost twitches, but his smile seems unfaltering. It's eerie, almost. One of his hands leaves yours, and you untense. If only you had seen it reaching into his pocket slowly .

"Little songbird...one last time...please reconsider. You're making a mistake right now" His voice has definitely lowered this time, and you have to gulp a knot on your throat. You dread to even think for a moment that the knot may not only be there out of fear

You shake your head one final time, attempting to free your hand "I apologize, but I couldn't possibly marry you after knowing you for just a few hours-"

The movement is too quick for you to register. He pulls you close by the hand, into his chest, and a cloth is pressed against your mouth and nose. A strong, chemically sweet smell hits you, and your whole body grows heavy, your eyelids falling closed moments later.

By the time you wake up, you find yourself carefully tucked in, in satin and silk sheets, and with soft pillows. But the moment you look around, there's metal bars. Golden ones, and you are inside a cage...and this is not an auction. It's a manor room.

"Hello my beautiful songbird...I'm glad you're awake again! Welcome home...don't fret, I'll take good care of you...you'll be let around the manor soon, when I am sure you won't fly away" His smile is wide, and cheery, and so alluring that it's unnerving. His voice is honey-like and dripping with such delight that something within you flips in the best way and it almost angers you.

After the night falls, and the Earl and his very capable butler don't show up, you think back to their claim of being able to track down the gas used in the rooms and how they were paying close attention in case you were taken to one within the party... You start to lose hope that they will be able to come for you...

But when Aleister steps into the cage, arms encasing you against his chest in an almost desperate passion, and his lips slowly ghost over your skin until they finally meet yours with a fervor you have never experienced before... You are no longer sure you mind that anymore.

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leopoldainter · 24 days

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Claire Danes bitch why won't you die!

Ah. I thought you sent her.

He said did that.

Who

Your, uncle

That's, he's a family friend ... just let her sweat it out.

I want her out of my life.

Think about the tingtings

For the level Head!

Thanks, o

Well I guess if your uncles driving I might as well strap my self to ... actually I can fly that one.

Nice, it's a senna.

O for fuck sakes.

I've cats do this in mirrors before. Did we really need a third movie.

Your unlce wants to know if you do or don't want to see some of the post apocalyptic version..

Maybe, how's the music

Hes fucking her in the washroom.

I think she's just testing the faucets. She's basically bender. But with some static electricity your in a snow globe didn't you know that

John, your a drop out I found in a cage.

How close to the glass did you get when you came by, your mixing me up with hercule

Yeah you wish

Can someone please check to see if Dyson is dead or not.

I'll do it out of my next!

Oh alright all the dundee de didi

Ladies and Gentlemen,

The moment you've all been waiting for.

DMV

ITSA REST VIKT DEVE LOPY

youtube

L.A. ; bu then even though she didn't say it. Honest you some how right before you speak hear hollywoo

youtube

Moral I thinkdan guns don't do much these days

youtube

Are you calling somebody over or did you still want a machiato

Machiato, I make faces it's nothing.

youtube

This is fucked, that's politics for ya

Nancy boy Inc. Let's go nana

Fuck I am right. I'll need some hair dye and some bleach Holyoke jeesi I just can't decide between the tutu and the steloto

I don't

Haha. Ask the pilot

She made a lot of people feel like they needed to become paralegals nice pin stripe CC

Thanks but after the whole oj thing I felt it would be appreciated to go with the jenny Craig crowd but after nine eleven nothing was ever the same.

I saw that to he took a bullet to the chest, says but hey pretty boy I tender golfers, poorly.

He's unionized

They all are

....

youtube

Now listen to what he says when he exits the vehicle

I should have stayed on the bench. The FRENCH!

Would you take our picture please.

youtube

EarlyAdmission for the winner

And then

Out of nowhere

Cuz she's just been begging for it

Nancy fucks Andy in someone's front lawn. GooNero!

youtube

I forget that I already had that by mistake, fucking kids am I right

youtube

About a whole while back.

There was a new world to reach by vessel and th

An Implosion ooooAhh

Who cares

Hindi accent no fwce

That one looks like saturn

Lac leamy casino, turn around to find a hill across the river you crossed to get here to find a nice place to lay blanket and listen to anthems of rebellion album by arch enemy.

Wow! Yeah, they are not Canadian

Hordes of politicians enter.

It's one of those things.

If you found out about the fire works competition from inside, past the sign with the Bienvenue and snuggles on each sidFleecye then you probably paid admission to sit on your own blanket outside in my backyardg

Ghoise an lil juennes. Podticandeiparade

youtube

Or, you were polite and have some poket change now that you can't waste the time on church And the simpsons And family guy And american dad And bobs burgers And 60 minutes, but I still prefer to have at least the cigaret buts back, you can use them to kill birds or carefully irrivape nesting with cancerous carcinogens

youtube

Yikes, just ignore him he's honestly the worse liar

This lcbo doesn't sell alcohol

No it's a regular office

No way

We do have wifi

I know that

Please leave it's a weekend go, weed a garden or something

We're getting gas.

Not at this corner.

Are you asking me to take a breath mint.

She runs away, but with one of my bags.

I'm filming!

Oh BTW where's stone henge

...

You bitch

I did say

But then things changed cuz things tanged! Don't believe don't think about. I'm pretending like someone I wouldn't believe, for your viewing pleasure

I think the rule is, it's not funny if you have to explain it.

Dangrubbish from the getgo

Give them some money then they'll leave.

Sirens?

No it's alert, the most northern of all the point of Nunavut.

I can hear them

Sh sh let's watch one where the finish with somethi g cool like homer drunk complaining about rich people.

Ya Yue shush me I'll sushi ya i ll shu Hey I know her. I'll sush yeah wanna sushi lill sushit I swhitxhMuizimk. True but portal ahhh now I'm laughing give it a second, she's saying to a woman the she's worried to upset the man who paid for all that jewelry. That's not stoner it's lesbian were at the wrong theate

It's broadway

Just some gyn

Gym

Gymn

Hug

Uh. No

I came to the bathroom to do this

First tell me.

Ok Beth and Rob totaly had sex but it was a goi g away presenf

How does lily already know

Ohhh the Korean card counter on the couch. Ok one second ^^claps and relaxes and says

You shut the door in his face, he should know that means lily can never Ever know.

Ok, couldn't Travis have died.

No because he walked her back to her place e

WHAT

Good luck Travis...

Hmmm

Fishing fire

O sorry I'm still not sure if the news is talking about the river or me,

Why wouldnt I tell you

Jason, you took him from the ss

He was airRaid

Never mind we will go to the roof but after that for the rest of the night I have to pretend not to be having the time of my life.

And that's why he dies on the bridge

Wow lily the shot really came out to

I got all them up to r.

Yay

Go lily

Last time you see her Rebudign.

ChugaIthinkI canChugaIthink I did

Peace out

Boo b

Show me where there's room in a Sunday night line up then we'll talk.

Oh Keri Russell fxx yeah

O shit. Your out lay down.

I at least get paid for this. No way he's got a sac in that trunk.

Isn't that making a joke

#Youtube

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bio-nerds-corner · 2 years

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Judas Goat

have some old soti ;P er... i actually started all of this on before charlie appeared in dsmp itself

i had some more ideas for this one, but i just couldnt think of somewhere to end it on. seems to be a pattern with my stuff :(

TWs for dehumanization, hard vore

A bell rang below, just behind him. If Quackity were a stupid hunter, a foolish novice, he would’ve turned to capture the human who had stayed behind to ring it. But to an expert it was the sound of a clock starting, his time running out rapidly. With that bell all others would scatter and he would only have so long to catch them all. He pressed forward, towards the blip on the radio tracker, net at the ready, and was rewarded with a louder clash of hammer on metal immediately in front of him. Transmitting the signal of his arrival and distracting him all at once.

He ignored the bell. And the next one. As they got more desperate, attempting more loudly to announce the humans presence and draw him away from the nest. Like a bird feigning a broken wing to lead predators away from defenseless chicks.

He had only ever fallen for that one once. At least the sacrificial human that stayed behind while it’s hive abandoned it was sweet and young tasting.

He crashed out into the colony, foot smashing down into a fragile habitat, and the swarm of humans scattered in all directions. He could see a pattern to the mob movements, and cast a weighted net that took down more tiny buildings with it, trapping humans beneath the debris and tightly corded rope. It seems they only had barely begun running for the underbrush around him when he had arrived. Good, that meant he would get the lions share of this nest.

It was hard making sure he got every one of them. The first couple of times he tried this trick there were some that scattered and made even thinking about hunting in that direction worthless.

He taught Charlie how to count afterward, and he would proudly tell him the population of the human settlement just before he got to work.

He didn’t care for alive humans in his meals, to be honest. After the first attempt with a mesh cage he stuck to an airtight plastic tupperware so they could quietly suffocate for him. By the time he got home from such excursions it was hardly an issue handling them. They were all floppy and weird a lot of the time but. Well. Their meat was just as good.

Sometimes one of them survived long enough to revive just as he stuck them in his mouth. It definitely was a curious sensation, feeling it’s weak little kicks and gasps, but he wouldn’t say it was as intoxicating as Wilbur always described it. Really, he preferred the crunch to the useless begging. Plus, it reminded him too much of Charlie’s little voice, and he didn’t want to have to imagine his pet in among the limp bodies, no matter how weird nightmares he had about biting down hard on the defenseless little creature.

Quackity strung up the first net, twisting it neatly so it scooped up all of the humans caught beneath, before throwing it over his shoulder. He could hear the screams and cries and whines of anger and fear, some of it strange and warblingly close to Charlie’s own voice but wrong in such particular ways. They all kicked and thrashed like a net full of fish, but only succeeded in injuring one another. Bruises didn’t taste the best but it was a minor setback all things considered. He took a second to mentally count them - 14, not bad. He’d have to check how many there were in total when he found Charlie.

Now for the second net. No way in hell will they clump together like this group was, and traps won’t work when they already know he’s here, so he’ll just have to grab for it.

Using the other net he had as a bag, he quickly started grabbing any human within reach, breaking the remaining settlements to weed out the stragglers hiding in there. A few smaller ones fled, and he considered briefly letting them run off to grow larger for his next hunts, before deciding he probably wouldn’t ever be able to find them again and scooping them up.

It almost got mindless, combing the remains of the human colony for those frozen in terror or trapped by the debris of their home. He eventually stopped and recounted, happy with the amount he’d gotten. 21 in all - well, 22 if he counted the squalling infant one of them clung to, but they barely were even a bite-full so he didn’t.

He shook the second bag a bit to hear the collective wail go up for a moment, before pulling the airtight box out of his bag. It would be just big enough to fit both bags if he shimmied it around and the humans didn’t flail too much.

As it were, he had overestimated the box size a little bit. Cursing, he pulled the second bag back out again and fished through it for the human carrying a child. He could easily just crunch into them now, but he liked to be hygienic with his food and, plus, he didn’t care much for the scared and angry noises all the others would go into a flurry about as soon as he did.

So he dropped the two onto the remaining building that hadn’t toppled from his poking and probing, and finally got the bags packed properly. The yelling and whining from the humans was greatly muffled as soon as the seal clicked.

He half-turned and pulled out his whistle before noticing the released human was staring at him, apparently frozen. With a frown, he poked at it, shoving it in the other direction. “What are you waiting for, an invitation?” For gods sake, how had they even survived this long in the first place? No wonder they’re endangered in the wild now.

He carefully retrieves charlie at this point, and the people trapped in the box start yelling and screaming. from quackity’s pov its just a bunch of panicking, and he puts the bag away carefully at that point. to charlie, its the screams of betrayal, the horror that someone they tried to help betrayed them like that. he seems entirely unaffected by the muffled hatred spat at him.

quackity pats him gently on the head, and returns him to his travel cage, already thinking about recipes he will have to try with this batch.

After that whole debacle with Tommy, Quackity was… torn. Because on the one hand he wanted to be a supportive friend, wanted to change his ways (he could go vegan right? Right?) in solidarity, but on the other…

There was Charlie, who he had been caring for for years at this point, who had started as this fun little project to see if he could train a tracker human and had become a comfort to him, a pet.

Tommy is a person and yet, despite him trying his best to convince himself otherwise, Charlie would always be a pet to him. After all, Tommy wouldn’t ever come to him wanting cuddles, or so blindly trust him when he lifted him up to a dark cupboard to ‘please please please smash that horrible bug I found in there I can’t do it myself’ or march proudly into a human settlement with the knowledge that he would end it.

Right? Right. That’s a pet thing.

He was sitting on the couch, scrolling unhappily through his phone as he tried to think. Under his cupped hand against his chest was Charlie, breathing softly. So small and fragile, yet so undeniably trustingly his.

(That possessiveness, that’s probably what stopped him from ever seeing Charlie as anything but a pet. The human was his and had been his for so long, and nothing could change that. )

What would happen if someone came over to his house one day and saw all of the little things he had added over the years for Charlie? The enclosure that had grown from that pathetic first attempt and now was the envy of human-keeper forums? Would they understand? Or would he be judged for it now that Tommy’s out?

Wait shit - had he ever talked about Charlie on stream? Quackity wracked his brain for a moment before remembering that no, he hasn’t, because he had decided early on he didn’t want to be seen as the kind of ‘crazy human guy’ to own a battalion of humans and only eat ‘home grown food’ with all of the euphemisms attached. So Charlie’s still a secret.

It would be so incredibly easy to make Charlie stay a secret. Take down the enclosures today and ‘accidentally’ crush Charlie underfoot. Or maybe even finally eat him, have one final taste of human before giving it up and taking the evidence with him. It would be so easy, he was literally within Quackity’s grasp.

… no. He could never do that. Not only does the idea make him absolutely sick to his stomach, he couldn’t imagine ever looking Tommy in his little eyes and saying that he was trustworthy with a clear conscience after doing something like that. Charlie was so small and trusted him so much, he couldn’t do something like that to him.

He let out a long breath, shifting his feathers, and Charlie groggily lifted a head in attention. Quackity hurriedly muttered out quiet nonsense words, assurances and purrs and Charlie tucked his head in again next to his heart.

Yea. He could never just kill Charlie in cold blood. He was about ten years too late for that to ever happen.

So what could he do? Continue hiding Charlie, consolidating all of the little additions to his house to a single room that he could lock when guests were over? It would be a fix, but the part of him that has now spent far too long moderating and commenting on human husbandry forums screamed at him about confinement. Stupid morals and good pet-care values.

In hindsight, there was only ever one solution to this issue. He would have to let Charlie go.

…

His hands fumbled on Charlie’s bright green collar like an idiot as he gingerly unclasped it. Charlie was sitting up straight, not moving at all like he was always trained to when Quackity was preparing him for an ‘excursion.’ He hesitated for a long moment, before handing the collar over to Charlie.

The human frowned at it and looked up. “Why are you giving me this?”

Quackity shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, I just want you to keep it safe.” And, like a good pet, Charlie appeared satisfied by that answer. He carefully folded the fabric up and put it into an inside pocket of the custom-tailored jacket he had gotten a couple of years back. Quackity poked at the backpack, always too small for him to do anything more than fumble with the straps, but he made sure he could feel the little food packs and container of food pellets in case he was out too long and everything else was used up.

Maybe I should get him some more. He won’t be coming back after all, he’ll need it.

But then… he might get suspicious.

Why should I worry about him getting suspicious now? He’s leaving and he can’t do anything about it.

Still, it would break his heart to see Charlie get all sad about this before it was strictly necessary. He continued fussing with the backpack as the human laced his little boots confidently.

“The weather looks good for the rest of the week so take your time,” he said, trying to keep his voice from wobbling. “See the sights and all that shit, y’know.”

Charlie hummed, tugging without much effort at the bag in his grasp. Quackity gave it up easily, checking nervously that his claws didn’t leave scratches on the fabric. Humans were just so fragile right when he didn’t want them to be.

“You’ve been sad for a while,” Charlie said suddenly, not looking up from the backpack. “I’ll do a good enough job to help you out, and it’ll be ok. Promise.”

Quackity’s heart almost broke right then and there. Don’t think about it.

“Radio,” Quackity commanded, pushing through the hiccup in his throat, finally putting aside the bedding he was ineffectively tying for Charlie’s smaller and more nimble hands, and trying to absorb himself in the checklist for a little bit longer. Charlie turned his back to him, raising his shirt and exposing the radio transmitter sewn into a dark undershirt which, with the shirt and coat, would be entirely invisible.

Quackity carefully checked the battery life, that it was still transmitting, and nodded. While it wouldn’t be necessary this time… he would like to keep an eye on his pet for as long as he can. “You’re good, alright come on now.”

He held out a hand and once again like a proper and obedient pet, Charlie hopped on with little complaint. Quackity hoisted up the bag with his other hand, transferring it into Charlie’s grasp and bending down to pick up the travel enclosure.

Seeing Charlie holding his bag, sitting behind the bars of the travel enclosure with a hand half held onto one of the metal rods, Quackity steeled himself. This was the best option. This was the only option.

Then he grabbed his keys and got in his car.

He tried to make himself promise that he wouldn’t look back after letting Charlie out in the woods, knowing he wouldn’t be able to keep it.

...

Quackity never made mistakes ever but… taking in these humans so soon after losing (leaving behind) Charlie definitely didn’t help that feeling of useless loss. It was just a favor for Technoblade (who absolutely TERRIFIED him so he would do whatever he said) to help out with a couple of rather discombobulated humans that had passed him by. Karl was sweet in many of the ways that Charlie is (was), and frankly distressing in a number of other ways. Begging to be killed? To be eaten and completely forgotten about?

(He spent way too many nights staring at the ceiling of his room, wondering if what he did to Charlie was any better than what the people did to Karl. He definitely didn’t check the radio tracker to see if Charlie’s signal was still active, definitely not.)

As would be expected of any farmed human, Karl took well to the remaining stock of human-grade pellet food that Quackity still had around, though he experimented with some of the weirder sauces in his collection and created rather disgusting concoctions as a result. It seemed that the variety of taste, rather than the quality of it, was what intrigued Karl the most.

God he missed Charlie. He could feel himself slipping back into that day-to-day existence that owning a pet human created. He almost wanted to pull out one of the old enclosures from the garage, except that would entirely defeat the purpose of leaving behind his pet.

He could get some of Charlie’s old clothes out though, couldn’t he? That wouldn’t seem weird, plenty of people had human clothes lying around, even if just for the novelty.

Karl took to the soft worn fleece jacket like it was made for him, even if it was slightly oversized-looking. Tailored for a larger frame, a more active lifestyle.

Quackity tries to come to terms with caring for Karl without immediately coddling him like he had for charlie. he finds it so very hard to solve the problem of owning and caring for someone that he needs to also think of as a sentient being who could be self sufficient without him if he so tried.

one day, further into the future, he logs on to check his old accounts, the ones he had when he had kept charlie, where he talked to other misguided giants who did the same thing. and there’s a message directed to him

its from charlie.

he wants to talk. wants to come back into quackity’s life, despite everything he’s done.

#SOTI content #my fics #vore adjacent #beta fic #mcyt vore #at one point in time i was considering making this one an epistolary fic too #but ah well

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itsdetachable · 2 years

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I’m worried this might be an offensive question, so I’ll try to explain what I mean. The question is basically, why is it ok to keep canaries alone since I feel like other finches like say, zebra finches would be so upset? You keep your canary Kora alone and she looks lovely and you have great knowledge visible to see on this blog! So clearly it’s a problem, but I’m trying to wrap my head around how it isn’t? Don’t canaries still flock in the wild? Or is there just something very different intrinsic to them that isn’t to other finches when in captivity? I’m not asking to be rude and doubt you it’s more to try and understand how canaries work genuinely. Hope my asking isn’t rude, thank-you!

This is absolutely the opposite of an offensive question - and I totally welcome it don't feel bad about this!

So it is slightly complicated of an answer. Are wild canaries solitary? No, technically they live in flocks. However, paired canaries will keep a territory during breeding season around their nest sites.

Now, if you look at domestic canary care facts they'll talk a lot about how canaries are 'solitary' birds that don't require bird companionship. That's a little misleading, tbh. Canaries CAN be kept in pairs, or even groups, in the right amount of space. For example, in a large aviary you can have a bigger group of canaries, as long as they all have room to stake out space for themselves.

Problems occur when someone wants to keep two or more canaries in a single cage, and especially if those canaries do not have the option to leave the cage (like in a safe room). Canaries do tend to like to stake out territory, and they will squabble and fight each other if there is not enough room for all of them to do that.

Anecdotally, I can talk about the canaries I had growing up and also those my dad adopted a...decade? Ago?

So we mostly had single canaries, however for a while we had two canaries (a male and a female) who had their own cages. They lived peacefully together, preening each other when outside of their cage, however they would only return to their own cage and neither one would allow the other into "their" cage.

A decade-ish ago my dad took in three canaries (two males and a female from what we understood) that lived in one cage. They were not in a state good enough to allow to free fly in any room (they got very scared and tried to frantically escape) so they spent all their time in a cage the same size that Kora is in right now (actually literally the same, I think it was the same model cage). (And note, I did try to get my dad to get them a larger cage but THINGS and LIFE that I don't want to get into here, they were never put in another cage or seperated).

Anyways, these three were squabbling All The Time. Mostly the female canary would be the one chasing the males around, possibly to keep them from harassing her and trying to breed. In a small space like that they were constantly stressed and never in the best of health. They also had a very bad start, considering someone decided that three canaries in a small cage for that amount of birds was Perfect for being a class pet?

Also - a quick aside to mention that the breeder I got Kora from didn't have the kind of setup I was too happy about either. Kora was in a 3x3x4 cage with SO MANY canaries. 30 maybe? Maybe more? You can tell there was squabbling going on because some of the birds were missing feathers in their tails, like Kora was.

Anyways, what the thing I'm getting at is - from my experience, canaries can be kept in groups if there is a decent amount of room for the birds to have space of their own, or if each bird has a cage of their own to retreat to.

Now, this is super long already BUT I wanted to touch on what you said about Kora being kept alone and being ok. So, the big thing that some ppl forget about canaries is that they are Active, Curious, and decently Intelligent birds that require mental stimulation. Even if a canary can't be allowed out of their cage, if they are given a variety of snacks, a variety of toys, and attention daily they will be happy and cheerful.

My dad often jokes around that I'm teaching Kora too many things and she'll soon be able to open her cage and wander around on her own, haha. I honestly try to introduce her to new things when possible, give her a variety of toys, and we all talk to her all the time. That's super important to a canary - they don't need you to preen them and pet them (they prefer you don't, honestly, unless they've been hand-raised from hatching) but they LOVE LOVE LOVE when someone talks to them, whistles to them, and just generally pays attention to them. THAT, attention + providing mental stimulation, is the key to keeping a single (but also a group of them) canary happy and healthy. A canary that is ignored and only given food and water and left in their cage otherwise with nothing to do will become despondent and stressed out.

Also also, as a sidenote regarding finches, I think though I haven't found sources yet, that it may be how they were bred over the generations. I feel like because canaries had been focus-bred for singing for a long time, as well as colors where the birds were judged individually, they may have developed into a domestic type bird that was ok with being solitary. I'm not sure but i believe that finches, even in the wild, like Zebra finches are more social than wild canaries, and the domestic bred finches had been kept over the centuries in larger groups because of that, while Canaries may have been kept solitary, in pairs, or in small groups because of their territorial natures.

#i hope that was somewhat clear?#i get rambly whoops #birds #pet birds #pet canaries #pet canary #canary

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sonderpond · 2 years

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for the longest time, my older brother would complain about how city designs and transportation in america worked. but every time he talked about it, i would blank and muffle out his antics. it was just how we grew up when we wanted to travel, and i wasn’t one to change what couldn’t be undone. but now i understand, “because american transportation and urban landscaping is sht”.

sometimes i feel so helpless- in the sense that i don’t have control over my own life. if i wanted to go somewhere, or had practice, or my shift was starting, i was always asking others for rides. all my friends’ parents would tell me, “don’t worry honey, you’re only 16, we will take you”. but there was this guilt and embarrassment, that i couldn’t take myself. that i had no reliable transportation to go anywhere. they would never ask about my parents either, but it felt even worse that my own parents couldn’t take me because they didn’t know or were busy.

i made up my mind to get a driver’s license, and i did. i have a license, but i don’t have a car. when i do have a car, i have no money for gas. i can walk outside, but the nearest grocery store is an hour walk away. but my parents are too paranoid to even let me walk out by myself. sometimes i feel so frustrated. it’s like i have everything to help me get my life under control, but it still doesn’t work. i just feel so helpless.

imagine a baby bird sitting inside their mother’s nest all day. one day, that baby bird takes flight. there’s this euphoric and uplifting feeling that can only be described as “freedom”. to go anywhere you want, whenever you want. and then the baby bird returns, and you lock them in a cage. i can’t tell if i regret taking flight, because now that i’ve experienced it once, i feel so greedy for more. but if i had never done it the first place, would i have just been content with sitting at home? why does home not feel like home anymore?

it’s so hard to get around here without a car. i don’t know why my connection to freedom ties in with cars, i don’t even care about cars. i only know about toyotas and sienna vans.

picture: riding a bike in korea, because you know, where public transportation is actually convenient, clean, and accessible.

#lighting mcqueen #plsgivemeacarhgghh #Spotify

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theramseyloft · 3 years

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Cognitive and social information to make selecting, bonding with, and training your pigeon easier:

There are lots of things I can go into more detail on, but here are the hows and whys of pigeon cognition and sociology that form the basis of our research into communication and Therapy work, laid out as a guide to building your relationship with your bird, starting with generalities universal to the species, and ending with an in depth look at the mechanics behind the typical behaviors and temperaments of cocks vs hens and what to expect.

Though they are extremely social outside nest space, Pigeons, whether cock or hen, are life-or-death viciously territorial of their specific nest space.

For reference:

A free flying bird with no cage considers nest space to consist of the actual nest and about their own body length around it.

Because they are crevice nesters, a pigeon with an enclosure considers the entire enclosure to be nest space.

Only a pigeon's mate is allowed to enter their nest, and that's exclusively by invitation.

Peeps are hatched into it, and once they wean, they are not allowed to re-enter.

Anything entering their nest space that is not that bird's mate is instinctively considered to be either a predator, or a rival.

A rival won't eat them, but is coming explicitly to attack them to drive them out of a good nest, which will involve killing their nestlings if they have any.

So, to avoid triggering the predator/rival defensive response, it's important to open your bird's enclosure to invite them to come out on their own terms when you want to spend social time with them.

This rewards their natural curiosity and makes you feel more like a cohabitant/potential flock mate than a potential predator or attacker.

While your bird is out exploring, you can strengthen your bond with them by treat priming; Address them by name, ask "Want a treat?" and toss a safflower seed in front of them, but not straight at them. Praise them when they eat it with something along the lines of "Yes, that is for you! Good bird!" in a pleased tone of voice. (even birds who hate handling and refuse treats respond positively to a pleased tone of voice.)

Calling their name every time primes them to look at you when you address them.

Little by little, as they get comfortable with the distance, you should be able to toss treats less and less far from yourself.

The end goal is for your bird to come into willing physical contact with you.

From there, you can start offering a treat on the tip of one or two fingers.

Once the bird is reliably accepting that, offer the treat held by the narrow end between your thumb and index finger.

This makes your hand more similarly shaped to the head of a bird than the scary giant talon with extra toes or giant snake it usually looks like to a bird.

In every flock of pigeons, there are at least one or two teen or older birds that will feed any weaned baby that cries.

I call these "Flock Aunties/Unkles", and this is the mantle you take up for your bird once they get they hang of hand feeding.

It's best to start having out times in the evenings, so that bed time is after dark. Lights Out training makes returning them to the enclosure less stressful for both you and your bird.

When you want to put the bird away, address them to get their attention, and say "Lights Out or Bed Time soon!", wait about 10 seconds, Then walk over to the light switch, make a note of where your bird is, repeat "Lights Out/Bed Time now", and flick off the lights.

Pigeons are diurnal and non-migratory. They can't see in the dark, and just sort of turn off.

This differs from the learned helplessness shut down in being instinctively associated with sleep, rather than inescapable distress.

In the dark, you can pick up your bird and gently return them to the enclosure without the stress of having to chase and catch them.

After a few repetitions, birds that don't enjoy being carried to bed will use the ten or so seconds between "soon" and "now" to fly back to their enclosure on their own. Birds that do like being carried will assume the position and wait for you to turn off the light and carry them.

There is no getting around the fact that feeding, watering, and cleaning require you to reach into your pigeon's enclosure, and if you can't do that while they are out (for example, if you feed in the morning before leaving for work) you can help them overcome their defensive response by talking them through what you are doing without reaching for the bird themself.

"It's food time. I need your dish." while reaching in only as far as needed to remove the dish, and withdrawing with it as quickly and unobtrusively as possible. Same for the water dish, and talking them through cleaning.

For example, the floor of my hospital cages slide out, so I tell the birds "I need your floor." and then repeat "Back up, back up, back up" in a soft, encouraging tone until they are off, then praising with "Thank you!" to signify they have done what I asked and I will not bother them now until time to put the floor back in.

When the floor is cleaned and repapered, I tell them "Here's your floor back." and repeat "Step up." as I slide it in until they have both feet on the floor.

When I have finished cleaning, watering, and feeding (All three get done at once for the hospital cages) I signify to the bird that it's over by "Ok! We're done now!" and then praising "Good bird! Thank you."

It's important to talk them through EVERYTHING because they are literally five-year-old-child intelligent.

https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2009/02/090212141143.htm

Pigeons and baboons have similarly high cognition.

https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2017/12/171204144805.htm

Pigeons have an innate understanding of the concepts of space and time.

https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2014/04/140402095107.htm

https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2007/02/070220131646.htm

They categorize like we do.

https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2013/07/130717095336.htm

Their brains are wired similarly to ours.

https://www.degruyter.com/document/doi/10.1515/s13295-014-0057-5/html

So much so that they are considered an excellent model in the study of cognitive neuroscience

https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S0197458019304270

https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S0166432814007554

https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S0166432820306471

With TONS of alzheimer-specific research

https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2011/04/110411171847.htm

Their facial recognition is similar to ours.

https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2011/07/110703132527.htm

They recognize humans as individuals.

https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2012/06/120622163056.htm

By both face, and voice.

https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2008/06/080613145535.htm

They surpass the ability of human children up to three years old to recognize that their reflection in a mirror is their own reflection, and not another bird.

https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2015/02/150204184447.htm

They can learn the equivalent of words by the same mechanic as human children.

https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2016/09/160919111535.htm

They can learn to differentiate a written word from an acronym with the same number of letters.

https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2017/04/170418094512.htm

And flocks build what can legitimately be called a culture by building knowledge across generations.

The take away from this is that pigeons are intelligent enough to learn what your communication means, and can be taught by the same mechanic as a human toddler.

Language is a pattern of matching words to objects, actions, individuals, places, and concepts. Pigeons are pattern mappers, hard wired to latch onto stable patterns.

It is vitally important that you talk a pigeon that you are training through absolutely everything, the way you would a toddler who hasn't quite gotten that word down yet.

They can eventually learn to answer yes and no questions, if you give them a template. (this is already going to be enough of a novella, I can go into detail about that later.

A pigeon flock is basically one gigantic extended family living together in their equivalent of an ancestral apartment complex.

Pigeons only join a flock by hatching or marrying into it.

Pigeons are one of extremely few species that remain year round in the same breeding colony AND cooperatively forage; not just all going the same place, but actively voting on what to look for, how to best get there, and how to best get back.

Babies only rarely leave the flock.

When they leave the nest, they are taught by their fathers to be pigeons for the first month or so. Where safe food and water are, how to find nest materials, how to defer to a higher ranking flock member.

The rest of the flock line up to each teach the peep that they are higher ranking than the peep. (Peeps instinctively expect this hazing and are very skittish from five to eight weeks of age)

At about eight weeks, the peep is as big as it will get, and starts to earn their place in the hierarchy by experimentally pushing back against the older birds to see who gives and who won't.

By four or five months, the young bird has a solid place in the hierarchy, has found out what it's good at, and has usually won a mate.

At this point, a cock earns the right to claim a nest space among his parents, grand kin, aunts, unkles, cousins, and so-on.

Young pigeons only leave their flock to form a new one if there aren't enough nest spaces or isn't enough food to support every one.

So stability and finding a place in the social dynamic are EXTREMELY important to them.

Pigeon Flocks are democratic meritocracies.

https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2010/04/100416214045.htm

They vote on everything they do as a group

https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2006/11/061106145043.htm

Parties with differing opinions compromise.

https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2015/06/150609213053.htm

Because they need to be able to depend on the support of their flock mates to cooperatively find resources, watch out for predators, and navigate home.

https://www.audubon.org/news/in-homing-pigeon-flocks-bad-bosses-quickly-get-demoted

https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2016/09/160914143044.htm

Pigeons will not follow a leader they can't depend on, be that due to a loss of capability, or an unwillingness to heed cast votes or attempt to compromise.

This adds up to a bird that is hard wired to expect a say in everything they are involved in and be keenly, my-life-depends-on-this aware when their say is being ignored.

Pigeons do not have a concept of “Reasons I could not discern”.

If they can’t discern a reason you ignored their vote or any attempt to compromise with them, they just think there wasn’t one, and you're either incompetent or being an ass hole.

And Pigeons consider themselves to be well within their rights to refuse to cooperate with an incompetent ass hole.

This is a BIG part of why talking them through everything is so vitally important.

Pigeons are EXTREMELY communicative.

Once they trust you as a flock mate, The more they understand about what you are doing, what you want them to do, and how that affects them, the more willing they are to cooperate with you.

Those are the cognitive universals.

When selecting a companion or therapy animal, it’s important to know what temperament to expect, and the typical temperaments of Cocks and Hens differ pretty drastically!

We touched briefly on mate behaviors earlier, and now we need to go into that to explain sex-typical behaviors, by which I mean the instinctive behavioral and base line personality differences between typical cocks and hens.

To explain sex-typical behaviors, I have to walk you through the pigeon courtship ritual called Driving, which has three phases.

It starts with the Chase phase.

The cock struts up to a hen he'd interested in and alternately chest-bumps and bites her until she runs away.

He continues to strut after her, occasionally charging with a sweeping tail to push or bite her until she bursts into flight.

Hens will initiate for a cock they are EXTREMELY interested in, but in pigeon society, the hen having to initiate means the cock just is not remotely interested in her.

This is less than ideal for the hen, and she will divorce him for the first cock that shows enough interest to initiate the chase.

Once they are in the air, the hen is trying to break away and flee, and the cock is trying to herd her towards the nest area he's picked out.

Ideally, she crashes into it, too exhausted to keep flying.

To a human, this looks really violently aggressive.

But the Rock Dove, from which our domestic pigeons descend, evolved in a Thompson's Gazelle vs. Cheetah style arms race with the Peregrine goddamn Falcon.

If the cock cannot out pace and out maneuver the hen, and his stamina is lower than hers, then her children by him will be slower and less maneuverable than she is, with lower stamina.

This all adds up, to her, as her peeps by this cock being easier than she is for a falcon to catch.

If she can get away from him, he is an inferior potential sire, and she will reject him.

The Wrestling phase begins after the hen has recovered her breath.

As soon as she can, she will try to blow past the cock and vanish into the sky.

He has to body block her to prevent her from leaving, grab her by the scruff if she tries to push past, and fight her until she stops trying to get up.

Again, this looks REALLY violently abusive to a human!

But nest location is a status symbol in pigeon society.

A good nest is high up, wide enough for two adult birds side by side, with an entrance ideally narrow enough for only one at a time to get in.

This also makes it really hard for a hawk, rodent, or snake to get in after the eggs, peeps, or parent defending them.

Other cocks will want a good, safe, defensible nest for their wife, and absolutely will kill nestlings to drive out a less fit pair, hoping to impress a (usually specific and very picky) potential mate.

If the cock cannot fight the generally smaller, weaker hen who just recovered from the Chase phase to prevent her getting out, he hasn't got a snowball's chance in hell of defending her from a healthy rival who wants that nest for his wife and peeps.

It's only after he's completed the Chase and Wrestling phases that she allows him to prove that he's an excellent forager by offering to feed her from his crop. (the kissing behavior that immediately precedes the act of treading.)

This translates VERY poorly to a human partner, and is what makes bottle raised baby boys such a monumental pain in the ass.

Pigeons are INTENSELY social.

The drive to bond is stronger than the drive to actually reproduce, so your bonded pigeon will treat you like a mate.

Which means that a cock will be compelled to attempt the initiation, chase, and wrestling phases of Driving.

Imprinting does not just make a specific person a baby bird's mommy.

It tells the bird what species it is and sets Mommy as the ideal mate.

A pigeon that thinks they are human expects their human to understand these instinctive pigeon behaviors.

Their human's failure to respond as expected comes across as ignoring them.

Which leads to human-imprinted pigeons going from trying to court their caretaker, to feeling intentionally ignored for no reason and attacking out of furious frustration.

This is why I don't hand raise nestlings unless the peep will die if I don't step in.

Pigeons who are parent-raised, but socialized by humans the way you would nursing puppies or kittens, understand that a human is not a pigeon.

Instead of expecting their caretaker to understand them by default and getting overwhelmed with frustration when they can't, a parent-raised, human-social pigeon tries to work out how to bridge the communication gap.

If your human-social cock approaches you and tries to start a fight out of the blue, he doesn't hate you.

He loves you, and is pulling out all stops to prove to a freaking KAIJU, via hand to hand combat, that he's strong enough to protect them and their nest.

I tell people that "Cock love is pinchy."

This is what I'm talking about.

Physical contact is a mate/baby-exclusive privilege for cocks. Only his mate allopreens him, and he only allopreens his mate and their peeps.

Flock mates other than his mate only attempt to make physical contact with a cock to start a fight or ask for sex.

So all associations for a cock, aside from mate and peeps, are rivalries and side-chicks.

Pigeon bites can't break the skin (all they can do is pinch), unless it's just a massive monster of a pigeon, but the tenacity sexually selected for by hens makes cocks relentless until they are satisfied that they have suitably impressed you.

Hens, in contrast, are approached by flock mates to proposition for sex, to engage in allopreening, or to invite to feed, bathe, or loaf together.

They are generally more cuddly, more forgiving of restraint (Joke's on you, she's into that shit!), and more accepting of other family members making contact with her.

Cocks who are satisfied with their relationship can be a lot of fun, but their nippiness can be an anxiety trigger if you don't know to expect it.

In order to consider himself bonded to his person, a cock has to feel he has impressed you, like he would be expected to impress a hen.

It is much easier to convince a parent raised cock that you really are impressed and don't just see him as beneath your notice than it is to convince an Imprint.

Parent raised cocks will be more gentle when they initiate driving, as the drive is more like a compulsive need to complete a symbolic gesture for them than the actual hand to hand combat to manually overpower a titan that these matches are to an imprinted cock.

To convince a cock that he really has won your admiration fair and square, Start by putting up some resistance when he initiates.

Push him back, shake your hand, ruffle and wrestle with him like you would a very small kitten.

You will need to do this WAY longer for an imprint than a parent raised bird, but when you want to wind down the match, pay attention to what he's doing.

He is never just biting.

He is trying to maneuver your hand either by tugging or shoving.

Follow where he directs until he stops either pulling or pushing, and just pushes down. That is where he wants your hand to be.

Relax it there until he turns away, then go about your business.

It will take a few sessions, but once he's satisfied he's impressed you, he'll have no need to go all out like that anymore.

Ankhou (an imprint who is extremely satisfied with a now five year long extremely stable relationship) doesn't engage in driving fights with me anymore, but we do have lots of brief, very gentle wrestling sessions.

Hens don't need human mates to impress them in hand to hand combat like they require a cock to.

They are intelligent enough to assume that nothing her size is going to stand a chance against something your size.

The peaceful simplicity of bonding with a hen tends to make them more desired as therapy and companion animals.

Bonded cocks are just as cuddly and sweet, but you have to go through his Driving impulse to get to that point with him.

This doesn't make cocks bad pets or therapy prospects, but they are definitely not the ideal match for everyone.

@tinysaurus-rex ‘s Battar is an excellent example of a bonded hen.

If you would like to see how his owner applies the constant biting of a feral Imprint towards physical therapy for nerve pain flair ups, check out the blog @homeofhousechickens and search for Loki.

They also have a parent raised, human social emotional support cock named Fluffernutter and have made a lot of great posts illustrating the contrast between imprinted pigeons and pigeons who were raised by their parents, but socialized with lots of gentle handling.

I hope this helps the people who have their bird’s physical needs planned out to pick the bird whose emotional needs they can best meet, and whose personality will best match their emotional needs. <3

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vainilla-milk · 3 years

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adopting a pet with aot warriors

summary: you decide to adopt a pet for your home. Nothing bad can happen, right?

tags: fluff, modern au, sfw

note: hey hey heeyyy ! i loved writing this, hope you like it<3

click here to see the artist

Zeke Jeager

At first he didn't like the idea of adopting an animal, but after several attempts, you were finally able to convince him to adopt a pet for your new home. You researched together what kind of pet would be calm and not so demanding to care for. Zeke liked the idea of having a bird, so you decided to get a pair of lovebirds.

He was fascinated by both little birds, and to be honest, you didn't expect so much enthusiasm from him.

"Look, they're just like us" he's always telling you.

He loves photographing them, and best of all, Zeke was so committed to their care that he even taught them to be out of the cage. In fact, it was common for them to be constantly on your shoulders, on top of the TV, on the bed or on the curtains.

Although sometimes they got a little too fascinated being on the shoulders of some of you and gave you slightly... painful displays of love.

"They really love your beard" you said with a chuckle as you watched the pair of birds pecking at Zeke's beard.

"I wouldn't be surprised if they pluck my hairs to build a nest.... ouch!"

Pieck Finger

Unlike Zeke, Pieck was excited as soon as you mentioned the idea of adopting an animal together. It was clear to both of them from the start what you would like.

I see two possibilities, a rabbit or a mouse. You both love rodents, but you have your own favorite species.

I can see that you would adopt a rabbit because you like fluffy animals, you would give it a good environment inside and outside your house. The bunny you adopt is very affectionate and loves to be near you, not to mention how much you two love to film it while it eats, or while it sleeps, or while it sunbathes or.... well, you just LOVE filming him doing whatever.

If you adopt a mouse, the care would be a little more demanding, but Pieck was really glad to have one. They are very underestimated animals and looked down upon, when the truth is that they are fascinating creatures. Pieck reflects a bit on them as in her childhood and adolescence many people underestimated her.

When your little mouse comes home, it takes a while to get him to trust you. At first you got a few scares as you left him in his cage, but the rat learned very quickly how to open it! And in desperation it was difficult to find him, but in the end he returned to his cage to rest and eat on his own.

Eventually the mouse is giving in, until he lets himself pet and be near you without wanting to bite you.

"Awww. Honey, watch his little nose twitch as he eats!" she says to you as she offers you food from her hand.

Annie Leonhart

To be honest, you found the cat on the street and just didn't want to leave it alone. Annie was upset at first, as you didn't have anything that would make your house cat-friendly. The first few weeks you dealt with the torn curtains and the multiple places the cat used as a bathroom. Annie's relationship with your cat was love-hate, but nothing that time won't fix.

Little by little you bought scratching posts and the cat got used to using her litter very quickly, Annie discovered that it was actually fun to make the cat play with the toys you bought her. They got closer, and yes, you definitely find that the cat was starting to take after Annie in personality.

"Please stop taking photos of me already" she complained half asleep, but you just found it too adorable to see your girlfriend sleeping with your kitty on the couch.

Marcel Galliard

Like Pieck, I see that you have two options that come loaded with energy (as does your boyfriend)

I see that you would adopt a dog from the pound, both of you are willing to give a chance to a dog that had a hard time in its first few years of life. I feel like Marcel would want to adopt a dog that has a low chance of finding a home, as are those rescued from underground fights or those that look intimidating.

"Hey, you're so adorable" he says, petting a pit bull with very distinct scars on her face and body.

"She's a year and a half old, she' s still a puppy," the caregiver tells you.

Marcel looks at you for your approval, but you didn't need to see him, you needed to see the puppy. It was love at first sight. And what else to tell you, you treated her like a daughter.

In a different scenario I feel you would adopt a ferret. It looked like a furry but adorable snake and made you laugh a lot, even though it slept many hours a day, when it was active you had to pay a lot of attention to it and give it intense play sessions.

"We should air out the room a bit" you say to your boyfriend when your ferret finally falls asleep, because although he is a wonderful animal, it also has quite a strong stench.

Bertholdt Hoover

I imagine Bertholdt as a boy who loves to have a beautiful garden. You put a lot of love into your garden and one day you decided you wanted to make a small pond. You planted water lilies and beautiful flowering bushes around it, but you still thought it was missing something.

"Maybe we could bring a duckling with us" you suggest curling up on his arm and giving him a pleading look. Bertie couldn't say no to you.

You adopted a pair of ducks from a farm and Bertholdt built them a very nice aviary. You laughed because afterwards the ducks followed him every time they saw him.

The garden became really magical.

"Baby, look" he called to you.

When you approached the aviary you saw a nest with eggs, they were excited. Weeks later you witnessed the hatching of a group of chicks. It was beautiful to watch as later your pair of ducks swam away being followed by their ducklings.

Porco Galliard

Ok, I know there's a lot of dog repetition but.... Idk, I just really love dogs.

Anyway, two possibilities again.

"Babe" you called, Porco turned his laptop aside to pay attention to you. You kept your hands behind your back hiding something.

"What's wrong?"

"Surprise!" you said at last revealing what you were holding in your hands: a hedgehog. "Isn't he adorable? Look, he even looks like you" you tell him gawking and amused.

At first Porco didn't look so happy, to be honest, his relationship with animals other than cats or dogs is pretty awkward.

"What are you going to name him?" he asks you as he helps you set up his glass cage.

"P o r c o p i n e"

Porco looked at you begging for you to say it was just another one of your jokes, but it wasn't. At first it took him a while to get used to the hedgehog and his name, but eventually he got used to it and even began to like the name.One day you couldn't find your phone in the house and he dialed you so they could locate it thanks to the sound, Porco found it before you did and read that you had him listed as "♡My beloved Porcopine♡", he could have been annoyed but in reality his heart was touched.

If you were to adopt a dog, I think it would be totally Porco's initiative. He doesn't like to say it, but he is a huge fan of the "Pixie & Brutus" comics, thanks to them he became interested in adopting retired military and police dogs. He researched for a long time until he finally proposed the idea to you.

Of course you didn't refuse, you had never seen him so enthusiastic about anything. You arranged your home to receive your next member, a German Shepherd retired from the war.

"Who's a good boy? You are!"

GOD you've never seen Porco so excited about an animal, please don't tell anyone how gooey Porco is about your new dog. But deep down you know that creature deserves all the peace and love in the world, so you end up falling for the same behavior as your boyfriend.

Reiner Braun

Reiner's mother once received a beautiful Golden Retriever puppy as a birthday present, but she was allergic to dogs and decided to let her son adopt him.

That dog is your little darling.

He travels with you, sleeps in your bed (forcefully), climbs on the couch, and even inherited some of Reiner's character traits. Like for example... Being very protective of you.

If Reiner has to leave you alone for work or a business trip, he has the full assurance that his four-legged buddy will take care of you as much as he would too (that's not to say he doesn't trust in your ability to take care of yourself)

One day it was you who went out, but to visit your mother and you came back with a surprise in your arms.

"This is Mr. Fluffy Paws," you said holding a young cat. Reiner looked at you a little uneasy, mostly because of how your dog would react. However, the two animals hit it off beautifully.

Do you know how the walls of your living room and bedroom look? Full of photos of you with the cat and the dog.

238 notes · View notes

spiltscribbles · 3 years

Note

Im so excited!!!! Here’s a little “It’s always been you. You and only you.” sprinkled in with Green-Eyed Epiphany

~Notes: OMFG bubby!!!! You are so beyond adorable! Thank you So SO much for the sweetness!! I really hope you like this XS and fingers crossed this fits the promptXS <3 <3 <3

Prompt Smash Game | Send Me A Prompt💜 | A Reblog Is Like A Huge, Warm Hug!!!

~R: my mom’s working the night shift at the clinic👀👀

~S: Kinky😏

~S: I can be there in 15

~R: make it 20 and get Chinese x

~S: sometimes I think ur j using me for the food

~R: and bring henny😈

It’s seventeen minutes since Remus sent the last text when the front door of his modest ranch house begins to thump with a familiar wrapping that’s three quick knocks followed by two slower ones, and he has to wrestle down the eager grin from his face when he swings it open to find one of his closest friends standing at the threshold in that customary weathered, leather jacket that he found two summers ago when Remus had taken him thrifting for the first time, and an impish sort of smirk that definitely would look ridiculous on anyone else, but only makes Sirius all the more maddeningly attractive.

“What took so long?” Remus asks mildly, pulling him indoors by the sleeve and gesturing for him to set the goods on the kitchen counter once they cross the small foyer.

“You wound me, Lupin.” Sirius retorts, quick-silver eyes flashing before he pins him against the island and puts his hands on either side of his waistline with more gentleness than Remus would’ve expected before they began this whole sorted affair— Okay, maybe that’s the wrong word for it?

It’s not an affair, or tryst, or carrying on or whatever the fuck else Lily says when she’s teetering on the wrong edge of tipsy and thinks it’s her right to call Remus out on his bullshit— on his stupid, beyond obvious crush he’s been fostering for one of his closest friends since junior high.

It’s none of those things— It’s not nearly as dramatic.

It’s just— Just that yes, Remus has been harboring a tiny infatuation for Sirius ever since that first day of the seventh grade when he had moved to this tiny, coastal town after his parents divorce. But how could he have not? Sirius is hilarious, and a genius, and so gorgeous that sometimes it feels like his insides are twisting up whenever he glances over at him. And on that first day, he had just caught Remus’s eyes from across the library shelves before classes begun, and smiled in that uniquely electric way of his, and asked if Remus could put slime in a very specific locker, (Snape’s), for a very specific reason, (Because he kept following Lily around like a creep), on account to no one suspecting the new kid. And yeah— Remus was lost on him an embarrassing amount from then on.

Sure, it can be regarded as kinda pathetic on Remus’s end— kindling this nest of emotions so close to the chest— but also it’s not as if he’s been lovestruck by his crush, like it’s some sort of waterlogged scarf he’s got dragging him down. His attraction towards Sirius is like a soft melody that’s swelling in the backdrop of all their interactions, nothing overwhelming— not a flood plane, not yet at least. It’s warm, and it’s familiar, and it’s persistent like a flutter of a humming bird’s wings. And Remus doesn’t mind pining over someone as fantastical as Sirius Fucking Black.

Graciously, in some strike of incredible luck, Sirius never caught on to Remus’s silly feelings, not until that night when they were watching an old movie in Remus’s basement while James and Lily were celebrating an entire year together— save for all their sudden stops and just as speedy starts— and Peter was visiting his grandmother in Tampa Bay. It was the first time they had been alone together since Remus broke up with Caradoc for the final time, and Sirius just looked so fucking good in that casual, white v-neck and his skinny jeans that make him look like some echo of James Dean on his best day. And Remus isn’t sure who exactly moved forwards first, or how the fuck Meg Ryan wandering the Seattle streets was some sort of aphrodisiac, or why Sirius— who could have any guy he would ever want— was actually humoring him, but one second they’re lying down on the sofa— Remus caged between Sirius’s expanse and the cushions behind them— and the next he’s tasting PBR on Sirius’s lips, and has got a fist full of his dark hair, and is thrilling at the feeling of Sirius’s thigh between his legs. And yeah— it just happened like those sort of things are want to do, and by the end of it they were sticky and breathless and diffident in ways they never been around one another, in ways Remus reckons Sirius has never been around anyone.

But the next weekend, when Sirius’s latest sorta— but not really— boyfriend had canceled on their dinner plans, Sirius wandered over to Remus’s bedroom window and it was another tumbling of frenzied hands and loosen buckles and thrusting hips. And then it just became an easy release— a sort of poetry, an understanding in all but name.

And that’s fine. They don’t have to talk about it. Remus knows that Sirius isn’t the type to settle down with a partner, to go bowling for a date, or texting countless messages that amount to nothing at all at the end of the conversation, or putting up with another dude’s parents taking photos of them before leaving to prom or homecoming or whatever the fuck else. And Remus is sorta sick of the idea of love, of trying so hard only to end up heartbroken and eating a gallon of Chubby Bunny in his favorite sweats and cursing John Hughes for pretending Hollywood romances can happen to ordinary high schoolers.

So yeah— This thing they’ve fallen into with each other is good. They’re friends— best friends— and they have fun and they’re apparently really fucking good in bed together, and Sirius never looks at Remus with pity when he spots him gazing at his profile absentmindedly, and he doesn’t mind when Remus traces invisible designs against his skin when they’re soaking in the after glow, and he never treats him any different. Sirius still slings his arm around Remus’s shoulders when they walk down the halls, and he still buys him his favorite chocolates when he feels poorly, and he still faces Dorcas's disapproving wrath when he drags Remus out of the library to have a little mischief— whether it’s smoking a blunt in the abandoned skatepark in town or playing some stupid prank on those assholes in their year.

For all intent and purposes, they still behave the same they’ve always acted around one another, but just with the miraculous addition of mind-blowing and dulcetly ductile sex.

This is good, this is fun, this is completely untethered from the bull shit of romance.

And if Remus mouths against the juncture of Sirius’s neck a little too intensely— trying to pry off the memory of the hickey Sirius had been sporting after spending the weekend with Gideon Prewett— Well no one has to be any the wiser, and by the sound of Sirius’s hitched breaths, he seems not to mind even slightly.

“Except my apology?” Remus asks, more coy than he ordinarily acts as he drops his arms around Sirius’s neck, and leans on the balls of his feet to whisper against his temple.

“Oh, you’re such a bastard,” Sirius retorts, labored as all get out, kneading his fingers into Remus’s ass that’s only covered by the thin layer of his plaid pajama bottoms. “You are going to have to do a lot more for me to forgive the lip.”

Remus laughs in a stammering sort of way as Sirius tugs him along, walking backwards to his room that he’s become incredibly intimate with since the first time they did this three months ago.

“Sirius, the spring rolls— they’re gross if we have to heat them up again.”

“I’ll postmate us knew ones,” Sirius insists, covering Remus’s mouth with his own with fervor. “C’mon babe, do not tease me like this.”

Sirius must’ve caught his mistake, because he suddenly goes as red as Remus feels— The pet name was to close for comfort considering their strictly friends with benefits nature, but Remus is already half hard, and he really does not want to end this, so with a sly wink, he returns to nipping at Sirius’s jawline, rutting against him in a very unambiguous way. “Fine, if you really don’t think you’ll need the nourishment for your stamina?”

The words have their intended effect, and Sirius makes a small growl deep in his throat before practically tearing off Remus’s shirt, and dipping beneath the waistline of his pants, scooping him up and racing to the bed.

And they get lost in one another beneath the pale glow of Remus’s lamplight and the moon spilling through the window, relearning each others every patch of skin for minutes on end that wax and wane like the delta of ocean waves, unspooling into something tangible and tantalizing with every kiss punctuated with teeth that Sirius trails across Remus’s collarbone, and the way Remus palms greedy hands up and down Sirius’s back until he gets the hint and undresses.

“Well come on, you’re not an invalid, Lupin.” Sirius jeers and Remus chuckles as he follows suit until they’re both finally, blessedly nude. And with an easy assurance of them having done this more than a dozen times now, Remus crawls into his lap and kisses him straight on the mouth, preening how Sirius moans against him— canting up wantonly and grabbing at his hips with a sort of intensity that will probably leave bruises in the shape of the pads of his fingers, and Remus absolutely adores the idea of that, feels something hot and needy and desperate unfurl in his gut as he presses their mouths more forcefully together, going buzzed when he gets to relish in the sensation of their tongues running against one another, and the taste of the ridges on the roof of Sirius’s mouth, and the slide of the soft skin of his inner cheek— gasping when Sirius pulls away abruptly, panting an almost reverent, “Mother of God, Remus,” and tackles him flat on his back before they commence, with the addition of both their hard, leaking cocks thrusting against one another and Sirius’s hand in Remus’s hair pulling that bit more forcefully while his other one roams the dips and planes of his side— skirting against the divots of his stomach muscle before he wraps it around the pair of them and begins to pull in earnest, to the rhythm that Remus swears was strung from the heavens above.

“Oh— Oh, yeah— Sirius,” Remus breathes out in a haggard sort of way, words that he refuses to ever call a mewl even if they’re stretched out and crackle with emotion.

“Yes—, just say that again,” Sirius practically demands, his mouth completely covering his ear in a wet, hot heat— his teeth scraping against the soft shell. “Remus, baby, just say my name, tell me you want it.”

And God, Remus is feeling so heady— like he’s floating and he couldn’t possibly come back down— that he probably would’ve listened to anything Sirius asked of him, especially if he does that thing again, when he squeezes the slick length of them with a tad more force than they usually play at. “Sirius, Sirius. Sirius, please, I’m close,” Remus shrills in an unsteady staccato— his normally smooth tenner going pitchy and pleading, and he can feel his toes curling, can feel the eminent release coming— What he does not expect is to feel something poking at his entrance, didn’t expect to be struck dumb by the sensation of the tip of Sirius’s large, dry finger poking right there, right against the fluttering hole, while he’s still pumping them in tandem, and the second it hooks inside Remus goes a startling sort of static , sees blasts of white blotching his vision and his head thrown back and his dick spirting out heavily against Sirius’s deliciously defined torso.

And he’s just breathing heavily now, during the come down, can barely make out anything through the heavy weight around him, the one cushioning his head— but he does graciously feel Sirius’s cock fucking into his own hand against Remus’s thigh and then idly the feeling of his come splattering him, but then after that he can just barely hear the distant padding of feed against floorboards, followed by a wet washcloth being dabbed against his skin. So when he finally forces himself to focus, he sees Sirius cleaning himself off, wrapping it into the pair of joggers Remus was wearing earlier and tosses it to the corner of the room.

“Rude,” he scolds with no heat, shuffling closer to him when Sirius lies down besides him once more and circles an arm around his torso.

“THat’s what you get when you’re acting like a lazy fuck,” Sirius counters, smug as all get out while he threads a hand in Remus’s hair.

“Hmm, didn’t see that in the papers recently. Is it a new law?”

“Yeah, actually just past on the senate floor.”

“Interesting… Well considering that only one of us has a senator for a father, I really have to ask to see the power-point you shared with him to get this bill through the stalemate,” Remus’s head bounces against Sirius’s chest from the force of his laughter at the barb.

“Oh, stuff it, Lupin.”

Hiding his smile into Sirius’s skin, Remus does as told, and they both just lie there, as if everything’s gone suspended just for the pair of them, just so Remus can count out the beats of Sirius’s heart pulsing against his sternum, and can feel the way their legs tie into one another, and can feel Sirius mouthing against his temple, blowing his curls with every exhale.

And Remus thinks that he’d do anything to remember this exact moment for every single day from here on out.

But then the quiet is abruptly and permanently punctured by the sound of his phone chirping, and he has to breathe in deeply before separating from the warmth of Sirius, and fishes down for the device that’s still crammed into the side of his bed from where he had hidden it after that initial text.

“Is Dearborn still on your ass to try again?” Sirius asks, a bit stilted.

Remus wonders if he’s just imagining the tension twisted in the question, but reasons that Sirius’s never been Caradoc’s biggest fan, so he just shrugs it off— really doesn’t want to get into some stupid argument about his asshole of an ex when he’s still feeling so content. “Nah, ’s James. Still trying to force me to go to the homecoming dance with you guys.”

“Oh,” Sirius retorts, lips pinched while watching Remus redress. “You should go, Marls is pregaming and you know she always gets the good shit.”

Remus shakes his head while puttering over to find a new pair of sweats and a sweater. “Nah, just not feeling it this year— Erm, you’re taking Gid I assume.” He’s not sure why he asks it, supposes he’s always a glutton for some pain and shitty feelings to inspire his playlists habit, but also maybe it’s him trying to sober himself. Trying to remember that despite this— despite everything they just did and how easy it’s always been for them to fall into step with one another— Remus isn’t good enough to be seen with Sirius in the light of day. He’s probably not handsome enough or cool enough or something else that makes Sirius absolutely revolted from the thought. Probably that he’s beyond bookish, and looks painfully virginal and isn’t nearly as sly or snarky as his other conquests.

Truly, Remus should just be thankful that Sirius wants this at all, he shouldn’t be so crazed over the why nots of the situation— it’ll only kill him trying to be something he never could actually affect with any credence.

Schooling his features to something passably indifferent, Remus pivots to face him again, is startled when he finds Sirius still naked and staring at him with a burning sort of intensity in his storm cloud eyes.

“He hasn’t said anything, but I guess he’s assuming as much,” he finally says, running a hand through his overgrown fringe, that familiar twitch of the corner of his mouth grabbing Remus’s attention. The one that tells him Sirius is actually irritated about something he’s not letting himself say out loud.

“Erm, good? Gid’s a decent guy.” Remus mutters, head ducked once it gets to a point that he can’t stand Sirius looking at him like that— Not after how blissed out and ferocious he had been groping every inch of Remus only moments ago. “You guys are nice together.”

And it’s like the breath before the worst of storms when his words collapse between them, making the pregnant silence go suddenly suffocating.

“Right,” Sirius intones once Remus levels their gazes, hurriedly standing and collecting his own clothes, fracturing the moment completely. “Right. Whatever, yeah. I’ll go to the fucking dance with fucking Gideon Prewett. That’s good.”

“Sir—“

“No, it’s fine. You can just stay home, and mourn over that douchebag Dearborn some more, even though you ending it with that dick was the best decision you could’ve made, Remus, and I’m not even saying it just because I’m petty. He is a prick, and you need to finally get a clue how much better you deserve, damn it!”

Remus’s head feels like it’s swimming. Why is Sirius so angry all of a sudden? Does he not like Gideon? Why can’t he just cut it off like so many times before? And why the hell is he petty over Caradoc? The entire situation feels like someone’s just handed him a wedge of Swiss cheese and told him to knit it back together.

“What is up your ass?” He decides is an appropriate enough question for his floundering, and shutters back only slightly at how fuming Sirius looks when he rounds on him— clothes disheveled and fearsome glower heavy on his face.

“Whatever Remus, if you can’t see that Dearborn is bad news—“

“I’m not pining for Dearborn,” Remus interjects, really doesn’t feel like listening to one of Sirius’s ridiculous diatribes about him, not now. Not when he’s still so bewildered by everything else. “Why would you think that?”

The fire in Sirius’s eyes vanishes as quickly as someone blowing on a candle, and it’s his turn to gawk, gaping at Remus, shoulders dragged down and eyes wide. “Wait— You’re not?”

“No…. I haven’t even thought about him for weeks.”

“Oh.” Sirius looks contemplative for a moment, before the righteous anger that only he could ever wear with such conviction, melts over him once more. “All right, then what the fuck is this?”

Remus stiffens, feels his veins lace with ice, an his breath catch somewhere in his throat, really does not think he’s ready for this conversation. “This?”

“Yes, Remus, this!” Sirius demands, sounding harsh in comparison to the barely croak Remus had spoken with. “Listen I don’t care if you want me to wait some more, if you need to lick your wounds or whatever. But why are you like pushing me on other people? Why do you want me not to be around? why do you want me to go out with other dudes?”

Remus lies back on the chest of drawers now, feels beyond dazed. “What the hell are you talking about, Sirius?”

Sirius clenches his teeth right then, the hinge of his jaw going taught

before he skulks closer, not letting Remus drop his gaze. “Is it me? Is it that you just can’t see me that way? Are you just stringing me along or something? Because I really didn’t think that was your style, but if it’s that, then Remus—“

“Stringing you along?” Remus asks in a voice barely above a whisper, just needs to feel his lips forming the absolutely risible words, even if it makes it so something dark passes across Sirius’s beauteous features.

“Remus, I swear to God! Stop repeating everything I’m fucking saying!”

“Then start making some damn sense!” Remus snaps, suddenly heated as he straightens and pins him with a proper scowl. “What in holy hell are you going on about?”

“God! Do I have to spell it out!” Sirius barks, cutting the final step dividing them and grabbing for Remus’s shoulders with a tight squeeze. “I know you just wanted to fuck around with someone after Dearborn showed his extreme dickitude, and listen, I was so fucking ecstatic that you wanted me for it. But I can’t do this in-between shit anymore! I’m sorry, but I can’t! And I get if this is annoying, but I’ve been crazy for you for so long. And I just can’t keep myself at an arms length anymore, not now that we’ve really had each other, not after you let me actually touch and taste and fuck you and— Damn it, this isn’t coming out the way I wanted, all right! Damn it, maybe Evans was right and I should’ve made queue cards like some dumb ass— But then James pointed out how unromantic that was, and Marlene said—“

Gently, Remus puts his shaking fingers against Sirius’s lips, effectively killing off anything else he’s about to say. And slowly, everything is beginning to slot into place, and he’s so spiteful over how they’ve been such idiots this entire time— swears to put salt into Lily’s coffee next time he sees her.

“I didn’t know you actually were into me Sirius.”

Stunned, Sirius’s dark brows hike up to his hairline. “How the hell didn’t you know?” He demands against Remus’s fingers, thunderous and insulted looking.

“Because you never fucking said as much!” Remus defends himself, feels a mangled sort of laughter squirming out. “God, we’re idiots.”

“We’re?” Sirius asks, hesitant and red faced before Remus moves his hand to peck softly against his mouth.

“I’ve been half in love with you for years you absolute ass-wipe, it’s always been you! You and always you.” Remus tells him breathily, still fighting down the last remnants of his actual, god forsaken giggle— like he’s thirteen again and getting buzzed off his mom’s peach wine coolers. “I only never said anything because I never thought I’d have a chance with someone like you— Someone so— so— Someone so amazing.”

The smile Sirius favors him with right then is something absolutely incandescent, and his eyes shimmer with a very distinct sort of joy that Remus wonders if anyone besides him has ever witnessed. “Then you’re definitely the biggest idiot between us, Lupin.” Sirius declares, knocking their foreheads together, and lacing his hand into Remus’s own before squeezing meaningfully.

“Fuck off,” Remus snorts, presses forwards for another languorous kiss, not feeling in danger of being swallowed whole any more— finally letting himself drown and knowing that Sirius will be there to pull him back up no matter what.

“Oh, I could get used to this,” Sirius smirks, snakes his arms around Remus’s waste that bit tighter.

“Hmm, there is the problem that I usually don’t put out until at least the third or fourth date,” Remus says mildly.

“Pff, ‘s fine, Lupin,” Sirius insists, grinning beatifically. “I like you being a hussy for me!— Oof, careful with the merchandize, you were speaking some real exaltations about that part of my anatomy not too long ago.”

Moving his knee from the point at hand, Remus sticks out his tongue at him. “See if you ever get any ever again, Sirius Black.”

When Sirius laughs, it sounds like the strike of lightening against unmarked land, and the honey cloaked side of a knife’s edge, and like everything splendid Remus has ever known. And he thinks that yes, he could get used to this right back.

#WOLFSTAR #REMUS LUPIN #SIRIUS BLACK #REMUSXSIRIUS #SIRIUSXREMUS #WOLFSTAR FLUFF #Spilt Ink

113 notes · View notes

aftgficrec · 3 years

Note

First, I LOVE what you are doing, thank you so much.

Second: any that focus on the baby foxes—aside from just Neil punching Jack?

All the older foxes have stories that go more into their character, we can see why they are assholes (and almost excuse them). Any for the baby foxes (particularly Jack) like this?

Alternatively, any where the older foxes are held accountable for their asshole actions? (Andrew forcing Aaron’s withdrawal, the chocking incident, the speedballs, Matt’s attacking Kevin for stuff that isn’t his fault, Nicky’s kissing Neil, Andrew’s drugging of anyone he considers suspicious, etc.)

Ok, so Robin Cross and Jack are future foxes discussed in Nora’s extra content. Robin has some in-depth fics written about her backstory, most notably the true crime podcast AU ‘Red Rabbits: Season 2,’ below. We found a bit of Jack’s past in ‘Lessons In Cartography’ (chapters 19 and 20), and a bit of Robin’s in sequel ‘The Cartographer and the World’ (chapters 8 and 13), find both here.

I’ve also got some accountability fics for you. - A

Robin & Jack:

fics featuring the freshmen here

Jack and Sheena being assholes here

Neil fights with Jack here

‘pick up all the pieces (and what’s left of my pride)’ here

‘Red-Breasted Fox’ here

og foxes held accountable:

Confrontations about demisexuality/Andrew's soullessness here

Foxes feel guilty about Andrew here

New finds for Nicky kissing Neil here; master list here

Andrew apologizes to Kevin here

you may also like:

some with Jean reacting to Kevin’s role at the nest: ‘playing on’ and ‘Staring at the Sun’ (updated) here; ‘give your tears to the tide’ here

‘creature of habit’ here (fix-it fic for Nicky’s character)

Aaron’s ptsd from withdrawal here

in-depth fics for Robin Cross

Teaching a caged bird to fly series by Charcoalll [Rated T/M, Collection with 4 complete works, Last Updated Sept 2021]

Part 1: Sunrise over Home [M (we say T), 7870 Words]

Robin Cross is regretting ever signing with the Foxes more and more every day. But when a disastrous day at court leads to emotions culminating, she has a much needed talk with her coach. Turns out her recrutation wasn't as random as she thought, but why would Andrew Minyard off all people have an interest in her?

No matter what, it all ends on that cursed roof at midnight.

tw: violence, tw: negative self talk, tw: bullying, tw: panic attacks, tw: implied/referenced csa

Part 2: Guilt, Fault and Blame [T, 9093 Words]

Whatever that night at the roof meant, it changed Robin's life rather quickly. On the edge of a life she never thought she could have, she has to make some thought decisions.

What is Andrew's true intentions?

What does he want with her?

And is Steven still in controll of her from his prison cell halfway cross country?

Or; Robin begins driving with the monsters from practice and suddenly everything changes.

tw: anxiety, tw: drugs, tw: alcohol, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced kidnapping, tw: implied/referenced murder of a child

Part 3: Never felt Safer [T, 3465 Words]

Robin finally earned Andrew's attention. Now she's standing in front of the biggest changes her life has seen, but as it seems it's only for the better.

tw: violence

Part 4: Secret Privacy [M (we say T), 15790 Words]

5 times Robin saw the emotions others seemed blind to, and 1 time it was painfully obvious.

Or Andrew and Neil through Robin's eyes.

tw: alcohol, tw: blood, tw: panic attacks, tw: violence, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: slurs

Red Rabbits: Season 2 by bloodydamnit, jeni182 [Rated E, 282064 words, complete, 2020]

You’re listening to Season Two of Red Rabbits, the Case of the Newark 9. My name is Robin Cross. I’m number 8. And I survived.

Disclaimer: This season is dark. We won't pretend it's not. It's dark and it's not for the faint of heart, but we really tried to make every single action we take justified. Nothing that is tagged under abuse or otherwise is current and it is in no way detailed, whatsoever. We really took every reference seriously and there will be a list of triggers before every single chapter. It's part of the reason why getting this story out took so long. We want you all to know we have been double and triple checking ourselves to make sure every topic in this Season is handled properly. If there are any questions, please message us via the links in the AN of ch 1.

tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: referenced kidnapping, tw: referenced murder, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: scars, tw: implied violence

accountability

cause and effect by clarodelune [Rated G, 2682 Words, Complete, 2020]

cause-and-effect [ kawz-uh nd-i-fekt, -uh n- ]

adjective

1. the principle of causation.

2. noting a relationship between actions or events such that one or more are the result of the other or others.

or: in which andrew understands actions have consequences and that losing kevin might just be one of them.

tw: implied/referenced violence, tw: implied/referenced non-consensual drug use, tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: ptsd

hand over hand series by lackingsoy [Rated T, Collection, 4 complete works, Last Updated August 2020]

Part 1: the deal's done [4091 Words]

"Does it hurt," Allison's voice was bleak.

"What do you think," Kevin replied, somehow managing to sound steady despite his closed throat.

Allison looked at him, eyes remarkably cool for someone who went toe to toe with Seth and other despicable players. "I think," she said, lips popping on the last word: "You, Kevin Day, are heartbroken."

Five fingers, one promise, and the end of a lifeline. Post-hotel scene, the long hours after but before Neil gets picked back up by the Foxes, wherein Kevin stares into the face of his wounds, Allison extends an olive branch, and Renee decides, in the privacy of her own mind, to stop playing mediator.

tw: implied/referenced violence, tw: alcohol abuse, tw: panic attacks, tw: implied/referenced abuse

Part 2: domestic bliss [4251 Words]

It was a vindictive, vicious sort of triumph, Kevin supposed, that made him turn his face to meet Andrew’s gaze. To rear his head just a little, bare his throat. A steady dark line, marred and patented.

Abuse aftermath is seen to seriously by Wymack and Abby; consequences are left in the hands of the Foxes; and a few finally make unprecedented moves. Kevin just wants to die, so maybe nothing's different. (Except it is; has to be.)

tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced violence

Part 3: you asked for this (he didn't; you spat in the face of him) [1326 Words]

“You were supposed to be better,” Renee said. “For him.”

“That was never the deal,” Andrew told her.

Re: the loud crash. What actually happened when Renee sought out the Monster(s).

tw: violence

Part 4: a minor inconvenience, a smaller promise [1022 Words]

Aaron looked like he wanted to die this time. His shoulders shifted side to side, uncertain and uncomfortable. But his eyes were very clearly honed on the discoloring still visible on Kevin's neck, Allison's intensive powdering long washed off, and the darkness that passed over his eyes could've been misinterpreted for anger and maybe stupider still, regret.

tw: implied/referenced violence

Like Damned Guilty Deeds by EmilyScarlett [Rated M, 1679 words, complete, 2017]

The first time Jean and Kevin train together again after the events of the books.

tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: anxiety

42 notes · View notes

burnedbyshoto · 3 years

Text

I wanted to make myself like the ravine

— There are plenty of things that Hawks knows about, but there are few he knows none about. A journey of how Hawks navigates the meaning of the word love.

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pairing: hawks (takami keigo) x fem!reader

warnings: recent manga spoilers, future!au, alcohol consumption, fem!reader

word count: 6,819

a/n: this is for the pocuties valentines day collab! rhank you for letting me join! inspired by the poem to the title of this fic!

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A G A P E

—

Hawks is one of the fastest men in the world.

It’s not a brag; it’s the truth.

A cold, hard, damning truth.

Hawks is a Pro Hero with the power, skill, and finesse required to take the fall for the entire country. He is someone who is loved by all, who thrives off of the appreciation and the cheers, but he knows — he understands — he’s expendable. He’s a tool—an object seconds from being put to rest.

There are many things that Hawks knows; he’s been training to be a hero since he was in his very childhood. Blindfolded, tested and conditioned to be the ideal hero, the perfect pawn.

Hawks is no idiot, and he will never deny that often times that he isn’t sure what he is feeling.

Emotions are weird for him. Feelings are oversimplified in everything he was taught, yet disgustingly really and oddly interfering the second he had set foot into the spotlight. He was used to the cold, the people who would view him as a specimen, experiment 20493, codenamed: Fierce Winged Hawks. The only emotions he understood was apathy, seriousness, anger, resentment, bitterness, disappointment, and relief. When finally, finally, the Hero Commission broke his wings, his spine, and his mind, the small boy so eager to be a Hero ultimately nothing but a soldier, ready to follow commands to the T.

Hawks has only heard of love from the blurry, unclear memories of his childhood. His mother muttering how she had no love for him to be taking care of him as he did, or his father saying he could never love him. Love was foreign, strange, alien to him. Even when he was eighteen and finally given a bit of freedom from the chains the Hero Commission bound him in was expressed out of love. But he was put into the cage that granted him the ability to spread his stiff wings; love made no sense.

He saw lovers making out in alleyways, and he furrowed his eyebrows, wondering just why anyone would want to kiss in the smelly, dark, virus-infected areas. He saw his colleagues come in looking dazed, refreshed, reborn, yelling loudly, and singing poetry about their love for some other person they met just yesterday. He also couldn’t ignore the days, weeks, months later when they would rearrive with red-rimmed eyes, swollen eyes, and a tremor to their voice.

Love seemed… awful to Hawks.

Love was a deception of brain chemicals. Nothing more than your mind bending, flipping, and twisting to make something that made absolutely no sense make sense.

Hawks had expressed that one day to a sidekick of his, his barriers and walls crumbling away because he had been on a stakeout for five days straight now. The world that could never keep up with him was numbing his brain.

“Well, that’s romantic and flirtatious love for ya,” his sidekick explained with a halfhearted shrug. It seemed that he both agreed and disagreed with what Hawks had to say. “They’re amazing loves, don’t get it wrong, and they definitely don’t make sense, but they’re loves not meant to last.”

Hawks blinked.

“What?”

His sidekick chuckled, hands rubbing at his eyes as he peered out the window again, his sullen eyes looking even more tired.

“Have you never learned the different types of love before, Hawks?” the sidekick teased as much as he was curious. “I figured a pro as popular and smart as you are would know the different types of love.”

Hawks feathers fluttered in his inability to keep his lack of knowledge to himself.

“I don’t.”

“Wow, finally something Hawks isn’t aware of!” the sidekick laughed, and his hand opened his phone, fingers hitting the screen before shoving the device into Hawks’ chest. “I’m sure you’ll find that you can understand at least one love.”

Hawks grabbed the phone, head cocking to the side in his curiosity as he scrolled down through the phone.

There were eight different types.

Eight different ones that he could have experienced within his then twenty-one years, and he found himself unable to look away from one.

Agape: universal, selfless love

“Hawks, they’re moving!” the sidekick squawked, and Hawks handed over the phone, and with nothing on his mind, burst out the window, ready to take down this organization.

Hawks had to admit that later that night, when he was finally able to sleep in his own bed, he felt selfless love. It was for the people of Japan. The many citizens who needed his help and the heroes of the country who rose to the demands of the job. Maybe it wasn’t the type of love depicted in anything he’s ever read or watched before, but that was okay. It was love.

The love he has for the citizens is enough to keep his head afloat.

This is the only love he needs in his life right now, the only love that matters.

But he’s no longer twenty-one, he’s twenty-five, and the wings on his back that feel practically invisible to him, are hurting. His back is in pain, his quirk almost gone, save for the smallest, insignificant feathers perching from the stumps of what was his beginnings of a wingspan. It still burns, phantom singes and phantom heat whenever he thinks about his nearly gone, never to be grown again, wings.

“Well, Hawks, you already know that this is going to happen,” comes the cold voice of one of the board members of the Hero Commission. A man who had practically raised (see managed) him.

Today was the end of Hawks life, more or less.

“AFO, Shigaraki Tomura, and the well-known former members of the League of Villains were finally stopped,” Hawks speaks with a nod. He knows, even though he could not be a soldier, he had been around to see the young UA students, Endeavors Interns, bring them to justice.

The biggest names of evil were dead, and Hawks already knew he was over.

To be fair, he was glad it was over.

But still, it hurt to hear the indifference in his voice, the apathy, the tedium.

“Operation: Fierce Wings - Hawks is officially over.”

“I could’ve figured that one out pretty easily,” Hawks jests, unable to show the way his heart twisted and withered under the knowledge that he was no longer a hero. His love, his agape, for the people were still there. Still, just as he recognized in his colleagues who were experiencing the different forms of love, it didn’t matter how much love you held for someone, something, for the innocent, helpless people…

Life takes, it destroys, and love doesn’t seem to have a chance.

“Thank you for your twenty years of service. I hope you find the freedom you had been looking for.”

P H I L A U T I A

It’s been a week.

Seven days, twenty-one hours, sixteen minutes, and thirty-four seconds since Hawks was fired (see Honorably Discharged) as a Pro Hero.

Hawks has always felt that the world moved oh so slowly behind him. It had been his wish that heroes be able to relax, laze around because society had evolved enough that criminals knew better, were treated better, and could integrate into a truly peaceful society.

It had been his dream.

But right now, he was bored.

B o r e d.

“Fuck, I don’t care,” Hawks grumbled, face smooshing into a pillow as he watched the Netflix Series Bridgerton drone on the screen. “Dump his ass.”

His apartment, it was safe to say, was a mess. There were cups, bowls, plates, and chopsticks everywhere. His hair was ruffled, stringy, held back by a hair clip he had stolen from Miruko. His beard was nearly fully grown in, and there were bags under his eyes despite the fact he was sleeping for more hours of the day than staying awake. He was sore, tired, bored.

So bored.

He didn’t think being bored was going to suck this much, going to hurt him like this.

Fuck.

“Open the damn door, bird boy!” came a sharp scream and powerful kick from the front door.

Hawks glared at the door, the tiniest of feathers he had been able to regrow, trying to pathetically open the lock on the door. A sheen layer of sweat pushed against his forehead, and Hawks grunted, trying to lift the heavy lock.

BAM.

The door swung open, forcefully kicked open by none other than Pro Hero Miruko.

“Yo!” Miruko waved, lips pulled in a fierce grin as she entered through the broken doorway with nothing but a bag of unknown items. “I figured you were here!”

“...you broke my door,” Hawks pointed out, eyes narrowed as dust and destruction danced within the air.

“You took too long,” Miruko breezed, slamming her plastic bag on the kitchen island. “It’s a fucking rats nest in here, birdbrain; I thought you were somewhat organized?”

Hawks groaned loudly, sinking further into his couch as Miruko began reorganizing his kitchen area — dumping the dirty dishes into the sink and throwing things away in fast, practiced skill. “Life is too boring, and I’m too bored to do anything about all of the mess,” Hawks exaggerates partially, hand twisting and dancing as he speaks. “Thanks for cleaning up the mess.”

“I’m not cleaning up your damn mess, birdbrain,” Miruko barks out a laugh, her hands slamming against the now, somehow, clean surface. “I’m just making my life easier!”

Hawks looked over the top of the couch with a semi impressed, semi uncaring look and shrugged.

“You seem to have a great handle over those robot limbs now,” he points out.

Sure enough, Miruko had two bionic limbs, limbs that she had finally managed to work into a fighting career. After spending two years on the sideline, relearning how to walk and then fight, she was back on the field.

She was a hero again, despite it all, unlike him.

“Damn right, I’m amazing!” Miruko preened, chest puffed, and bunny tail wagging excitedly. “But anyway, I figured your dumbass would be depressed, so I brought you some shit.”

Hawks watched with a curious gaze as Miruko quickly hopped once from where she was in the kitchen to a place on his couch, landing on Hawks' legs unintentionally.

“OW!”

“Look at what Rumi brought you,” Miruko laughed, slapping Hawks on the back as he cradled his legs. “And yes, I just referred to myself in the third person, so shush.”

Hawks grumbled, lips in a half pout, half frown.

Taking the opaque bag from Miruko, Hawks pulled out the many items in the bag.

Carrots, a KFC gift card, Korean skincare products, a movie about Miruko’s recovery process, and a 1001 Things to Do (A Book on Finding Self Love).

Hawks stares at the book.

“The perfect items for a self-care, self-love spa day,” Miruko nods, once again slapping Hawks on the back. “Some old sidekick of yours told me that you don’t know what love is, so I figured that I would help teach you the most important one! Self-love! Truly the hardest one to master, in my opinion, but damn if it isn’t a good one.”

Hawks feels transfixed almost, unable to look away from the book as Miruko slaps him on the back yet again as she moves to leave. He hears her yelling about forwarding the bill to fix his door to her, her agency would pay for the damage, and how she’s off to train with some bunny hopping boy from UA.

Opening the book, Hawks looked at the number one thing to do on the book and sighed.

#1: Look in a mirror and name five things you LOVE about yourself.

Well, it’s not like he has anything better to do.

Hawks is on number thirteen (Stand at a bridge and scream into the void about the things you love at dusk) when he realizes that maybe… he doesn’t love himself.

It is without saying that he loves people; agape, after all, is the only love type that made sense to him, but philautia, self-love, was way lost on him. Objectives 2 - 12 on the book were entertaining to do! They had Hawks going outside of his house much more than his week trapped indoors, and for the first time since the day his wings had been burnt off, his house was spotless.

But it was clear to Hawks that he didn’t feel love for himself.

Whenever he tried to convince himself that he should love himself, that there were terrific qualities in himself, he thought back to the dirty, burnt room.

“I still gotta protect their happiness!” the phantom in his mind screamed, the broken sob collected in his throat.

Hawks shivered, unable to let himself recognize the pain and hurt in the phantom's eyes, or the way that he now wished he had never done that… why had he done that?

What a mess…

The small chirping of Hawks phone interrupts his morose thoughts. He looks at the screen, eyebrows raising in slight mirth and caution as none other than his former intern was currently calling him.

“Tsukuyomi-kun!” Hawks laughs into the receiver, the weight of his past for a moment forgotten. “How are ya?!”

“Hello, Hawks-sensei,” Tokoyami’s calm tone fills Hawks' ears. “I was calling because I have a request to make.”

“Name it,” Hawks spoke immediately, slouching against the cold bars of the bridge, eyes closing as he tried to relax. “You need a letter of rec or something?”

“Nothing of the sort, actually,” Tokoyami says. “We third-year students are graduating in a few days; I was inquiring if you would attend on my behalf.”

“Wow, Tsukuyomi-kun, no need to be so formal with me!” Hawks laughed delightedly, his hands carting through his feather-like hair, “I’d love to come and watch you guys graduate! Is it true that the finger-smashing boy is the valedictorian?”

“That would be false, Midoriya-kun has nothing on Yaoyorozu-san.”

“What a bummer, you’d think he’d be first after how he helped win the war for us, huh?”

“You’ll find that Yaoyorozu-san is highly gifted and undeterred by most things,” Tokoyami sighed. For a moment, Hawks chuckled at the melancholy tone to his old intern's voice. It sounded as if he had been striving with great difficulty to reach the highest marks as well.

Hawks began speaking to his rather odd ex-intern with great curiosity with the blanket of the night surrounding him. His defenses and thoughts whittling away the more they spoke, the later it got in the morning.

“Ne, Tokoyami-kun, I have a question?”

“Concerning what?”

Hawks pauses, his brows furrowing as he looks up into the still dark sky, “Do you know how to love yourself?”

Silence.

Had it been anyone else, Hawks would have panicked at the lack of noise. Still, his already less than chatty intern typically took to not speaking much to begin with.

“Self-love is difficult,” Tokoyami finally spoke, his words slow, carefully chosen. “We humans are flawed; we all have demons. Most of the time, we only recognize and see our demons, oftentimes forgetting that being human also means being weak and at times immoral. Loving oneself is a hard task because we know ourselves better than any other. It’s a work in progress for everyone to love oneself, it's a type of love by the Ancient Greeks, but it’s not always everpresent. One must accept all flaws to love oneself, and remember that flaws don’t make you less, even if you believe otherwise.”

“...wow, I asked for a sentence answer, and you gave me a speech. Who would’ve known you were so in check with your emotions, Tokoyami!”

“You knew, I’ve already revealed this side of me before. You laughed last time too.”

Hawks finds himself home thirty minutes later, and he stares up at the ceiling, fingers drumming against his chest.

Self-love… it seems like an ever-evolving type of love, but it’s there. He knows that even if he has regrets and hardships and things he hates about himself, deep down, self-love exists and that it will exist.

Patience.

Even the fastest man in the world could demonstrate patience.

L U D U S

“What can I get for ya?”

“I have no idea honestly, do you have any recommendations?”

Hawks could say with complete honesty that he felt entirely out of place.

He was at a local bar. The bar was semi-busy today. Most young adults dressed in an arrangement of clothes, each on a different level of soberness as they cheered to this and that.

Why was he at a bar even though he was slightly uncomfortable? Well, you can blame #73 in the book for that.

(#73: Enter the first bar you find, order a drink, and flirt!)

“What type of liquor do you like? Hard or soft?”

Hawks blinked; he didn’t know.

“Hard?”

The bartender looked a bit unsure of him for a bit before nodding and turning his back to him.

Did hard liquor mean he was going to get an iced drink? He’s never consumed alcohol before.

“Here you go!” the bartender sang, slamming two shot glasses before him. “Two shots of Bacardi.”

“Oh, thank you?” Hawks tilted his head as a small cup of OJ was placed in front of him (“That’s your chaser,” the bartender had laughed). Bringing the small glass shot glass up, Hawks looked around at the throngs of people surrounding the bar and looked at you. You were cheering loudly as you raised your own shot glass in the air with a whoop and, in a fast, fluid motion, brought the shot glass to your mouth and took the liquid down easily. Hawks was definitely unimpressed now; that looked entirely too easy. “Here we go, cheers to me.”

Imitating your own actions, Hawks shot back the liquid in his shot glass, and immediately his entire body tensed.

EW.

NO.

EW.

OH GOD, NO!

Spitting out the sour, bitter, disgusting — dear god, how do you even describe this taste?! — liquid, Hawks, chugged the OJ, his lungs and throat and tongue burning from the shot.

“That was disgusting!” Hawks spat to absolutely no one, his hands covering his mouth as he stared at the other awaiting shot of ‘Bacardi.’ “Why would anyone drink that?!”

“Only madmen drink Bacardi while sober,” a voice joined in on Hawks' one-sided conversation. “Or bitches who are self-sabotagers. Never trust a hoe who says Bacardi is their favorite drink.”

Hawks turned around to see you, the girl he had regrettably underestimated for taking the shot, smiling at him with a not entirely sober look to your face.

“You look like neither. That and the way you took the shot obviously means that you had no idea what you were drinking.” Hawks continued to stare at you, completely perplexed by your casual conversation, the dress on your body that was twisted a bit, screaming wonders about your level of sobriety. You took to the empty barstool beside him with a grin and a calculating look, “You’re Hawks, right?”

“Yeah, Hawks,” he spoke, his tongue feeling weird in his mouth as he bowed stiffly in his chair. You were beautiful, fuck.

“I’m y/l/n, nice to meet you!” you speak easily, fingers grabbing at his other filled shot glass with a concerned look. “I have a feeling you shouldn’t try to take this other shot.”

“Dying of alcohol definitely isn’t in my vision of ways to go out,” Hawks grins. Pushing through his haze of awkwardness as you shift in the barstool so that you’re now facing him entirely, knees pressed to his thigh. “I’ve never actually drunk before?”

You inhale sharply, your eyes going wide as you break all levels of personal contact that’s acceptable of strangers in Japan and grab his cheeks.

“Alcohol virgin?!” you gasp, the sweet smell of some liquid drafting from your breath. “I’ll teach you everything that I know, don’t worry!”

You let go of his face, neck turning away from him, looking for the bartender to flag him down.

“Don’t you have—?”

“They can wait,” you wave at the bartender before turning back to Hawks with a confident grin on your face. “I have my favorite Pro Hero right beside me; I think they’ll understand.”

“Alright, what is it that I need to know?”

“My full name,” you breeze with a wink. “Y/l/n y/n.”

“A beautiful name.”

“I am a beautiful woman.”

Hawks chuckled good-naturedly, his head nodding in agreement, “I think we were talking about the alcohol, though, not your attraction as a female.”

“All in good time, all in good time,” you laugh, taking to the bartender and ordering two drinks, both of which were entirely foreign to Hawks.

Hawks would not consider himself to be an expert at flirting. He was attractive, a great conversationalist, and did have a type of edge to his words that often seemed playful or a warning, depending on how you looked at it. But it appeared that his natural way of speaking was more than enough to make him flirtatious enough to match the way you spoke to him.

You had introduced him to a single mixed drink, telling him that getting drunk by yourself at a bar typically wasn’t a smart thing, so keep to something with a low alcohol percentage. Just enough to make you loosen up, but not enough that you were incapable of getting home. Hawks liked the way your hand rested on his forearm. How you smiled and laughed at something to show your interest but not at everything to show that you weren’t faking your amusement at what he was saying.

You matched his every word, not backing down from his bluffs. Soon enough, Hawks felt his cheeks warm when he finally looked directly at your smiling face (he wasn’t sure if it was from the alcohol or not).

Eventually, though, the night ended, and you shimmied off the bar stool as your friends had come to collect you to leave.

“Can I get your number?” you ask, eyes mostly entirely sober as you handed him your phone. “I know you were the man who was just a bit too fast, but I think I can handle that.”

Hawks snorts, his eyes rolling in his amusement, “That was horrible.”

“I’m drunk, I have an excuse!” you exclaim with a pout that quickly turns into a giddy smile as Hawks enters his number to your phone. “Don’t worry though, once I’m sober, I’ll flirt your eyebrows clean off!”

“That sounds painful!” Hawks yells as you wave goodbye, your arms linked with a line of other girls as you leave the bar with teasing laughter and undecipherable words.

It was with you that Hawks realized that he had come to find a new type of love.

Ludus, the love of flirtation and playfulness.

Damn, who would’ve known.

P H I L I A

Hawks was having a pretty bad day.

It wasn’t anything super terrible happening, all things considered. It was a lovely day out; the sun was warm, the sky so blue, and the birds chirping. Nothing on the news to be concerned about and all his precious people were safe.

But it was still a bad day because instead of being out and about with you, his now borderline best friend/girlfriend, who he was stupidly having a crush on, he was stuck at home.

Hawks was sick.

Deliriously, stuffy nose, goopy eyed, chapped lips, and feverish sick.

You: Are you sure you’re fine????

Hawks: Im perfectly okay. Ill go with you to the park next time sorry

You: Thats not what im concerned about stupid!!!!!

Hawks: Bye have fun!

You: I knoW YOURE SICK ASSHOLE

Hawks chuckled, rereading his messages with you.

Blowing his nose for what felt like the umpteenth time, Hawks resumed the movie on the screen that you had recommended him to watch — Disney’s Chicken Little — because it reminded you of him, or something like that. The TV droned on with the movie, and Hawks found it hard to keep focused as the Sandman danced on his head and whispered in his ear.

He hadn’t noticed he had fallen asleep until a loud banging was heard on his door.

Shuffling towards the door, Hawks opened the still slightly broken door with bleary eyes and a stuffy nose.

In front of him was none other than you.

You… with a basket full of things.

“Hi!” you greeted him, pushing past Hawks easily and walking into his apartment. “You look worse than I thought you would be!”

“That's hurtful,” Hawks pouted, closing the door behind you, sneezing, then following after you. “Why are you here? I thought you w-were — achoo — going to the park?”

“I was, but we were supposed to go together to check off number 184, and I wasn’t about to go alone to complete a list meant for you!” you exclaimed, dumping the overfilled basket on the kitchen counter.

“Mm,” Hawks hummed, his voice dry and cracking as he pulled the blanket closer around him. “What’s this?”

“A get well care basket,” you say in an unmistakable like tone; you glance at him, smiling widely, and gesture dramatically to the basket. “Follow along, if you can.”

“Pfft.”

“So first, I have some sleepytime tea; I swear to the gods and back that this tea will cure you and knock you the fuck out,” you say, pulling out the thing on top of the basket and putting it to the side. “Next, we have some tissues because you obviously need them.”

“Hey!”

Hawks watched through red-rimmed eyes as you carefully and thoroughly explained what and why you had brought him. Fuzzy socks, a blanket, his favorite snacks and drinks, medicine, DVD’s to more movies you told him he had to watch, an embarrassing childhood picture of you that he had been wanting and swore he would never expose least he wants to die, more oils for his diffuser, and a signed Endeavor poster he had been wanting.

Safe to say that after he had been drugged up, eating some soup and drinking some tea on the couch, wrapped up in the blanket you had bought him, laying between your legs, Hawks was feeling much, much better. It had been hours since Hawks had coughed or sneezed, and he was talking with you about how Disney movies were being produced less and getting sort of worse with each one. The movie titan slowly losing its ground.

“Okay, it’s almost eleven pm; I have work tomorrow, you are still sick, let's pack it up!” you eventually say during a moment of comfortable silence.

“I can’t believe you have to work,” Hawks sniffled, standing up off the couch so that you could get up. “Seems like a crime.”

“It’s not so bad! Being a celebrity PR manager is a million times easier than a hero PR manager. At least we can help decide what's seen!” you laugh, helping to clean up his living room of the bags of chips and drinks.

“Sure, sure,” Hawks grins, keeping the trashcan open for you so that you could place the trash in. “Thank you.”

Walking you towards the front door, Hawks comes to the sudden and almost alarming realization that he doesn’t want you to leave. He wants you to stay. He thought this was a friendship, and it was one, a good one at that! For about a month now, he had known that there was a type of love he had for you, one of friendship.

It was called philia.

So why did he want to keep you wrapped up in a hug, to pull you close and press a gentle kiss to your forehead, to your cheek, to your lips?

“—I’ll be back tomorrow to check up on you during my lunch break,” you say, slipping on your shoes as you pull on your jacket. “If you need anything at all, call or text—”

The words on your tongue die immediately when Hawks still slightly chapped lips press against yours. The sick must that was present earlier on the day is no longer there, and you can feel heat and fire bursting from your cells as Hawks pulls away from you.

“I’m sorry,” Hawks breathes out, a small smile on his face, a daze in his eyes that tells you he definitely was not completely sorry. “I couldn’t resist anymore?”

“W-We will talk about that later!” your voice squeaks, your heart hammering in your throat because fucking Hawks kissed you. “If I-I get sick, I’ll rip out your eyebrows!”

“Will you go out with me? On a date?” Hawks continues on, leaning on the doorframe you’ve yet to pass.

“...I hate you, yes,” you warble, hands pressing against your burning face as Hawks grin grows.

“Perfect, I’ll text you,” he allows you to pass through the doorway where you feel both entirely light and giddy yet awkward and mechanical.

“Hawks, I swear, if your stupid kiss got me sick!”

“You’ll rip out my eyebrows,” Hawks laughs, waving a hand. “If you rip out my eyebrows, I demand a kiss for every hair you pluck out.”

He laughs at how he can basically see the heat rising from your ears as you squawk and run away.

Looking at #184 of his book, Hawks smiles as he crosses it out (#184: Ask out your crush!) and sighs. Philia was love between friends, but it was also, if he remembered correctly, one of affection. And it was without saying that he held a deep affection for you.

E R O S

As much as Hawks claimed he knew about the world, he was as clueless as a newborn baby when it came to the topic of love. Reasoning? Well, today marked a year of being together. It had been a year since Hawks had kissed you when he was snot-nosed kissed (you did get sick, by the way, and while you didn’t rip out his eyebrows, Hawks had kissed you plenty in apology), and then took you on a date where you went to a trampoline palace.

He was clumsily romantic. More often than not, he wasn’t actually romantic. Still, the sincere thought and emotions he put into it made his actions seem so thoughtful and sweet.

You’re not sure why you actually believed that on your year anniversary, he was going to plan something for the two of you. So the reaction he had when you showed up on the year anniversary, armed with a bouquet of flowers and a small personal gift for him, Hawks looked deeply confused.

“This is still not bad!” you exclaim, watching as Hawks attempts to redecorate his apartment from the messy bachelor vibe into something of romance. It was easier said than done, especially as your boyfriend had no decorations in his house that wasn’t fanboy or bird material.

“I didn’t realize that one year anniversaries were meant to be out and about!” Hawks yelled back, failing to nail the fairy lights onto the ceilings. “I knew you wanted to do something, but I thought it was going to be like ‘let’s go get some KFC!’ sort of thing!”

“Definitely not,” you laugh, sitting on his couch with the take out food sitting on the table. It had just arrived, and Hawks was still not accepting the lack of romance in his apartment. “But it’s okay, really Hawks! I didn’t tell you, which is entirely my fault! Come on, let's watch something together, eat, and relax!”

Hawks sighed and looked up at the ceiling.

He should have known that one year anniversaries were a big thing in dating too. They sure were in businesses; what a rookie mistake. Not satisfied with the lack of romance in his apartment but also unable to do anything more to it, Hawks sulked over to the couch and sat beside you, grabbing his dinner plate.

“Thanks, dove.”

“You’re most welcome, baby vulture. Thank you for the food!” you grin, breaking the chopsticks and digging in.

The food is eaten with a mirthful conversation, the TV playing the 100 Funniest Hero Fails playing on Youtube. Eventually, the purples and pinks of the sky became dark.

Night is here.

Hawks went from sitting right beside you to lying on the couch and having you snuggled into his stomach at some point in the night. YouTube is no longer playing Hero Compilation videos. Still, it is now instead showing a chef with a giraffe quirk demonstrating how to make your very own pancake treehouse, no clickbait!

Hawks is transfixed on you, watching the way your eyes sparkle and shine as you stare up at the screen, your lips moving as you give your side commentary, but he can’t hear a thing.

Five weeks ago, on this day, was the day that Hawks realized that the philia love he had for you had evolved once again. It had become one of eros. Romantic, passionate love. He loved you; he loves you. Anything you wanted or needed in the world, Hawks would do anything to give it to you. He had yet to tell you said realization; after all, he needed to make sure it wasn’t some fluke but found himself chickening out each time he wanted to confess.

Gliding his thumb against your cheekbone, Hawks stared adoringly at you, head tilted as you laughed at the video before glancing up at him. It was evident that you hadn’t been expecting him to be staring at you so intensely. As soon as you glanced back at the TV, you snapped right back, curiosity blazing off your gaze.

“What’s up?” you asked, hands pressing to his chest as you lift up a bit. “Do I have something on my face?”

“I love you,” Hawks whispered, the words coming out so much easier than he thought it would. “Y/l/n y/n, I love you.”

Your eyes widen significantly, your jaw dropping as your eyes grow just a bit watery.

Hawks smiles softly, knowing that for so long you had told him you loved him without a single moment where he returned the affection. It hadn’t bothered you. Obviously, you knew why he didn’t say it, but finally hearing him say it seemed to break you just a bit in the best of ways. He kisses you softly, fingers wiping away the single tear that fell.

“I love you,” he repeats.

“I love you too, Hawks,” you blubber, your smile so bright yet wobbling with your heartfelt emotions.

“Takami Keigo,” Hawks corrects. “My name is Takami Keigo.”

Hawks watches as you process his name, and a wet laugh bubbles from your throat as you nod your head, hands reaching behind his neck to pull him close for the first soul-consuming, fiery kiss of the night.

“I love you, Keigo.”

If this wasn’t eros, well, then, Hawks didn’t know what it was.

P R A G M A

two years later, valentines day

Keigo sits on the bed, fingers adjusting the tie around his neck as he stares at you doing your makeup in the bathroom. Your eyes intensely concentrated on your reflection as you painted dark red lips on yourself.

To sum up the last two years in a single, simple phrase, Keigo would say that love now made even less sense to him.

It wasn’t precisely that it made perfect sense before. Some days he still argued and wondered about how love could exist in specific scenarios. Or why, after you stole his final KFC chicken leg he was saving, he could always love you after such betrayal. It made no sense to him, but also made perfect sense, hence the complete confusion.

But it was without saying that as you twirled in your outfit in front of him, a grin plastered so large and lovingly on your features, that it made sense.

How could he not love when he had someone like you.

The walk to the restaurant was perfect; he had even taken a moment to slow dance with you when you came across some performers. Your sweet smile meant just for him made Keigo hum contently as he kissed you gently.

Dinner was amazing. The food rich and luscious, entirely to die for that had the both of you moaning about how great it was before laughing because the waitress definitely heard that. After dinner was over, you and Keigo were now waiting on desserts when he simply grabbed your left hand and slid a simple ring over a very important finger before placing a kiss on your palm.

“I know I was at one point too fast, and maybe I think I was too slow to ask this, but would you like to wake up and have chicken with me every day?” Keigo asked, watching as your face went through a million stages of understanding, processing, internalizing, accepting, and pure emotions.

The kiss was sloppy and wet, the tears streaming down your face beautifully, like diamonds in the dark sky.

It was today that Keigo unlocked the last love he ever thought he would have.

Pragma: committed, enduring love.

#hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #hawks fluff

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bill-y · 3 years

Text

INURE

Peeta mellark x male reader

We all know who Katniss Everdeen is, but what if Primrose hadn't been chosen but another boy from another unfortunate family? YOUR family.

Info: This is basically a reader insert and I've changed a few rules, not ground breaking though. The reader is a bit bland for now but I plan for his actions to be different. Because he has different moral grounds from Katniss and such. Would appreciate feedback! FEEL FREE TO POINT OUT TYPOS. GRAMMARLY SOMETIMES DOESN'T DO MY DYSLEXIC ASS JUSTICE

Part one: You're here right now. :)

Part two: Over there, pepperoni. :)

Wattpad account: L0calxDumbass

—--—---—---—----—----—----—---

I sighed, smiling as I watched my brother gather flowers. It was the early morning, I had to go out hunting soon, but then again, it wouldn't hurt to keep him company for a while.

"Nal," I called, it was a nickname short for his name, Kunal. An odd name, to say the least. Mother told me it meant Lotus, her favourite flower.

His strawberry blonde hair swayed towards me, a smile forming on his face. He held a couple of lily's in his hands, his blue eyes glittering. "Y/n!" he said back, waving towards me.

I slowly walked towards him, squatting down next to him. He gave me a lily from his makeshift bouquet, humming. "Look at what I got!" he exclaimed.

I chuckled, roughly putting my hand on his head, messing with his hair. He groaned and in retaliation, he pulled on one of my small braids. It was something my father used to do to my hair when we went off to the woods. I used to hate it, but now I wear it every day, quite funny, really.

"Ow—hey, I just fixed that you little—" I let out, pulling my hand off his head as he let out an unprovoked yell. "AHHH MOM, Y/N'S SWEARING AGAIN!"

I sighed, managing to pry him off me, our heads turning towards our mother, she had the same hair and features as my brother, maybe that's why she preferred him over me.

"Kunal, get inside, time for breakfast!" she called, waving him over. Nal said a small "bye-bye", waving at me before running to our mother who welcomed him with open arms.

She looked at me, I could feel her icy glare. But beyond all of that, her eyes showed a little bit of concern, as if she's afraid. It made sense, district 12 wasn't the kindest of places, illegal hunting is dangerous and she was my mother, after all.

I watched as my brother gave him the lilies, a smile forming on her lips, her eyes wrinkling. My hands tensed a little, I passed it off to the chilly breeze, not wanting to think about this in the early morning. "Bye," I muttered, turning away as I went towards the woods.

My hands gripped the rough bark, scaling up a tree with little to no effort. I arrived at a certain spot, reaching into a hole where my hunting equipment was hidden.

I pulled out a small set of thin, throwing daggers. I looked at it, gripping the leather strapping on the handle. This was the reason, the reason everything went downhill that day.

Yet I still keep it, to honour my father. This set was one of the only things he left when he was executed in the most painful way possible. I let out a hitched breath at the thought of it, holstering it on my belt.

I pulled out a hunting bow, something my friend gave me. I wasn't the best at it, I was better at throwing more than anything. It was worth learning though, it was best used when hunting smaller game like rabbits and squirrels.

To my right, was a nest of mocking birds. I whistled a basic 3 tunes to them, which they listened to and replicated. My lips formed into a small smile, waving at the birds before I leapt to another tree.

My father taught me how to traverse the forest through trees. I remember falling every time I leapt from tree to tree, my father laughing as he caught my hand. Sometimes I'd just fall to the ground, resisting the urge to cry as I insisted to try again.

He and I have a lot in common, I took more after my father more than I did my mother. Both physically and mentally. While my mother was more grounded, my father would never shut up about freedom and life without the capitol.

It wasn't something ideal for life like this. Any word or action against the capitol and you can get executed right on the spot, something I had to learn the hard way.

I've always found the ground limiting, the coal dust in the air quite suffocating. Unlike in these heights, where the air was fresh, cool. You saw so much more, moved so much more. It was a taste of freedom, something I've always wanted.

I arrived at a location hidden away from unwanted eyes. Landing on a large rock ledge that was reachable from above if you leapt or swung far enough. Of course, there were times where I didn't stick the landing and ended up in the thicket of berry bushes, ending up with several, stinging, unwanted "friends".

"I'm early for once," I huffed, grinning as I laid down the rock. I put my leg on top of the other, using my hands to support my head. A small, yellow butterfly landed on my nose, making me smile.

"Hey, owl eyes," A voice boomed, making the butterfly fly away. My brows furrowed as I looked in the direction of the voice. "Finally stopped daydreaming of burning the Capitol down?" he teased, grinning.

I shot him a look, "Mhmm," I hummed, "Daydreaming of throwing them off a cliff instead," I said, making him snort.

"And how do you plan to do that?" He asked, smirking. I threw a small rock at his forehead, scoffing. "Shut it, Gale" I retorted.

He rolled his eyes, a mischievous look on his face "I was going to give you some of this bread I shot, but since you're like that, I guess I'll just have to share this with Catnip," he said, holding up a loaf of bread, an arrow pierced through it.

I laughed looking up at the sky, "Oh come on, don't be like that, Gale," I spread my limbs across the surface of the cool rock. "Don't pick favourites, but— between me and Kat, who's the lucky favourite?"

Gale hummed as if thinking deeply. "Definitely Catnip," he answered making my head turn sharply towards him. I shot him a glare, a look of betrayal. He let out a bark of laughter, just in time for Katniss to arrive.

He held up the bread once more, "Hey catnip, look at what I shot," he said. "He said that two times already," I groaned, raising a finger.

Katniss laughed, the bread handed to her. "Mhh, still warm," she commented, sniffing the crust of the bread after she had pulled out the arrow.

If I hadn't known any better, I would say that they were siblings. Straight black hair, olive skin and same grey eyes. Most of the families who work in the mines resemble each other this way. That's why my family has always stuck out like a sore thumb, like Katniss' mother and sister.

My mother and brother with strawberry blonde hair, my brother, in particular, having my father's blue eyes. Father and I had bright copper-red hair, I shared my mother's green eyes.

From what I've heard my father used to be a merchant, selling various herbs, fruits, plants and meat until he's settled down here for my mother, began working in the mines, along with illegal hunting.

The peacekeepers and the mayor let it slide though, They crave fresh meat just like anyone else in the district. Our district was looked down upon, the capitol didn't really pay attention to it. This is why we can get away with these.

My train of thought was interrupted by a berry landing on my face, making me scrunch my face as Katniss finished a joke with a Capitol accent. The two always told me I was easily distracted, a disadvantage when it came to hunting.

Though I'd say it's an advantage when I'm not busy daydreaming I tend to spot small animals, like that one bird flying west of me, or that small worm crawling next to me.

Gale tapped my hand, which was dangling from the rock. He handed me a piece of bread, some cheese spread on it. I sat up, one of my knees bent, resting my elbows on it as I thanked him.

"We could do it, you know?" He said quietly, effectively drawing my attention, as well as Katniss'. "What?" she asked. I only remained silent, biting into the bread as my other foot dangled from the rock, swinging around.

"Runaway from the district, live in the woods, you and I, maybe Y/n too if he wants to, we could make it," He said, I nodded, swallowing a healthy portion of the bread. "You know I want to," I interjected.

Gale sighed, "If only we didn't have so many kids," Of course, they weren't our actual children, though they might as well be. He has two little brothers and a sister, Katniss has a sister and I have Kunal. There's also our parents, another mouth to feed.

My mom doesn't really have a source of income, so I'm left working the majority of the month, only taking a break at least for a day. Though the three of us split our games, It's never really enough. We still have times where we would curl up on our cots on an empty stomach. It happened far more often than any of us would like.

With my father gone, I was left to provide for my own family. These forests are practically my home, the only thing missing was Kunal and my mom's icy stares.

"I don't want any children," Katniss responded plainly. "I might if I didn't live here," said Gale.

"But you do," She responded irritably, I glanced between them, chewing on my bread slowly. "Forget it," Gale snapped, sighing,

It would be a lie if I haven't thought of this. They call me a daydreamer because of this, I'd much rather dream of being one with the mocking jays, flying freely without worrying about the Capitol's prying eyes than face the fact that that would never happen.

A trait passed down to me by my father, as I said. We hate the fact that we are treated like caged birds, though used to it, we'll never be comfortable. Unlike my mother.

Sometimes I wonder what drew them to each other.

"What do you want to do?" Katniss asked, making me perk up. "How about we fish at the lake?" I suggested. They both nodded as a grim thought settled in my head.

Kunal turned 12 this year, his name is on the ballot for today, Reaping day. Though only once, there's a slim chance that he might get chosen. He could barely stand against an angry, small mutt, running to my legs whenever he gets scared.

If he gets chosen, I wouldn't know what to do. Surely my mother would resent me even more, why was I her only child left then? No, it wouldn't get to that, surely not.

I clenched my fists as we travelled to the lake, feeling the anger bubble inside me. I remembered one of the many reasons I despised these ridiculous, power-hungry people.

"I'll destroy them one day, don't worry, pa" I whispered, though I'm sure Gale and Katniss heard me. They just knew.

—--—--—

Words: 1.8k

#peetamellark #peeta mellark #peetamellarkxmalereader #peeta mellark x male reader #peeta mellark x reader #hunger games #hunger games x reader #hunger games x male reader #gale #katniss #x male reader #male reader series #male reader #reader insert #male reader insert

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saneijeijei · 3 years

Text

When Ijekiel and his family are finally able to return to Obelia and restore the reputation of their home, he receives an invitation to the palace. On Athanasia's recommendation, Claude agrees to take him on probation for a low-level position.

And as he follows the knight, he suddenly runs into a child running down the corridor. The girl did not understand the road abruptly crashed into his leg and fell to the floor. Ijekil could hardly understand when he noticed the knight's nervousness, knelt down, and stared at the floor.

Alpheus gently lifted the girl and set her on her feet, helping her to dust off her pretty dress.

"Thank you," she said softly, rubbing her bruised nose.

Ijekiel froze at the sound of the baby's voice, which vaguely resembled that of his first love, Athanasia.

When the girl looked up at him, he realized who was standing in front of him.

Her dark, straight hair was tied up in beautiful buns with satin ribbons. Her topaz eyes were framed by thick, dark lashes. The girl dressed in a beautiful pink dress, vaguely reminiscent of what Atanasia wore on her debut. And in her hands is a cute stuffed rabbit.

The daughter of Athanasia, his first love.

"Your Highness! Why are you alone? Did the servants dare to leave you completely alone?" the knight asked.

"Atte wanted to see grandfather. And Mira didn't allow it. So I decided to go myself”.

"But Y-Your Highness...”

Alpheus knelt in front of her.

"Your Highness, may I accompany You? I'm just on my way to see His Majesty”.

When Attheia raised her head and looked at the man, he noticed a few more features that she had inherited from her father - a mole under one eye and the frown that is inherent in constantly frowning because of the bright sun.

No, not even that. The princess was a copy of her father, the sorcerer of the dark tower.

He wonder how much this annoys the emperor about his granddaughter. Surely, he would have wanted the baby to be a copy of her mother, and not the man who stole his beloved daughter right under his nose.

Kiel could have hidden his emotions deep in his heart, as he had done for the past few years, but the feelings she had awakened in his heart with her curiosity and her big topaz eyes reminded him of her mother.

"I've never seen you here”.

"I'm sorry, I didn't introduce myself. My name is Ijekiel Alpheus, and from today I will serve you and your family, Princess”.

"Oh! I didn't introduce myself either!”

Attheia curtsied and smiled, pleased with herself.

"My name is Princess Attheia de Alger Obelia. I am the daughter of Princess Athanasia de Alger Obelia and the Great Wizard of the Dark Tower Lucas. I am the granddaughter of the great Emperor Claude de Alger Obelia.

Alpheus laughed softly at her self-confidence and the way she said it without hesitation. Not every child will be able to remember such a long performance. It seems that she inherited not only her appearance, but also the genius of her parents.

"Hey! it's not good to laugh at princesses!" Attheia said irritably.

"I beg your pardon, Your Highness, but your spontaneity has struck me to the heart.

"Humph!" she snorted. "Atte wants to see Grandpa!"

"All right, then, let's go, Your Highness."

Perhaps he could not protect what was dear to him, and he was weak. Perhaps if he had been more persistent, more arrogant, and more stubborn, things would have been different. But alas, time passed, as his beautiful bird of happiness got out of the golden cage, having built a nest.

But her little bird, having just broken its shell and fledged, is unlikely to be able to settle on its own in such a harsh and terrible world of gossip and lies? She also needed someone like him to be her ears and eyes.

Ijekiel would like to be a loyal dog to guard the fragile nest where this chick is hiding.

#whomademeaprincess #wmmap #who made me a princess #suddenlyibecameaprincess #athanasia de alger obelia #suddenly i became a princess #wmmap lucas #sbapod #sibapod #wmmap ijekiel #lucas x athanasia #text #Attheia de alger obelia #Ijekiel Alpheus #ezekiel alpheus #suddenly became a princess one day #fanfic #wmmap fanfic

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whatgaviiformes · 3 years

Text

Firefly’s Glow - Part 1/?

For @janetm74 and @tsarinatorment and because I am desperate to post something to get my groove going again.

📦 trapped in a box requested by Janetm74 / How about ⏳ - time’s running out and 📦 - trapped in a box with some Scott&Gordon? – requested by Tsarinatorment

A/N: Author’s Note - Okay, first I hope it’s ok that I combined these asks. Second, I know this is strange. End notes included to explain. Also, I have and by extension Gordon has a potty mouth. I promise I edited most of them out.

*****

Less than a minute.

Gordon could work miracles in less than a minute. In 51.2 seconds, he went from Gordon Tracy, son of the late Jefferson Tracy, to Gordon Tracy, Olympic Gold Medalist representing the United States of America. He’d let the muscular pull, push, recovery rhythm of the butterfly stroke propel him past world records.

But of course he never really had to think about how to move through water.

Focus.

He had shackles to pick.

“You’re running out of time, Gordon Tracy.”

Damn it all.

Now the Hood was just being rude. It was Virgil’s face and voice that taunted him– though it really wasn’t his voice because Virgil could never speak to Gordon with a tone so laced with malice. Ire, sure. Hatred and malevolence, no way in hell.

Gordon would tear the Hood apart for stealing his brother’s voice, starting with a solid right hook in his snickering mug once he got out this.

Arms crossed, the Hood had a timer in one hand and an unrecognizable gun in the other. Though Gordon knew guns, he couldn’t recognize this one from the quick glance he’d spared. He’d had no time to look.

35 seconds.

He could do this. In that amount of time he’d saved an electrified Thunderbird 2 from a free fall by redocking his pod in the plummeting behemoth and connecting their computer systems to regain control. He hadn’t needed time to think, just react – his brother’s life was dependent on Thunderbird 2’s survival.

His brother whose voice was stolen by a madman.

“My, my, didn’t my niece teach you better than that?”

Leave Kayo out of this, you stupid, greedy, motherf - His survival thus far had been a little bit Kayo, a little bit Parker, and a whole lot of Brains. Parker for the lock picking knowledge, Kayo for the speed and survival tactics, Brains for the lock pick built into the bottom of his boots.

And sure, maybe a little bit of his own survival training helped.

A minute to remove the shackles in exchange for freedom. 60 seconds. Gordon could save lives in 60 seconds. He can, and will, save his own.

15 seconds left.

“Tick tock.”

His hands fumbled with the small pick between his fingers and the awkward angle of a lock he couldn’t even see, only feel.

Click!

The shackles came free and fell to the ground with a clatter. Gordon panted, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Very good. Perhaps, you have some worth to me after all.”

“But-”

“Oh, I was never going to let you go, Gordon Tracy. But thank you for the…” Virgil-that’s-not-really-Virgil waved a hand towards Gordon’s shoes. “Demonstration.”

Rage welled up inside him.

It was Virgil’s face, sure, but Gordon had punched Virgil before. Hell, Virgil had punched him before. And the man in front of him wasn’t really Virgil anyway. So, Gordon launched himself at the Hood, preparing to attack.

In his anger, he’d forgotten about the gun. He wouldn’t have entered a gunfight with his fists if he remembered. Taking out your opponent 101. His WASP superior officers would have been sorely disappointed in him.

Sans his standard yellow baldric (because the Hood had taken that from him too), Gordon gasped at the sudden impact that hit his chest. Even though the projectile’s force wasn’t enough to drive him back, the gun, intended for mid-range, packed a hell of a punch, and there was a terrifying moment when Gordon looked down at his body and expected to see blood. Instead, the dart protruding from his left pectoral carried a blue liquid, an injection of something. He didn’t know what, and somehow, that thought was even less comforting.

The swift lethargy that flowed through his muscles slowed him as the drug hit.

Gordon crumpled to the dirty cement floor as Virgil cackled in his ear, and all went black.

*****

Gordon’s love of the sea came first from the fact that the sea was so different from the plains of Kansas, secondly that it was a part of the Earth itself he loved so much. and thirdly – and most importantly– because the first time he stepped into the rushing waves of the ocean it had been like finally learning to breathe.

Gordon had learned to appreciate all of Earth’s life at a young age. He was never a rescue scout like Scott, as there was a bit too much focus on badgework for his tastes, but his youth was spent making mud pies, watching bird’s nests, and observing caterpillar chrysalises all the same.

The summer Gordon was six, Scotty had taken him out to the barn late at night and showed him how to make a lantern of fireflies. Their adventure pack (really Scott’s school bag, repurposed) held a flashlight, mason jars, a couple pieces of mesh to put overtop the glass, and two bug nets.

No brothers were allowed – this was for him and Scotty only.

He’d abandoned the bug net for his hands pretty quickly, and within a few minutes, he’d managed to catch five or so for his lightning bug lantern. Of course, Scott had managed to catch more because he was older and also because he’d shared this memory with all his brothers and this was only Gordon’s first time.

It had been so pretty, the fireflies dancing in the mason jar, their lights slowly dimming and brightening in a mellow cadence that soothed his soul. But then, he realized their little bodies, which were used to flying around in the expanse of the sky, were suddenly confined to the glass container of the jar. And he saw not beauty but pain.

It was a lovely, bittersweet memory he kept close to his heart because it represented a key moment of his youth: first growing up with Scott as an older brother and also the first time he’d felt a creature’s cry reach him. It was the same wail he felt when he read about oil spills off the coast of Alaska and illegal fishing nets that should not still be in use, and, god, the absolute trash humanity left in the oceans for poor sea turtles to choke over.

Scott hadn’t understood where the tears came from suddenly, but Gordon remembered his brother kneeling in front of him so their eyesight was level, and he recalled him asking what happened and what Gordon needed, completely uncaring that his jeans were getting dirty in the fertilized soil. And the best thing about Scott was that he was the type of older brother that didn’t laugh or ignore him when Gordon said “they want out” through blubbering tears. He just helped Gordon release their fireflies back into the night, and instead they spent their evening counting their happy flickering until the numbers lulled Gordon to sleep.

The memory faded; the fireflies behind his eyes converged to a fragment on the other side of his lids, and a piercing white struck his brain with each blink as he awoke.

His feet were cold. The Hood had stolen his boots. Of freaking course. His next realization was that the rest of him was not as cold as his feet. In fact, that light coming in through the window was making his face and neck feel quite flushed.

It was the light that told him he was somewhere new. Previously the Hood had kept him locked in the darkness in his cell.

He groaned, shifting to sit up and look around his new abode, which was compact and with no angles to define the walls. But it was all glass, and so the window he thought was present was actually the room itself. And the floor he realized, feeling the material against the pads of his feet as he stood, was also glass.

His investigation was short lived, and Gordon hissed as the attempt to put weight on his left foot shot a laser of pain up through his ankle.

God, the Hood must have really thrown him in here, he thought.

He looked up.

No, not thrown. Dropped.

The ceiling of the room was not a ceiling at all, but the top of a bottle where the glass curved inward and then continued upward.

It was not quite what he imagined…. being the test subject of a madman. Maybe a tube or a cage or the cell where he was before would make sense, but a human-sized glass bottle? He felt like one of the fireflies he was just dreaming of, and of course, the Hood had to steal that memory too, in addition to his baldric, his boots, and his brother’s face.

As Gordon squinted to peer past the glass, the light that had been penetrating his new home suddenly darkened with a singular brown eye filling the expanse of the vessel, disorienting the shape so that the pupil was huge and the iris round, and the rest was…well, still huge just not as much so.

Fire raced through his ankle as he backed up two steps, stumbling into the back of the bottle.

“Gordon?” The eye said in a deep rumble.

The hell? He knew that voice.

“Fuse?”

“Shit, man, you’re tiny.”

His instinct was to look at his hands, but of course, they were the same from his perspective, though perhaps a bit grimier than they were before he was captured, tossed in a cell, and then forced to pick his way out of his shackles for no reason other than the Hood’s demented sense of pleasure.

The eye was then replaced with Fuse’s hand as he picked up the bottle to clasp it by the neck and pull it off of what was clearly a high shelf, with Gordon still inside.

Everything was not okay.

He was not okay.

It was never a human-sized bottle, and as his world shifted with Fuse raising the glass, Gordon realized he was lucky if he was half a foot tall.

END PART 1

End note: In effort to think outside the box for in a box my brain went straight to pocket!Gordon, so I went angsty Arrietty/the Borrowers vibes. There’s a more literal box planned later, I promise, and more Scott as requested. But for now, hope this helps do the job. Also don’t skip over the first part, POCKET!GORDON. 😊

Part 2

#Gavii Scribit #ask box prompts #Gordon Tracy #Scott Tracy #Thunderbirds fanfiction #Thunderangst #thunderwhump #Firefly's Glow

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